to win or to die, a tale of the klondike gold craze, by george manville fenn. ________________________________________________________________________ this is a tough tale about tough men. right from the first chapter we are living with men who are fighting for survival, the enemy being as often as not other men who would rob them. chapter after chapter leaves the heroes in some new desperate plight, which, when overcome, is almost at once replaced by yet another one. it is not a very long book, and it is very well illustrated, but it is a breathless race from one peril to the next. i cannot say that you should enjoy or be entertained by reading of other peoples' misfortunes, but the author intended that you should be so entertained, and you will be. ________________________________________________________________________ to win or to die, a tale of the klondike gold craze, by george manville fenn. chapter one. a break-down. "it's a lie! i don't and i won't believe it." the speaker half whispered that, and then he shouted, "do you hear?" there was a pause, and then from the face of a huge white snow-cliff there came back the word "hear." "well done, echo!" cried the speaker. "echo," came back. "thankye; that's quite cheering; anything's better than that horrible silence. what do they say? when a man gets in the habit of talking to himself it's a sign that he is going mad? once more, it's a lie! a man would go mad in this awful solitude if he didn't hear some one speaking. snow, snow, snow, and rock and mountain; and ugh! how cold! pull up, donkey! jackass! idiot! or you'll freeze to death." the speaker was harnessed by a looped rope to a small, well-packed sledge, after the fashion of one who tracks about along the thames; but how different here! no sunny river, no verdant flowing mead or hanging summer wood, but winter, stern winter in its wildest, and the heavy sledge, in answer to the tugging at the rope, now sticking fast amongst the heaped-up stones frozen together in a mass, now suddenly gliding down sharp slopes and tripping its owner up, so that again and again, during an awful day's tramp, he had fallen heavily. but only to struggle up, shake the snow from his fur-lined coat, and continue his journey onward towards the golden land where the nuggets lay in wondrous profusion waiting the bold adventurer's coming--heaped-up, almost fabulous riches that had lain undiscovered since the beginning of the world. he, the toiler, dragging that sledge, in which were carefully packed his gun, ammunition, spare clothes, blankets, stores, and sleeping-bag of fur, had started at daylight that morning from the last outpost of civilisation--a miserable shanty at the top of the tremendous pass he had surmounted with the help of the men who occupied the shanty and called themselves guides; and then, after repacking his sledge and trusting to the landmarks ahead and a pocket compass, he had boldly set off, ready to dare every peril, for he was young, sanguine, well-armed, strong, and nerved by hope and the determination to succeed. it was only a brave struggle over the mountains, and then down into the river valley beyond, to leave the winter behind with its pain and misery, and meet the welcome of the summer sunshine and--the gold. that morning it was winter indeed; but the adventurer's heart was warm, and the way through the mountains was plain, while the exertion sent the blood tingling through his veins till he glowed as the rugged miles were mastered. then there was the halt and a seat on the sledge for a hasty meal upon the tough provisions; but how delicious every mouthful was! then forward again, refreshed for the journey onward, to some snugly sheltered spot where he could camp for the night and sleep in his fur bag, regardless of any number of degrees of frost. but as the afternoon wore on, the sledge seemed to grow more heavy, the way wilder and more stern, and the stoppages frequent. he unpacked and rested and refreshed himself. then he grew cheery once more. "lightens the load and me too," he said with a laugh, as he thrust his head through the loop and tugged at the sledge; but it did not seem lighter. it grew more heavy, and the obstacles were terrible to surmount. but he knew he was in the right track through the pathless waste of heaped-up snow. there was no mistaking that awful gorge, with the rocks piled up like titanic walls on either side. he knew that he could not go wrong. all he had to do was to persevere, and he plodded on. "never mind if it's only yards instead of miles surmounted," he muttered. "they are so many yards nearer the winning post." at last, as he fought his way on, with his unwonted exertions beginning to tell mentally and bodily, he broke out talking wildly to fight back the horrible sensation of depression, and was brought to a standstill, the sledge having jammed between two blocks of ice-covered rock; and he stood for some minutes gazing round hopelessly at the fast-dimming scene, which had looked picturesque in the morning, but appeared awful now. "i ought to have had a companion," he muttered, "if it had only been a dog." he stood still, staring at the precipices on either side, whose chasms were beginning to look black; then at his jammed-in sledge; and he felt that he must drag it out and go on again, for night was coming on, and he could not camp where he was. then as he was wearily and slowly stooping down to drag the sledge back, he made a sudden bound as if electrified, tried to run, tripped, and fell heavily. for all at once there was a roar like thunder, a terrible rushing sound, the echoes of the mountains seemed to have been let loose, and his hair began to bristle, while a cold perspiration gathered on his face as he listened to the sounds dying away in rumbling whispers. "away up to the right," he said to himself as he gazed in that direction, realising that it was a snow-fall. thousands of tons had gone down somewhere out of sight; but he was safe, and giving the sledge a jerk, he set it free, guided it over the snow, and prepared for another start. but that avalanche had somewhat unnerved him, for he had been looking out for a place to camp, and it now seemed madness to think of coming to a halt there. "must find a safer place," he thought; and now fresh dangers began to suggest themselves. would there be wolves in these mountains? certainly there must be bears; and dragging off one of his big fur gloves, he took out and examined his revolver, before replacing it in its leather holster. he glanced, too, at his rifle in its woollen case, bound on the top of the loaded sledge. "bah! how cowardly one can turn!" he muttered. "of course, there will be all those troubles to face. i'm fagged--that's what it is. now, then, old fellow, gee up! i'll camp in the first sheltered nook i see; i'm sure to find one soon. then supper in the warm bag and a good night's rest. sleep? i could lie down and sleep here in the snow. pull up! that's the way. i wonder how much gold i could drag on a sledge like this?" for quite another hour he toiled on, and perhaps got over a quarter of a mile, always gazing anxiously ahead for a suitable shelter, but looking in vain. then he utterly broke down, catching his foot against a block which the darkness hid from his fast-dimming eyes; and with a sob of misery as he saved himself from striking his face, at the expense of a heavy wrench to one wrist, he lay perfectly still, feeling a strange drowsy sensation creeping over him. "this will not do," he cried aloud in alarm, for he knew that giving way to such a feeling in the snow meant resigning himself to death; and he painfully rose to his knees, and then remained, staring wildly before him, wondering whether he was already dreaming. for not far away, flashing and quivering in reflections from the precipice wall on his left, there was a light which kept rising and falling. no dream, but the reflected light of a camp fire. others, bound upon the same mission as himself, must be close at hand; and staggering now to his feet, he placed his gloved hands to his lips and gave forth a loud echoing "ahoy!" the next moment his heart beat high with joy, and the horrible perils of frost and darkness in that unsheltered place faded away into nothingness, for his hail was answered from close at hand. "ahoy! who is it?" came echoing back. "help!" shouted the adventurer; and then he sank upon his sledge with heart throbbing and a strange giddiness attacking him. chapter two. fallen among thieves. "hullo, there!" cried a rough voice. "why don't you come on?" and the next minute a couple of figures seemed to start out of the darkness. "i'm fagged out. can you lend me a hand?" "lend you a hand? yes," said another voice. "where's your mate?" "i'm alone." "alone? no pal with you?" "no, and my sledge has stuck fast. will you help me as far as your fire?" "got a sled, hev you? all right, mate. where's the line? lay hold, leggy, while i give it a hyste. that's your sort. come on." it seemed like a dream, and as if all the peril and horror had passed away, as the two men dragged the sledge along and the adventurer staggered on beside them, till they halted in the ruddy light of a great fire, lit at the foot of a stupendous wall of glistening ice-covered rock. the fire of pine-boughs crackled and flashed, and lit up the face of a third man, a big red-bearded fellow, who was kneeling down tending the embers and watching a camp kettle slung from three sticks, the contents of which were beginning to steam. "here we are, beardy," said one of the rescue party. "comp'ny gent on his travels." the kneeling man scowled at the speaker, and then put his hand behind him as if from instinct, but dropped it as the other said: "it's all right, beardy. number four's empty, isn't it? because if it aren't, you'll have to give up your room." the big red-bearded man showed some prominent yellow teeth in a grin, nodded, and pushed a blazing brand under the kettle. "sit down, youngster," said the first speaker. "maybe you'll jyne us at supper?" "i shall be very glad." "right you are, and welcome! 'aven't brought anything with you, i suppose?" "yes, i have some cake and bacon." "well done, young un. get it out," said the red-bearded man, and, recovered somewhat by his warm reception, the young adventurer began to unlash the load upon the sledge, the two men who had come to his aid eagerly joining in, their eyes glistening as they examined the various objects that were set free. "going yonder after the yaller stuff?" said the owner of the red beard, as they squatted round the fire. "yes." "and all alone, too?" the traveller nodded, and held his half-numbed hands in the warm glow, as he furtively glanced round at his companions, whose aspect was by no means reassuring. "well," continued the last speaker, "i dunno what yankee leggat thinks, and i dunno what joey bredge has got to say, but what i says is this. you're a-going to do what's about as silly a thing as a young man can do." "why?" "why?" said the man fiercely; "because you're going to try and do what no chap can do all alone. you've got a good kit and some money, i s'pose; but you don't think you're going to get to the gold stuff, do you?" "of course i do." the man showed his yellow teeth in an unpleasant grin, and winked at his companions. "and all alone, eh? 'tain't to be done, lad. you'll be stuck up before you yet half-way there by injuns, or some o' they yankee shacks yonder, stripped o' everything you've got, and set adrift, eh, joey?" the man addressed nodded and grunted. "what should you say he ought to do, leggy?" "make his hay while the sun shines," said the other. "he's tumbled into a bit o' luck, and if he knows what he's about he'll just stop along with us. we don't want him, seeing as our party's made up, but we don't want to be hard on a lad as is a bit hign'rant o' what he's got to go through." "that's so," put in the man addressed as joey. "you can't do it, mate. why, if it hadn't been for us you'd ha' been a hicicle afore morning, if the bears and wolves hadn't tucked you up warm inside. you've got to take a good offer. now, beardy, bring out the tins; that soup's done by this time." the traveller made no reply, but leaned a little more over the fire, wishing that he had braved the dangers of the bitter frost and snow, and feeling that he had been too ready to break down at the first encounter with trouble. for the more he saw of his new companions the less he, liked them, and he was not long in making up his mind what to do. by this time three big tin cups, which fitted one into the other, had been produced, and filled from the steaming contents of the kettle. "we didn't expect company," said the cook, "so two of us'll have to do with one tin, and have it filled twice. you and me'll join, joey, and let squire have my tin." "no, thank you," was the reply, made quietly and firmly. "i will not intrude on your good nature farther. i was a bit done up, but the fire has set me right again, and i'm quite ready to take the risks of the journey alone." "oh, that's it, is it?" said the man gruffly. "i'll get you to let me rest here by the fire for an hour to eat my bit of bread and meat, and then i'll camp near you and go on again as i came. i shall manage, i daresay." "are we going to stand this, mates?" cried the red-bearded man fiercely. "no!" came in answer, as all sprang up as if by a preconcerted signal. "you misunderstand me, gentlemen," said the adventurer quietly, though his heart beat fast with the knowledge that the suspicions which had haunted him were correct. "i am much obliged for your kindness, and i want to save you trouble, that is all." "hear that, lads? we aren't good enough for the likes of him. all right, then, off he goes." "our company aren't good enough, eh? then off you goes." "very well," said the young man, rising quickly; "but there is no need for a quarrel. i will go at once, and i thank you for what you have done." "but we haven't done yet," cried the man addressed as leggy. "now, boys." there was a sudden rush, and in an instant the young fellow was seized and thrown upon his face; then, in spite of his desperate struggles, he was turned over, his weapon seized, and everything of value dragged from his pockets. "quiet!" snarled the leader in the attack, "or i'll soon quiet you." "you dogs! you scoundrels! help! thieves!" "louder, my lad, louder. call police: there's some over yonder in canady. haul off that fur coat, lads. it'll just fit me, and i'll have his cap and gloves. that's right. now then, my whippersnapper, off you go!" set free, the young man, in spite of his bubbling rage, felt the madness of further resistance, and the uselessness of wasting breath; so he sprang to his sledge, to begin lashing it fast with the rope. "hands off there!" roared the chief scoundrel, taking aim at him. "now then, run for it, and get yourself warm before we begin to shoot." "i'm going," panted the victim, "but i must fasten up my traps." "you ain't got no traps. they're ourn," cried the man. "we give you a chance for your life, so cut at once." "what! send me away like this?" cried the young man, aghast. "it's murder! let me have my blankets, man." "run!" shouted the scoundrel, and he shook his pistol. "you coward!" cried the victim. "run!" was roared again. feeling that the gang into whose hands he had fallen probably meant to hide their crime by silencing him for ever, the victim turned and ran for his life, and as he ran he felt a sharp pang in the arm. a heavy fall checked the victim's panic flight, and as he lay panting and wet with the perspiration which had started from every pore, he realised that one of the bullets had taken effect, ploughing his left arm, which throbbed as if being seared with a red-hot iron. but the bodily agony was as nothing to the mental anguish which he suffered. death was before him if he lay there--death in a painless, insidious form, no doubt; but still, death in all its horror to one so young and strong. he knew that he must rise and keep moving if he wished to prolong his existence, and he rose to his feet, raging now against the cowardly gang, and more against himself. "i was a fool and a coward," he groaned. "why didn't i fight for my life? great heaven! what shall i do?" he paused for a moment, meaning to turn back and make an attack upon his enemies. but, unarmed as he was, he knew it was madness, and he tramped on through the darkness in the faint hope of finding help, but with his heart sinking as he grasped the fact that fate or the management of the gang had driven him onward farther into the defile, and away from the aid he might have found if he had made his way back to his morning's starting-place. fully satisfied that death would be his portion, he struggled on aimlessly till utterly exhausted; and then he paused, breathless, to go over once more the scene by the glowing fire, and ask himself whether he had not been to blame for displaying his distrust after the way in which he had been rescued. but he could only come back to his old way of thinking--that he had fallen among thieves of the worst type, and that he owed his life to the prompt way in which he had escaped. recovering his breath somewhat, he stood listening as he gazed back through the darkness; but all was still. there were no signs of pursuit, so, taking out his handkerchief, he folded it into a bandage, and with one hand and his teeth contrived to bind and tie it tightly round his wound so as to stop the bleeding, which was beginning to cause a strange sensation of faintness. he had been hot with exertion when he stopped, but now the feeling of exhilaration caused by his escape died out as rapidly as the heat. a deadly chill attacked mind and body, for his position seemed crushing. it was horrible beyond bearing, and for the moment he was ready to throw himself down in his despair. the intense cold would, he knew, soon bring on a sensation of drowsiness, which would result in sleep, and there would be no pain--nothing but rest from which there would be no awakening; and then-- then the coward feeling was driven back in a brave effort--a last struggle for life. the cold was intense, the darkness thicker than ever, for the sides of the ravine had been closing in till only a narrow strip of faintly marked sky was visible, while at every few steps taken slowly the poor fellow stumbled over some inequality and nearly fell. at times he struck himself heavily, but he was beyond feeling pain, and in his desperation these hindrances acted merely as spurs to fresh effort, for he was on the way to safety. at any minute he felt that he might catch sight of another gleam of light, the camp fire of some other adventurer, and he knew that some of those on the way to the great eldorado must be men who would help and even protect a fellow-creature in his dire state of peril. but he knew that this intense feeling of energy could not last, that he was rapidly growing weaker, and that ere many minutes had elapsed he would once more stumble and fall, and this time the power to rise again would have passed away. was it too late to return to his enemies and make an appeal for his life? he asked himself at last. they might show him mercy, and life was so sweet. but as these thoughts flickered through his brain in the half delirium fast deadening his power of thinking coherently, he once more saw the scene by the fire, and the faces of the three scoundrels stood out clearly with that relentless look, that cruel bestial glare of the eye, which told him that an appeal would but hasten his end. "better fall into the hands of god than men like them," he groaned, and setting his teeth hard he tottered on a few yards farther, with the snow growing less deep, the ground more stony. then the end came sooner than he expected, for his feet caught against something stretched across his way, and he fell heavily, uttering a cry of horror as he struggled to his knees. for it was no block of stone, no tree-trunk torn from some shelf in the precipice above; he grasped the fact in an instant that he had tripped over a sledge similar to his own, to fall headlong upon the ghastly evidence of what was to be his own fate; for stiff and cold in the shallow snow, his fingers had come upon the body of some unfortunate treasure-seeker, and as, half-wild with horror, he forced himself to search with his hands to discover whether some spark of life might yet be burning, it was to find that whoever it was must have laid calmly down in his exhaustion, clasping his companion to his breast to give and receive the warmth that might save both their lives. vain effort. the man's breast was still for ever, and the faithful dog that had nestled closely with his muzzle in his master's neck was stiff and stark. "god help me!" groaned the adventurer, clasping his hands and letting them fall softly on the dead; "is this the ending of my golden dream?" chapter three. in the dark. the horrible chill of impending death, the bright light of reason, and the intense desire to live, roused the half-stunned adventurer to action. die? like that? no!--when salvation was offered to him in this way. it was horrible, but it was for life. there, close by him, slightly powdered with snow, was the unfortunate's sledge, and in an instant he was tearing at the rope which bound its load to the framework. he could hardly believe his good fortune, for as the rope fell from the packages the first thing he set free was a fur-lined coat, possibly one which the dead man was too much exhausted to assume. suffering keenly from the cold, this was put on at once; and then, continuing the search, it was to find that a rifle was bound along one side, balanced by tools on the other. then there were blankets and stores similar, as far as he could judge, to those with which his own sledge had been laden. the warmth afforded by the thick garment and the exertion increased the thrill of returning energy. for he was no longer helpless to continue his journey. it could be no act of injustice to the dead to take possession of the means of saving his own life; and now all thought of giving up without making a desperate struggle was completely gone. soon after a fresh thrill of returning energy swept through him, and, turning quickly back to where the dead were lying, he knelt there, hesitating for a few moments before, with his determination increasing, he softly thrust the dog aside, and felt about the dead man's waist. he shuddered as his hands came in contact with the icy feeling of cold, but it was for life, and a feeling of joy shot through him, for it was as he had hoped. in a few minutes he had unfastened a buckle, turned the body over slightly, and that which he sought to obtain yielded to the steady pull he gave. he had drawn free the dead man's belt, bringing with it his revolver in its little holster and the pouchful of cartridges. that seemed to give new life to him as he buckled the belt about his waist. then, taking out the pistol, he felt it in the dark, to find that it was loaded in every chamber, and that the lock worked easily and well. the pistol replaced in the belt, the young man remained thinking, with all his energy seeming to have returned. what was he to do next? there was food of some kind on the sledge, and he must eat. there were blankets, and with them and the sledge for shelter he must rest and sleep. there was the dead man and his faithful dog, but their near presence brought no feeling of horror. he felt that he could kneel down by the poor fellow and offer up a prayer for his mercies, and then lie down to sleep in perfect trust of awakening at daybreak, for he was no longer suffering from exhaustion, and hardly felt the cold. "but not yet--not yet," he muttered, and a faint sound broke the silence as he stood there, his teeth grinding softly together, while his next words, uttered half aloud, told the direction his thoughts had taken. "the cowardly dogs!" he exclaimed. "three to one, and him unarmed. but not now--not now." a brief search brought his hands in contact with a canvas satchel-bag, in which were ship's biscuits, and one of these he took. it would suffice. breaking it and beginning to eat, he set off at once on the back track to execute his daring project, one which made him glow to his finger-tips. "better go on," he said with a mocking laugh. "yes, but not yet. they're cowards--such scoundrels always are--and the darkness will magnify the number of the attack. "bah! talking to myself again; but i'm not going mad. i can't go on without letting them taste something of what they have given me." he tramped on slowly, but the return journey seemed less difficult, and he wondered now that he should feel so fresh and glowing with a spreading warmth. it was as dark as ever, but he had no fear of not finding his way; and sooner than he expected, and just as he was finishing the last scrap of hard biscuit, he caught sight of the faint light of the fire from which he had been driven. the sight of it sent fresh vigour through his limbs, and his plan was soon made. he would keep on till there was the risk of being heard, and then creep closer till well within shot, and his sleeping enemies thrown up by the fire, which they had evidently made up well before settling themselves down for the night. he felt sure that at the first report they would spring up and run for their lives, and he meant to fire at each if he had time, and scare them, for he felt disposed to show as much mercy as he would to a pack of savage wolves. but matters were not to fall out exactly as he had calculated. he tramped steadily on, with the fire growing brighter, and at last he took out the revolver to examine it by touch once more, as he walked on more swiftly now, meaning to go forward a hundred yards or so and then proceed more cautiously, so as to make sure the enemy was asleep. all at once he stopped short, startled. the enemy was not asleep, for he saw a dark shadow pass before the glowing light. the adventurer stopped short for a few moments, but not in hesitation. it was merely to alter his plan of attack; but the next minute all planning was cast to the winds, for there rang out on the night air a wild cry for help--such an appeal as he had himself uttered so short a time before. the cry was repeated, sending a thrill of excitement through the listener, and telling its own tale. to the hearer it was as plain as if he had been told that the gang of ruffians had waylaid another unfortunate, who was about to share his own fate. he rushed forward at once, and as he ran and stumbled he could see that a desperate struggle was going on, figures in fierce contention passing in front of and once trampling through the fire, whose embers were kicked and scattered in all directions. suddenly two figures stepped aside into the full light, leaving two others wrestling together; and this was the opportunity needed. their first victim could see plainly that the former were enemies, and stopping short when about twenty yards away, he fired. both turned to gaze in the direction from which the flash and report had come. they were in time to see another flash. another report raised the echoes, and they turned and fled. then the struggle ceased, and the adventurer saw another figure disappearing into the darkness after his two companions. as he dashed off the young fellow rushed up in time to seize the victim, who staggered helplessly, trampling among the burning embers, among which he would have fallen but for the willing hands which dragged him aside, and lowered him down, before their owner began to kick about and scatter the fire, which hissed and smoked and steamed, as snow was heaped over, and raised a veil to hide the pair from their enemies while the bright light was dying out. the next act was to find out whether the enemy were yet in the vicinity. the adventurer advanced for some distance into the darkness, but all was still. satisfied that he could not be seen, the young man went on for some little distance; but it was evident that the sudden attack had done its work, and the party had fled for their lives. "the question is, will they recover themselves and come back?" he muttered. "well, we must be on our guard. two in the right against three in the wrong. those are fair odds. _two_ in the right! suppose it is only one." he hurried back towards the scene of the encounter, guided by the faintly glowing embers lying here and there, and the dark, blinding wood-smoke which was borne towards him by the light icy wind which came down the defile. "suppose they have killed him!" "who are you? but whoever you are," came in a hoarse whisper, "if it hadn't been for you those ruffians would have settled me." "thank heaven, then, i was in time. can you help me trample out the rest or this fire?" "hadn't we better escape? you might help me drag my sled into a place of safety." "there is no place of safety near," was the reply; "and it's cold enough to freeze us to death. we had better stay here." "but we dare not light a fire; they would see us, and come and pick us off." "i don't think the cowardly hounds will dare to come back." "but they might, and i dare not risk it." "are you hurt?" "not seriously, but wrenched and strained in the struggle. can you understand what i say? i don't know my own voice." "yes, i can hear you. what is it--a cold?" "no; i was right enough an hour ago. that red-bearded dog caught me by the throat. he was trying to strangle me. i fired at random, and then my senses were going, but i heard your shots. he has quite taken away my voice. where is your hand, sir?" "here: what do you want?" "just to make mine speak to it in a friendly grip. god bless you, sir! you've saved my life. i can't say more now." "don't. there: we have no light to betray us now." chapter four. nature's mistake. "but hadn't we better go on?" "no: warmth is everything here. the ground is hot where the fire was, and we'll camp there till morning. i saw you had a sledge. we'll drag that to one side for shelter." "and there is theirs, too," was said huskily. "mine!" was the reply. "the scoundrels inveigled me into staying with them, and i had a narrow escape." "hah! just as they served me. i saw their light and came up, and they professed to be friends. i didn't like the look of them, but one can't pick one's company out here, and a good fire was very tempting." "hist!" the warning was followed by the clicking of pistol locks, after which the pair listened patiently for some minutes. "nothing. here, let's get the two sledges one on either side of the hot ground. one will be a shelter, the other a breastwork to fire over if the scoundrels come back. besides, the breastwork will keep in the heat. we are bound to protect ourselves." "all right," was the reply, in an answering whisper, and the pair dragged the two sledges into position, and then, allowing for the dank odour of the quenched wood, found that they had provided themselves with a snugly warm shelter, adding to their comfort by means of blankets and a waterproof sheet, which they spread beneath them. this took time, for every now and then they paused to listen or make a reconnaissance in search of danger; but at last all was done, and the question was who should keep the first watch. "i'll do that," said the last comer. "i couldn't lie down to sleep if i tried; my throat gives me so much pain. it feels swollen right up. i'll take the first watch--listen, one ought to say. why, i can't even see my hand." "it is terribly dark here in this gulch," was the whispered reply. "the mountains run up perpendicularly on either side. but i couldn't sleep after all i've gone through to-night. my nerves are all on the jar. i'll watch with you." "listen." "well, listen, then. watch with our ears. can you hear me when i whisper?" "oh, yes." "but they will not come back, i'm sure." "so much the better for them; but i hope that the miserable, treacherous hounds will meet their reward. so they attacked you just in the same way?" "not till i told them i would not stay; and i was sorry afterwards, feeling that perhaps i had insulted them by my suspicions. of course, i did not know their character then." "no. well, we know it now. it is a specimen, i suppose, of the scum we shall find yonder." "i am afraid so." "you are going after gold, of course?" "who would be here if he were not?" "exactly. i hope the game is going to be worth the candle. suppose we two stick together. you won't try to choke me the first time you see me nodding off to sleep for the sake of my sledge and stores?" "oh, i'll promise you that." "it was a startler. i was dog tired." "eh?" "i was dog tired, and dropping off in the warmth of the fire into a golden dream of being where the nuggets were piled up all around me; and i was just going to pick up one, when a great snake darted at me and coiled itself round my throat. then i was awake, to find it was a real devil snake in the shape of that red-bearded ruffian." "that was the one the others called beardy. but don't you talk so much: your voice is growing worse." "can't help it, old fellow. i must talk. i'm so excited. feel the cold?" "oh, no. i'm quite warm with the glow which comes up through the sheet. a good idea, that was, of bringing it on your sledge." "yes, but it's heavy. i say, though, what an experience this is, here in the pitchy darkness. ah! look out!" the pistols clicked again, for from somewhere close at hand there was a faint rustling sound, followed by a heavy thud, as if some one had stumbled and fallen in the snow. the pair listened breathlessly in the black darkness, straining their eyes in the direction from whence the sound had come; but all was perfectly still. they listened again minute after minute, and there was a dull throbbing sound which vibrated through them; but it was only the heavy beating of their own hearts. then they both started violently, for there was another dull heavy thud, and some one hissed as if drawing in his breath to suppress the strong desire to utter a cry of pain. it was horrible in that intense blackness to crouch there with pistols held ready directed towards the spot where whoever it was had fallen, for there could be no doubt whatever. there had been the fall, not many yards from where they knelt, and they listened vainly for the rustling that must accompany the attempt to get up again. at last the faint rustling came, and the temptation to fire was almost too strong to be resisted. but they mastered it, and waited, both determined and strung up with the desire to mete out punishment to the cowardly miscreants who sought for their own gain to destroy their fellow-creatures. "don't fire till you are sure it is they," each of the two young men thought. "it is impossible to take aim in this darkness." and they waited till the rustling ended in a sort of whisper. once more all was silent, and the suspense grew maddening, as they waited minutes which seemed like hours. but the enemy was evidently astir, for there was another whisper, and another--strange warning secretive whispers--and a sigh as of one in pain. at this one of the listeners thrust out a hand, and the other joined in an earnest grip, which told of mutual trust and determination to stand by each other to the death, making them feel that the terrible emergency had made them, not acquaintances of an hour's length, but staunch friends, both strong and tried. then they loosened the warm, manly grip, and were ready for the worst. for there was no longer any doubt: the enemy was close at hand, waiting the moment for the deadly rush. the only question was whether they should fire at once--not with the thought of hitting, but to teach the scoundrels how thoroughly they were on the alert, and in the hope of driving them into taking to flight once more. but they doubted. a few shots had done this once, but now that the miscreants had had time to recover from their panic, would it answer again? thud! thud! in front, and then a far heavier one behind them. they could not hold out much longer. the enemy was creeping towards them. at this moment there was a tremendous crack, a hissing roar, and a terrific concussion, the defenders of the tiny fort being struck down behind their little breastwork. but this onslaught was not from the enemy they awaited. the ever-gathering snow from far above, loosened by the hot current of air ascending from the fire, had come down in one awful charge, and the marauders' camp was buried in an instant beneath thousands of tons of snow. chapter five. hand in hand. there was the sense of a terrible weight pressing the sufferers down, with their chests against the soft load bound upon the sledge in front; and utterly stunned, they lay for a time motionless, and almost breathless. then one began to struggle violently, striving to draw himself back, and after a tremendous effort succeeding, to find that beneath him the snow was loose, there being a narrow space along by the side of the sledge, and that though his breath came short he could still breathe. he had hardly grasped this fact when the movement on his right told of a similar action going on, and he began to help his companion in misfortune, who directly after crouched down beside him, panting heavily, in the narrow space, which their efforts had, however, made wider. "horrible!" panted the second at last. "an avalanche. surely this does not mean death." there was no reply, and in the awful darkness a hand was stretched out and an arm grasped. "why don't you say something?" whispered the speaker hoarsely. "what can i say, man? god only knows." "but it is only snow. we must burrow our way out. wait a moment. this way is towards the open valley." "no, no; this. beyond you is the wall of rock. let me try." for the next ten minutes there was the sound of one struggling to get through the snow, and then it ended with the hoarse panting of a man lying exhausted with his efforts. "let me come and try now," came in smothered accents. "it is of no use. the snow was loose at first, but farther on it is pressed together hard like ice. try your way." the scuffling and tearing commenced now to the right. "yes; it's quite loose now, and falls down. ah! _no good_; here is the solid rock running up as far as i can reach." "i can hardly breathe. it is growing hotter every moment." "no; it is cooler here. i can reach right up and stand against the rock." the speaker's companion in the terrible peril crept over the snow to his side and rose to his feet, to find the air purer; and, like a drowning man who had raised his head for the moment above water, he drank in deep draughts of the cold, sweet air. "hah!" he gasped at last hoarsely, after reaching up as high as he could, "the rock has saved us for the moment. the snow slopes away from it like the roof of a shed." "yes; if we had been a few feet farther from it we should have been crushed to death. let's try and tear a way along by the foot of the rock." they tried hard in turn till they were utterly exhausted and lay panting; but the only result was that the loose snow beneath them became trampled down. no, not the only result; they increased the space within what was fast becoming a snow cavern, one of whose walls was the solid rocky side of the ravine. "are we to die like this?" "is this to be the end of all our golden hopes? oh, heaven help us! what shall we do? the air is growing hotter; we have nearly exhausted it all, and suffocation is coming on fast. i can't, i won't die yet. help! help! help!" those three last words came in a hoarse faint wail that sounded smothered and strange. "hush!" cried the other; "be a man. you are killing yourself. the air is not worse. i can breathe freely still." there was a horrible pause, and then, in pitiful tones: "i am fighting down this fearful feeling of cowardice, but it is so hard--so hard to die so soon. not twenty yet, and the bright world and all its hopeful promise before one. how can you keep like that? are you not afraid to die?" "yes," came in a low, sad whisper; "but we must not die like this. tell me you can breathe yet?" "yes," came in the husky, grating tones; "better and better now i am still." "then there is hope. we are on the track; others will come after a time, and we may be dug out." "hah! i dare not think it. i say." "yes?" "do you think those wretches have been caught by the fall as well?" "if they were near they must have been." "yes, and we heard them." "no, no," sighed the other; "those were patches of snow falling that we heard." there was silence then, save that twice over a soft whisper was heard, and then a low, deep sigh. "i say." "yes?" "i feel sure that air must come to us. i can breathe quite easily still." "yes." "then we must try and bear it for a time. i'm going to believe that we may be dug out. shall we try to sleep, and forget our horrible position?" "impossible, my lad. for me, that is. you try." "no; you are right. i couldn't sleep. but, yes, i can breathe better still. there must be air coming in from up above. well, why don't you speak? say something, man." "i cannot talk." "you must--you shall, so as to keep from thinking of our being--oh, help! help! help!" "man, man! don't cry out in that horrible way;" and one shook the other fiercely, till he sobbed out, "yes; go on. i am a coward; but the thought came upon me, and seemed to crush me." "what thought? that we must die?" "no, no," groaned the other in his husky voice; "that we are buried alive." once more there was silence, during which the elder and firmer grasped the hand of his brother in adversity. "yes, yes," he whispered, "it is horrible to think of; but for our manhood's sake keep up, lad. we are not children, to be frightened of being in the dark." "no; you are right." "here, help me sweep away the snow from under us. no, no. here is the waterproof sheet. we can drag it out--yes, i can feel the sledges. let's drag out those blankets." "no, no, don't stir; you may bring down the snow roof upon our heads. i mean, yes. i'll try and help you." they worked busily for a few minutes, and then knelt together upon what felt like a soft couch. "there's food, and the snow for water; it would be long before we should starve. why are you so silent now? come, we must rest, and then try to cut our way out when the daylight comes." "the daylight!" said the other, with a mocking laugh. "yes; we may see a dim dawn to show us which way to tunnel." "ah, of course!" "could you sleep now?" "no, no; we must talk, or i shall go off my head. that brute hurt me so, it has made me rather strange. yes, i must talk. i say: god bless you, old fellow! you saved my life from those wretches, and now you're keeping me from going mad. i say! the air is all right." "yes; i can breathe freely, and i am not cold." "i am hot. i say, let's talk. tell me how you came to be here." "afterwards; the words would not come now. you tell me how you came." "yes; it will keep off the horrors; it's like a romance, and now it does not seem to be true. and yet it is, and it happened just as if it were only yesterday. i never thought of coming out here. i was going to be a soldier." he spoke in a hurried, excited way, and the listener heard him draw his breath sharply through his teeth from time to time, as if he shivered from nervous dread. "i was not fit for a soldier. fate knows best. see what a coward i am." "i thought you brave." "what!" "for the way in which you have fought and mastered the natural dread; but go on." "oh, no; it seems nonsense to talk about my troubles at a time like this." "it is not. go on, if you can without hurting yourself more." "i'll go on because it will hurt me more. it will give me something else to think of. can you understand my croaking whisper?" "oh, yes." "an uncle of mine brought me up after father and mother died." "indeed?" "dear old fellow! he and aunt quite took my old people's place; and their boy, my cousin, always seemed like my brother." the listener made a quick movement. "what is it? hear anything?" "no; go on." "they were such happy times. i never knew what trouble was, till one day poor uncle was brought home on a gate. his horse had thrown him." there was a pause, and then the speaker continued in an almost inaudible whisper: "he was dead." the listener uttered a strange ejaculation. "yes, it was horrible, wasn't it? and there was worse to come. it nearly killed poor dear old aunt, and when she recovered a bit it was to hear the news from the lawyers. i don't quite understand how it was even now--something about a great commercial smash--but all uncle's money was gone, and aunt was left penniless." "great heavens!" came in a strange whisper. "you may well say that. bless her! she had been accustomed to every luxury, and we boys had had everything we wished. my word! it was a knockdown for poor old dal." "who was poor old dal?" said the listener, almost inaudibly. "cousin dallas--dallas adams. i thought the poor chap would have gone mad. he was just getting ready for cambridge. but after a bit he pulled himself together, and `never mind, bel,' he said--i'm bel, you know; abel wray--`never mind,' he said, `now's the time for a couple of strong fellows like we are to show that we've got some stuff in us. bel,' he said, `the dear old mother must never know what it is to want.'" it was the other's turn to draw in his breath with a low hissing sound, and the narrator's voice sounded still more husky and strange, as if he were touched by the sympathy of his companion, as he went on: "i said nothing to dal, but i thought a deal about how easy it was to talk, but how hard for fellows like us to get suitable and paying work. but if i said nothing, i lay awake at nights trying to hit on some plan, till the idea came--ah! is that the snow coming down?" "no, no! it was only i who moved." "but what--what are you doing? why, you've turned over on your face." "yes, yes; to rest a bit." "i'm trying you with all this rigmarole about a poor, unfortunate beggar." "no, no!" cried the other fiercely. "go on--go on." the narrator paused for a few moments. "thank you, old fellow," he whispered softly, and he felt for and grasped the listener's hand, to press it hard. "i misjudged you. it's pleasant to find a bit of sympathy like this. i've often read how fellows in shipwrecks, and wounded men after battles, are drawn together and get to be like brothers, and it makes one feel how much good there is in the world, after all. i expect you and i will manage to keep alive for a few days, old chap, and then we shall have to make up our minds to die--like men. i won't be so cowardly any more. i feel stronger, and till we do go to sleep once and for all we'll make the best of it, like men." "yes, yes, yes! go on--go on!" chapter six. a strange madness. it was some time, though, before the narrative was continued, and then it was with this preface. "don't laugh at me, old chap. the shock of all this has made me as weak and hysterical as a girl. i say, i'm jolly glad it's so dark." "laugh at you!" "i say, if you speak in that way i shall break down altogether. that fellow choked a lot of the man out of me, and then the excitement, and on the top of it this horrible burying alive--it has all been too much for me." "go on--go on." "yes, yes, i will. i told you the idea came, but i didn't say a word to my cousin for fear he should think it mad; and as to hinting at such a thing to the dear old aunt, i felt that it would half kill her. i made up my mind that she should not know till i was gone. "well, i went straight to the `hard nut'--that's uncle morgan. we always called him the nut that couldn't be cracked--the roughest, gruffest old fellow that ever breathed, and he looked so hard and sour at me that i wished i hadn't gone, and was silent. `well,' he said, `i suppose you two boys mean to think about something besides cricket and football now. you've got to work, sir, work!'" "hah!" sighed the listener. "`yes, uncle,' i said, `and i want to begin at once.' "`humph!' he said. `well, that's right. but what do you want with me?' "`i want you to write me a cheque for a hundred pounds.' "`oh,' he said, in the harsh, sneering way in which he always spoke to us boys; for he didn't approve of us being educated so long. he began work early, and made quite a fortune. `oh,' he said, `do you? hadn't i better make it five?' "`no,' i said. `i've thought it all out. one hundred will do exactly.' "`what for?' he said with a snap. "`i'm off to klondike.' "`off to jericho!' he snarled. "`no, to klondike, to make a fortune for the poor old aunt.' "`humph!' he grunted, `and is dallas going with you to make the second fool in the pair?' "`no, uncle,' i said; `one fool's enough for that job. dal will stop with his mother, i suppose, and try to keep her. i'm nobody, and i'll take all risks and go.' "`yes, one fool's enough, sir,' he said, `for a job like that. but i don't believe there is any gold there.' "`oh, yes, there is, sir,' i said. "`what does dallas say?' "`nothing. he doesn't know, and he will not know till aunt gets my letter, and she tells him.' "`as if the poor old woman hadn't enough to suffer without you going off, sir,' he said. "`but i can't stop and live upon her now, uncle.' "`of course you can't, sir. but what about the soldiering, and the scarlet and gold lace?' "`good-bye to it all, sir,' i said with a gulp, for it was an awful knockdown to a coxcomb of a chap like i was, who had reckoned on the fine feathers and spurs and the rest of it. "`humph!' he grunted, `and you think i am going to give--lend you a hundred pounds to go on such a wild goose chase?' "`i hope so, uncle,' i said. "`hope away, then; and fill yourself with the unsatisfactory stuff, if you like. no, sir; if you want to go gold-digging, shoulder your swag and shovel, pick and cradle, and tramp there.' "`how?' i said, getting riled, for the old nut seemed harder than ever. `i can't tramp across three thousand miles of ocean. i could hardly tramp over three thousand miles of land, and when i did reach the pacific, if i could, there's the long sea journey from vancouver up to alaska, and another tramp there. no, uncle,' i said, `it isn't to be done. i've gone into it all carefully, and cut it as fine as i might, it will take fifty pounds for outfit and carriage to get to klondike.' "`fifty! why, you said a hundred,' he growled. `that's coming down. want the other fifty to play billiards and poker?' "`no, i don't,' i said, speaking as sharply as he did; `i want that fifty pounds to leave with poor old aunt. i can't and won't go and leave her penniless.'" "ah!" sighed the listener--almost groaned. "well, wouldn't you have done the same?" "yes, yes. go on--go on." "there isn't much more to tell. i'm pretty close to the end. what do you think the old boy said?" "i know--i know," came back in a whisper. "that you don't," cried the narrator, who, in spite of their horrible position, burst out into a ringing laugh. "he just said `bah!' and came at me as if he were going to bundle me out of the door, for he clapped his hands on my shoulders and shook me fiercely. then he banged me down into a chair, and went to one of those old, round-fronted secretary desks, rolled up the top with a rush, took a cheque-book out of a little drawer, dashed off a cheque, signed and blotted it, and thrust it into my hand. "`there, it's open,' he said. `you can get it cashed at the bank, and send your aunt the fifty as soon as you're gone. be off at once, and don't say a word to a soul. here; give me back that cheque.' "i gave it back to him. "`now, swear you won't tell a soul i lent you that money, nor that you are going off!' "`i give you my word of honour, uncle.' "`that'll do,' he said. `catch hold, and be off. it's a loan, mind. you bring back a couple of sacks full of nuggets, and pay me again.' "`i will, uncle,' i said, `if i live.' "`if you live!' he said, staring at me. `of course you'll live. i'm seventy, and not near done. you're not a score. be off.' "and i came away and never said a word." "but you sent the fifty pounds to your poor old aunt?" "why, of course i did; but i shall never pay old `hard nut with the sweet kernel' his money back. god bless him, though, and i hope he'll know the reason why before he dies." "god bless him! yes," said the listener, in a deep, low voice that sounded very strange, and as if the speaker could hardly trust himself to speak. then they lay together in the darkness and silence for a time, till abel wray made an effort and said in his harsh, husky voice: "there, that's all. makes a fellow feel soft. think it's midnight yet?" "no, no," was whispered. "i'll strike a match and see." "no. we want every mouthful of air to breathe, or i should have struck one long ago." "of course. i never thought of it once. sleepy?" "no." "then fair play. tell me your story now." "there is no need. but tell me this; am i awake? have you told me all this, or have i dreamed it?" "i've told you it all, of course." "am i sane, or wandering in my head? it can't be true. i must be mad." "then i am, too. bah! as uncle morgan said. come, play fair; tell me how you came here?" "the same way as you did, and to get gold." "well, so i supposed. there, just as you like. i will not press you to tell me." "i tell you there is no need. for your story is mine. we thought as brothers with one brain; we made the same plan; we travelled with the same means; we supplied the dear old aunt and mother from the same true-hearted source. bel, old lad, don't you know me? it is i, dal, and we meet like this!" "great heaven!" gasped abel, in his low, husky whisper. "it has turned his brain. impossible! yes, that is it; the air is turning hot and strange at last, and this has driven me mad. it is all a wandering dream." chapter seven. fevered dreams. "it is _no_ wandering dream, bel. i tell you i seem to have been inspired to do exactly the same as you did, and i went to uncle morgan, who treated me just as he treated you." "yes, a dream--off my head," said abel wray, in his harsh whisper. "no, no, old fellow," cried dallas; "it is all true. uncle was never so strange to me before. it was because you had been to him first. it is wonderful. your voice is so changed i did not know it, and in the darkness i never saw your face." "yes--delirious," croaked abel. "they say it is so before death." "nonsense, nonsense, lad! i came back just in time to save you, and now we have been saved, too, from a horrible death. after a bit we shall be stronger, and shall be able to see which way to begin tunnelling our way out to life again. cheer up; we have got through the worst, and as soon as we are free we'll join hands and work together, so that we can show them at home that we have not come out in vain. how are you now?" a low rumbling utterance was the reply, and dallas leaned towards him, feeling startled. "don't you hear me?" he cried. "why don't you answer?" "dear old dal--to begin dreaming of him now," came in a low muttering. "no, no; i tell you that it is all true." "all right, uncle," croaked abel. "not an hour longer than it takes to scrape together enough. ha, ha, ha! and i thought you so hard and brutal to me. eh? but you're not. it was a dreadful take in. i say!" "yes, yes, old fellow. what?" "don't say a word to dear old dal. let him stop and take care of aunt, and let them think i've shuffled out of the trouble. i'll show them when i come back." "bel, old fellow," cried dallas, seizing his cousin's hand, "what is it? don't talk in that wild way." "that's right, uncle," croaked abel. "we two used to laugh about you and call you the hard nut. so you are; but there's the sweet white kernel inside, and i swear i'll never lie down to sleep again without saying a word first for you. i say, one word," cried the poor fellow, grasping his cousin's hand hard: "you'll do something for old dal, uncle? i'll pay you again. i don't want to see him roughing it as i shall out there for the gold--yes, for the gold--the rich red gold. ah, that's cool and nice." for in his horror and alarm dallas had laid a hand upon his cousin's temples, to find them burning: but the poor fellow yielded to the gentle pressure, and slowly subsided on to the rough couch they had made, and there he lay muttering for a time, but starting at intervals to cough, as if his injured throat troubled him with a choking sensation, till his ravings grew less frequent, and he sank into a deep sleep. "this is worse than all!" groaned dallas. "had i not enough to bear? his head is as if it were on fire. fever--fever from his injury and the shock of all he has gone through. i thought he was talking wildly towards the last." as he spoke he was conscious of a sharp throbbing pang in his shoulder, and he laid a hand upon the place that he had forgotten; while now he woke to the fact that when he tried to think what it would be best to do for his cousin, the effort was painful, and the sensation came back that all this must be a feverish dream. he clapped his hands to his face. it and his brow were burning hot, and he knew that he was growing confused; so much so that he rose to his knees, then to his feet, and took a step or two, to stand wondering, for his senses left him for a moment or two, and then a strange thing befell him. a black veil seemed to have fallen in front of his eyes, and he was lost, utterly lost, and he had not the least idea where he was or what had been taking place during the past twenty-four hours. he stretched out his hands and touched the compressed snow, which was dripping with moisture; but that gave him no clue, for his mind seemed to be a perfect blank, and with a horrible feeling of despair he leaned forward to try and escape from the black darkness, when his burning brow came in contact with the icy wall of his prison, and it was like an electric shock. his position came back in a flash. self was forgotten, and he sank upon his knees to feel for his cousin, horror-stricken now by the great dread that the poor fellow might die with him by his side quite unable to help. he forgot that but a short time back he was advocating a brave meeting of their fate. for since he had awakened to the fact that his boyhood's companion was with him, hope had arisen, and with it the determination to wait patiently till morning and then fight their way back to the light. now all seemed over. abel was terribly injured, fever had supervened, and he would die for want of help; while he, who would freely have given his life that abel might live, was utterly helpless, and there was that terrible sensation of being lost coming on again. he pressed his head against the snow, but there was no invigorating sense of revival again--nothing but a curious, worrying feeling. then he was conscious for a few moments that abel was muttering loudly, but the injury to his shoulder was graver than he had imagined, and the feverish symptoms which follow a wound were increasing, so that before long he too had sunk into a nightmare-like sleep, conscious of nothing but the strange, bewildering images which haunted his distempered brain; and these were divided between his vain efforts to flee from some terrible danger, and to drag the heavily laden hand-sledge between two ice-covered rocks too close together to allow it to pass. chapter eight. the fight for life. "yes! yes! what is it?" somebody had spoken in the black darkness, but it was some minutes before dallas adams could realise the fact that the words came from his own lips. then he heard a faint whisper from somewhere close by, and he was this time wide awake, and knew that he was answering that whisper. "where am i? what place is this?" the question had come to him in his sleep, and for a few moments, so familiar were the sounds, he felt that he must have the tubes of a phonograph to his ears, and he listening to the thin, weird, wiry tones of his cousin's voice. then, like a flash, all came back, and he knew not only that he had been asleep, but everything that had happened some time before. "bel, old lad," he said huskily, and he winced with pain as he tried to stretch out his left hand. "ah!" came again in the faint whisper, "that you, dal?" "yes, yes. how are you now?" "then it isn't all a delirious dream?" "no, no; we have been brought together almost miraculously." "thank god--thank god!" came feebly. "i thought i had been off my head. have i been asleep?" "yes, and i fell asleep too. my wound made me feverish, and we must have been lying here ever so long in the dark." "your wound, dal?" "yes; i had almost forgotten it in what we had to go through, but one of the scoundrels shot me. it is only a scratch, but my arm seems set fast." "ah! do you think they were buried alive too?" came in an eager whisper. "who can say, old fellow? but never mind that. how do you feel? think you can help me?" "tie up your wound?" "no, no. help me try and dig our way out." "i think so. my head feels a bit light, but it's my throat that is bad--all swollen up so that i can only whisper." "never mind your throat so long as you can use your arms." "think we can dig our way out?" dallas uttered a little laugh. "why not?" he said. "there is a pick and shovel on my sledge." "ah, yes, and on mine too." "we were out of heart last night," continued dallas, encouragingly, "and in the scare thought we were done for. but we can breathe; we shall not suffer for want of food; the melted snow will give us drink; and once we can determine which way to dig, what is to prevent our finding our way to daylight again?" "our position," said abel, in his faint whisper. "where are we to put the snow we dig out?" dallas was silent for a few moments. "yes," he said at last; "that will be a difficulty, for we must not fill up this place. but never mind that for the present. we must eat and drink now, for we shall want all our strength. pressed snow is almost like ice. ah, here is the sledge--mine or yours. my head is too thick to tell which. bel, lad, we are going to dig our way out, if it takes us a month." "yes," came rather more strongly; and the next minute dallas adams was feeling about the sledge for the tin which held the traveller's food. it was hard work fumbling there in the dark, for parts of the sledge were pressed and wedged down by snow that was nearly as hard as ice; but others were looser, and by degrees he managed to get part of the tin free, when he started, for something touched his arm. "can i help you, dal?" "how you made me jump, lad! i don't know. feel strong enough?" "i think so; but i want to work. it's horrible lying there fancying the top of this hole is going to crumble down every time you move some of the snow." "lay hold here, then, and let's try and drag this tin out." they took hold of it as well as their cramped position would allow, and tugged and tugged, feeling the tin case bend and grow more and more out of shape; but it would not come. "no good," said dallas. "i'll cut through the tin with my knife." "but it's looser now. let's have one more try." "very well.--got hold?--now then, both together." they gave a sudden jerk, and fell backward with the once square tin case upon them, lying still and horrified, for there was a dull creaking and crushing noise as if the snow was being pressed down to fill up the vacancy they had made, and then _crick, crack_, sharply; there was the sound of breaking, as portions of the sledge gave way from the weight above. abel caught his cousin's hand to squeeze it hard, fully expecting that their last moments had come; but after a minute's agony the sounds ceased, and the prisoners breathed more freely. "it's all right, bel," said dallas; "but it did sound rather creepy." "hah!" ejaculated abel. "i thought--" "yes, so did i, old fellow; but it's a mistake to think at a time like this. we only frighten ourselves. now then, let's see what we've got." "see?" said abel bitterly. "yes, with the tips of our fingers. it's all right, i tell you; rats and mice and rabbits don't make a fuss about being in burrows." "they're used to it, dal; we're not." "then let's get used to it, lad. i say, suppose we were getting gold here, instead of a biscuit-tin; we shouldn't make a fuss about being buried. why, it's just what we should like." "i suppose so," replied abel. "it's what we shall have to do, perhaps, by-and-by. this is a sort of lesson, and it will make the rest easy." "if we get out." "get out? pish! we shall get out soon. the sun and the rain will thaw us out if we don't dig a way. hullo! the lid's off the tin, and the biscuits are half of them in the snow. never mind. set to work and eat, while i pick up all i can find. i'm hungry. peck away, lad, and think you're a squirrel eating your winter store. i say, who would think one could be so warm and snug surrounded by snow?" abel made no reply, but tried to eat, as he heard the cracking and crunching going on at his side. it was hard work, though, and he went on slowly, for the effort to swallow was accompanied by a good deal of pain, and he ceased long before dallas gave up. "how are you getting on?" the latter said in an encouraging tone. "badly." "yes, they are dry; but wait till we get our gold. we'll have a banquet to make up for this. by jove!" "what is it?" "i forgot about your throat. it hurts?" "horribly. but i can manage." dallas said no more, but thought a great deal; and after placing the tin aside he turned to the sledge to try whether he could not get at the shovel bound to it somewhere, for the package was pressed all on one side by the snow. after a long search he found one corner of the blade, and drawing his big sharp knife, he set to work chipping and digging with the point, with the result that in about an hour he dragged out the tool. "now," he said, "we can get to work turn and turn. the thing is, where to begin, for i have not seen the slightest glimmer of light." "no; we must be buried very deep." "say pretty deep. which way shall we try?" "up by the rock, and slope upward where the air seems to come." "that's right. just what i thought. and, look here, bel, there's room for a couple of cartloads of snow or more about us here, and my plan is this: one will dig upward, and of course the snow will fall down of its own weight. as it comes down the other must keep filling that biscuit-tin and carrying it to the far end yonder and emptying it." "and bury the sledge and the food." "no: we can get a great deal disposed of before we come to that. look here--i mean, feel here. we have plenty of room to stand up where we are. well, that means that we can raise the floor. so long as we have room to lie down, that is all we want." "yes, i suppose so." "after a while we must get out all the food we want and take it with us in the tunnel we make higher and higher as we go." "yes, that sounds reasonable," said abel thoughtfully. "we shall be drawing the snow down and trampling it hard beneath our feet." "and, i believe, be making a bigger chamber about us as we work up towards the light." "keeping close to the face of the rock, too," said abel, "will ensure our having one side of our sloping tunnel safe. that can never cave in." "well done, engineer!" cried dallas laughingly. "here were we thinking last night of dying. why, the very remembrance of the way in which animals burrow has quite cheered me up." "that and the thought that we may have to mine underground for our gold," replied abel. "shall i begin?" "no; you're weak yet, and it will be easier to clear away my workings." without another word the young man felt his way to the end of their little hole, tapped the rock with the shovel, and then stood perfectly still. "what is it?" asked abel. "i was trying to make out where the air comes from, and i think i have hit it. i shall try and slope up here." striking out with the shovel and trying to cut a square passage for his ascent, he worked away for the next hour, the snow yielding to his efforts much more freely than he had anticipated; and as he worked abel tried hard to keep up with him, filling the tin, bearing it to the other end beyond the sledges, and piling up the snow, trampling down the loads as he went on. twice over he offered to take his cousin's place; but dallas worked on, hour after hour, till both were compelled to give up from utter exhaustion, and they lay down now in their greatly narrowed cave to eat. this latter had its usual result, and almost simultaneously they fell asleep. how long they had been plunged in deep slumber, naturally, they could not tell. night and day were the same to them; and as dallas said, from the hunger they felt they might have been hibernating in a torpid state for a week, for aught they knew. they ate heartily of the biscuits, abel's throat being far less painful, and once more the dull sound of the shovel began in a hollow, muffled way. a couple of hours must have passed, at the end of which time so much snow had accumulated at the foot of the sloping shaft that dallas was compelled to descend and help his fellow-prisoner. "this will not do," he said. "we must get out some more provisions before we bury the sledges entirely." "there is enough biscuit to keep us alive for a couple of days," replied abel. "let us chance getting out, and not stop to encumber ourselves with more provisions." "it is risky, but i fancy that i am getting nearer the air. go up and try yourself." abel went up the sloping tunnel to the top with ease, dallas having clipped steps out of the ice, and after breathing hard for a few minutes the younger man came down. "you must be getting nearer the top. i can breathe quite freely there." "yes, and the snow is not so hard." "chance it, then, and go on digging," said abel eagerly. "i will get the snow away. i can manage so much more easily if i may put it down anywhere. it gets trampled with my coming and going." dallas crept up to his task once more and toiled away, till, utterly worn out, both made another meal and again slept. twice over this was repeated, and all idea of time was lost; still they worked on, cheered by the feeling that they must be nearing liberty. however, the plan arranged proved impossible in its entirety, the rock bulging out in a way which drove the miner to entirely alter the direction of his sap. but the snow hour after hour grew softer, and the difficulty of cutting less, till all at once, as dallas struck with his spade, it went through into a cavity, and a rush of cool air came into the sloping tunnel. "heavenly!" cried the worker, breathing freely now. "i'll slip down, bel. you must come up and have a mouthful of this." he descended to the bottom, and abel took the spade and went to his place. "the shovel goes through quite easily here," he said excitedly. "yes, and what is beyond?" shouted dallas. "can you see daylight?" "no; all is black as ink. it must be a hole in the snow. we must get into it, for the air comes quite pure and fresh, and that means life and hope." in his excitement he struck out with the shovel twice, and had drawn it back to strike again, when there was a dull heavy crack, and he felt himself borne sidewise and carried along, with the snow rising up and covering his face. the next minute, as he vainly strove to get higher, the movement ceased, and he felt himself locked in the embrace of the snow, while his breathing stopped. only for a moment, before the hardening crystal which surrounded his head dropped away, and a rush of pure air swept over him and seemed to bring back life. then the sliding movement entirely ceased, and he wildly shouted his cousin's name. his voice echoed from somewhere above, telling him that, though a prisoner, he was free down to the shoulders, though his arms were pinned. but there was no other reply to the call, and he turned sick and faint with the knowledge that dallas must be once more buried deep, and far below. around all was black darkness, and in his agony another desperate effort was made; but the snow had moulded itself around him nearly to the neck, and he could not stir a limb. chapter nine. under pressure. the fit of delirium which once more attacked abel wray was merciful, inasmuch as it darkened his intellect through the long hours of that terrible night, and he awoke at last with the level rays of the sun showing him his position in a hollow of a tremendous waste of snow, while fifty yards away the sides of the rocky valley towered up many hundred feet above his head. but it was daylight, and instead of the ravine seeming a place of horror and darkness, the snow-covered mountains flashed gloriously in the bright sunshine, whose warm glow brought with it hope and determination, in spite of the terrible sense of imprisonment, and the inability to move from the icy bonds. the great suffering was not bodily, but mental, and not selfish, for the constantly recurring question was, how was it with dallas? but the sunshine was laden with hope. dallas was shut in again, but he had the tools and provisions with him, and he would be toiling hard to tunnel a way out, _if_-- yes, there was that terrible "if." but abel kept it back; for it was quite possible that he might still be getting a sufficient supply of air to keep him alive. how to lend him help? there was the face of the vast cliff some fifty yards away, and it was close up to it that they had been first buried, the fresh collapse, when the snow had fallen away and borne him with it, having taken him the above distance. it was probable, then, that dallas would not be now very far below the glittering surface of the snow. how to get at him? abel's first thought was to free one arm. if he could do that he might possibly be able to get at his knife, dragging it from the sheath at his waist. then the work would be comparatively easy, for he could dig away the partly consolidated snow in which he was cased, and throw it from him. he set to, struggling hard, but without effect, for it seemed to him that he was only working with his will, his muscles refusing to help; and by degrees the full truth dawned upon him, that the absence of pain was due to the fact that his body was quite benumbed, and a horrible sensation of fear came over him, with the belief that all beneath the snow must be frozen, and that he could do absolutely nothing to save his life. even as he thought this the benumbed sensation seemed to be rising slowly towards his brain. "in a short time all will be over," he groaned aloud, "and poor dal will be left there, buried, thinking i have escaped and have left him to his fate. is there no way to escape from this icy prison?" he wrenched his head round as far as he could, first on one side, and then on the other; but it was always the same--the narrow valley with its stupendous walls, no longer black and horrible with its unseen horrors in the darkness of the night, but a wondrous way to a city of towers and palaces gorgeous to behold. his eyes ached with the flashing beauties of the scene. it was not the golden klondike of his dreams, but a land of silver, whose turrets and spires and minarets were jewelled with diamonds, rubies, and emeralds; whose shadows were of sapphire blue or darker amethyst; and whose rays flashed and mingled till he was fain to close his eyes and ask himself whether what he saw was part of some dazzling dream. he looked again, to see that it was no vision, but a scene of beauty growing more and more intense as the sun rose higher. the darkness had fled to display these wonders; there was not a chasm or gully that was not enlightened--everywhere save within the sufferer's darkened soul. there all was the blackness of despair. but black despair cannot stay for long in the breast of youth. hope began to chase it away, and inanimate though the body was, the brain grew more active, offering suggestion after suggestion as to how he might escape. the sun was growing hotter minute by minute, and the reflections from the pure white ice almost painful. already, too, its effects were becoming visible. just where the warm rays played on the edge of a gap whose lower portions were of an exquisite turquoise blue, tiny crystal-like drops were forming, and as abel wray gazed at them with straining eyes he saw two run together into one, which kept gradually increasing in size till it grew too heavy for its adhesion to last, and it fell out of sight. only a drop of water, but it was the end of may; the snows would be melting, and before long millions of such drops would have formed and run together to make trickling rivulets coursing along the snow; these would soon grow into rushing torrents, and the snow would fall away, and he would be free. "what madness!" he groaned. "it will thaw rapidly till the sun is off, and then freeze once more, and perhaps another avalanche will come. yes, i shall be thawed out some day, and some one may come along in the future and find my bones." he shuddered, for it was getting black within once more, and a delirious feeling of horror began to master him, bringing with it thoughts of what might come. bears would be torpid in their snow-covered lairs; but wolves! he felt as if he could shriek aloud, and he had to set his teeth hard as his eyes rolled round and up and down the gorge in search of some wandering pack that would scent him out at once, and in imagination he went through the brain-paralysing horror of seeing them approach, with their red, hungry, glaring eyes, their foam-slavered lips and glistening teeth. there they were, five, seven, nine of them, gliding over the snow a hundred yards away, their shadows cast by the sun upon the dazzling white surface, and he uttered a hoarse cry and his head sank sideways as he closed his eyes in the reaction. no wolves, only the few magnified shapes of a covey of snow grouse, the ryper of the scandinavian land, which, after running for a while, rose and passed over him with whirring wings, seeking the lower part of the valley, where the snow was swept away. abel drew a long, deep breath, and then set his teeth once more as he upbraided himself for his cowardice. for was he not on the highway--the main track to the golden land; and was it not a certainty that before long other adventurers would pass that way? what was that? the prisoner listened, with every nerve on the strain, and it was repeated. so great was the tension, that as soon as the sound came for the second time the listener uttered a wild shriek of joy. it was hardly a cry. he had struggled to free himself from his icy bonds to go to his cousin's help, and awakened to the fact that he was helpless, and he had dared to despair, when all the time dallas was alive and toiling hard to come and free him. the sensation of joy and delight was almost maddening, and he listened again. there it was--a dull, low, indescribable sound which appealed to him all through, for he felt it more with his chest than with his ears. it was a kind of a jar which came through the snow, communicated from particle to particle, telegraphed to him by the worker below, and it told that dallas was strong and well, and striving hard to get free. how long would it take him to dig his way through? not long, for he could not be so deep down now. he waited, counting every stroke of the shovel, and a fresh joy thrilled the listener, for those light jars sent fresh hope in waves, telling him as they did that though he was so benumbed, his body must be full of sensation. it could not be deadened by the cold. "bah! i must naturally be a coward at heart," the poor fellow said to himself. "dal's worth a dozen of me. _i_ think of helping him? pooh! it is always he who takes that _role_." but his mind went back again to the one thought--how long would it take dallas to dig his way out in spite of his wound? not so very long--the strokes of the shovel came so regularly. but what an escape for both! "not free yet, though," muttered the prisoner. "that's right, work away, dal. your muscles were always stronger than mine. get out and we'll reach the gold yet, and win the prize we came for.--i wonder whether he could hear me if i shouted!" he bowed his head as far as he could, nearly touching the snow with his lips. "dal, ahoy! ahoy!" he shouted; and a few moments after came the answer, "ahoy--ahoy-oy-oy!" from the icy rocks up the valley. "only the echoes," muttered abel, as the sounds died away. then he started, for the hail came again, loud and clear, "ahoy! ahoy-- ahoy-oy-oy!" and then once more the echoes. but the hail was from down the narrow valley, and these echoes were from above. "hurrah! help coming!" cried abel wildly. "ahoy, there! help!" he wrenched his head round to utter the cry, and was conscious of a heavy pang in his injured throat. but what of that at such a time, when the cry was answered by another? "ahoy! ahoy!" no deceiving echo, for in addition came, "where are yer?" and that was echoed too. abel's lips parted to reply, but a chill of despair shot through every nerve once more, and he uttered a bitter groan. there they were--there could be no doubt of it. the three cowardly, treacherous ruffians had escaped, and he was calling them to his help. not four hundred yards down the valley, plainly to be seen in the broad sunshine, all three of them, two dragging a heavily laden sledge, the other, the big-bearded ruffian, a short distance in front, in the act of putting his hands to his mouth to shout again: "where away, o?" "will they see me with just my head out like this? yes, they are certain to, for they must come by here. oh, dal, dal, old man, don't dig now. for heaven's sake, keep still: they're coming to finish their horrid work." chapter ten. a human fossil. "you be blowed!" cried a bluff cheery voice. "eckers be jiggered! think i don't know the difference between a hecker an' a nail?" "no." "don't i? i heered some one holloa, and as i don't believe in ghosts, i say some one must be here. ahoy! where are you, mate?" the speaker turned from his two companions, who were dragging the sledge up the slope of the snow-fall, and then smote one thigh heavily with the palm of his great hand. "i'm blest!" he shouted, as he ran a few steps and dropped on one knee by abel's head. "no, no; don't give in now, my lad. hold up, and we'll soon have you out o' this pickle. here, out with shovels and pecks, lads. here's a director of the frozen meat company caught in his own trap. specimen o' horsestralian mutton froze hard and all alive o. here, mate, take a sup o' this." the speaker unscrewed the top of a large flask, and held it to abel's lips, trickling a few drops between them as the head fell back and the poor fellow nearly swooned away. "that's your sort. never mind its being strong. i'd put some snow in it, but you've had enough of that. coming round, you are. what's it been--a heavy 'lanche?" "yes, yes," gasped abel; "but never mind me." "what! want to be cut out carefully as a curiosity--fly-in-amber sort of a fellow?" "no, no--my cousin! buried alive, man. hark! you can hear him digging underground." the great sturdy fellow, who bore some resemblance to ruddy-haired beardy, sufficient in the distance and under the circumstances of his excitement to warrant abel's misapprehension, stared at the snow prisoner for a few moments as if he believed him to be insane. "he's off his 'ead, mates, with fright," he said in a low voice to his companions, who were freeing the shovels; but abel heard him. "no, no," he cried wildly. "i know what i am saying. listen." the great, frank-looking fellow laid his ear to the snow, and leaped up again. "he's right," he roared excitedly. "there's some one below--how many were with you, my lad?" "only my cousin--we were buried together--but don't talk--dig, dig!" "yes, both of you, slip into it. just here," cried the big man, "while i get the pick and fetch this one out." "no, no, not there," cried abel frantically. "dig yonder, there by the rock wall." "what, right over yonder? sound's here." "go and listen there," cried abel. "can you hold out?" "yes, yes; hours now. save my cousin; for heaven's sake, quick!" one of the men had gone quickly to the rocky wall, knelt down and listened, and shouted back. "he's right," cried this latter. "you can hear some one moleing away quite plain." "dig, dig!" shouted abel, and two of the new-comers began at once, while the leader of the party went to their sledge and dragged a sharp-pointed miner's pick from where it was lashed on. "no, no," cried abel imploringly, as the man returned to his side; "save him." "you keep quiet, my lad. i'm a-going to save you." "but i can breathe," cried abel. "so can he, or he couldn't go on working. two heavy chaps is quite enough to be tramping over his head. don't want my sixteen stone to tread it hard. have a drop more o' this 'fore i begin?" "no, no! it is burning my mouth still." "good job too: put some life into you, just when you looked as if you was going to bye-bye for good. now then, don't you be skeart. i know how to use a pick; been used to it in the corn'll tin-mines. i could hit anywhere to half a shadow round you without taking the skin off. i'll soon have you out." he began at once, driving the pick into the compressed snow; but after the first half-dozen strokes, seeing how the fragments flew, he took off his broad-brimmed felt hat and laid it against abel's head as a screen. then commencing again he made the chips fly in showers which glittered in the sunshine, as he walked backward, cutting a narrow trench with the sharp-pointed implement, taking the prisoner's head as a centre and keeping about thirty inches distant, and so on, round and round till the channel he cut was as deep as the arm of the pick, and quite clear. "feel bad?" he said, pausing for a few moments. "no, no," cried abel. "how are they getting on?" "better'n me. if we don't look sharp your mate--what did you say he was--cousin?--'ll be out first." "i hope so," sighed abel. "now then, shut your eyes, my son," cried the miner. "i'm going to cut from you now. lean your head away as much as you can. i've cut the tire and felloes of the wheel; your head's the nave; now i'm going to cut the spokes." _click, click, click_, went the pick. "don't you flinch, my son," cried the man. "i won't hit you." abel had winced several times over, for the bright steel tool had whizzed by him dangerously close; but he grew more confident now, and, as much as he could for the sheltering hat, he watched the wonderful progress made by his rescuer, who at the end of a few minutes had deeply cut two more channels after the fashion of the spokes running from the centre to the periphery of the imaginary wheel. after this, a few well-directed blows brought out the intervening snow in great pieces, and upon these being cleared out another clever blow broke the gathered snow right up to the young man's left arm, leaving seven or eight inches below the shoulder clear. "that's your sort, my son," cried the miner cheerily, chatting away, but keeping the pick flying the while. "the best way to have got you out would have been with a tamping iron, making a nice hole, dropping in a dynamite cartridge, and popping it off. that would have sent this stuff flying, only it might have blowed you all to bits, which wouldn't have been pleasant. this is the safest way. how are you gettin' on, mates?" "all right. he's 'live enough, bob." "work away, then. look here, my son, i did think of spoking you all round, but i'm beginning to think it'll be better to keep on at you this side, and then take you out of your mould sidewise like. there won't be so much cutting to do, and you'll have one side clear sooner. what do you say?" "i want you to go and help your companions," replied abel faintly. "then i'm sorry i can't oblige you," cried the man cheerily. "look at that now! this fresh stuff hasn't had time to get very hard. after a few thawings and freezings it would be like clear solid ice. it's pretty firm, but--there's another. soon let daylight down by your ribs. i want to get that hand and arm clear first so as you can hold the hat to shade your face." and all the time he chatted away, coolly enough, the pick was wielded so dexterously, every blow being given to such purpose, that he cut out large pieces of the compressed snow and hooked them out of the rapidly growing hole. it was the work of a man who had toiled for years amongst the granite deep down in the bowels of the earth, and experience had taught him the value of striking so as to save labour; but all the same the task was a long one, and it grew more difficult the deeper down he went. "'bliged to make the hole bigger, my son," he said; "but you hold up; i sha'n't be long now. i say, how deep down do you go? are you a six-footer?" "no, i'm only about five feet eight," said abel, whose face looked terribly pained and drawn. "aren't you now?" said the man coolly. "i should ha' thought by the look of your head and chest that you were taller. been a longer job with me. i'm over six foot three, and good measure. there, now that arm's clear, aren't it? can you lift it out?" abel shook his head sadly. "there is no use in it," he said faintly. "might ha' knowed it. bit numb like with the cold. but you keep a good heart, and i'll have you out. it's only a bit o' work, and no fear of caving in on us. just child's play like. there's one arm clear, and a bit of your side, and the rest'll soon follow." the man paused in the act of getting the the top off the spirit-flask, and shouted to his companions, "hoi! here, quick, lads, and help me here. my one's going out." for a ghastly look crossed abel's face, his eyes grew fixed, as they half-closed, and his head fell over on one side. chapter eleven. a coward blow. the two men who had been fighting hard to reach dallas, the sound of whose strokes seemed nearer than ever, rushed to their companion, who had begun chafing the buried man's face and temples, with the result that abel raised his head again and looked wildly round. "i thought he was a goner, my sons," whispered the big fellow. "go on back to your chap; i'll manage here." the two men, who were excited by their task, rushed back again, and their companion moistened abel's lips. the man began to work his pick again with wonderful rapidity, enlarging the hole, and every now and then giving a furtive glance at the prisoner and another in the direction where his companions were tearing out the icy snow. the great drops stood on the big cornishman's face as he toiled away, enlarging the hole down beside abel wray, and all the time he kept up a cheery rattle of talk about how useful a tool a pick was, and how the lad he was helping--and whom he kept on calling "my son"--ought to have brought one of the same kind for the gold working to come; but the look in his big grey eyes looked darker and more sombre as he saw a grey aspect darkening the countenance of the prisoner--the air he had seen before in the faces of men whom he had helped to rescue after a fall of roof in one of the home mines. "he'll be a goner before i get him out if i don't mind," he said to himself, and the pick rattled, and the icy snow flashed as he struck here and there, only ceasing now and then to stoop and throw out some big lump which he had detached. "better fun this, my son," he said with a laugh, "if all this was rich ore to be powdered up. fancy, you know--gold a hundredweight to the ton. rather different to our quartz rock at home, with just a sprinkle of tin that don't pay the labour. "hah!" he cried at last, from where he stood in the well-like shaft he had cut, and threw down his pick on the snow. "now you ought to come." he rose, took hold of abel as he spoke, and found that his calculations were right, for very little effort was required to draw him forward from out of the snowy mould in which he was belted; and the next minute the poor fellow lay insensible upon the snow, with his rescuer kneeling by him, once more trickling spirit between the blue lips. "can't swallow," muttered the man, and he screwed up the flask, and set to work rubbing his patient vigorously, regardless of what was going on beneath the rocky wall, till there was a loud cheer, and his two companions came towards him, each holding by and shaking hands heartily with dallas adams. for they had mined down to where they could meet him as he toiled upward to escape; and the first words of dallas, when he was drawn out hot and exhausted, were a question about his cousin. the pair set at liberty joined in now in the endeavour to resuscitate the poor fellow lying on the snow. their sledge was unpacked, double blankets laid down, and the sufferer lifted upon them, friction liberally applied to the limbs, and at last they had the satisfaction of seeing him unclose his eyes, to stare blindly for a time. then consciousness returned, there was a look of joy flashing out, and he uttered the words hoarsely: "dal! saved!" "yes, yes, all right, old lad, thanks to these true fellows here. how are you?" "arms, hands, and legs burning and throbbing horribly. i can hardly bear the pain." the big cornishman laughed. "only the hot-ache, my son," he said merrily. "that's a splendid sign. you're not frost-bitten." "god bless you for all you have done," cried abel, catching at the big fellow's hand. "i couldn't hold out any longer." "of course you couldn't. why, your pluck was splendid." "thank him, dal," cried abel. "he has saved my life." "yah! fudge! gammon! stuff! we don't want no thanking. you two lads would have done the same. we don't want to be preached at. tommy bruff, my son, what do you say to a fire, setting the billy to boil, and a bit o' brax'uss?" "same as you do, laddie. cup o' tea'll be about the right thing for these two." there was plenty of scrub pine at hand, swept down by the snow-fall, and sticking out here and there. axes were got to work, and soon after the two sufferers were seated, covered with fur-lined coats, and revelling in the glow of the fire, over which a big tin was steaming, while their new friends were busy bringing out cake, bread, tea, and bacon from their store in the partly unpacked sledge. the big, bearded cornishman had started a black pipe, and while his companions replenished the fire and prepared for the meal, he sat on a doubled-up piece of tarpaulin, and wiped, dried, and polished picks, shovels, and axes ready for repacking. every now and then he paused to smile a big, happy, innocent-looking smile at the two who had been rescued, just as if he thoroughly enjoyed what had been done, and then, suddenly dropping the axe he was finishing, caught up a little measure of dry tea, and shouting, "there, she boils!" tossed it into the tin over the fire, lifted it off, and set it aside, and then laid the freshly polished tools on the sledge. soon after, refreshed by the tins of hot tea, the rescued pair were able to give an account of their adventures, the new-comers listening eagerly and making their comments. "ho!" said the big cornishman, frowning. "i expected we should come across some rough 'uns, but i didn't think it was going to be so bad as that. scared, mates?" "no," said one of his companions; "not yet." "nor yet me," said the other. "nor me neither," said the big fellow. "if it's going to be peace and work, man and man, so much the better; but if it's war over the gold, we shall have to fight. what's mine is mine, or ourn; and it'll go awkward for them as meddles with me. i'm a nasty-tempered dog if any one tries to take my bone away; aren't i, my sons?" the two men addressed bent their heads back and burst into a roar of laughter. "hark at him," said the man spoken to as tommy. "don't you believe him, my lads. he's a great big soft-roed pilchard; that's what he is. eh, dick humphreys?" "yes; like a great big gal," assented the other. "oh, am i?" said the big fellow. "you don't know, my sons. but i say, though," he continued, tapping the snow with his knuckles, "then for aught we know them three blacks is buried alive just under where we're sitting?" "i'm afraid so." "'fraid? what are you 'fraid on?" "it is a horrible death," said abel, with a shudder. "well, yes, i suppose it is," said the cornishman thoughtfully. "i say, we ought to get digging to find 'em, oughtn't we?" "we are not sure they are there," said dallas. "of course you are not," continued the miner, "and i don't believe they are. you see, your mate here took us for 'em. i believe natur' made a mistake and buried you two instead of them. if they are down below i haven't heard no signs of them, and they must be dead. why, it would take us a couple of years to clear all this stuff away, and we mightn't find 'em then. i say, though, what about your tackle?" "our sledges? they're buried deep down here." "we shall have to get them out, then. you two won't be able to get along without your traps." soon after an inspection of the position was made; one of the men descended into the hole they had dug close up to the rock wall, and he returned to give his opinion that by devoting a day to the task the shaft could be so enlarged that they could drive a branch down straight to the spot, and save the stores and tools, even if they could not get the sledges out whole. it took two days, though, during which no fresh comers appeared, the report of the snow-fall having stopped further progress. at the end of the above time, pretty well everything was saved by the help of the miner and his companions, who gallantly stood by them. "oh, we've got plenty of time," said their leader, "and if these sort o' games are going to be played, it strikes me that you two gents would be stronger if you made a sort o' co. along of us. don't if you don't care to. what do you say to trying how it worked for a bit?" this was gladly acceded to, and on the third day a move was made as far as the spot where the grim discovery had been made. here the party halted, and the corpse of the unfortunate was reverently covered by a cairn of stones, along with his faithful dog; after which a discussion arose as to what should be done with the poor fellow's implements and stores. "pity to leave 'em here," said one of the men. "only spoil. hadn't we better share 'em out." "perhaps so," said dallas. "you three can." "oh, but there's five on us, sir." "no, only three." "what do you say, bob?" said the first speaker. "i says bring the poor chap's sled along with us. if we're hard pushed we can use what's there; if we're not we sha'n't want it; and--well, i don't kind o' feel as if i should like any one to nobble my things like that. same time, i says it is no use to leave 'em to spoil." the next morning, with the young men little the worse for their adventure, they started onward, and for a couple of days made pretty good way, leaving the snow behind in their downward progress, till all further advance was stopped by the change for which they had been prepared before starting. the watershed had been crossed, and they had reached the head waters of one of the tributaries of the vast yukon river of the three thousand miles flow. the spot they had reached was a long, narrow lake, surrounded at the upper end by fir-woods. the rest of the route was to be by water, and here a suitable raft had to be made. "fine chance for a chap to set up boatbuilding," said big bob. "what do you say? i believe we should make more money over the job than by going to dig it out." "let's try the gold-digging first," said dallas; and with a cheer the men set to work at the trees selected, the axes ringing and the pine-chips flying in the bright sunshine till trunk after trunk fell with a crash, to be lopped and trimmed and dragged down to the water's edge ready for rough notching out to form the framework of such a raft as would easily bear the adventurers, their sledges and stores, down the lake and through the torrents and rapids of the river in its wild and turbulent course. the sledges were drawn up together in a triangle to form a shelter to the fire they had lit for cooking, for the wind came down sharply from the mountains. rifles and pistols lay with the sledges, for the little party of five had stripped to their work, so that, save for the axes they used, they were unarmed. but no thought of danger occurred to any one present; that was postponed in imagination till they had finished the raft and embarked for a twenty-mile sail down to where the river, which entered as a shallow mountain torrent, rushed out, wonderfully augmented, to tear northward in a series of wild rapids, which would need all the strength and courage of the travellers to navigate them in safety. a hearty laugh was ringing out, for the big cornishman had rather boastingly announced that he could carry one of the fallen trees easily to the lake, put it to the proof, slipped, and gone head first into the water after the tree, when a sharp crack rang out from near at hand. abel uttered a loud cry, clapped his hands to his head, and fell backward. for a moment or two the men stood as if paralysed, gazing at the fallen youth. then dallas looked sharply round, caught sight of a thin film of smoke curling up from the edge of the forest, and with a cry of rage ran toward the sledges, thrusting the handle of his axe through his belt, caught up his revolver from where it lay, and dashed towards the spot whence the firing must have come. chapter twelve. wholesale robbery. "keep together--keep together!" shouted the big cornishman; but no one heeded, and he followed their example of seizing the first weapon he could reach and following. the pursuit was short, for it seemed madness to follow in amongst the dense pines which formed the forest, placing themselves at the mercy of an enemy who could bring them down as they struggled through the dense thicket of fallen trees and tangled branches: so, after a few rallying cries, they made their way back to the open space by the lake, to find abel sitting up and resting his head upon his hand. "wounded!" panted dallas. "yes--no! i can't tell! look!" said the injured man huskily. a few minutes' examination showed how narrow had been his escape, a bullet having struck the side of the poor fellow's head, just abrading the scalp. half an inch lower must have meant death. "injuns," said the cornishman laconically. "no, no," cried dallas, with a fierce look round; "it must be our enemies." "not they, my lad; they're fast asleep under the snow, you may take your oath. it's injuns, by the way they hid themselves. now, then, can you keep watch--sentry go?" he said, addressing abel. "yes, it was only a graze from the bullet; i am better now." "then you take a loaded rifle and keep watch while we go on knocking the raft together." "yes," cried dallas, "the sooner we get away from here the better." all set to work with feverish energy at the raft-making. enough wood was cut, and by clever notching together, the use of spikes, and a further strengthening with rope, the framework rapidly progressed, their intention being to launch, load up, and set off that evening, so as to get to a safer spot. abel carefully kept his watch, scanning the dark edge of the forest; but there was no further interruption, and the men worked away, with only a brief pause for refreshment. then the sun dipped below the pines, and as darkness approached dallas let his axe rest on the young pine he had been trimming, and turned to his companions, with a look of despair in his eyes. "yes," said the cornishman good-humouredly, "we cut out more stuff than we can finish to-night, my son. it's a bigger job than i thought. we shall have to knock off now. what's to be done about the fire?" it was risky work, but the watch was well kept while water was boiled and bacon fried. then a hasty meal was made, and as the darkness fell the fire was quenched by throwing over it a bucket or two of water. it was hard enough to do this, for though the ground was clear about them, snow lay on every rocky hill, and the night promised to be bitterly cold. but the exposure to an enemy would have been too great; so after selecting one of the huge spruces whose boughs hung down to the ground for a shelter, and dragging the sledges close in, the question arose of continuing the watch. "tchah! it's as dark as pitch," said the cornishman. "nobody could see. let the enemy think we're watching. they won't come. we must chance it. wrap up well, and have a good night's rest." this advice was taken, and soon after all were sleeping the sleep of exhaustion, and awoke at daylight without a fresh alarm. the previous day's tactics were resumed, and the toil over the raft went on, but there was still so much to do in the way of bracing and strengthening the rough craft so that it might withstand the fierce currents and concussions they were to expect at the lower part of the lake where the rapids began, that the hours glided by till late in the afternoon, and still the task was not done. "who could have thought it would take so long?" said dallas at last. "you see, we have everything to cut." "no one, my son," said their big friend, smiling; "but i bet we shouldn't have got the job done for us in double the time." "it would be madness to start to-night." "stark. couldn't get loaded up before dark, and then it'll be like pitch. let's cut some poles for punting and a mast to make a bit of sail if we like, and then i think we may say that we have got our job well done, ready for loading up and starting in the morning." "yes," said abel, who seemed little the worse for his last mishap; "it was better to make a good job of the raft." "and that we've done," said the cornishman. the poles were cut, trimmed, and laid upon the deck, which had been finished after launching; and now, as they examined their work, all were satisfied that it could not have been done better in the time, for as it lay in the clear water, swinging by a rope secured to a pine-stump, all felt that it would easily bear the party, their sledges and stores; and the pity seemed to be that it could not be used for the whole of their journey. "who knows? perhaps it may." there was an hour's daylight yet, and this was utilised down on the sandy shore of the stream which ran into the lake hard by. it was the first trial, and no little interest was felt as every man waded into the icy cold water, pannikin in hand, to scoop the sand aside and then get a tinful from as deep down as they could. this was washed and watched beneath the water, the stones thrown out, and washed again, till only a little sand remained, and this was carefully examined. "gold!" cried dallas excitedly; and this was eagerly responded to by the others, for in every pan there was some of the precious metal, but such tiny grains that it was decided that a halt would be useless there. "farther on," said dallas excitedly; "this is only the edge of the golden land, but here is proof that we are going right." "yes," said the big cornishman; "but i don't rest till we can shovel it up like gravel from a pit." darkness put an end to their search, and once more the fire was quenched, and in silence they sought the shelter of the great tree, placed their arms ready, rolled themselves in their blankets, and were soon asleep. it seemed as if they had only just lain down when one of the men shouted, "morning!" "hooray!" cried the big cornishman. "who's going to face the cold, and have a dip in the lake?" every one but abel, who hung back. "don't you feel well enough to come?" said dallas anxiously. "yes, but some one ought to light the fire and set the billy to boil." "here! hi! all of you," yelled the big cornishman, who had gone on. "quick!" all ran at the alarm, and then stood aghast. "the rope must have come undone," cried dallas. "don't look like it, my son. it's left part of itself behind." "broken--snapped?" cried abel. "sawed through with a knife," said one of the men. "injuns. come in the night; lucky they didn't use their knives to us," growled the cornishman fiercely, as he looked searchingly round. "look," cried dallas, excited; "these are not indian traces;" and he pointed down at the sandy shore. "indian? no," cried abel, going down on his knees; "the marks of navigators' boots, with nails;" and he looked wildly across and down the lake. but the raft, their two days' hard work, had gone. chapter thirteen. making the best of it. "you're quite right, my son," said the cornishman coolly, after lighting his pipe and carefully examining the ground. "i'm not much of a hand at this kind of thing, but it looks plain enough. here's all our footmarks quite fresh, and here's a lot more that look as if they were made last night." "last night?" cried dallas. "ay, that they do." "but those may be ours." "nay; not one of us has got a hoof like that," cried the cornishman, pointing with the stem of his pipe. "i've got a tidy one of my own, but i aren't pigeon-toed. look at that one, too, and that. yonder's our marks, and, hullo! what's that lying in the water?" the others gazed in the indicated direction, and dallas leaped into the shallow water, to stoop down and pick out a knife. "some one must have dropped this," he cried. "unless one of us has lost his," said the big fellow. "any one own it?" there was a chorus of negatives. "well, i'm sorry," cried the cornishman. "poor chap! how savage he'll be to find he has lost his toothpick. look here," he continued grimly, "if you all don't mind, i'll take care o' this bit of steel. we may meet the chap as lost it, and i should like to give it him back." "oh," cried dallas passionately, "how can you laugh and make a joke of such a misfortune as this?" "what's the good o' crying about it, my son?" said the man, smiling. "there's worse disasters at sea. who says light a fire and have a good breakfast?" "breakfast!" cried abel; "nonsense! we must go in pursuit at once." "and leave our traps for some one else to grab? why, dear boy, we couldn't get through the forest empty-handed." "no," said abel, gazing along the bank of the lake disconsolately. "he's right, bel," said dallas, after shading his eyes and looking down the lake. "they've got right away." "hang 'em, yes," said the cornishman, smiling merrily. "i say, i wish we hadn't taken quite so much pains with that there raft. if we'd known we'd ha' saved all those six-inch spikes we put in it." "the scoundrels, whoever they are!" cried dallas. "it's beyond bearing." "nay, not quite, my son," said their new friend good-humouredly, "because we've got to bear it. cheer up. might have been worse. you see, it was a fresh lot come along while we were asleep and out of sight. `hullo!' says one of 'em, `now i do call this kind; some un's made us a raft all ready for taking to the water. come along, mates,' and they all comed." "i wish i'd heard them," cried dallas. "well, if you come to that, so do i, my sons. but there, we've got our tackle, and they haven't taken all the wood, so we must make another." "yes, and waste two more days," cried abel angrily. "well, we're none of us old yet," said the cornishman good-humouredly; "and i don't suppose those who have gone before will have got all the gold." "but it is so annoying to think that we lay snoring yonder and let whoever they were steal the raft," said one of the men. "so it is, my son," cried his companion; "and i can see that you two are chock full o' swear words. tell you what: you two go in yonder among the trees and let 'em off, while we three light the fire and cook the rashers. it'll ease your minds, and you'll feel better. i say, what's about the value of that there raft?" "i wouldn't have taken twenty pounds for my share of it," cried abel. "humph! twenty," said the cornishman musingly. "well, seeing it's here, we'll say twenty pound. there's five of us, and that makes a hundred. all right, my sons; we shall come upon those chaps one of these days, and they'll have to pay us about a pound and a harf o' gold for our work; and if they don't there's going to be a fight. now then, gentlemen, fire--breakfast--and then work. we shall be a bit more handy in making another. wish we'd had a bit o' paint." "paint! what for?" cried dallas and abel in a breath. "only to have touched it up, and made it look pretty for 'em." "never mind!" said dallas, through his teeth. "we'll make it to look pretty for them when we find them." "so we will, my son," cried the cornishman, and as he gathered chips and branches together he kept on indulging in a hearty laugh at the prospect of the encounter; and as the two young adventurers glanced at the man's tremendous arms, they had sundry thoughts about what would happen to the thieves. the cornishman was right; they were much more handy over making the second raft, and worked so hard that by the end of the following day a new and stronger one was made and loaded ready for the next morning's start. but this time a watch was kept, one of the party sitting on board until half the night had passed, when he was relieved by another; and as the sun rose, breakfast was over, and they cast off the rope from the pine-stump which had formed the mooring-post. the morning was glorious, and the sun lit up the snow-covered mountains, making the scene that of a veritable land of gold. a light breeze, too, was blowing in their favour, so that their clumsy craft was wafted down the lake, which here and there assumed the aspect of a wide river of the bluest and purest water, the keen, elastic air sending a thrill of health and strength through them, and it seemed as if the tales they had heard of the perils they were to encounter were merely bugbears, for nothing could have been pleasanter than their passage. "let's see," said dallas, who was well provided with map and plan; "when we get to the bottom of this lake there are some narrows and rapids to pass along." "so we heard," said the cornishman. "well, so much the better. we shall go the faster. i suppose they're not falls of ni-agger-ray.--i say, can you gents swim?" "pretty well," was the reply. "can you?" the big fellow scratched his head and screwed up his face into a queer smile. "you ask my two mates," he said. "no, i asked you," said dallas. "not a stroke, my son. if we get capsized i shall trust to being six foot three and a half and walk out. i don't s'pose it'll be deeper than that. if it is, i dessay my mates'll lend me a hand." "then we mustn't capsize," said abel. "well, it would be as well not," said one of the other party drily, "on account of the flour and sugar and tea. i always said you ought to swim, bob, old man." "so you did, mate," said the big fellow, with a chuckle. "and as soon as it gets warm enough i'm going to learn." that night they reached the foot of the lake where the rocky walls closed in, forming a narrow ravine, through which the great body of water seemed to be emptying itself with a roar, the aspect of the place being dangerous enough to make the party pole to the shore at the first likely landing-place and camp for the night. the evening was well upon them by the time they had their fire alight, and after a hearty meal their couch of pine-boughs proved very welcome. "sounds ominous, dal," said abel. "i hope we shall get safely through in the morning." "we must," was the reply. "don't think about it; we ought to be hardened enough to do anything now. how's your head?" "a bit achey sometimes. and your shoulder?" there was no reply, for, utterly wearied out with poling the raft, dallas was asleep, leaving only one of the party to watch the expiring embers of the fire, and listen to the rapids' deep humming roar. abel did not keep awake, though, long. for after getting up to satisfy himself that the raft was safe, he lay down again, meaning to watch till the fire was quite out, though there was not the slightest danger of their being attacked. the only way an enemy could have approached was by water, and it was with a calm, restful sense of satisfaction that the young man stretched himself out on the soft boughs as he said to himself, "there isn't a boat on the lake, and it would take any party two days to make a raft." chapter fourteen. from the frying-pan into the wet fire. "we could not have better weather, bel," said dallas, as they finished the next morning's breakfast. "summer is coming." "rather a snowy summer," was the reply; "but never mind the cold: let's try wherever we halt to see if there is any gold; those fellows are getting out their tins." a few minutes later all were gold-washing on the shore, their cornish friend having cast loose a shovel, and given every person a charge of sand and stones from one of the shallows, taking his shovelfuls from places a dozen yards or so apart. then the washing began in the bright sunshine, with the same results--a few tiny specks of colour, as the men termed their glittering scales of gold-dust. "that's your sort, gentlemen," cried the cornishman, washing out his pan, after tossing the contents away; "plenty of gold, and if you worked hard you might get about half enough to starve on. why, we could ha' done better at home, down in wales. you can get a hundred pounds' worth of gold there if you spend a hundred and fifty in labour." "yes; but even this dust shows that we are getting into the gold region," said dallas. "that's right, my son, so come along and let's get there. i s'pose we're going right?" "we must be," said dallas. "i have studied the maps well, and we passed the watershed--" "eh? we haven't passed no watershed. not so much as a tent." dallas had to explain that they had crossed the mountains which shed the water in different directions. "oh, that's it, is it, my son? i thought you meant something built up." "so he did," said abel, smiling, "by nature. when we were on the other side of the mountains the streams ran towards the south." "that's right, master." "now you see the direction in which the water runs is towards the north. here in the map is the great yukon river, running right across from east to west, and these lakes form the little rivers which must run into the yukon." "and that's the great gold river, my sons." "yes; but we shall find what we want in the rivers and creeks that run down from the mountains to form the yukon." "that's all right, my son; so if we keep to these waters we must come to the right place at last." "i hope so." "so do i, my son; so, as they said at the 'merican railway stations, `all aboard, and let's get as far down to-day as we can.'" they stepped on to the raft, cast off the rope, and each man picked up one of the twelve-foot pine-sapling poles they had provided for their navigation down the rapids, of which they had been warned at starting; and the big cornishman planted himself in front. "anybody else like to come here?" he said. there was a chorus of "no's," and he nodded and smiled. "thought i was best here to fend the raft off the rocks when she begins to race. i say, we're going to have it lower down. hear it?" all nodded assent. "if we are capsized, my sons," continued the big fellow drily, "one of you had better swim up to me and take me on his back. what do you say, little un?" he added to abel. "it'll be your turn to help me." "i'll stand by you," cried abel; "never fear." "i know that, my lad. i say, the stream begins to show now as the place gets narrower. looks as if it'll be nearly closed in. well, we must risk it. there's no walking as i see on either side." "ahoy!" came from the right bank, where the lake was fast becoming a river. "ahoy to you, and good morning, whoever you are," cried the cornishman. some unintelligible words followed, he who uttered them being plainly to be seen now on a ledge some fifty feet above the surface of the water. but his signs were easy to be understood. "wants us to give him a lift," said dallas. "can we stop?" "oh, yes, and it would only be civil," said the cornishman. "just room for one first-class passenger. all right; lend a hand here. i can touch bottom. 'bout seven foot." poles were thrust down, and the raft was urged across the flowing water till the eddy on the far side was reached, and then, with the fierce roar coming out of a narrow gap in the rocks a few hundred yards lower, the raft was easily thrust into a little cove below the man on the shelf. "going down the rapids?" he shouted. "we are, my lad," cried their captain. "why?" "will you give a poor fellow a lift down? i can't get any farther for the rocks." "far as the gold country?" "oh, no: i don't ask that. only to where i can tramp again." "well, we've just room for a little un," said the cornishman. "much luggage?" "only this pack," was the reply. "jump in, then," said the leader, with a grim smile. "p'r'aps, though, you'd better come lower." the man nodded, slung his pack over his shoulder, and then, turning, began to descend the almost perpendicular face of the rocks, twice over narrowly escaping a bad fall. but at last he reached the foot, waded out a little, and then stepped on board. "thankye," he said; "you are good christians. i've been here a fortnight, and couldn't get any farther. i shouldn't have been alive now if i hadn't got a fish or two." "you are tramping to the gold region all alone, then?" "yes, and i've nearly tramped all the way from chicago." the cornishman turned and stared. "i got a lift sometimes on the cattle and freight trains, though, when i could creep on unseen." "the gold has a magnetic attraction for you, then?" said abel. "i suppose so, but it's my last chance. this is a solitary way, though, isn't it? i've hardly seen a soul. i saw your fire, though, last night, across yonder." "did you see anybody go by on a raft three or four days ago?" cried dallas eagerly. "i did. party of three, and hailed them." "what were they like?" cried abel. "roughs; shacks; loafers. one of them had a big red beard." dallas started, and glanced at abel. "a brute!" cried the stranger fiercely. "i asked them to give me a lift, as i was going to starve here if they didn't, and i warned them that i had heard it wanted a strong party to take a craft through the rapids. `all right, stranger,' he said, pushing the craft a little nearer. `mind lending me your knife to trim this rough pole with? i've lost mine.'" it was abel now who glanced at dallas. "`catch,' i said, pitching mine, in its sheath." "well?" said the cornishman, fumbling in his belt. "well," continued the man, with a sombre look in his eyes, "he caught it, and began to smooth his pole, letting the raft drift away; and though i begged and prayed of them to stop for me, they only laughed, and let her get right into the current. it was life or death to me, as i thought then," continued the stranger, "and i climbed along that shelf and followed, shouting and telling them i was starving, and begging them to throw me my knife back if they wouldn't take me aboard; but they only laughed, and told me to go and hang myself. but i followed on as fast as i could, right along to the opening yonder where it's so narrow that i could speak to them close to; and though i knew they couldn't stop the raft there, i thought they'd throw me my knife." "and did they?" said the cornishman. "no. i was there just before them, and i shouted; but you can't hear yourself speak there, the roar echoes so from the rocks. the next minute they'd been swept by me so near i could almost have jumped on board; and there i stood, holding on and reaching out so that i could see them tear down through the rushing water. they'd took fright, dropped their poles, and were down on their knees holding on, with the raft twisting slowly round." "capsized?" cried dallas. "drowned?" cried abel. "i could not see," continued the stranger. "i watched them till they went into a sort of fog with a rainbow over it, and then i felt ready to jump in and try to swim, or get drowned, for without my knife i felt that all was over." "not drowned, then?" said dallas. "no, my son; them as is born to be hanged'll never be drowned," said the big cornishman grimly. "look ye here, old chap, you'd better take this toothpick; it's the one that the boss of that party who stole our raft lost." "ah!" cried the stranger; "they stole your raft?" "they did, my son, and it seems to me things aren't at all square, for these here fellows are ready to do anything--from committing murder down to stealing a knife. why, they've even cheated death, or else they'd be lying comfortably buried in the snow." "ha!" ejaculated dallas, as he stood grasping his pole, and the raft began to glide along. "yes, it is `hah!' my son," said the cornishman; "but i shouldn't wonder if we came across a tree some day bearing fruit at the end of a hempen stalk. i say, though, my son, is the river below there so dangerous as you say?" "yes; it is a horrible fall, as far as i could see." "then hadn't you better stop ashore?" "and starve?" said the man bitterly. "you're ready to risk it, then?" said dallas. "i'd risk anything rather than stop alone in this horrible solitude," said the stranger excitedly. "all right, then, my son. there's a spare pole. set your pack down; take hold, and come on." the stranger did as he was told, and took the place pointed out. "if it's as noisy as he says," continued the cornishman, "there'll be no shouting orders--it'll all be signs. so what you see me do you've got to follow. spit in your hands, all of you, and hold tight with your feet. stick to it, and we'll get through. we must; there's no other way." no one spoke in reply, but their companion's cheery way of meeting the perils ahead sent a thrill of confidence through the party, as they stood on the triangular raft, noting that the current was gradually growing swifter as the rocky walls on either side closed in from being hundreds of yards apart to as many feet, and the distance lessening rapidly more and more. it was horrible, but grand, and as the pace increased, a curious sensation of intoxicating excitement attacked the party, whose senses seemed to be quickened so that they could note the wondrous colours of the rocks, the vivid green of the ferns and herbs which clustered in the rifts and cracks, and the glorious clearness of the water. so excited was the great fellow at the head of the raft that he raised his pole, turned to look at his companions, and then pointed onward, while moment by moment the great walls of rock seemed to close in upon them as if to crush all flat. up to now their progress had been a swift glide, but as they approached the narrow opening, which seemed not much more than wide enough to let them pass, the raft began to undulate and proceed by leaps, each longer than the last, while the water rippled over the side. then all at once the front portion--the apex of the elongated triangle-- rose as if at a leap, dipped again, and they were off with a terrific rush in a narrow channel of rock, up whose sides the water rose as if to escape the turmoil. wave rose above wave, struggling to get onward; there was the roar of many waters growing more deafening, and the raft was tossed about like a straw, its occupants being forced to kneel and try to fend her off from the sides. and now, to add to the horror, turmoil, and confusion, they plunged at a tremendous speed into a bank of churned up mist, dense as the darkest cloud, rushing onward in bounds and leaps which made the raft quiver, till all at once dallas, who was near their captain, suddenly caught sight of a mass of rocks apparently rising out of the channel right in their way. the next moment there was a terrific shock, a rush of water, black darkness, and everything seemed to be at an end. chapter fifteen. "those born to be hanged." the preparations for fending the raft off the rocks that might be in their way, or keeping it from the wall-like sides which overhung them, were absurd; for as they were swept into the furious rapid, and whirled and tossed about, each man instinctively dropped his pole to crouch down and cling for dear life to the rough pieces of timber they had so laboriously notched, nailed, and bound together. the course of the river was extremely erratic, zigzagging through the riven, rocky barrier which formed the ancient dam at the foot of the lake; and one minute they were swept to right, the next to left, while at every angle there was a whirlpool which threatened to suck them down. noise, darkness, the wild turmoil of tumbling waters, blinding mist, and choking spray, strangled and confused the little crew, so that they clung to the raft, feeling that all was over, and that they were about to be plunged deep down into the bowels of the earth. dallas was conscious of wedging his toes between two of the timbers, clinging with his left hand, and reaching over the bound-down sledges to grasp abel's; and then all seemed to be blank for a length of time that he could not calculate. it might have been a minute--it might have been an hour; but he held on to his cousin's hand, which clutched his in return in what seemed to be a death-grip, till all at once they were shot out into the bright sunshine, and were gliding at a tremendous rate down a water-slide, with the water hissing and surging about them where they knelt. as soon as he could sweep the blinding spray from his eyes, dallas looked round in wonder, to find that all his companions were upon the raft, and that the rocky walls on either side were receding fast as the river opened out, while the rapid down which they plunged seemed quite clear of rocks. the deafening noise was dying out too, and as dallas looked back at the fast growing distant gap in the rock through which they had been shot, he wondered that the raft should have held together with its freight, and that they should still be there. his brain seemed still to be buzzing with the confusion, when he was conscious of some one beside him giving himself a shake like a great water-dog and shouting: "what cheer, there! not dead yet. are any of you?" there was no reply--every one looking strained and oppressed; then, without a word, the little party began to shake hands warmly, and the big cornishman shook his head. "it was a rum un!" he exclaimed; "it was a rum un! well, we're all alive o, and if we do get any gold, you may all do as you like, but i shall go back home some other way." the straightforward naive way in which this was said seemed so absurd on the face of it that the cousins could not refrain from smiling: but the sight of a great mass of rock ahead dividing the swift stream into two, and toward which the raft seemed to be rushing fast, made all turn to seize their poles and fend it off from a certainty of wreck. however, the poles were all probably being whirled round and round one of the pools they had passed, like scraps of straw, and the shattering of the raft seemed a certainty; but their big companion was a man of resource. seating himself upon the edge of the raft as it glided evenly along, he waited with legs extended for the coming contact. his feet touched the rock, and a vigorous thrust eased their craft off, the brave fellow's sturdy limbs acting like strong buffers, so that there was only a violent jerk, the raft swung round, and they went gliding on again. the current was swift, but clear now from further obstacles, and hope grew strong. "i say, i call it grand!" cried one of the men. "we shall soon get there if we keep on like this." "yes, but the sooner one of us takes a rope and jumps ashore, the better. we must cut some fresh poles." this was done at the first opportunity, abel leaping on to the rocky bank with a rope, as they glided by a spot where the forest of pines came down close to them; and then, seizing his opportunity, he gave the rope a turn round a small tree. there was a jerk, and the hemp threatened to part; but it held, and the raft swung round and became stationary as the rope was made fast. the first proceeding was to wring out their garments, and the next to examine the sledges, which had been so well made fast when loaded up that they had not stirred; but some of the stores were damaged with water. "can't help it," said dallas cheerily. "our lives are saved." something was done towards their drying by the warm sunshine, for this came down brightly, though the aspect round was growing almost as wintry as the country they had passed through higher up beyond the lake; and as they gazed at the mountains, which they felt must lie somewhere near the part for which they were aiming, it seemed as if they would, after all, be arriving too soon for successful work. the raft proved useful for some days on their way north by river and lake, their journey being through a labyrinth of waterways, where again and again they made halts in likely places to try for the object of their search. but the result was invariably the same; they found gold, but never in sufficient quantity to warrant a stay. "wouldn't pay for bread and onions, my sons," said the cornishman, and they pushed on farther and farther into the northern solitudes, with their loads growing lighter, and a feeling of longing to reach the golden land where they knew something in the way of settlements and stores existed, and where people could at once take up claims and begin work. for a comparison of notes proved that they were all rapidly coming to the end of their means. the subject of the passage of the raft down the cataract had been several times over discussed during their halts, and the possibility of their enemies having escaped. the cornishman and his companions, including the man they had succoured, declared as one that the marauding trio must have perished. "and so should we, my sons," said the big fellow, "if we had gone down that water-slide on the first raft." "i do not see it," said dallas; "we made both." "yes; but the first was when we were 'prentices, the second was when we had served our time." the speaker laughed as he said this; and as it happened, it was on the second day after that he pointed with something like triumph to some newly cut and trimmed young pieces of pine-trunk notched in a peculiar way, cast up among some rocks on the shores of the little lake they were crossing. "that's the end of 'em, my sons," he said. "oh, no; any one may have cut down those trees." "for sartain, my son; but i nailed 'em together, for there's one of my spikes still sticking in. good nail, too; see how it's twisted and bent." this seemed unanswerable, but neither abel nor dallas was convinced. "they may have swum ashore," abel said to his cousin, as they lay down to sleep that night. "yes," said dallas, "and i shall hold to bob's proverb about those born to be hanged." chapter sixteen. a plunge into hot quarters. "so this is the golden city," said dallas, as he and abel sat, worn out and disconsolate, gazing at a confusion of tents, sheds, and shanties, for it could be called nothing else, on the hither side of a tumbled together waste of snow and ice spreading to right and left. "is it all a swindle or a dream?" "i hope it's a dream," replied his cousin, limping a step or two, and then seating himself on the sledge which, footsore and weary, he had been dragging for the last few days after they had finally abandoned their raft. "i hope it's a dream, and that we shall soon wake." the big cornishman took his short pipe out of his mouth, blew a big cloud, looked at his companions, who were asleep rolled up in their blankets, and then at the cousins. "oh, we're wide awake enough, my sons," he said, "and we've got here at last." "yes," said dallas bitterly; "we've got here, and what next?" "make our piles, as the yankees call it, my lads." "where?" cried abel. "why, we had better have stayed and washed gold-dust out of the sand up one of those streams." "oh, you mustn't judge of a place first sight; but i must say it aren't pretty. people seems to chuck everything they don't want out o' doors, like the fisher folk down at home in cornwall. but it's worse here, for they've got no sea to come up and wash the rubbish away." "nor yet a river," said dallas. "i expected the yukon to be a grand flowing stream." "well, give it a chance, my son," said the big fellow cheerily. "a river can't flow till it begins to thaw a bit. chap tells me it's very late this year, but it'll break up and clear itself in a few hours. says it's a sight worth seeing." "but we did not come to see sights," said abel peevishly. "where's that other man?" "gone. told me to tell you both that he was very grateful for the help you had given him, and that now he's going to shift for himself." "the way of the world!" said dallas dismally. "oh, i don't know, my son. he's right enough. said if he had the luck to find a good claim up one of the creeks he should peg out five more alongside of it and come and look us up, and made me promise i'd do the same to him. what do you think of that?" "nothing," said dallas. "i'm too tired out to think of anything but eating and sleeping, and there seems to be no chance of finding a place to do either." "no, my son; it's a case of help yourself. i've been having a look round, and the only thing i can find anybody wants to sell is whisky." "yes, that was all they had at the store i went to. that's the place with the iron roof and the biscuit-tin sides--yonder, where those howling dogs are tied up." "ah, i went there," said the cornishman, "and the yankee chap it belongs to called it his hotel. but to go back to what we are to do next, my son. we mustn't stay here, but go up to one of the little streams they're talking about, and peg out claims as soon as we find good signs. now, i've been thinking, like our chap who lost his knife, that we'd better separate here and go different ways. if we find a good place we'll come to you, and if you find one you'll share with us. what do you say?" "tired of our company?" asked abel bitterly. the big fellow turned to him and smiled. "look here, my son," he said, "that foot of yours hurts you more than you owned to. you take my advice; after we've got a bit of a fire and made our camp and cooked our bit o' supper, you make a tin o' water hot and bathe it well, and don't you use that foot much for a day or two. no, my sons, i'm not tired of you. if i had been i should ha' said good-bye days ago. i'm sorry for us to break up our party, but i've been thinking that what i proposed was the best plan, even if it does sound rough." "yes, i suppose it is," said dallas, speaking in a more manly way. "i beg your pardon. so does my cousin here. we're fagged out, and this does seem such a damper. i wish we were back somewhere in the pine-woods." "tchah! i don't want no pardons begged, my son. i know. when i saw this lovely spot first i felt as if i could sit down and swear; but what good would that ha' done? it'll be all right. now it seems to me that we shall be more comfort'ble if we go just over yonder away from the hotels and places, make our bit o' fire, get a pannikin of tea, and then two of us'll stop and look after the traps in case any one should come and want to borrow things and we not know where they're gone. t'others had better have a look round and drop in here and there at these places where the men meet. it won't do to be proud out here. i want to see some of the gold." "eh?" cried a big, hearty voice, and a man who was passing stopped short and looked at them. "want to see some of the gold? well, there you are!" he unfastened a strap that went across his breast, and drew a heavy leather satchel from where it hung like a cartouche-box on his back. "catch hold," he cried. "that's some of the stuff." the three awake looked at the stranger sharply, and the cornishman opened the bag, to lay bare scales, grains, and water-worn and rubbed scraps of rich yellow gold, at the sight of which the new-comers drew their breath hard. "did you get this here?" cried dallas. "not here, my lad, but at upper creek. that lot and two more like it. you'd better go on there as soon as you can if you want to take up claims; but i must tell you that all the best are gone already." "which is the way?" cried abel. "i'll show you when i go back to-morrow, if you like. where shall you be?" "camping just over there," said dallas, pointing. "all right. i'm going to sleep at the hotel to-night. come on by-and-by and see me, and we'll have a chat." "i say, my son," said their big companion, putting his hand in the bag, half filling it, and letting the gold run back again, before beginning to fasten the flap. "my son! why, you're a cornishman." "that's so." "glad to see a west-countryman out here. i'm from devonport. but come on and have a chat by-and-by. what were you going to say, though?" "seeing what a set of rough pups there are about here, my son, i was going to say, is it safe for a man to carry about a lot of gold like that?" the stranger took back his bag and slung it over his shoulder again, as he looked from one to the other, half-closed his eyes, and nodded. "yes, and no, my lads. you're right; we have got some rough pups about here--chaps who'd put a bullet into a man for a quarter of what i've got there. but they daren't. we've got neither law nor police, you see." "no, i don't see," said dallas. "you speak in riddles." "you don't see, my lad, because you're a johnny newcome. i'll tell you. we've got some of the most blackguardly scum that could be took off the top of the big town sink-holes--men who've come to rob and gamble; but we've got, too, plenty of sturdy fellows like yourselves, who mean work and who trust one another--men who'll help each other at a pinch; and i've heard that there's a sort of lawyer fellow they call judge lynch has put in an appearance, and he stands no nonsense. he's all on the side of the honest workers, and one of them has only to denounce a man as a thief for the vigilants to nail him at once. then there's a short trial, a short shrift, and there's one rogue the less in the world." "you mean if he's proved to be a thief, or red-handed." "that's it, my lads. there, i've got some friends to meet. come on and see me to-night." the speaker nodded cheerily to all three, and went off at a swinging gait. "well, i wouldn't have minded shaking hands with that chap," said the big cornishman. "the more of that sort there is out here the better." "yes," cried dallas; "his words were quite cheering." "so was the sight of that little leather sack of his, my sons. do your foot good, mr wray?" "yes, i forgot all about it," said abel, eagerly. "here, let's make our fire." this was done, and the billy soon began to bubble, when the tea was thrown in and declared to be delicious, in spite of a mouldy taste consequent upon getting wet in its travels and being dried again. "better if we hadn't had all our sugar spoiled," said dallas, as he munched his biscuit along with a very fat rusty scrap of fried bacon. "it don't want any sugar, my son," said the cornishman. "i've just stirred a teaspoonful of that chap's gold-dust into it, and it has given it a wonderful flavour." "yes," said abel, "the sight of that gold seems to have quite changed everything." the meal was finished, with the whole party refreshed and in the best of spirits. then the sledges were drawn together, a few small pine-saplings bound on to make a roof, over which a couple of waterproof sheets were drawn, and there was a rough tent for a temporary home. by that time it was evening, and lanterns were being hung out here and there, lamps lit in the shanties, and the place began to look more lively. in two tents there was the sound of music--a fiddle in one, a badly played german concertina in the other; but the result was not cheerful, for whenever they were in hearing the great shaggy sledge-dogs, of which there were scores about, set up a dismal barking and howling. the cornishman's two friends had cheerfully elected to keep the camp, at a word from their big companion, and the other three started to have a look at the place and end by calling at the hotel upon their new acquaintance. as soon as they were a few yards away, the cornishman laughed and winked. "i can trust you, and i can trust bob tregelly, and that's me, my sons; but i can't trust them two where there's whisky about. they've sworn to me that they won't go amongst it, and i'm not going to let 'em. now then, i'm about to see if i can't find something to eat at a reasonable price, and buy it. have you lads got any money?" "yes, a little left," replied both. "then you'd better ware a pound or so the same way; biscuit and bacon and meal, i should say. i'll meet you yonder at the hotel in an hour, and we'll pick up what we can about the whereabouts of the stuff; but we shan't want to stay here long, i expect. will that do?" "yes, in an hour," said dallas, and they separated. there was not much to take the young men's attention, but they heard a couple of men say that the ice was giving, and another was telling a group of a man having come to the hotel who had done wonders up some creek he and his mates had tried. "our friend, bel," said dallas; and soon after, without making any purchases, from the inability to find what they wanted, they strolled back just at dark towards the hotel. "what a hole!" said abel, as they approached the place, to find from the lights, the noise, and clattering of drinking-vessels, that a tent which had been stretched over a wooden frame was crowded, and a couple of men in shirt-sleeves were busily going in and out from a side shed of corrugated iron, attending on the assembled guests. "evening, gentlemen," said the elder of the two. "you'll find room inside. go right up the middle; there's more seats there." just then there was a shout of excitement, and the young men looked at one another. "it's all right, gents," said the man, who was evidently the landlord. "we're having a big night. there's a man from upper creek with a fine sample of gold. i could show you if you like. happy to bank for you too if you strike it rich, and supply you with stores and good advice. any one will speak up for me." "but surely that means a row," said dallas, as a roar of voices came from the canvas building. "no; that's about a robbery on the track. three men came in to-day, and they're telling the lads how they were attacked and half killed. the vigilants are strong here to-night, and there'll be business if the fellows are caught. we don't stand any nonsense here." "shall we go in, bel?" whispered dallas. "yes; we needn't stay long," was the reply. "i want to talk to that man with the gold." "this way, gentlemen," said the bar-keeper. "you follow me." the pair followed the man into the long low place, along each side of which were trestle tables crowded with men drinking and smoking, the tobacco fumes nearly filling the place like a fog. there was a gangway down the centre, and they followed their guide nearly to the end, when both started violently at the sight of a group of three men seated at a table beneath the largest swinging lamp, whose reflector threw a bright light down on the biggest of the party, who was on his legs, waving his pipe as he talked loudly. "you're making a mistake, mates," he said. "it's just as i telled you, and if it hadn't been for the pluck of my pals here we should have been dead as well as robbed. but you mark my words; they'll make for here, and if they do--ah, what did i say? look, mates, look; this here's the very pair." there was a wild shout of rage, as every man in the place seemed to leap to his feet; and before, utterly stunned by the sudden attack and denunciation, either of the new-comers could find words to utter in their defence, they were seized and dragged to their knees. chapter seventeen. a trial for life. "it's false! a cowardly lie!" cried dallas at last, as he tried to shake himself free. "quiet!" cried one of his captors fiercely, "or you'll git into trouble!" "yes, a lie--a lie!" cried abel, finding his voice. "don't choke me, sir. give a man fair play." "oh, yes, you shall have fair play," said another sternly. "those men attacked and tried to murder us both yonder in the snowy pass." "well! i ham!" roared the red-bearded scoundrel, looking round protestingly at all present. "but there, i've done." he dropped heavily back in his seat, and held up his hands to his two companions. "that's a queer way of defending yourself, young fellow," said a stern, square-looking man, who spoke roughly, but in a way that suggested education. "yes, but it's the truth," cried dallas firmly. "hands off, gentlemen. we shall not try to run away." "now, then: these three gentlemen say they have been robbed on the road." "and i say it is false. that man is a liar and a thief--a would-be murderer." "well," cried the red-bearded man again. "did you ever, mates?" "no," cried one of the others. "why, he talks like a play actor." "look here, gentlemen," cried the third excitedly, and he rose, planted a foot on the bench, and bared his bound-up leg, "here's that tall un's shot as went through my calf here. i'm as lame as a broken-kneed un." a murmur of sympathy ran through the place, and dallas spoke out again as abel looked quietly round at the grim faces lowering through the smoke. "look here, gentlemen, i can prove my words," cried dallas. "very well, then," said the dark, square-looking man, "prove them; you shall not be condemned unheard." a chill ran through the young man at the other's judicial tone, and the name of judge lynch rose to his mind. but he spoke out firmly. "a friend who has journeyed here with me is to meet me here to-night.-- ah, here is one gentleman who knows us;" and he made a step towards their bluff acquaintance of that evening, who had risen from his seat farther in, and was looking frowningly on. "speak a word for us, sir." "well, my lad, i never saw you till to-night," was the reply. "i did have a chat with this man, gentlemen, and his mate there, and i found them well-spoken young fellows as ever i met." "but you never saw them before," said the dark man. "well, i must tell the truth," said the gold-finder. "of course." "no," said the man sadly, "i never did but fair play, gentlemen, please." "they shall have fair play enough," said the dark man. "what about your friend, prisoners, is this he?" "prisoners!" gasped abel. "no, no; a friend who travelled with us." "bah! another lie, gentlemen," cried redbeard mockingly; "they were alone, and shot my mate, so that it was two to two; but they took us in ambush like, and by surprise. they hadn't got no friend with 'em." "yes, they had," cried a loud voice which dominated the roar of anger which arose; "they had me; i was along with 'em--only a little un, my sons, but big enough for you all to see." there was a laugh at this, but it was silenced by the dark man's voice. "silence, gentlemen, please," he said, "and no laughter where two men's lives are at stake." a chill ran through dallas again, but he forced a smile at his cousin, as if to say, what he did not think, "it will be all right now." "look here," cried the cornishman, drawing himself up to his full height, and looking round as if to address every one present; "these youngsters said what was quite right. they've been along with me and two more ever since we dug 'em out of the snow." "that's right, as far as i know," said their acquaintance with the gold; "there was a party of five when i came upon them to-night;" and a fresh murmur arose. "it's all right, mates," said redbeard to his two companions; "there's a gang of 'em, but don't you be skeared; these gents'll see justice done." "well, i don't mind being called one of a gang, my sons," said the cornishman. "i worked on the railway once, and i was ganger, or, as you call it here, boss, over a dozen men; but if this chap, who looks as red as if he'd come out of a tin-mine, says i robbed him, i'll crack him like i would a walnut in a door." there was a roar of laughter here, and cries of "well done, little un!" but the dark man sternly called for silence once more. "now, sir, what do you say to this?" he said to redbeard sharply. "what i said before, boss. that big chap wasn't with 'em then. i say these two young larrikins tried to rob and do for us. look at his leg!" "robbed yer and tried to do for yer? did they, now! well, they do look a pair of bad uns, don't they, my sons?--bad as these three looks good and innercent and milky." "hear him!" growled redbeard fiercely. "talking like that, with my poor mate suffering from a wound like this, pardners," and he pointed to his companion's leg. "get out!" roared the cornishman scornfully; "put that sore prop away; you're talking to men, not a set of bairns. think they're going to be gammoned by a bit of play-acting?" there was another loud murmur of excitement, the occupants of the canvas building crowding up closer, evidently thoroughly enjoying the genuine drama being enacted in their presence, and eager to see the _denouement_, even if it only proved to be a fight between the two giants taking now the leading parts. the man with the red beard felt that matters were growing critical for the accusers, while public opinion was veering round in favour of the prisoners; and resting one hand upon his hip, and flourishing his pipe with the other, he took a step forward, his eyes full of menace, and faced the cornishman. "look ye here, old un," he growled, "i'm a plain, straightforward, honest man, as has come up here to try and get a few scraps o' red gold." "same here, my lad." "and i want to know whether you mean all that 'ere nasty, or whether you mean it nice?" "just as you like, my son," cried the cornishman. "you've told the company here that my two young friends tried to rob and settle you. i tell the company that it's as big a lie as was ever spoke." "well!" growled the man again, and he looked round at his companions; "of all--" "yes," said the cornishman, "an out-and-out lie; and i could play the same cards as you, and show judge here and all of you the mark of your bullets in one of my young friends' shoulder, and on the other's skull. but i don't." "yes, you do," said the dark man. "let's see them." "hear, hear! bravo, judge! right, right!" came in chorus. "very good, gentlemen," said the cornishman, turning calmly to dallas. "you show first." "it is nearly healed up now," said dallas. "hor, hor, hor!" laughed the man with the red beard, "hear him!" dallas gave him a fierce glance, and as his captors set him free he hastily slipped off jacket and waistcoat, before tearing open his shirt and laying bare an ugly red scar where a bullet had ploughed his shoulder; and a murmur once more arose. "that will do," said the dark man. "now the other." "i have nothing to show," said abel. "the bullet struck my cap, and just glanced along the side of my head." "come close under the lamp," said the dark man sternly. "better mind your eye," said redbeard warningly. the dark man gave him a sharp look, and then bade abel kneel down and bend his head sideways. as he did so a whitish line a few inches long was visible where the hair had been taken off, and at the sight of this there was a fresh murmur. "that's good proof in both cases, gentlemen," said the dark man firmly. "now, sir," he continued, "what more have you to say in support of your evidence?" "this here," cried redbeard. "i want to know first whether this bully countryman here means what he said nasty, or whether he means it nice?" "hear, hear!" shouted a voice behind. "just which you please, my fine fellow," said the cornishman; "you can take it hot with sugar, or cold with a red-hot cinder in it, if you like." "then maybe i'll take it hot," cried redbeard, fiercely. he spoke with one hand behind him, and quick as thought he brought it round with a swing, but a man near him struck it up. chapter eighteen. hanging by a thread. "stop that!" shouted the judge, springing to his feet. the cornishman stood quite unmoved. there was silence directly, and the dark man went on. "gentlemen," he cried, "we have made this a court of justice, and you chose me the other day, being an english barrister, to act as judge." "yes, yes," came in a fierce shout, which crushed down some murmurs of opposition. "go on, judge--go on." "i will, gentlemen, till you bring forward another man to take my place. once more, we are here on british ground." "no, no," came from the minority; "american." "british, gentlemen; and as subjects of her majesty the empress-queen we stand by law and order." "hear, hear!" was shouted. "we will have no rowdyism, no crimes against our little society, while we toil for our gold." "hear, hear!" "we have already bound ourselves to carry on our home-made laws here, so that every man can bring in his winnings and place them with the landlord, or leave them in his hut or tent, knowing that they are safe; and we are agreed that the man who robs one of us of his gold shall suffer for his crime, the same as if he had committed a murder." "that's right, judge--that's right!" was roared. "very well, then," said the judge. "i have one word to say to those who have raised their voices several times to-night. let me tell them that if they are not satisfied with our ideas of fair play, they had better pack their sledges and go right away." "likely!" shouted a man at the back; "and what about our claims we have staked out?" "let them be valued by a jury of six a-side, and i'll give the casting vote if it's a tie. we'll club together and buy, you shall have good honest value, and then you can go farther afield. there's plenty for everybody, and the country's open. if you don't agree to that and elect to stay, you must side with us and keep the law. now then, who says he'll go?" "none of us, jedge," came in a slow drawl. "you're right, and whether this is murrican or canady land, we all back you up." there was a deafening shout at this, and as soon as silence came again the dark man said firmly, "now, gentlemen, to settle the business on hand. we're not going to make the yukon gold region a close borough." "that's right, jedge," said an american. "every honest man is welcome here, but we want it known that for the rowdy thief and law-breaker there will be a short shrift and the rope." there was another roar, and as it subsided the man with the red beard shouted, "that's right, pardners, right as right; and what me and my mates here want is justice and protection from them as robbed us, and tried to shoot us down. there they are, three o' the gang, and you've got 'em fast. now what do you say?" the two young men stood rigid and silent, expectant of the fateful words which might bring their careers to a close. they knew that wild appeals for mercy and loud protestation would be of no avail, but would be looked upon as arrant cowardice; and as the moments went on, heavy and leaden winged, a strange feeling of rebellion against the cruelty of fate raised a sense of anger, and stubborn determination began to grow. it was too horrible to dwell upon, this prospect of the most ignominious death: an adverse judgment based on the vote of a crowd of rugged, determined men fighting for their own safety and the protection of the gold they were dragging from where it had lain since the creation of the world; but still it seemed to be their fate, and in both the growing feeling was the same--a sense of rage and hatred against the remorseless scoundrels who, to make their own position safe in the gold region, were ready to sacrifice the lives of their victims. "if we could only be face to face with them alone," they felt, "with the chance to fight against them for our lives! the cowards! the dogs!" their musings were brought to an end by the voice of the head man of the trio, who broke in upon the whispering together of the judge and several of the men who had closed round him. "well, pardners," he cried; "what's it to be after all you've said? are we to have fair play, or are we to go where we can get it?" "wait a bit, sir, and you and your friends shall have fair play; never fear." "don't be in a hurry," shouted one of the americans at the back. "jedge don't want to hang the wrong men." "no, sir," said the dark gold-seeker sternly; "we don't want to hang the wrong men, and there is a growing opinion here that you and your companions have not made out your charge." "what!" roared redbeard, as the cornishman gave his young companions a nod; "not made out our case? hear that, mates? well, i _am_ blessed!" "you charge them with robbery and attempted murder." "yes; didn't my mate show you his leg?" cried redbeard indignantly. "oh, yes; and the prisoners, who defend themselves by charging you with attacking them, reply by displaying their wounds." "well, wouldn't you shoot if you was attacked? so where's your justice?" "i will show you that i want to give you fair play," said the judge. "there is enough in this case to mean the sternest sentence, and it will be awarded to the guilty parties." there was a murmur of approval at this, and the judge said sternly, "separate those three men, and separate the prisoners; keep them apart, so that they cannot communicate with one another." there was a quick movement, and a couple of armed men placed themselves right and left of dallas and abel. "hullo!" said the cornishman, "am i a prisoner, too? all right; i'm in good company." but there was a little resistance on the part of the accusing party. "look here," growled redbeard fiercely, "i want to know what this means." "the rope and the tree for you and your friends if you fire, sir," cried the judge sternly. "but--" "stand where you are," cried the judge. "six of you take those other two outside, quite apart, and mind, you are answerable to your sheriff for bringing them back." redbeard growled as he stood beneath the great lamp, the two others which had been burning having been turned out so that a better view could be had from behind of each stage of the proceedings. "look here," cried redbeard fiercely, as his companions were led out, "why aren't the prisoners to be sent out too? is this fair play, pardners?" "yes," said the judge; "they are the prisoners. i only want your witnesses to be out of court." there was a dead silence while the two men were led away, and a ray of hope began to shed light through the darkness of despair in the young men's brains, as they read in all this a strange desire on the part of their amateur judge to do justice between the parties. they glanced round through the smoke of the gloomy place, to see fierce eyes fixed upon them on all sides, while in front there was the judge and his supporters, and their red-bearded, savage-looking accuser beneath the lamp, which shone full upon him. the smoke now hung above them in a dense cloud. "is it a dream?" said dallas to himself; and then he started, for the judge said sharply to the man before him: "now, sir, you and your two friends have come here to dig gold." "that's right, captain." "where did you come from?" "washington territory." "that will do. bring in the next witness." there was a suppressed buzz of excitement, while redbeard stood glaring beneath the lamp, and the next man was led in. "now, sir, you are not sworn," said the judge, "but consider that you are on your oath. it is a matter perhaps of life or death. answer my questions. you and your friends came here to find gold?" "that's so, jedge." "where did you come from?" "me and my mates? noo york." "that will do. silence!" cried the judge. "the next man. keep those two well apart." the third man was led in, and the same questions asked him, when to the second he responded sharply: "chicago." there was a roar at this, but the judge held up his hand. "silence, gentlemen, please, while i deliver judgment'" and a deep silence fell, while the three men glared meaningly one at the other. "i have given this a perfectly fair hearing, and i say--" _crash_! the shivering of a lamp-glass, a burst of flame like a flash of lightning, as the lamp was dashed from where it hung; and then for a few moments intense darkness, while there was a sudden roar and rush for the entrance. chapter nineteen. to save a snarling cur. the struggle was short, for the sides of the canvas building were frail; and as the flames ran swiftly up one side and the burning rags of the canvas roof began to fall upon the struggling crowd, a wave rushed against the opposite side, which gave way like so much paper, and the panting, half-stifled sufferers gained the cool fresh night air. "any one left within?" panted the judge; but the silence which followed was enough to indicate that all had escaped. "where are the other prisoners?" "we are here--my cousin and i," cried abel, for they had made no attempt to escape. "and the witnesses?" cried the judge. "i have the scoundrel who dashed down the lamp." "we have the other two here," replied voices. "then, gentlemen," said the judge, "i think we had better have another trial in the open air. what do you say to that as an attempt at wholesale murder? come and help me here, some of you. i've got the big man down, but he's as strong as a horse. i couldn't have held him if i hadn't thrown a biscuit-bag over his head." it was light for a few minutes while the canvas roof of the saloon burned; but as the woodwork was rapidly torn down and trampled out to save the so-called hotel, all was dark again, with a pungent smoke arising. two men were dragged into the circle which had formed round the judge, whose figure could be just made out as he kneeled between the shoulders of the man he had down; and dallas and abel stood close by, fascinated as it were, and feeling a thrill of horror as they thought of their enemies' impending fate. "it's horrible, dal," whispered abel. "i hate the brute, but i don't want to see him hanged." "then you'd better be off," said a man who heard the remark, "for the beast will swing before many minutes are passed." "i don't see why you two young fellows should care," said another. "he was eager enough to get you hanged." "have you made his wrists fast behind him?" said the judge out of the darkness. "yes; all right." "let him get up, then. here, landlord--squire--a lantern here." "haven't you had light enough, judge? what about my saloon?" "all right, old fellow," said a voice. "you hold plenty of our gold; we'll club together to pay for a better one." "thank ye, gentlemen. hi! bring a lantern." at the same moment the prisoner rose to his feet, and the sack over his head was drawn off. "i say, you know, i've come quietly," he cried in a hoarse voice. "here, put those pistols down. you haven't served my two young chaps like that, have you?" "bob tregelly?" cried dallas and abel in a breath. "what's left of him, my sons. they've 'most smothered me." "hallo!" said the judge at the same moment. "i took you in the dark for that red-bearded fellow." "i was going for him when you pulled that bag over my head," growled the cornishman. "here, who has got that fellow?" roared the judge. "we've got his mates," came out of the darkness, and two men were dragged forward, struggling hard to get free. "here, what game do you call this?" snarled one of them, as soon as he could speak. "yes," said the other. "you fools: you've got the wrong men." "i'm blessed! ha, ha, ha!" roared the big cornishman. "you've never let those other two escape, have you?" roared the judge angrily. "well, you've let the big un go, judge, and caught me," said the cornishman merrily. "but i say, my son, who's the guilty party now?" "not much doubt about that. there, my lads, it's of no use to go after them; they've done us this time, and got away; but i think we may keep the ropes ready for them when they come again." "hear, hear!" was roared, and an ovation followed for the trio who had been suspected, every man present seeming as if he could not make enough of them, till they managed to slip away to their tent. "i think a quiet pipe'll do me good after all that business," said tregelly. "we've done about enough for one day. rum sort o' life, my sons. i shall be glad to get steadily to work as soon as we know where to begin." the canvas was fastened down soon after, and the occupants of the rough tent prepared for a good night's rest; but it was a long time in coming to the cousins, whose nerves had been too much jarred for them to follow the example of their three companions. and they lay listening to the many sounds about, principal among which was the barking and fighting of the sledge-dogs; but at last they dropped into a troubled slumber, one in which it seemed to dallas that he was lying upon his hard waterproof sheet in a nightmare-like dream, watching his enemy, the red-bearded man, who was crawling on hands and knees to the rough tent, with a knife between his teeth, and trying to force his way under the end of one of the sledges to get to him and pin him to the earth. there he was, coming nearer and nearer, right into the tent place now, while his hot breath fanned the dreamer's cheek, and his hands were resting upon his chest as if feeling for a vital spot to strike. with a tremendous effort, dallas sprang up and struck at him, when there was a loud snarling yelp, and abel cried in alarm, "what is it, dal?" "dog," said tregelly, "smelling after grub. the poor brutes seem half starved. hasn't taken a bit out of either of you, has he? good-night, my sons; i was dreaming i'd hit upon heaps of gold." dallas sank back with a sigh of relief, and dropped off into a restful sleep, which lasted till morning, when they were aroused by a terrific sound of cracking as of rifles, mingled with a peculiar roar, and a strange rushing sound. "what is it?" cried abel, who was one of the first to spring up; "an earthquake?" "like enough, my son," said tregelly. "i'm ready for anything here. sounds like the mountains playing at skittles." "she's going at last," cried a voice outside. "by jingo! it's fine. come and look." "it's the ice breaking up," cried dallas excitedly. "then we will go and look," said tregelly, "though that chap wasn't speaking to us." and, no dressing being necessary, all hurried out, to find that the fettered yukon was completely changed, the ice being all in motion, splitting up, grinding, and crushing, and with blocks being forced up one over the other till they toppled down with a roar, to help in breaking up those around. the previous evening it would have been possible for a regiment to cross the river by climbing over and among the great blocks which were still frozen together, but now it would have been certain death for the most active man to attempt the first fifty yards. every one was out in the bright sunny morning watching the breaking up; and among the first they encountered were the judge, of the last night's episode, and their friend the gold-finder, both of whom shook hands heartily, but made no allusion to the trial. "good job for every one," said the judge; "we shall soon be having boats up after this. we shall be clear here in a couple of days." "so soon?" said dallas. "oh, yes," replied his informant. "there's a tremendous body of water let loose up above, and it runs under the ice, lifts it, and makes the ice break up; and once it is set in motion it is always grinding smaller, till, long before it reaches the sea, it has become powder, and then water again." "i say," cried the miner, "there's some one's dog out yonder. he's nipped by the legs, and it's about all over with him, i should say." "here, stop! what are you going to do?" cried the judge. but dallas did not hear him. he had been one of the first to see the perilous position of a great wolfish-looking hound some twenty yards from the shore, where it was struggling vainly, prisoned as it was, uttering a faint yelp every now and then, and gazing piteously at the spectators on the bank. "the lad's mad," cried the judge, going closer to the ice. but, mad or no, dallas had, in his ignorance of the great danger of the act, run down, boldly leaped on the moving ice, and stepped from block to block till he reached the dog, which began to whine and bark loudly, as it made frantic efforts to free its hindquarters. in another minute it would have been drawn down farther, but for the coming of the young man, who, heedless of the rocking and gliding motion of the ice, strode the narrow opening between the two masses which held the dog, stooping down at the same moment, and seizing the poor brute by the rough hair about its neck. for a few moments his effort seemed vain, and a roar of voices reached him, as the spectators shouted to him to come back. then the two pieces swayed slightly, and gradually drew apart, and the dog was at liberty, but apparently with one leg crushed, for it lay down, howling dismally after an effort to limp back to the land. there was a great strap round its neck, and this was joined to another just behind its shoulders, and, seizing this, dallas flung the poor animal on its side and dragged it after him as he began to step cautiously back from block to block, now sinking down, now rising, and now narrowly escaping being caught between the moving pieces; but he kept on, conscious, though, that the bank seemed rising upward; while the crushing and roar of the breaking ice prevented him from hearing the words of advice shouted by his friends. he could not hear, but he could see bel, who was forcing his way through the crowd to keep alongside, ready to help him when he came within reach, if ever he did, and it was from him that he afterwards learned that the advice shouted was to let the dog take his chance. twice over the set of the ice was off the shore, and matters looked bad for the young adventurer, but he stuck to the dog, and, just when the chance of reaching the shore seemed most hopeless, a couple of large flat floes rose up, and, making a dash, dallas went boldly across them, reaching others that did not yield so much, and the next minute there was a cheer which he could hear, for he reached the shore with the dog, which looked up in his face and whined, and then limped off through the crowd. "life seems cheap your way, my fine fellow," said the judge. "five minutes ago i wouldn't have given a grain of gold for yours. we don't do that sort of thing out here for the sake of a vicious, thieving dog." "i could not stand by and see the poor brute die," said dallas quietly. "so it seems," said the judge. "well, i congratulate you two young fellows on your escape last night. those scoundrels have got away; and if they turn up again, lawyer though i am, i should advise you both to shoot on sight. if you are brought before me, i'll promise you i will bring it in justifiable homicide." a couple of hours later they had parted from tregelly and his companions, with a hearty shake of the hand and a promise to keep to their agreement about the gold. "if we discover a good place." chapter twenty. norton's idea of a good spot. it was a long, weary tramp up by the higher waters of the huge yukon river towards its sources in the neighbourhood of the pelly lakes, where sharp rapids and torrents were succeeded by small, shallow lakes; and wherever they halted, shovel and pan were set to work, and, as their guide norton termed it, the granite and sand were tasted, and gold in exceedingly small quantities was found. "it's so 'most everywhere," said norton; "and i don't say but what you might find a rich spot at any time; but if you take my advice you'll come straight on with me to where a few of us are settled down. it's regularly into the wilds. i don't suppose even an indian has been there before; but we chaps went up." "but there are indians about, i suppose?" said abel. "mebbe, but i haven't seen any." the end of their journey was reached at last, high up the creek they had followed, and, save here and there in sheltered rifts, the snow was gone; the brief summer was at hand, and clothing the stones with flowers and verdure that were most refreshing after the wintry rigours through which they had forced their way. "nice and free and open, eh?" said norton, smiling. "i may as well show you to the comrades up here, and then i'll help you pick out a decent claim, and you can set to work. there's only about a dozen of us here yet, and so you won't be mobbed." "very well," said dallas; "but we'll try in that open space where the trees are so young." norton nodded, and, armed with a shovel and pan, the young men stepped to a spot about fifty feet from the edge of the rushing stream, cleared away the green growth among the young pines, and dallas tried to drive down his shovel through the loose, gravelly soil; but the tool did not penetrate four inches. "why, it's stone underneath." "ice," said norton, smiling. "it hasn't had time to thaw down far yet; but you skin off some of the gravelly top, and try it." dallas filled the pan, and they went together to a shallow place by the side of the creek, bent down, and, with the pan just beneath the surface, agitated and stirred it, the water washing away the thick muddy portion till nothing was left but sand and stones. these latter were picked out and thrown away; more washing followed, more little stones were thrown out, and at last there was nothing but a deposit of sand at the bottom, in which gleamed brightly some specks and scales of bright yellow gold. norton finished his pipe, and then led the way farther up the stream, to stop at last by a rough pine-wood shed thatched with boughs. "this is my mansion," he said. "leave the sledges here, and we'll go and see the rest." the stream turned and twisted about here in a wonderful way, doubling back upon itself, and spreading about over a space of three or four miles along the winding valley where the tiny mining settlement had been pitched--only some six or seven huts among the dwarfed pine-trees in all, the places being marked by fallen trees and stumps protruding from the ground. they were all made on the same pattern, of stout young pine-trees with ridge-pole and rafters to support a dense thatching of boughs, and mostly with a hole left in the centre of the roof for the smoke of the fire burned within to escape. the two strangers were received in a friendly enough way, the rough settlers chatting freely about the new-comers' prospects, showing specimens of the gold they had found, and making suggestions about the likeliest spot for marking out a claim along the bank. the result was that before the day ended, acting a good deal under norton's advice, the young men had marked out a double claim and settled where their hut should be set up, so as to form a fresh addition to the camp. "you ought to do well here," said norton. "there's gold worth millions of money in this district for certain; but the question is, can you strike it rich or only poor? if i thought i could do better somewhere else i should go, but i'm going to try it fairly here." "we'll do the same," said dallas; and, the weather being brilliant and the air exhilarating to a degree, they set to work cutting pegs for driving down to make out their claim, norton reminding them that they would have certain applications to make afterwards to the government agency, and then began to cut down small trees for building their shanty. to their surprise and delight, four of the neighbours came, axe-armed, to help, so that the task was made comparatively easy. at the end of a week a rough, strong, habitable home was made, door, window, shutter and bars included, two of their helpers having come provided with a pit-saw for cutting the bigger pine-trunks up into rough boards, which were to be paid for out of the first gold winnings the young men made. within another week they were out of debt, for, to their intense delight, the claim promised well, the shaft they had commenced and the banks of the little river yielding enough gold to set them working every minute they could see. but the reality did not come up to the dazzling dream in which they had indulged, either in their case or that of the men they encountered. there was the gold, and they won it from the soil; but it was only by hard labour and in small quantities, which were stored up in a leathern bag and placed in the bank--this being a hole formed under abel's bed, covered first with a few short pieces of plank, and then with dry earth. the store increased as the time went on, but then it decreased when an expedition had to be made to the settlement below to fetch more provisions, the country around supplying them with plenty of fuel and clear drinking water, but little else. now and then there was the rumour of a moose being seen, and a party would turn out and shoot it, when there was feasting while it lasted; but these days were few. occasionally, too, either dallas or abel would stroll round with his gun and get a few ptarmigan or willow grouse. on lucky days, too, a brace of wild ducks would fall to their shot; but these excursions were rare, for there was the one great thirst to satisfy--that for the gold; and for the most part their existence during the brief summer was filled up by hard toil, digging and cradling the gold-bearing gravel, while they lived upon coarse bacon, beans, and ill-made cakey bread, tormented horribly the while by the mosquitoes, which increased by myriads in the sunny time. then came the days when the wretched little insect pests began to grow rarer. "we shall not be able to work as late as this much longer," said dallas. "no," replied abel; "the days are getting horribly short, and the nights terribly long. the dark winter will be upon us directly, and we seem to get no farther." "we may turn up trumps at any moment, old fellow," said dallas cheerily. "yes, we may," said abel gloomily. "don't take it like that," cried dallas. "here we are in the gold region, and every day we find nuggets." "weighing two or three grains apiece." "exactly; but at any moment we might at a turn of the shovel lay them bare weighing ounces or even pounds." "pigs might fly," said abel. "bah! where's your pluck? work away." "oh, yes, i'll work," said abel; "but with the dreary winter coming on one can't help feeling a bit depressed. i say, i'm very glad we never sent a message to old tregelly and his mates to come and join us." "well, it would have turned out rather crusty," said dallas, who was shovelling gravel into the cradle, while abel stood over his ankle in the stream, rocking away and stopping from time to time to pick out some tiny speck of gold. "we shall never make our fortunes at this," he said. "bah! don't be in a hurry. at all events, we are in safety. no fear of dangerous visitors, and--here, quick--the hut--your rifle, man! run!" abel sprang to the shore, to be seized by the arm, and they ran for their weapons and shelter. none too soon, for a big burly figure had come into sight from among the pines, stopped short, and brought down his rifle, as he stood shading his eyes and scanning the retreating pair. chapter twenty one. tregelly seeks his sons. "ahoy, there! what cheer, o!" rang out in a big bluff voice familiar to both. "oh, i say, what curs we are!" cried dallas. "it's old tregelly." "yes; don't let him know we were scared." vain advice. the big cornishman shouldered his rifle, bent forward, and dragged a sledge into sight, broke into a trot, and they met half-way. "hullo, my sons! did you take me for an injun?" cried tregelly. "we took you for that big, red-bearded ruffian," said dallas huskily, as he shook hands. "thankye, my son; on'y don't do it again. i don't like the compliment. but how are you?--how are you?" "oh, middling. we were just thinking about you." "were you, my sons?" cried the big cornishman, smiling all over his broad face. "that's right. well, i was thinking about you, and wondering whether i should find you, and here you are first go." "but how did you find us?" cried dallas, after shaking hands warmly. "went back to yukon town a fortni't ago, and the chap there at the hotel told me you were still up here, for one of you came down now and then to buy stores." "did you see the judge?" "oh, yes, he's there still." "made his pile?" "no-o-o! done pretty tidy, i believe." "and what about redbeard and company? heard anything of that firm?" "yes; heard that they'd been seen by somebody, my son. there'd been a poor fellow done for up the country, and some gold carried off. they got the credit of it; but give a dog a bad name and--you know the rest. i should say they're all dead by now." "but why didn't you send for us?" said abel. "why didn't you send for me?" "well," said dallas drily, "it was out of good fellowship. we were afraid it would be more than you could bear to get so rich. but where are your comrades?" "gone home," said tregelly, in a tone of voice that the two young men took to mean, "don't ask questions!" "but you've found a lot?" said dallas. "well, yes, my sons; we managed to scrape a good deal together, some here and some there, for we changed about and travelled over a good deal of ground." "and you have sent it home?" "nay-y-ay! i've got it here on the sledge." "oh!" said abel, looking at the shabby kit their visitor had left close to the door of the hut. "i've got a bit in a bag; but, you see, it costs all you can scrape together to live wherever i've been; so i thought i'd look you two up, as my mates had gone, so as to be company for a poor little lonely chap. will you have me?" "of course." "any chance of picking up a decent claim here?" "plenty, such as we have," replied dallas. "you'll be able to do as well as we've done, and the others about here." "that means the lumps of gold are not too big to lift?" "that's it," said dallas. "i've been thinking that if we were here next summer, we ought to get a lot of ants and train them to carry the grains for us." "ah, i see, my sons. i say, one might almost have made as much by stopping at home, eh?" "here, don't you come here to begin croaking," cried dallas. "abel here can do that enough for a dozen." "can he?" cried tregelly. "oh, you mustn't do that, my son. there's plenty of gold if we can only find it. i saw a chap with a gashly lump as big as a baby's fist. we'll do it yet. so you haven't done much good, then?" "if we had we should have sent word for you to come." "and i should have sent or come for you, my sons. look here, we'd better make a change, and explore higher up towards the mountains." "too late this year," said dallas decisively. "oh, yes; too late this season, my sons. we mustn't get too far from the supplies. means--you know what! famine and that sort o' thing." "yes, we know," said abel bitterly. "we'll do it when the days begin to lengthen again," continued tregelly. "what we've got to do is to make as big a heap here as we can during the winter, wash it out in the spring, and if it's good enough, then stop here. if it aren't, go and find a better place." "yes, that's right," said dallas. "but about rations. there's nothing to be got here. have you brought plenty?" "much as ever i could pull, my sons, and i'll take it kindly if you'll let me camp with you to-night, so that i can leave my swag with you while i hunt out a claim." "of course," cried dallas; "we'll help you all we can." "there's that pitch down yonder, dal," said abel--"the one we said looked likely." "of course; the place we tried, and which seemed fairly rich." "that sounds well," said tregelly. what was more, it looked so well that the big fellow decided to stay there at once, and put in his pegs, the only drawback seeming to be its remoteness from the scattered claims of the others up the creek. but this did not trouble the big cornishman in the least. with the help freely given by his two friends, pines were cut down, a hut knocked together, and many days had not elapsed before he was working away, and looking as much at home as if he had been there all the season, declaring when they met after working hours that it was much better than anything he and his companions had come across during their travels. chapter twenty two. a night alarm. "there's a deal in make-believe, bel, old chap," said dallas one day, as they sat together in their rough hut of fir-trunks, brooding over the fire lit in the centre of the floor, the blinding smoke from which escaped slowly out of an opening in the roof, when the fierce wind did not drive it back in company with the fine sharp snow, which was coming down in a regular blizzard. "oh, yes, a deal, if you have any faith," said abel bitterly; "but mine's all dead." "gammon!" cried dallas. "you're out of sorts, and that makes you disposed to find fault. but i must confess that during this blizzardly storm the castle hall is a little draughty. these antique structures generally are." "months and months of wandering, slavery and misery, and to come to this!" "yes, you are not at your best, old man. how's the foot?" "rotting off as a frozen member will." "my dear bel, you want a tonic!" said dallas cheerily. "think you will be able to live through this awful winter, dal?" "live! i should think we will," said the young man, carefully picking up and laying some of the half-burned brands on the centre of the crackling fire. "so will you." "no, i shall never see home again." "bel, you're a lazy beggar, with a natural dislike to cold," said dallas. "it always was so, and you always used to have the worst chilblains, and turn grumpy when they itched and burned. you don't make the best of things, old chap." "no, dal, i haven't got your spirit. how many days longer will that meal last?" "that depends, dear boy, on whether we are frugal, or go on banqueting and gorging." "it is dreadfully low, isn't it?" "well, the supply is not great, but there is a morsel of bacon and a frozen leg-bone of our share of the moose, whose roasted marrow will be delicious. no; the larder is not well stocked, but the supply of fuel is unlimited, and we have our gigantic bag of gold in the bank cellar." "curse the gold!" "no, i will not do that, my dear boy, because, you see, i can take out a handful, tramp down to the store, and come back laden with corn and wine and delicacies in the shape of bacon and tinned meat." "dal, it's of no use; we must give up and go back." "no, we must not, old chap; and even if i said the same, we couldn't get away this winter time." "you could. i'm doomed--i'm doomed!" "here, i say," cried dallas, "don't begin making quotations." "quotations?" "yes; that's what the despairing old chap says in byron's comedy, `i'm doomed--i'm doomed!' and the other fellow says, `don't go on like that; it sounds like swearing when it ain't.'" "dal," cried abel passionately, "how can you be so full of folly when we are in such a desperate state?" "because i believe in `never say die!'" cried the young man cheerily. "you are cold, man. allow me, my lord, to spread this purple robe gracefully over your noble shoulders to keep off the draught. i say, bel, these blankets are getting jolly black." "thanks, dal." "and with your lordship's permission i will hang this piece of tapestry over the doorway to enhance the warmth of the glow within. haven't got a couple of tenpenny nails in your pocket, have you? never mind; these pegs'll hold it up. whoo! it does blow. we shall be quite buried in the snow by morning." "yes, once more," said abel gloomily. "so much the warmer for it, bel, and save the wood. i say, old chap, we ought to be thankful that we have such a snug den. it would be death to any one to be out to-night." "yes; and they would have ceased hunting for that golden myth, and be at rest." "well, you are a cheerful chap to-night! i say, i wonder what has become of old `my son,'--tregelly, the cornishman?" "dead or broken-hearted over this weary search." "dead? why, that fellow wouldn't die a bit. broken-hearted? his heart's made of stuff much too tough. he'll turn up some day to tell us he has made a big find." "never. he's dead by now." "don't you prophesy until after the event." "dal," said abel, as he sat, gaunt of visage, darkened by exposure, and totally different from the bright, eager fellow of a few months earlier. "yes?" "you will not go away and leave me?" "i must, old fellow. the coals for the human grate are nearly out, and i must fetch some more." "if you go you will find me dead when you come back. to die alone! horrible!" "nonsense! old norton will come in every day and have a look at you if i ask him. he's a good old chap, bel; i wish he had had better luck. i say, though, this is a rum game. you and i are now living in this rough dog-kennel, and bad as our luck has been, we have been turning out gold at the rate of, say, five hundred a year. not bad that for beginners." "and it takes all we get to barter for the wretched food," groaned abel. "the prices are horrible." "well, things are dear, and bad at that, as our american friends say. but we only have to double our turn-in and we shall grow rich." the wind was whistling and shrieking about the lonely cabin, the tattered blanket over the rough wood doorway was blown in, and the smoke eddied about the corners of the tent as a quantity of snow came through the opening, and made the fire hiss angrily. "it won't take me long, old fellow," said dallas; "and, by the way, i had better buy a tin of powder and some cartridges. think you'll be well enough to-morrow to clean and oil the guns while i'm down the shaft?" "i'll try; but the shaft will be full of drifted snow." "if it is, i'll drift it out." "what's that?" cried abel, as a faintly heard howl came from the distance. "sounds like wolves. no dog would be out in a night like this." "think they will come here and attack us?" "don't know. i hope so." "what!" cried abel, with a horrified look. "give me a chance to do a little shooting if they come in at the chimney hole. glad of a bit of sport. supply us with some fresh meat, too." "what, eat wolf?" "my dear bel, i get so hungry that i would eat anything now. but they may taste good. wolf's a kind of dog; they eat dog in china, and i've heard that the bargees do so on the thames." "what?" "don't you remember the chaff at oxford--the fellows asking the bargees, `who ate puppy pie under marlow bridge?'" "there it is again." "then i'll take the guns out of the cases if they come nearer. they'll be able to walk up the snow slope right on to the roof." but the sounds died away, and dallas opened a tin and took out a couple of pieces of roughly made damper, whose crust was plentifully marked with wood ashes. "i can't eat," said abel. "i can, and i'll set you an example. sorry there is no strasburg pie or other delicacy to tempt you; and the cook is out, or she should grill you some grouse." abel sat nursing his piece of unappetising bread, while dallas rapidly disposed of his, the smaller piece. they had been sitting in silence for some time, with dallas gazing wistfully at his companion. "try and eat the damper, old fellow," he said. "you must have food." "i can't, dal. i say, how much gold is there in the hole?" "i daresay there's five-and-twenty ounces." "you must take it, and contrive to get away from here, dal," said abel suddenly. "and you?" "get back home again. she'll break her heart if she loses us both." _thud_! there was a heavy blow at the rough door, and then another. "norton come to look us up," whispered dallas. "no; he would not knock like that," whispered back abel--needlessly, for the roar of the storm would have made the voices inaudible outside. there was another blow on the door as if something had butted against it, and then a scratching on the rough wood. "a bear?" whispered dallas, rising softly. "be quiet. bear's meat is good, but a bear would not be out on a night like this." there was another blow, and then a piteous, whining howl. "a dog, by jove!" cried dallas. "then his master must be in trouble in the snow." "dal, it would be madness to go out in this storm. it means death." dallas did not reply, but lifted the blanket, from which a quantity of fine snow dropped, and took down the great wooden bar which, hanging in two rough mortices, formed its fastening. as he drew the door inward a little, there was a rush of snow and wind, and the fire roared as the sparks and ashes were wafted about the place, threatening to fire the two rough bed-places; and with the drifting fine snow a great lump forced its way in through the narrow crack, rushing towards the blaze, uttering a dismal howl. dallas thrust the door to and stared at the object before them, one of the great eskimo dogs, with its thick coat so matted and covered with ice and snow that the hairs seemed finished off with icicles, which rattled as the poor brute moved. "hullo, here!" cried dallas. "where's your master?" the dog looked at him intelligently, then opened its mouth and howled. "come along, then. seek, seek." the young man made for the door as if to open it, but the dog crept closer to the fire, crouched down, and howled more dismally than before. "well, come and find him, then. your master. here, here! come along." the dog lifted its head, looked at the glowing fire, and then at first one and then the other, howled again, and made an effort to raise itself, but fell over. "what's he mean by that, poor brute? he's as weak as a rat. what is it, then, old fellow?" cried dallas, bending down to pat him. "why, the poor brute's a mere skeleton." the dog howled once more, struggled up, and fell over sideways. "he doesn't act as if any one was with him," said abel. the dog howled again, made a fresh effort, and this time managed to sit up on his hindquarters, and drooped his fore-paws, opening his great mouth and lolling out the curled-up tongue. "starving--poor wretch!" said dallas. "no, no, bel, don't. it's the last piece of the bread." "i can't eat it," replied abel. "let the poor brute have it. i can't see it suffer like that." he broke up the cake and threw it piece after piece, each being snapped up with avidity, till there was no more, when the poor brute whined and licked bel's hand, and then turned, crawled nearer to the fire, laid his great rough head across dallas's foot, and lay blinking up at him, with the ice and snow which matted his dense coat melting fast. "poor beggar!" said dallas. "he has been having a rough time." the dog whined softly, and the unpleasant odour of burning hair began to fill the place as his bushy tail was swept once into the glowing embers. "give him part of the moose bone, dal," said abel. "if this blizzard keeps on we have only that to depend on, old fellow. i want to help the dog, but i must think of you." "give it up," said abel gloomily, as he laid a hand on his bandaged foot. "give him what there is, and then let him lie down and die with us. the golden dream is all over now. look! the poor brute just managed to struggle here. he's dying." "no, settling down to sleep in the warm glow. look how the water runs from his coat." "dying," said abel positively. and the poor brute's actions seemed to prove that the last speaker was right, for he lay whining more and more softly, blinking at the fire with his eyes half-closed, and a shiver kept on running through him, while once when he tried to rise he uttered a low moan and fell over on to his side. "is he dead, dal?" said abel hoarsely. his cousin bent over the dog and laid his hand upon his throat, with the result that there was a low growling snarl and the eyes opened to look up, but only to close again, and the bushy tale tapped the floor a few times. "knows he is with friends, poor fellow!" said dallas. "but he did not show much sense in coming to starvation hall." "it was the fire that attracted him." "perhaps," said dallas. "but i have a sort of fancy that we have met before." "what!" cried abel, brightening up, "you don't think--" "yes, i do. did you notice that the poor brute limped with one of his hind-legs?" "yes, but--oh, impossible. a dog would not know you again like that. you mean the one you saved from the ice." "yes, i do; but we shall see by daylight, such as it is. i say, though, if we do get home again, you and i, after our experience of this arctic place, ought to volunteer for the next north pole expedition." abel heaved a deep sigh. "look here, old fellow; you were brightening up, now you are going back again. let's go to bed and have a good long sleep in the warm. what about the dog?" "yes, what about him?" "i suppose we mustn't turn him out again on a night like this." "impossible." "but you know what these brutes are. he'll be rousing up and eating our candles and belts--anything he can get hold of; but i suppose we must risk it." the door now being rattled loudly by the tremendous wind, was once more made secure, the blanket replaced, and then, after well making up the fire with a couple of heavy logs, the weary pair were about to creep into their skin sleeping-bags when they were startled into full wakefulness again, for a fierce gust seemed to seize and shake the hut, and then, as the wind went roaring away, there was a wild moaning cry, and a sharp report from close at hand. chapter twenty three. begging your bread in golden days. "it is the dog's master, bel," whispered dallas, springing to the door and beginning to unfasten it, just as the dog raised his head and whined dismally. the disposition was there to help, and as soon as he could get the door open, dallas dashed out into the whirling snow, which rushed in blinding eddies about the hut, while abel, awestricken and panting, clung to the post and tried to pierce the black darkness. "it is madness. it means death," he groaned to himself. even as the thought crossed his mind dallas staggered back, to stand panting and wiping the snow from his eyes. then he dashed out again, but was beaten back breathless and exhausted. again he tried, for abel had not the heart to stay him, and a good ten minutes elapsed--minutes of anxiety to the watcher, which seemed like hours--before his companion was literally driven in again, to fall completely exhausted upon the floor. "i can't do it, bel," he said at last feebly. "i never thought the wind and snow could be like this. it's death to go out there, and i felt that i should never get back again." he struggled to his feet once more and made for the door, but abel seized him by the arm and tried to shut out the blinding snow, which had given the interior of the hut the appearance of winter, and after a hard struggle the door was closed. "bel, that biggest tree at the side is split right down, and half has fallen this way," said dallas breathlessly. "it must have been that we heard. i fell over it as i tried to find the door." "you shall not go again," said abel. "i cannot," replied dallas sadly; "but i feel sure now that no one is asking for help." the hours passed and the fire was made up again and again, while towards morning the storm lulled. the dog lay perfectly still; but he was not dead when dallas roused himself up to examine him, for he feebly rapped the floor with his tail. abel had sunk into the sleep of utter weariness, and dallas let him lie as he replenished the fire, opened the door softly, plunged through the snow, and, as well as the darkness would allow, satisfied himself that he was right about the riven tree. "it was very horrible to think, though," he said to himself; "but no one could have been travelling on such a night." he returned to the hut, replenished the fire, and the billy was boiling ready for its pinch of tea, and the newly made cake baking, by the time abel opened his eyes and sighed. "what a useless log i am, dal," he said. "are you?" "yes, i lie here doing nothing. how is the dog?" "quite dry and fluffy." "but he is not dead?" "no; but are we to give him house room?" "could we turn him out into the snow?" dallas began to whistle softly, and turned the cake on the round iron pan which answered for many purposes. "it's the same dog, bel," he said at last. "then the intelligent beast has tracked us out." "been a long time about it." "dogs are very grateful creatures." "rum way of showing his gratitude to come and sponge upon two poor fellows who are half starving. meal bag's awfully low." "you must try for something with the gun. what's the weather like this morning?" "dark and cold, but clear starlight, and a sprinkle of fresh snow on the ground." "a sprinkle?" "yes; three feet deep outside the door." "have you been out?" "yes; and found i was right about the tree. there must have been lightning, i think. i'm glad it was that." "yes. i wonder how old tregelly has got on. it's very lonely where he is." "so it is here." "how snug the fire looks, dal!" said abel, after a pause. "yes; cheery, isn't it? cake smells good. how does the foot feel?" "not so painful this morning after the rest. but, dal!" "well?" "i lay thinking last night after you had gone to sleep, and you really must not go down to the town." "must, old chap." "no, no; don't leave me." "but you'll have company now--the dog." "go round when it's daylight, and try what stores you can get from the men round us." "it isn't reasonable, bel. every one is as short as we are." "starving englishmen are always ready to share with their brothers in distress." "yes; but their brothers in distress who are strong and well, and who have enough gold to buy food, have too much conscience to rob them." "how much longer can we hold out?" "i don't know," said dallas, "and i don't want to know. stores are getting terribly low, and that's near enough for me. but what do you say to the dog?" "poor brute! we must keep him." "i meant killing and eating him." "no, you didn't. dal, i'm better this morning; the coming of that poor dog like a fellow-creature in distress seems to have cheered me up." "that's right. then, as a reward, i will wait a few days and go round cadging." "no--buying." "the fellows won't sell. they will only let us have some as a loan." "very well, then; get what you can as a loan, dal." "all right; but i know what it will be wherever i go: `we can let you have some tobacco, old man; we've scarcely anything else.'" "never mind; try." dallas threw a few small pieces of wood on the fire to make a blaze and light up the rough place, and then the breakfast was partaken of. not a very substantial meal: milkless tea, with very stodgy hot cake, made with musty meal; but to the great delight of dallas, his companion in misfortune partook thereof with some show of appetite, and then sat looking on without a word while dallas took one of their gold-washing pans, poured in some meal, took a piece of split firewood, and stirred with one hand while he poured hot water in from the billy with the other. neither spoke, but their thoughts were in common, and as soon as the hot mash had cooled a little, the cook turned to the dog. "now then, rough un," he cried, "as you have invited yourself to bed and breakfast, here is your mess, and you'd better eat it and go." the dog opened his eyes, looked at him wistfully, and beat the floor again, but he made no effort to rise. "poor brute! he is weak, bel. here, let's help you." passing his arm under the dog's neck, he raised him a little so that he could place the shallow tin of steaming food beneath his muzzle; but the only result was a low whine, and a repetition of the movement of the tail. at last, though, the eyes opened, and the poor brute sniffed, and began to eat very slowly, pausing now and then to whine before beginning again, till at last the effect of the hot mess seemed magical, and the latter half was eaten with avidity, the tin being carefully licked clean. a few minutes later the dog was asleep again, but in a different attitude, for he had, after a few efforts, curled himself up as close to the fire as he could get without burning, his muzzle covered over by his bushy tail. "dallas adams, esquire, gold medal from the society for the prevention of cruelty to animals. bow from dallas adams, esquire, and loud cheers from the audience at the annual meeting." "and well deserved," said abel, smiling. "oh, i wish i had your spirits." "get your frozen foot well, and then you will," was the reply. "look here, i'll take a sack and go begging at once, and then come back and get in some wood, for there will not be time to work in the shaft, only get out the snow." "go on, then, and you will succeed." "doubtful," was the reply. soon after, dallas, with a sack fastened across one shoulder like a scarf, and his gun over his shoulder, opened the door. "cheer up, old chap!" he cried. "i shan't be long," and forcing his way out, he closed the door, plunged forward, and struggled waist deep through the snow which had drifted up against the hut. farther on it lay less heavy, and pausing for a few moments to take a look round beneath the starlit sky, he made his way along the border of the creek--carefully on the look-out for pine-stumps, the remains of the dense scrub which had been cut down by the gold-seekers--in the direction of one of the lights dotting the creek here and there, those nearest being lanterns, but farther on a couple of fires were burning. "morning, mate," said a cheery voice, as he came upon two men busily shovelling snow from a pit beneath a rough shelter of poles, while a hut was close by. "you've got plenty of this, i s'pose?" "nearly buried. i say, we're awfully short of meal and bacon. can you sell us some?" the two men leaned on their shovels. "we're so desp'rate low ourselves, mate," said the one who had not spoken. "we don't like to say no. but look here, go and try round the camp and see what you can do. some of them's a deal better off than we are. get it of them. if you can't, come back here and we'll do what we can. eh, mate?" "of course," came in a growl; "but no humbug, mr adams." "what do you mean?" "why, this. when it comes to eating we, as it says in the song, you must play fair and draw lots with the rest of us." "never fear," said dallas merrily, joining in the laugh; "but we've got the dogs to eat first if we can't get any moose. there ought to be some tracks seen after this." "so plaguy dark, mate, for hunting and shooting; but talk about dogs, did you hear that brute howling during the storm?" "oh, yes, i heard him," said dallas. "he soon gave in, though. i believe some of the others hunted him down and didn't stop to draw lots. what hungry beggars they are!" dallas trudged on slowly, calling at claim after claim on his way down the creek, but always with the same result--friendly willingness, but want of means. then he reached the spot where one of the fires had been burning, but which had died out, nothing being left but wood, smoke, and steam, while two men were scraping away the snow from a heap while they waited till a shaft about six feet deep beneath a roofed shed was cool enough to descend. "morning, mate," was his salutation. "nearly got our roof on fire. were you coming to help?" "no, to ask for help," said dallas, and he made his request. one of the men went to the edge of the pit and descended a roughly made ladder, prior to beginning to fill a bucket with the gravelly bottom which had been thawed by the fire, ready for his companion to haul up and empty on the heap ready for washing when the spring time came. "tell him," he said gruffly. "well, mate," said the man at the top, "it's like this. we've got about a couple of pound of strong shag and a few ounces o' gold we can loan you. if that's any good, you're welcome; but grub's awful short. try further down, and if you can't get what you want, come back." "all right, and thank you, mates," said dallas. "morning." "i say, we'll show you the flour-tub and the bare bone if you like." "no, no," cried dallas; "i believe you." and then to himself, "i must fall back on tregelly." he had the burning wood fire for guide to where the big miner was thawing the shaft in his claim, to make the frozen gravel workable, and in addition there were faint signs coming of the short-lived day. "morning, tregelly." "what, you, mr adams! glad to see you, my son. come inside and have a mouthful of something and a pipe." "i don't want to hinder you," said dallas to his cheery friend. "you won't hinder me, my son. i like letting the fire have a good burn out, and then for it to cool down before i begin. come along; but how's your cousin?" "better this morning, but very low-spirited last night, with his frost-bitten foot." "poor lad! it is hard on him." "the fact is, we are terribly short of provisions." "you are? same here, my son; but why didn't you come down and tell me? i haven't got much, but you're welcome to what i can spare. there you are; sit down by the fire and i'll see what we can do. bacon's horribly close, and i've only two of those mahogany salt solids they call 'merican hams; but i can let you have a tin or two of meal and some flour." "if you can," cried dallas, "it will be a blessing to us now, and as soon as ever--" "yes, yes, all right, my son: i know. but how's the gold turning out?" "the gravel seems fairly rich, but somehow i'm afraid we shall do no good." "that's how it seems with me," said the miner. "one just gets enough to live upon and pay one's way; and one could do that anywhere, without leading such a life as this." dallas thought of his friend's words as he tramped back through the snow with his sack of provender on his back, for the life they were leading was that of the lowest type of labourer, the accommodation miserable, and the climate vile. "it will not do--it will not do," he said sadly; but he returned, all the same, in better spirits with the results of his foraging, to find abel waiting for him anxiously, and the dog curled-up by the fire sleeping heavily. the stores obtained were carefully husbanded, and during the next few days, in spite of intense frost, dallas worked hard in the shaft on their claim, heating it with the abundant wood till a certain amount of gravel was thawed, and then throwing it out ready for washing when the next summer came. chapter twenty four. abel's night alarm. "it's no good, bel," said dallas one day; "i can't go begging round again. it's not fair to the men. i must go down to the town and bring back as much as i can." "very well," said abel. "when do you start?" "to-morrow morning." "so soon? well, if it has to be done, the sooner the better." "i can get back within four or five days, i believe, and i'll ask tregelly to come in once or twice to see you, so that you will not be so lonely." "you need not do that, because i shall not be here," said abel quietly. "not be here?" "of course not. i shall be with you." "impossible." "no, i shall manage to limp along somehow." "impossible, i tell you!" cried dallas. "you must stay to take care of the claim; and then there is the gold--and the dog." abel was silenced; and the next morning, taking his empty sledge, and trusting to obtain enough food at the shanties which he would pass on the track, dallas started. abel watched him pass away into the gloom of the dark morning, and then turned and limped back sadly to where the dog lay dozing by the fire, apparently still too weak to stir. abel's bed had been drawn aside, and there was a hole in the ground, while upon the upturned barrel which formed their table stood a little leather bag half full of scales, scraps, and nuggets of gold--that which remained after dallas had taken out a sufficiency to purchase stores at the town on the yukon. abel's first act was to stoop down, mend the fire, and pat the dog, which responded by rapping the earth with his tail. then the leather bag was tied up, replaced in the bank hole, which was then filled up, the earth beaten down flat, and the sacks and skins which formed the bed drawn back into their places. he stooped down and patted the dog. "pah! why don't you lie farther from the fire? you make the hut smell horribly with your burnt hair." the dog only whined, opened one eye, blinked at him, and went off to sleep again. "poor old chap!" mused abel. "i didn't think i could care so much for such a great, rough, ugly brute as you are; but adversity makes strange friends." abel finished that day wondering how dallas was getting on, and trying to picture his journey through the snow by the side of the ice-bound stream; grew more melancholy from his lonely position, and then tried to rouse himself by being practical and planning. he made up his mind to content himself with one good, hearty meal a day, so as to make the provisions last out well, in case dallas should not be back to time, and only to be extravagant with the fuel. lastly, he went to the door and looked out, to find that it was a clear, frosty night, with the brilliant stars peering down. he knew it was night, for no fires were to be seen in any direction, and, after making all as snug as he could, he rolled himself in his blankets, drew the skin bag up about him, and followed his dumb companion's example, sleeping till morning, when the logs were just smouldering and had to be coaxed into a good warm blaze again. and so the days and nights glided by. he would awake again to find the fire burning low, the dog still sleeping, and the horror of another dreary day to pass. for his foot seemed no better, his spirits were lower than ever, and at last it was long past the time when dallas should have returned. how the days passed then he never afterwards could quite recall, for it was like a continuous nightmare. but in a mechanical way he kept up the fire, with the wood piled in one corner by the door getting so low that he knew he must bestir himself soon, and get to the stack by the shaft, knock and brush off the snow, and bring in more to thaw in the warmth of the hut. all in a strange, dreamy way he sat and watched, cooked a large pot of skilly, and shared it with the still drowsy dog, which took its portion and curled-up again, after whining softly and licking his hand. one night all seemed over. no one had been near, and he had felt too weak and weary to limp to the nearest hut in search of human companionship. he was alone in his misery and despair. dallas must be dead, he felt sure, and there was nothing for him to do now but make another good meal for himself and the dog, and then sleep. "sleep," he said aloud, "and perhaps wake no more." he ate his hot meal once more and watched the dog take his portion before going to the door, to look out feebly and find all black, depressing darkness; not even a star to be seen. "night, night, black night!" he muttered as he carefully fastened up again, pegged the blankets across to keep out the cruel wind, carefully piled up the pieces of wood about the fire, as an afterthought carried out with a smile, with a big log that would smoulder far on into the next day for the sake of the dog. "for i shall not want it," he said sadly. "poor brute! what will he do when i'm dead?" the thought startled him, and he sat down and fixed his eyes upon the shaggy, hairy animal curled-up close to the fire, whose flames flickered and danced and played about, making the hair glisten and throwing the dog's shadow back in a curious grotesque way. something like energy ran in a thrill through the watcher, and he shuddered and felt that he must do something to prevent _that_--it would be too horrible. it was in a nightmare-like state he seemed to see people coming to the door at last. he could even hear them knocking and shouting, and at last using hatchets to crash a way in. for what? to find the dog there alive and stronger, ready to resent their coming, even to fighting and driving them away; but only to return, rifle or pistol armed, to destroy the brute for what it had done according to its nature, to keep itself alive. and then, it seemed to abel, in his waking dream, they shudderingly gathered together what they saw to cast into the ready-dug grave--the shaft in which he and dallas had so laboriously but hopefully delved, in search of the magnet which had drawn them there--the gold. he made a wild effort to drive away the horrible fancy, and at last with a weary sigh sank upon his bed, his last thought being: "would those at home ever know the whole truth?" "how long have i been awake?" it must have been one long stupor of many, many hours, for the fire was very low, shedding merely a soft warm glow through the place. he was stupefied, and felt unable to move, but the fancy upon which he had fallen asleep was there still in a strange confused way, and he felt that the dog was not in the spot where he had left it. he lay with his eyes half-closed, conscious now of some sound which had awakened him. for there beyond the glowing embers, where all was made indistinct and strange, the dog was hard at work tearing a way out of the hut. the wood snapped and grated as it was torn away; then there was silence, and he was half disposed as he lay there helpless to think it was all a dream. but as this fancy came the noise began once more, and at last he caught sight of the great dog, strong and sturdy now, crawling through a hole it had made into the hut--what for he could not make out in his feverish state. why should it have done this to get at him when already there? he knew it was all wrong, and that his brain was touched; but one thing was plain reality: there was the great beast, magnified by the light of the fire, creeping forward while he lay paralysed and unable to stir. chapter twenty five. dal's welcome back. and yet it was strange, for just then the embers fell together, a soft, lambent, bluish flame flickered up, making the interior of the hut light, and he saw that the dog still lay in its old place, fast asleep. what was it then--bear, wolf--which had torn a way through or half under the wall of the place? a bear, for it suddenly raised itself up on its hind-legs, and as he lay stupefied with horror, abel could make out its shaggy hide. still, he could not move to reach for the rifle which stood ready loaded in the corner close by, but lay half paralysed in the strange dazed state into which he had fallen, till the object which reared up, looking huge, moved a little, and seemed listening. just then there was a bright gleam. eyes--teeth? impossible, for it was low down, and abel shook off his lethargy and uttered a low, hoarse cry, as he made an effort to spring up and reach a weapon. but he was tight in the skin-lined sleeping-bag, and this fettered him so that he fell back, and the next moment his nocturnal visitant sprang forward, coming down heavily upon him, at the same moment making a deadly blow at him. the strange feeling of helplessness was gone. something to call forth the young man's flagging energies had been needed, and it had come. he had lain down as one who had given up all hope, who had lost all that bound him to life; but that was but the dream of weakness, the stagnation of his nature, brought on by suffering, loneliness, and despair. face to face now with this danger, confronted by a cowardly ruffian, nature made her call, and it was answered. the strong desire for life returned, and with another hoarse cry he flung himself aside, and thus avoided the blow aimed at him. the next moment he had thrown himself upon his assailant. in an instant his hands were upon his throat. and now a terrible struggle ensued, in which a strange sense of strength came back to abel; and he kept his hold, as, failing to extricate himself, his assailant retaliated by seizing him in the same way, and kept on raising and beating the fettered man's head against the floor. for in their struggle they had writhed and twisted till they were approaching the fire; and as they strove on in their fight for the mastery, abel was conscious of hearing a loud yelp. then his breath grew shorter, there was a horrible sensation of the blood rushing to his eyes, as he gasped for breath--a terrible swimming of the brain--lights bright as flashes of lightning danced before his eyes, and then with his senses reeling he was conscious of a tremendous weight, and then all was black--all was silent as the grave. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "two days late," said dallas, as he paused for a few moments to rest and gain his breath, before shooting into collar again, when the trace tightened, the sledge creaked and ground over the blocks of ice, and glided over the obstruction which had checked him for the moment, and the runners of the heavily loaded frame rushed down the slope, nearly knocking him off his feet. the young man growled savagely, for the blow was a hard one. "if you could only keep on like that i'd give you an open course," he said; "but you will not. never mind; every foot's a foot gained. wonder how old abel is getting on?" he shot into the collar once more, the trace tightened, and he went on for another hundred yards over the ice and snow. the young man's collar was a band of leather, his trace a rope, but no horse ever worked harder or perspired more freely than he, who was self-harnessed to the loaded sledge. "i don't mind," he had said over and over again. "i'd have brought twice as much if i could have moved it. as it is, there's enough to pay off one's debts and to keep up, with economy, till the thaw comes; and now we are not going to be so pressed i daresay i shall manage to shoot a moose." that journey back from the settlement had been a terrible one, for he had loaded himself far more heavily than was wise, and this had necessitated his sleeping two nights in the snow instead of one. but snow can be warm as well as cold, and he found that a deep furrow with the bright crystals well banked up to keep off the wind, blankets, and a sleeping-bag, made no bad lair for a tired man who was not hungry. he took care of that, for, as he said to himself, "if it is only a donkey who draws he must be well fed." with his sledge at his head, tilted on one side to make a sort of canopy, and a couple of blankets stretched over, tent fashion, upon some stout sticks close down to his face, the air was soon warmed by his breath, and thanks to the skin-lined bag he slept soundly each night, and by means of a little pot and a spirit-lamp contrived to obtain a cup of hot tea before starting on his journey in the morning. but it was the lamp of life, heated by the brave spirit within him, that helped him on with his load, so that after being disappointed in not covering the last eight miles over-night, he dragged the sledge up towards their hut just at dawn of the day which succeeded the attack made upon his companion. by dawn must be understood about ten o'clock, and as he drew near, dallas could see a fire blazing here, and another there, at different shafts; but there was no sign of glow or smoke from the fire in their own hut; and in the joy that was within him at the successful termination of his expedition, dallas laughed. "the lazy beggar!" he said. "not stirring yet, and no fire. why, i must have been tugging at this precious load over four hours. he ought to have been up and had a good fire, and the billy boiling. he's taking it out in sleep and no mistake. wonder whether the dog's dead? poor brute! i don't suppose he can have held out till now." as he drew near he gave vent to a signal whistle familiar to his cousin. but there was no reply, and he tugged away till he was nearer, and then gave vent to a cheery "ahoy!" there was still no response, and he hailed again, without result. "well, he is sleeping," said dallas, and he hailed again as he dragged away at the load. "at last!" he cried, as he reached the door and cast off the leathern loop from across his breast. "here, bel, ahoy! ahoy! ahoy! hot rolls and _coffee_! breakfast, bacon, and tinned tongue! banquets and tuck out! wake up, you lazy beggar! you dog! you--" he was going to say "bear," but a horrible chill of dread attacked him, and he turned faint and staggered back, nearly falling over his loaded sledge. "bah! coward! fool!" he cried angrily, and he looked sharply round, to see shaft fires in the distance; but there was no hut within half a mile. "what nonsense!" he muttered. "there can't be anything wrong. got short of food, and gone to one of the neighbours." nerving himself, he tried to open the door. but it was fast, and, as he could see from a means contrived by themselves for fastening the door from outside when they went away hunting or shooting, it had not been secured by one who had left the place. in an instant, realising this, he grew frantic, and without stopping to think more, he ran round to the side by the shaft, caught up a piece of fir-trunk some six or seven feet long, and ran back, poised it for a few moments over his head, and then dashed it, battering-ram fashion, with all his might against the rough fir-wood door, just where the bar went across, loosening it so that he was able to insert one end of the piece of timber, using it now as a lever; and with one wrench he forced the door right open. chapter twenty six. tregelly's idea of a gold trap. dropping the piece of wood, he dashed into the dark hut, to find that the rush of wind from the suddenly opened door had started the embers in the middle of the floor flickering in a dim lambent flame, just enough to show him that the barrel table had been knocked over, the boxes used for seats driven here and there, the bed occupied by his cousin dragged away, the boards lifted, and the earth underneath it torn up, while abel was lying face downward close up to the remains of their store of wood. it was all in one comprehensive glance that he had seen this, and it seemed still to be passing panorama-like across the retina of his eyes, when the faint flame died out and he dropped upon his knees beside the prostrate man. "oh, bel, lad," he groaned; "what have i done? i oughtn't to have left you. bel, old man, speak to me. god help me! he can't be dead!" his hands were at his cousin's breast to tear open the clothes, and feel if the heart was beating, but for the moment he shrank back in horror, half paralysed with the dread of learning the truth. it was but momentary, and then he mastered the coward feeling, uttering a gasp of relief, for there was a faint throbbing against the hand he thrust into the poor fellow's breast. "alive! i am in time," he muttered, and he continued his examination in the dark, expecting to feel blood or some trace of a wound. but, as far as he could make out, there was nothing of the kind, though he felt that his cousin must have been attacked; so, after laying the sufferer in a more comfortable position, he felt for the matches on the rough shelf, struck one, saw that the lamp stood there unused, and the next minute he had a light and went down upon one knee to continue his examination. at the first glance he saw that bel's throat was discoloured, and there were ample signs of his having been engaged in some terrible struggle, but that was all. no, not all; the poor fellow was like ice, and quite insensible. dallas's brain was in a whirl, but he was able to act sensibly under the circumstances. he caught up rugs and blankets, and covered the sufferer warmly. then, going to the open door, he dragged in the sledge, and closed and secured the entrance after a fashion. his next effort was to get a good fire blazing to alter the temperature of the hut; and when this was done he went to the spirit-flask kept on the shelf for emergencies, and trickled a few drops between the poor fellow's lips. as he worked at this he tried hard to puzzle out what had happened. his first thoughts had been in the direction of attack and robbery. but there was the fastened door. it was not likely that abel, after being half strangled and hurled down, could have fastened up the door again from the inside; he would sooner have left it open in the hope of one of their neighbours passing by and rendering help. and yet there was the bed dragged away, the board removed, and the earth torn up. he crossed to the place. there was no doubt about it; the object of the attack must have been robbery, for the bag of gold was gone. he held his hand to his brow and stared about wildly. ah! a fresh thought. the dog! hungry! mad! it must have attacked and seized abel by the throat. that would account for its lacerated state and the terrible struggle. there was evidence, too, just across the hut--a hole had been half dug, half torn through the side, just big enough for such a dog to get through, and it had, after nearly killing him who had saved the brute's life, torn a way out, partly beneath the side. "oh, bel, lad, if you could only speak!" groaned dallas, as he took up the lamp, felt how cold the poor fellow was, and, setting the lamp down again, stooped to pick up a skin rug tossed into the corner by the head of the bed. but as he drew it towards him something dropped on the ground. stooping down to see what it was, he discovered that it was a sharp, thick bowie-knife. "it is robbery. he has been attacked," cried dallas; and once more he devoted himself to trying to restore the sufferer--chafing his cold limbs, bathing his temples with spirits, drawing him nearer the fire, and at last waiting in despair for the result, while feeling perfectly unable to fit the pieces of the puzzle so as to get a solution satisfactory in all points. "poor old bel!" he said to himself; "he seems always to get the worst of it; but when i told him so he only laughed, and said it was i." he was in agony as to what he should do. one moment he was for going to fetch help; the next he gave it up, dreading to leave his cousin again. by degrees, though, the poor fellow began to come to as the warmth pervaded him; and at last, to dallas's great delight, he opened his eyes, stared at him wildly, and then looked round wonderingly till his eyes lit upon the opening, over which his cousin had pegged a rug. he started violently then, and the memory of all that had taken place came back. clapping his hand to his throat, he wrenched his head round so that he could look in the direction of the bed. "the gold--the bag of gold!" he whispered. "gone, old fellow; but never mind that, so long as you are alive. try and drink this." "no, not now," said abel feebly. "i want to lie still and think. yes, i remember now; he broke in at the side there while i was asleep. he had a knife, but i seized him. did you come back then?" "no, i have not long been home. shall i go and ask norton to come?" "no, don't leave me, dal; i am so weak. but where is the dog?" "he was not here when i broke in." "you broke in?" "yes; i could not make you hear. i say, though, had i not better fetch help?" "what for? there is no doctor; and he might come back." dallas had started, for as abel spoke there was a loud thumping at the door. his hand went behind to his revolver, which he held ready, fully expecting from his cousin's manner that the marauder who had attacked him had returned; but to the delight of both, after a second blow on the door, the familiar voice of tregelly was heard in a cheery hail. "hullo, there!" he cried. "any one at home?" dallas darted to the door, threw it open, and there in the gloomy light of mid-day stood their friend with a load over his shoulder. "back again, then? i was coming to see. but i say, what's the meaning of this--is it a trap?" "is what a trap?" said dallas. "putting this bag out yonder with the dog to watch it and snap at any one who touches it. is the bag yours?" "yes, of course," exclaimed dallas excitedly; "but where was it?" "outside, i tell you; but it's a failure if it's a trap, for the dog's dead." dallas rushed out, followed by his visitor, and there in the dim light lay the dog, stretched out upon the snow, perfectly stiff and motionless. "i see how it was now," cried dallas excitedly; and as their neighbour helped him carry the dog in, he told him in a few words of how he had found matters on his return. "poor brute! was he in the place, then?" "i suppose so, and he must have attacked the scoundrel, and made him drop the bag." "and then lay down to watch it, dying at his post. if he had lived i'd have given something for that dog." "indeed you would not," said dallas warmly. "no gold would have bought him." the dog was laid down by the fire, but tregelly shook his head. "might as well save his skin, youngsters; but you'll have to thaw him first." "is he dead?" asked abel feebly. "no doubt about that," replied tregelly. "it's a pity, too, for he was a good dog. those eskimo, as a rule, are horrid brutes, eating up everything, even to their harness; but this one was something. i'd come up to bring mr wray here half one o' my hams, but you won't want it now." "no," said dallas; "and i can send you back loaded, and be out of debt." "well, i can't say what i lent you won't be welcome. my word, though, you brought a good load." "set to and play cook," said dallas, "while i tidy up. i'm sure you could eat some breakfast, and i'm starving." "so am i," cried their visitor, laughing. "beginning to feel better, master?" he added, turning to abel. "yes; only i'm so stiff, and my throat is so painful." "cheer up, my lad; that'll soon get better. i only wish, though, i had come last night when that fellow was here. i don't believe my conscience would ever have said anything if i had put a bullet through him." abel lay silent near the fire, watching the dog thoughtfully while stores were unpacked and preparations made for a meal; but at last he spoke. "dal," he said, "give me that knife that you found." "what for? you had better lie still, and don't worry about anything now except trying to get well." "give me the knife. i've been thinking. that man who attacked me last night was one of that gang." "what!" cried tregelly, stopping in his task of frying bacon. "nonsense! they daren't show their noses here now." "i feel sure of it," said abel excitedly. "let me look at that knife. i believe it's the one that was stolen from the man on the lake." dallas looked at him doubtingly, before picking up the knife and shaking his head. "it might be, or it might not," he said dubiously, as he passed it to his cousin. "well, at any rate, dal, they have tracked us down, and that accounts for the attack." "it looks like it," said dallas; "but don't get excited, old fellow. i don't want you to turn worse." "but they must be somewhere close at hand, dal," cried abel; "and we may be attacked again at any moment." "all right, then, we'll be ready for them," said dallas soothingly. "forewarned is forearmed." "you are saying that just to calm me," said abel bitterly. "you do not believe me, but it is a fact. i felt something of the kind last night in those horrible moments when he held my throat in that peculiar way. it was out of revenge for the past. they have dogged us all the time, and been close at our heels. ah, look out!" he cried wildly, as he tried to spring up--"listen! i can hear them outside plainly." chapter twenty seven. the starting of a bodyguard. "nay, nay, lad," said tregelly soothingly; "there's no one here now. that bag of gold was enough to bring one of the rowdies down upon you, but those three chaps wouldn't risk a meeting with the judge again." "i don't know," said dallas thoughtfully; "there is plenty of room hereabout for them to be in, hiding; and they must have gone somewhere." "not much chance for a man to keep himself alive in this country, without tackle and stores, or a shanty of his own." "unless he has attacked and murdered some one," said abel bitterly. "but you will see." the poor fellow was so exhausted by what he had gone through that, after painfully swallowing some of the tea that had been prepared, he dropped into a stupor-like sleep, whilst dallas watched him anxiously. "that was fancy of his, my lad," said tregelly, who was making a hearty breakfast. "come, you don't eat." "how can i, with the poor fellow like this?" cried dallas. "he seems to come in for all the misfortune." "yes, he is a bit unlucky," replied tregelly; "but you must eat if you want to help him. look here, i don't want to be unfeeling; but your mate isn't dying of fever." "no, no; but look at him." "yes, i have, and he has been a good deal knocked about, besides having a frozen foot; but that will all get well. you are set up with provisions again; you've got your gold back, and a good claim of your own." "just good enough to keep us alive." "well, it isn't very lively work, my lad," said tregelly; "but we must make the best of it. we shall have the summer again soon, and do better, perhaps." "i hope so," said dallas bitterly, "for we could never get through another winter like this." "you don't know till you try. and you take my advice: let your brother--" "my cousin." "well, it's all the same out here. let him sleep all he can, and when he's awake feed him up and keep him warm." "i can't get rid of the feeling that i ought to go back to yukon town and try to get a doctor." "nonsense, my son; he wants no doctor. and now look here; if i say something to you, will you believe that it's meant honest?" "of course. what do you mean?" "only this, my son; that i don't want you to think that i want to come and sponge upon you because you've got plenty of prog." "mr tregelly!" "let me finish, my lad," said the big cornishman. "i was going to say, what do you think of me coming and pigging here with you for a bit, in case what the youngster here says might be right; and if it is, you and me could polish off that gang pretty well, better than you could alone, or i could alone. not that i'm skeered; but if young wray here is right they'll be down upon me too. but i don't want you to think--" "but what about your gold?" said dallas eagerly. "if any one should go there, and can find it, i'll give it him." "is it so well hidden?" "yes; i've got it froze into the middle of a block of ice. they'll never look there." "will you come?" said dallas excitedly. "i'll do better than that," said the cornishman: "i'll stop now." "you will?" "of course; and glad of the chance to help you. yah!" the big fellow jumped up in horror, as a loud rap came from close by. "what was that?" cried dallas, who was equally startled. "it was that there dog's ghost got his tail thawed enough to give it a rap on the floor to say, `that's right'; and i believe your cousin's right too, now, and this is a message sent to us to say, `look out, for those three beauties are coming here again.'" "nonsense!" cried dallas, going down on his knees; "the dog's alive." "i'm blessed!" said his big friend. "well, some things can stand being froze hard and thawed out again better than we christians. i s'pose it's having such a thick coat. look at him; he's got one eye open, and he's winking." in proof thereof came a low whine, as if in appeal for food. "look here, my sons," said tregelly one day, as he came in last from the dismal darkness without to the bright warmth of the hut, where the fire was burning cheerily and an appetising odour of tea, damper, and fried ham proclaimed how busy, weak as he still was, abel had been; "i used to grumble a deal down in old cornwall because we had a lot o' wet days, and say it was a country not fit for anything better than a duck to live in; but i'm an altered man now, and i repent. it's a regular heaven compared to this klondike country. hullo, scruff, my son, how are you?" the dog gave an amiable growl, and seemed to enjoy the gentle caress the big miner gave him with his heavy boot, as he lay stretched out by the fire. "don't grumble, bob," said dallas. "this looks cheery enough, and we've done some good to-day." "oh, i'm not grumbling, my son; only making comparisons as is ojus. that's what i used to write at school. this is a reg'lar lord mayor's banquet for a hungry man. but my word, how dirty i am!" "so am i," said dallas. "what with the gravel and the wood-smoke, i feel like a charcoal burner. i should like a wash, though." "wash, my son! i should like a bathe in our old cornish sea, with the sun shining on my back. and i say, a bit of our old fish. a few pilchards or grilled mackerel, or a baked hake, with a pudding inside him--or oh! a conger pie." "don't, bob," said dallas. "this is painful. and look here; either you or i must go down to yukon city with the sledge again, for the stores are getting low." "nay," said the big cornishman; "we'll have up what i've got down yonder first. clear out the place. there's enough there to last us a fortnight longer; and i want to go there badly." "very well," said dallas; "then we'll go. feel well enough to come as far as there to-morrow, bel?" "yes; and i should like it," was the reply. "then we'll go. we'll shut up the dog here to keep house till we come back, though no one is likely to come. i say, how much longer it has been light to-day." "pretty sort of light!" growled tregelly. "i could make better light out of a london fog and some wet flannel. we got a fine lot of gravel and washing stuff, though, out of the shaft to-day. look here, i picked out this." he held out a tiny nugget of gold, about as big as a small pea; and it was duly examined, put in a small canister upon the shelf, and then the evening meal went on, and tregelly refreshed himself with large draughts of tea. "look here," he said: "we agreed that we'd tell one another if we found a good place, and we started working separate." "yes," said bel, "and fate has ordered that we should come together again. we--bah! what mockery it seems to talk of `we' when i'm such a helpless log." "look here, bel, i wish you were a bit stronger, and i'd kick you." "don't wait, my son; kick him now," cried tregelly. "he deserves it." "i'll save it up," said dallas. "but look here, big bob, you needn't make a long speech. you were going to say that you thought now that we had better stick together, share and share alike for the future." "well, i dunno how you knew that," said tregelly; "but it was something of the kind." "that's right, then we will; eh, bel?" "of course; if tregelly will consent to share with such a weak, helpless--" "here," cried the big cornishman, springing up, "shall i kick him?" "no, no; let him off." "but he do deserve it," said tregelly, subsiding. "now, i was going to say it don't seem quite fair for me to stop, as those precious three--if there is three of 'em left unhung--not having shown up, there don't seem any need." "more need than ever," said dallas. "your being here scares them away." "hope it do," said tregelly. "then look here, we'll go down to my pit to-morrow, and bring up the sledge load, including my bit of ice, for it can't be so very long now before it'll begin to thaw a bit every day, and i don't want my block to melt and let out the gold. there's more there than you'd think." "but that's yours," said abel. "nay, nay, my son; we'll put it all together. you've got some, and there's a lot yonder outside when the soft weather comes and we can wash it out; so that's settled. wonder whether working in that hot damp shaft'll give us rheumatiz by-and-by." "i hope not, bob," said dallas, yawning. "i've often thought of something of the kind. one thing is certain, that if we don't find much more gold than we have got so far we shall have earned our fortunes." "fortunes!" cried abel contemptuously; "why, at the rate we have been going on, if we get enough to pay for our journey home, as well as for our provisions, that will be about all." "and except for the pleasant trip, my sons, we might as well have stopped at home." chapter twenty eight. a strange discovery. dallas stared the next morning when he opened his eyes, for the fire was burning brightly and abel was bustling about in the lit-up hut, with nothing but a slight limp to tell of the old frost-bite in his foot. "come," he said cheerfully; "breakfast is nearly ready." "where's bob tregelly?" cried dallas. "scraping the ice off the sledge to make it run easily. it's a glorious morning." "night," said dallas sourly, for he was half asleep. "i'm not going to call it morning till there's daylight. snowing?" "no. keen frost, and the stars are brilliant." "bother the stars!" grumbled dallas, rolling out of his warm couch of blankets and skins. "i want the sun to come back and take the raw edge off all this chilly place. but i say, you have given up going with us to-day--to-night, i mean?" "given up? no. i feel that it is time i made an effort, and i shall be better and stronger if i do." "but you can't wear your boots, you know, and it will not be safe for you to trust to a bandaged sandal." "can't wear my boots?" said abel. "well, at any rate, i've got them on." "but they must hurt you horribly." "not in the least," said abel, and his cousin was silent while he completed his exceedingly simple toilet--one that he would not have thought possible in the old days. by the time he had finished, the door opened, and tregelly stooped to pass under the lintel. "morning, my son," he cried; "i've been greasing the runners of the sledge a bit, and rubbing up the chest-strap. the thing wants using. i've oiled the guns and six-shooters too. beautiful morning. i say, how that dog has come round!" for the great shaggy brute had walked to the door to meet him, with his bushy tail well curled-up, and a keen look of returning vigour in his eyes and movements. "yes," said dallas; "i never thought he'd live. but i say, bel persists in going with us, and i'm sure he'll break down." "well, that doesn't matter, my son. if he does we'll make him sit astride of the load as we come back, and each take a rope, and give him a ride home." "i shall be able to walk," said abel stoutly. "very well," said dallas. "you always were the most obstinate animal that ever breathed." the breakfast was eaten, pistols and cartridges placed in their belts, rifles taken down from their hooks, and the fire banked up with big logs that would last to their return; and then dallas took up one of the skin-lined sleeping-bags. "what's that for?" said abel suspiciously. "for you to ride back in." abel made an angry gesture. "i tell you i'm better," he said sharply. "well, never mind if you are, my son," said tregelly quietly. "you must get tired, and if you are you'll be none the worse for a ride, but a good deal so if you get your toes frosted again." "very well, make a child of me," said abel, and he gave way. "have we got all we want?" "better take something for a bit of lunch before we start back," suggested dallas. "nay-y-ay!" cried the cornishman, "there's plenty yonder, and we may as well carry some of it back inside as out." "come on, then," said dallas, and he strode to the door, when, to the surprise of all, the dog uttered a deep bark and sprang before them. "oh, come, that won't do," cried dallas. "you've got to stop and mind the house." the dog barked fiercely, and rose at the door upon its hind-legs. "yes, he had better stay," said abel; "we mustn't leave the place unprotected. let's slip out one by one." "i don't know," said tregelly thoughtfully; "he has evidently made up his mind to go with us, and if we shut him in alone he'll be wild and get springing about, and perhaps knock the fire all over the place. don't want to come back and find the shanty burned up." this remark settled the matter, and they started out into the keen dark morning, the dog, after bounding about a little and indulging in a roll in the snow, placing himself by the trace as if drawing, and walking in front of the empty sledge which tregelly was dragging. "might as well have let you pull too," said the latter; "but never mind--you may rest this time." no fires were burning yet, as they trudged on over the frozen snow, while the stars glittered brilliantly as if it were midnight, giving quite enough light for them to make their way over the four miles which divided them from tregelly's claim. "getting pretty close now," he said, breaking the silence; for the rugged state of the slippery snow had resulted in the latter part of the journey being made in silence, only broken by the crunching of the icy particles and the squeaking sound made from time to time by the sledge runners as they glided over the hard surface. suddenly tregelly stopped short, and as they were in single file, the rest halted too. "what's the matter?" said dallas. "why, some one's took up a claim and made a shanty close up to mine. no, by thunder! they've got in my place and lit a fire! oh, i'm not going to stand that!" "what impudence!" said dallas. "impudence! i call it real cheek! but come on; i'll soon have them out of that!" "hist!" whispered abel; "let's go up carefully and see first. it may be some one we know." "whether we know them or whether we don't," said tregelly angrily, "they're coming out, and at once. do you hear? there's more than one of them. come along." but before he had taken a dozen of his huge strides towards the hut, from whose rough chimney the ruddy smoke and sparks were rising, there was a wild hoarse cry as of some one in agony, and the sound of a struggle going on, while fierce oaths arose, and a voice, horrible in its weird, strange tones, shrieked out so that the words reached their ears: "the dog--the dog! keep him from me, or he'll tear my heart right out!" while at the same moment scruff barking fiercely, bounded forward towards the door, just as a cry of horror arose, so awful that it seemed to freeze the marrow in the young men's bones. "come on," shouted tregelly; "they're killing some one." the two young men needed no inciting. following tregelly closely, they ran towards the door, which was flung open as their leader reached it, and tregelly was dashed back against them with such violence that he would have fallen but for their support. at the same moment, after they had caught, by the light of the fire within, a glimpse of two rough-looking men, one of them apparently as big as their companion, the door swung to again and all was darkness, while added to the still continuing cries, yells, and appeals to keep back the dog, there came from the other direction the crunching of heavy boots in full retreat on the snow, the savage barking of the dog, and then flash after flash, followed by reports, as the late occupants of the hut evidently turned to fire at the pursuing dog. the first idea of the trio was to rush after the men who had come in contact with them, but second thoughts suggested the impossibility of overtaking them in the darkness, while the appealing cries from within the cottage drew them in the other direction. "leave them to the dog," shouted dallas excitedly. "yes, come on and see who's this one inside," growled tregelly, as he thrust open the door and stepped into his hut. the place was well illumined by the blazing wood fire, and they looked round in wonder for the assailant or dog which had elicited the hoarse wild appeals for help and protection which rose from the solitary occupant of the place--a wild, bloodshot-eyed, athletic man in torn and ragged half-open shirt and trousers, who cowered on the rough bed trying to force himself closer into the corner, his crooked fingers scratching at the wall, while all the time his head was wrenched round so that he stared wildly at imaginary dangers, evidently vividly seen, and kept on shrieking for help. chapter twenty nine. one gets his deserts. the little party paused and glanced excitedly round, their weapons ready to fire at the companions whom the man was addressing. "keep him off, mate--drag him back, beardy! can't you see he's tearing me to bits! shoot! shoot! why don't you shoot? never mind hitting me. shoot!--can't you see the dog's mad?" there was a moment or two's pause, during which the man was silent, panting and foaming at the mouth, as he glared wildly towards the door. then he began again. "there, there--you've missed him!" he shrieked. "he's at me again. he's mad--mad, i tell you! shoot--shoot!--ah!" the poor wretch darted out one hand, caught up something from between the bed and the wall, and the firelight glistened upon the side of a bottle, which he raised so violently to his lips that the neck rattled against his teeth; and the lookers-on heard the deep _glug_--_glug_--_glug_ of the liquid within, as the man drank with avidity. "ah!" he yelled again, and, raising himself up, he threw the bottle with all his might across the hut, so that it struck the wooden wall heavily, and fell to the floor unbroken. "missed--missed!" shrieked the man; "and he's springing at me again! keep him back--keep him back! ah!" the shriek he uttered was horrible, as he went through all the movements of one struggling wildly against the attacks of a savage beast, and then suddenly dropped down cowering into the corner, panting loudly. meanwhile tregelly had picked up the bottle and held it to his nostrils, before glancing at the side. "that's mine," he growled. "they found that, then. i got it for spirits, case i was took ill in the night; but it was so bad i never used none, and put it on the corner of the shelf. it's poison, that's what it is; much like paraffin as can be. nice stuff for a man like that!" "the man's mad," said dallas, with a shudder. "yes," whispered abel; "don't you see, dal? it's one of three who attacked us up in the pass." "yes; there's no doubt about that," said dallas. "he's the man who attacked me the other night. i'm sure as can be." "oh, that's him, is it?" said tregelly with a deep, angry growl. "well, it'll be a long time before he attacks you again, my son." "is it fever?" said dallas. "'m! no, my son; i've seen a man took like that before. i should say it's hydrophoby, from the bite of a dog; and he's been doctoring himself with that paraffin stuff till he's madder than ever." the sight before them had so taken up their attention that for the moment scruff's pursuit of the other two had been forgotten; but now it was brought vividly back to mind by a dull thump at the door, and the scratching of claws, and as the door yielded, the great dog forced its way in, with his red tongue lolling out, and panting loudly with his exertions. the effect was magical. the man upon the couch could not have seen or heard the dog, but he seemed to divine the great animal's presence, and springing up again from where he cowered, he began to shriek again horribly. "the dog--the dog!" he yelled--"tearing me to pieces! mad--mad! shoot--shoot, i say!" but attention was taken from him to the action of the dog. as soon as the ghastly, distorted face in the corner rose, and the shrieks began to fill the hut, the dog paused by the door, with the thick hair about his neck bristling up till the animal looked double his former size, and a low, muttering, thunderous growl came from his grinning jaws. the next moment he would have sprung at the wretched man, but dallas grasped the position and was too quick for him. in an instant he had sprung across the dog's back, nipped him between his knees, and buried his hands in the thick hair of his neck. "quick, bel, or he will tear him to pieces!" cried dallas. "the door-- the door! here, bob, help; i can't hold him. strong as a horse." abel flew to drag open the door, tregelly seized the dog by his tail; there was a furious scratching and barking, a rush out, a swing round of two powerful arms, and the door was banged to again, and fastened; but only just in time, scruff's head coming at it with a loud thud, and his claws rattling and scratching on the wood, as he barked and growled savagely. "lie down, sir!" roared dallas. "how dare you! lie down." there was a loud barking at this, but there were sounds as if of protest mingled with it, and finally the dog subsided into a howl, and dropped down by the door to wait, a low, shuffling, panting sound coming through the crack at the bottom. "he'd have killed him," said dallas, panting with the exertion. "not a doubt about it, my son," replied tregelly. "that's the chap, sure enough--him as half killed you, mr abel." "yes, i'm sure of it." "knew him again directly." "think so?" said dallas. "sure of it, my son. dog wouldn't have gone for a sick man in bed. knew him directly, and went for him. depend upon it, them two had a desprit fight that night when scruff laid hold of him and made him drop the gold-bag." "that's it, bel," said dallas. "no doubt scruff bit him pretty well, and he has scared himself into the belief that the dog was mad." "yes, that and delirim trimins," said the big cornishman, looking down at the horrible wreck before him, the face seeming more ghastly and grotesque from the dancing shadows. "the brute has drunk himself mad. he's a thief, and a murderer, or meant to be; and him and his gang have broke into my house. if the judge and his lot yonder could get at him they'd hang him to the first tree; he told us if we saw him and his lot we were to shoot at sight; and he's no good to himself or anybody else, and the world would be all the better without him; and--i say, don't you think we'd better let the dog come in and put him out of his misery?" "no," said dallas angrily; "neither do you." "well, put him outside in the snow. it's a merciful sort of death, and very purifying to such a chap as this. soon freeze hard. he wouldn't come back to life like old scruff. what do you say to that, master abel wray?" "nothing," said abel shortly, "because if i said _yes_! you wouldn't do it." tregelly stood and shook with the ebullition of chuckles which came bubbling out. "oh, dear me," he said at last, as he wiped his eyes. "i can't help being such a fool. it's my nature to, my sons. no, i couldn't set the dog at the beast, and i couldn't put him out to freeze; but if it had come to a fight, and i'd been up, i could have shot him or knocked him on the head, and felt all the better for it." "yes, i know," said dallas, who stood gazing down at the trembling wretch upon the couch. "i s'pose i ought to be very glad him and his lot found my place empty; and i ought to sit down and nurse him and try to make him well again, and stop till his mates came and made an end of me--same as they've made an end of everything in the place. i say, just look here--quiet, scruff, or i'll come and talk to you with one of my boots!--i'm blessed if they haven't finished up everything i left here--ham, bacon, meal, tea, sugar--every blessed thing," continued tregelly, as he opened canister and tin, peered into the meal-tub, and finished by staring down at the miserable wretch on the bed, and thoughtfully scratching his head. "it's horrible, bob," said dallas. "the brutes! but i don't know what we're to do." tregelly looked down again at the man, whose lips were moving fast; but his words were inaudible, save now and then, when he uttered a strange yelping cry, and they heard the word, "dog!" "seems your turn now, master abel," said tregelly. "you've got your knife into him most. but he's got his deserts." chapter thirty. a staggering blow. "is he dying?" said abel, as he looked down with commiseration on the man who tried to take his life. "as sure as the sun'll rise to-morrow morning somewhere if it don't here, my son. he's dying fast. man can't live long going through what he's going through now. he's dying as horrible a death as a man can die. hanging would be a blessing to it." "yes, he's weaker already," said dallas, looking at the prostrate man. "that's so, my son. i don't like his dying in my place; but we can't help it. let's get together what we want to take, and go." "but there is nothing to load the sledge with," said dallas. "there's a nice lot of cartridges--pistol and rifle--in a tin in yon corner. we'll take those and--well, i'm blessed! they've got them, too!" "how tiresome!" "but they haven't got my gold; i'll warrant that." "where is it buried?" asked abel. "buried?" replied tregelly, with a laugh. "'tain't buried at all. it's just outside the door there--one of those big blocks of ice; but we shall have to wipe it round with a pick-axe to make it a more decent size for the sledge." "one of these blocks?" "that's right, my son. if you make a hiding-place some one's sure to find it; but they'd never think of looking inside a block lying outside your door. you see, i picked a big hole in it, put in my stuff, then a big wedge of flannel, rammed some snow on the top, poured a drop of water over, and in half an hour it was a solid block." "well, let's get it and go, before those other scoundrels come back." "you needn't fear them, my son. scruff would let us know if they were near. i only wish they would come, so as we could have a fight. taking my stores like that." "but about this man?" said abel. "what about him, my son? we are doing all we can by letting him alone. i know enough of that sort of thing to be able to say that nothing can be done for him. no doctor could do him any good, if there was one to be had. let's get the gold and go back. perhaps his mates will come back to him when we're gone." "and if they do, what then?" said dallas sharply. "you mean, shall i lay wait for them and trap them, my son. no; i can't do that now. be best for them, though, to keep quite out o' my way. now then, open the door just a little way, so that you can squeeze out and get hold of the dog, mr dallas. if he gets in we shall have a scene." dallas nodded, glanced at where the delirious man lay muttering to himself, and then slipped out, and was nearly thrown backward by the rush the dog made to get into the hut; but he held on to the animal's thick coat till his companions had had time to slip out and the door was closed, the dog growling his disappointment the while. "now," said dallas merrily, "which is the block we ought to take?" there was a heap of hardened snow on either side of the door--a heap composed of roughened blocks, and when the young men had declared their inability to say that one was more likely than another, tregelly stooped down and rolled the very first one over and over. "that's the one," he said; "but i may as well chip a hundredweight of ice off it. wait while i get the pick from the side of the shaft, and you may as well keep a sharp look-out with cocked pieces. they might try to rush us." dallas and abel took the hint, and did better; they sheltered themselves behind the wood heap, ready for any attack that might come; while the dog, now pacified, walked here and there, snuffing about as if scenting danger. tregelly was back directly, and by dexterous usage of the pick-axe he soon reduced the heavy block to a more portable size, after which it was secured upon the sledge, and the return journey commenced. a good look-out was kept, every man walking with his piece ready cocked, for there were plenty of places to be passed where they might well expect to meet with an ambush; but all went well, the ice-block forming but a light load, as the snow was hard beneath their feet. to make matters easier, abel kept up well, declaring again and again that he was not tired. "don't overdo it," dallas said. "even with you on the sledge it would be a light load for us two to draw." "you will not draw me, even if it would be," replied abel. "i feel stronger and brighter now than when i came out. it shows what a little energy will do." it was fairly light as they came within sight of the hut they had left that morning, and a faint curl of smoke rising from the roof showed that the fire was still alight; and all seemed to be perfectly right, till they were close up, when dallas caught sight of a piece of timber lying across the front of the door, and began to run. "take care, my lad!" cried tregelly; "there may be danger." abel followed, but the dog out-speeded the little party, and rushing to the front, bounded in at the open door. "take care! take care!" cried abel, as he saw that the door had been forced in their absence. but he was too late, for his cousin had rushed up, rifle in hand, and sprung into the place. chapter thirty one. scruff gives warning. abel was still weak and wanting in spirit from his long illnesses, but the courage displayed by his cousin roused him to action, and he followed the others into the hut. but it was to face no enemies, only to find scruff sniffing about-- tregelly stamping with rage. "what is it?" cried abel. "somebody been in, of course." "been in and carried off all they could lay hands on." "took advantage of our absence, bel, and loaded themselves with stores." "and all through not leaving the dog and risking the fire." "poor scruff!" said abel. "perhaps it's as well, for they would probably have shot him." "they might as well shoot us," cried tregelly, "if this sort of thing is to go on." "yes," said dallas. "everybody round must be warned at once." fortunately, further examination showed that the visitors to the hut must have been hurried in their movements, and had been either unable to carry away, or had overlooked, a portion of the remaining stores, so that starvation did not quite stare them in the face; but it was absolutely necessary that a journey to the settlement should be made at once. "my job this time," said tregelly, as the matter was discussed by the fire, where, armed with an axe, he was busily chipping a way into the centre of the block of ice they had brought back. "now, if those two mates of mine hadn't grown sick of it, and gone back before the winter come on, they'd just have been useful now." "did you quarrel?" asked dallas. "quarrel? no, my son," said tregelly, as he chipped away at the ice. "they took the right notion one day that there was the long winter to face, and that they'd better share and be off while their shoes was good." "well?" said dallas. "well, we shared, and they went home." then there was silence, save that the cornishman went on chipping away at the ice, more and more carefully, for he was getting through the top of the shell, and the golden kernel was near, scruff watching the proceedings in rather a cynical or dog-like way, as if sneering at the trouble these two-legged animals took to obtain something not good to eat. "yes; it's terrible work in the dark," said abel. "perhaps they were right." "but the long days are coming," said dallas cheerfully, "and then we'll go farther north up one of the other creeks, towards the mountains. there is abundance of gold if we could find it. and we must--we will find it before we've done." "that's right, my son," cried tregelly. "we three won't give up till we've had a reg'lar good try. now then, here we are: all mixed up and froze into a lump. just hand me that iron bucket, mr wray, and i'll chip it out into that, and throw it down by the fire. wonder," he added, as he began to break out the gilded ice, "whether there's much of my share left." the pieces of ice and gold went on rattling down till the last scrap was emptied out, and the hollowed block of ice tossed out of the door. "let's see," said tregelly, "my two mates said that at the end of the winter there'd only be about two hundred shillings' worth. but they were wrong," he continued, with a merry laugh, "for all my share's here, and i've added a bit more to it--enough to pay for what we want from down the river; so i haven't done so badly, after all." "you have done wonders," cried dallas. "oh, i don't know. i've worked pretty hard, though," said tregelly, giving the contents of the bucket a twist round and pouring off some of the melted ice into another bucket. "looks pretty, don't it, my sons? but hardly worth all the trouble one takes to get it." he pushed the bucket right in among the embers, and the contents began to steam, till all the ice was melted, when the dirty water was drained away and the gold then turned carefully out on the iron cake griddle, baked to dryness on the wood ashes, and then examined. "that would make mr redbeard's ugly mouth water if he could see it, my sons, eh?" "yes, it looks tempting," said dallas. "put it away." "nay; we've agreed to share now, my sons. let's take out enough for me to spend down the river. let the other go into your leather bag." "no, that would not be fair," said dallas quickly. "i say it would, my sons; and i ought to know best. look here: you're going to help me take care of what i've got, and i'm going to help you. sometimes you'll get more; sometimes i shall; so you see it will come all square in the end. there," he said, in conclusion, as he roughly scraped a portion of the glittering heap aside, "what do you say to that being enough?" "i'd take more," said abel; "provisions will be dearer than ever." "right; so they will. well, that must be plenty. now then, where's your bag?" this was produced, rather unwillingly, from the hiding-place. "that's right," he continued, as the glittering treasure was poured into the leather bag. "now then, we'll just see what we can do in the way of prog for me to take. i can hold out pretty well on some cake and plenty of tobacco. then i'll be off." "when do you mean to go?" said abel. "go, my son? why, now, directly. sooner the better. those chaps won't come back till they want some more prog. i tell you what you might do, though; go to the first shanty and tell the neighbour about those two being out on the rampage, and ask him to pass the word all along the line." an hour later tregelly was ready to start, and shook hands. then he hesitated. "what is it?" said dallas. "i was thinking whether i ought to go round by my claim and see how that fellow's getting on. sometimes i'm pulled one way, sometimes i'm pulled another. but going perhaps means a bullet in my jacket, so i won't go." he threw the leather band over his shoulder, and the next minute the sledge runners were creaking and crackling as they glided over the hardened snow, while dallas stood listening with his companion till the last sound died out, and then hurriedly fetched load after load of fire-logs, with the dog busily at work exploring the neighbourhood in all directions, coming back at five-minute intervals panting and sending up his visible breath, till dallas bade him go in. "dal," said abel, after a few minutes' pause, during which they had been stacking the wood neatly in one corner, "don't you feel glad that you saved scruff's life?" "i should think i do. he's going to prove a regular policeman on the beat." a low, deep growl came from the dog. "hullo! does he object to being called a bobby?" "hist! no," whispered abel, darting to the hooks upon which the rifles were hung. for the dog had trotted softly to the door, and stood looking down at the narrow opening at the bottom, and was growling more deeply than before. "there's some one coming," whispered dallas, "and that fire makes it as light within here as day." the two young men darted close to the side, and drew the curtain-like rugs over the door and the little shuttered window. just as this was completed the dog growled again, and then burst into a deep-toned bay. chapter thirty two. the enemy in the dark. "ahoy there! keep that dog quiet," cried a familiar voice from some distance off. "it's all right," cried dallas with a sigh of relief. "norton." "here, scruff, lie down, old man," cried abel. "friends, friends." the dog whined, and waved his bushy tail as the door was opened, and their bluff friend came into the glow shed by the fire. "how are you, my lads? haven't seen you for ages. didn't know you had started a dog." "he's a visitor," said dallas. "come in." the man entered and looked sideways at the dog, who had begun to smell his legs. "not treacherous, is he? some of these eskimo are brutes to snap." "no, he understands you are friends," said abel. "lie down, scruff." the dog crouched, and watched the visitor as he sat down on a box, took out his pipe, and lit it. "thought i'd give you a look in as i didn't feel worky. how's things going?" "we were coming to warn you," said dallas; and he related what had passed. "them?" said norton, springing up and putting out his pipe; "i was in hopes they were hanged. well, i'll be off; this means a serious matter for them. we shall have to get up a hunt and stop this. will you join?" "of course," said the young men in a breath. "then good-bye; only mind this--if you hear firing come and help." "yes; and you'll do the same?" "trust me," said the man shortly, and he shook hands and hurried away. the next four days passed anxiously enough, and they heard no more of norton and his friends. the first two nights watch was kept, the occupants of the hut taking turn and turn of three hours. but this duty, somewhat in accordance with the proverb of familiarity breeding contempt, was deputed to scruff, who, however, was more contemptuous than either of his masters; for he kept the watch carefully curled-up with his tail across his eyes, in the spot where the warmest glow from the fire struck. the fifth day passed without any news being heard from the other scattered claim-holders, and it was thought possible, though hardly likely, that tregelly might return. the night came on intensely black, with intervals of perfect stillness, followed by puffs of icy wind, which were charged with tiny sharp spicules of ice, which made the face tingle at the slightest exposure to its influence. "he will not be here to-night," said dallas, after looking out; "there's a storm brewing, and it is too dark to travel, so we may as well give him up." "we had better sit up a few hours. he may come." so, instead of creeping into their sleeping-bags after they had banked up the fire and made all snug, they sat talking, till warmth and weariness combined to make them drowsy, and they lay down, to fall asleep directly. in an hour or two the blazing fire had given place to a heap of wood ashes, over which, as the rising wind swept round the place, what seemed to be a faint phosphorescent light played for a few moments and then died out. scruff was curled-up so tightly that he looked fixed, and he seemed blind and deaf to everything, till towards the middle of the night a watcher, had there been one, would have seen that there were two bright points visible through the thick brush so closely curled round, while directly after the dog's ears seemed to prick up. if there had been a watcher he would in all probability have attributed this to fancy, consequent upon the faint glow which came and went about the embers, as the wind sighed round the lonely hut; for shadows darkened, and various objects grew more or less defined. then all idea of want of reality would have passed away, for the dog suddenly and silently sprang to his feet, took a step or two towards the door, and then stood with his head turned on one side, listening. he remained perfectly motionless for quite a minute, as the glow from the fire grew less and less till he was almost invisible. then suddenly throwing up his head, he uttered a low, deep-toned bark, which brought the cousins from their beds, each seizing upon the rifle laid ready. "what is it, scruff?" cried dallas. "some one there?" there was another deep-toned bark, and the dog sprang to the door and rose up on its hind-legs, tearing at the rug which covered it until it fell. scruff stood there with his head on one side, listening for some minutes, during which the silence was painful in the extreme. dallas had sprung to one side of the door, abel to the other, and they stood close up to the rough walls, the only place where they could be in safety, for there they were beyond the vision of any one who peered through the shuttered window or the apertures of the door left exposed by the tearing down of the rough hanging. the simplest thing, and an act which would have left them more freedom, would have been to have quenched the fire at once. but there was no water at hand, and there was sufficient light from the glowing embers to expose every movement to an enemy without. they stood there with every nerve on the strain, listening, while the dog whined uneasily, took a trot round the fire, and returned to the door, to stand with his head on one side again. "there must be some one out there," whispered abel. dallas nodded, and made a sign to his cousin to be silent, for the dog whined uneasily again, turning to the young man, thrusting his muzzle against his hand, and looking up at him as if waiting for orders. the next moment he was at the door again, and reared up with his paws against the bar, at which he tore as if to get it down, so that he might go out into the night. "here, i know," cried abel excitedly, "he must hear or feel in some way that tregelly is close here." "he would not come on at this time of night." "why not? it's as dark most of the day as it is now. let's open the door and give a hail." "no; listen," whispered dallas. "he would do that." "if he were within reach." "he must be within reach for the dog to know," whispered dallas. but as he spoke he doubted his own opinion, for it seemed possible that a half-wild dog's sensibilities might be sufficiently keen to feel the coming of a friend. "here, what is it, old fellow?" he said softly. "some one there?" the dog whined and tore at the bar. "it is as i say, dal," said abel excitedly. "look at him. here, scruff, old lad, what is it?" the dog growled. "that doesn't sound as if he scented a friend, bel." "he does, i tell you," cried abel angrily; for he was prone to be irritable as a result of his many sufferings. "here, let's have the door open at once." it was as if the dog understood his words, for he dropped on all fours and uttered a deep-toned bay. "all right, scruff, we'll let you go," cried abel, and seizing the rough bar, he was in the act of raising it from the notch in which it rested, when _bang_--_bang_, two shots were fired just outside, and simultaneously the door shook violently, there was a peculiar rending, splintering sound in the rough boards, and dallas's heart gave a spasmodic leap, for he saw his cousin fall to the ground. "bel, lad! hurt?" panted dallas, stepping forward and dropping on one knee by his cousin's side. as he spoke there were two more shots, the bullets striking the door, and one passing clean through with a whirring, humming sound, to strike the wall on the other side, dallas's position in all probability saving his life, for the sound seemed to pass just over his head. "dal, old man! hurt?" was abel's answer. "no, not touched. why don't you answer? were you hit?" "no; i only ducked down, it seemed so near." "save your shot," said dallas hoarsely. "when we fire it must be as a last resource." abel nodded. "right," he said. "crawl to your own side. i'll take this. the bullets will not come through the logs of the wall." "i'm not so sure," said abel softly; but he obeyed his cousin's order, just as a couple more shots were fired through. the next moment dallas was stamping and kicking out the fire, with the result that the interior of the hut grew lighter. "don't, don't do that, dal," whispered abel. "you're right in the line of fire, too." as a proof that their position was being made more precarious a couple more shots were fired, the bullets buzzing across the interior. "must," was the reply. "there, the ashes will soon grow faint;" and in a few minutes the place was nearly black; but at the same time it was full of strangling wood-smoke which rose slowly towards the opening in the roof which formed their chimney. meanwhile shot after shot was fired through the door, and at every dull thud or tearing of the stout woodwork, the dog dashed about, snarling and barking furiously. "dal! dal!" cried abel passionately; "are we to stop here doing nothing?" "yes; we are not going to shoot at random. wait a bit, and our time will come. have you plenty of cartridges handy?" "yes; a pocketful." "don't waste them, then. one will be sufficient to silence an enemy. we must wing him--that will be sufficient. i say!" "yes, what?" "bob tregelly would not knock at the door like this, would he?" "don't. i made sure it was he." the firing went on through the door, and in the darkness, which now grew profound, the besieged made out that the direction of the bullets was varied, for those which came through struck the wall in different places--high, low, and to right and left; and the result of this was that suddenly, in spite of dallas's endeavours to keep the dog close to him in shelter, he escaped from him to bound about, barking savagely, and the next minute, as a couple of shots came through the door, he uttered a peculiar snarling snap, and threw himself with a heavy thud against the door. "he has got it, bel," whispered dallas. "here, scruff! scruff!" the dog came to him, whining, and then uttered a dismal howl. "poor old chap! you must lick the place," said dallas. "i'll see to it when i can get a light." "badly wounded, dal?" said abel. "can't tell. no; not very bad, or he would have lain still. has he come to you?" "yes," said abel, from the other side of the door; "he has shoved his head against me." there was a pause then, and an ejaculation full of horror. "what is it?" anxiously. "ugh! the poor fellow's bleeding!" chapter thirty three. a death shriek. "wait a bit--wait a bit!" said dallas through his teeth; "we'll pay the cowardly brutes yet. bel, it makes me feel like a savage. i could enjoy pulling the rope that was to hang them!" "i couldn't; but i wish it was daylight and i could get a good aim at one of them. i say, they'll riddle that door." "wait a bit," whispered dallas, with a curious little laugh, "and we'll answer their riddle." the firing went on persistently, but the dog barked no more--only gave vent from time to time to a low growl, while the listeners could tell from the sound that he was applying an animal's natural remedy to his wound by licking it diligently. and the firing went on as if the enemy were searching every part of the hut with their bullets. "dal," whispered abel suddenly, "don't be startled." "you're not going to be such an idiot as to open the door to the fire, are you?" "no; but it would not be idiotic," said abel quietly; "for i feel as if i could hit one of them by seeing the flash of his piece." "what are you going to do, then?--let the dog out?" "no, not now he is wounded. i wish we had set him free, though, at the first--he'd have startled the wretches!" "they'd have done for him with their bowies," said dallas. "what am i not to be startled at? ah-h-ah! you brutes! lie right down, bel! they're firing at the wall now." "then it's time for it. look here, i'm going to humbug them." two more reports came, and, as the sound died out, abel uttered so unearthly a shriek that dallas felt it go through him in a shudder that chilled him to the bone. "bel!" he panted wildly. "all right; did it sound natural?" was whispered back. "oh, you wretch!" whispered dallas; and abel laughed. "they'll think they've done for the dog and one of us," said abel softly. "let them go on firing now for a bit, and then it will be your turn; only don't squeak like i did." "i see," said dallas. "you feel for something big, and when they've fired a bit more hurl it hard at the door, and then give a big groan." "all right!" "they'll feel sure then, and come up and begin to force open the door or the shutters. then we must let them have it." "yes; four barrels at once," said dallas. "and some seasoning directly after from our pepper-boxes." the dog was so quiet now that abel trembled for his fate; but he and his companion, as they lay there in the darkness, had something else to think about, for the firing went on steadily, and they wondered it did not bring up some of the miners from their claims here and there. "surely they're not too cowardly to come to our help," thought dallas. four shots were fired now in quick succession, as if the enemy were anxious to bring matters to an end, and abel whispered, "try it directly they fire again." "yes," said dallas; and directly after abel heard the handle of the galvanised iron bucket chink softly. then came two more shots, and in an instant dallas dashed the bucket against the door with all his might, uttered a heavy groan, and was silent. the firing outside ceased now, showing that the ruse had been successful; and the two young men held their breath as they listened for the nearer approach of the enemy, which they felt sure must now be imminent; but they listened a long time in vain. at last, though, the crackling of the snow outside, as from the pressure of a heavy foot, warned them that their time was coming, and they lay ready with the muzzles of their pieces ready to direct at door or window, as the necessity might arise, and their revolvers on the floor by their knees. which was it to be--door or window? they would have given years of their lives to know at which to aim, and they felt now what guesswork it must be. "they'll come to the window, i hope," thought dallas; "and if they do i won't fire till i am sure of winging one of them." but though they waited, no such opportunity seemed likely to come, for there was not a sound at the front after they heard the soft crackling of the snow. all at once, when the horrible suspense seemed greater than they could bear, and dallas felt that he must spring to his feet, rush to the door, and begin firing at random, it seemed to both that an icy hand had grasped each of them by the throat. it was another exemplification of the aphorism that it is the unexpected which always happens. for all at once, after a long period of perfect silence, there was a peculiar grating sound at the back of the hut instead of at the front, and for a few moments both the defenders of the place were puzzled. then, as the sound was repeated, they realised what it was. there were several pieces of thickish pine-trunk lying outside in the snow, pieces that had been cut to form uprights for the rough shedding over their shaft. these pieces were very rough and jagged with the remains of the boughs which had been lopped off, so that they would be as easy to climb--almost--as a ladder. two of these had been softly placed so that they lay along the slope of the roof, and up them one of the enemy was cautiously climbing, while his companion was holding them at the foot. "bel must grasp this," thought dallas, who dared not whisper, for fear of giving the alarm to the enemy and putting them on their guard. for, cunning enough in the plans that had been devised, the enemy were about to ignore door and window, and make their approach by the opening in the roof through which the smoke passed. there was a sort of lid of boards nailed a foot above to prevent the snow from falling straight through, but there was ample room for an active man to lower himself down through the hole; and, drawing a deep breath full of satisfaction, dallas changed the direction of the muzzle of his gun, feeling quite sure that the one who was to attack would lower himself down feet first, so that the task of performing vengeance would be easy as far as one of the men was concerned, and at any rate they could make sure of him. dallas's teeth gritted softly together as he waited, and abel's heart beat with heavy throbs, for he had been as quick to grasp the way of attack as his cousin. but they had not fully fathomed the enemy's plans, and were completely taken by surprise. it was only a matter of a few minutes, but it seemed like an hour as the young men strained their eyes in the black darkness, and mentally saw one of their foes climb slowly up till he reached the sloping roof, up which he progressed steadily, the two pieces of tree rasping and crunching the thick, icy snow which clung to the roof; and then fingers trembled about triggers as the defenders tried to guess at the opening exactly in the centre of where the ridge-pole ran. and now the sounds came more plainly; a hand was evidently feeling about for the opening, for a bit or two of snow from the edge of the hole-- pieces which had not melted away--fell down amongst the embers with a soft pat, and a low, hissing sound of steam arose from the hot fire-hole. "now he knows exactly," thought dallas, "and i shall hear him turn and begin to lower himself down. we ought to wait till he is more than half through before we fire. will bel think of this?" he drew a long breath, for there was a heavy, rustling sound above, as if the man on the roof was altering his position. then there came a sharp scratch, for the greater part of a box of matches had been struck all at once. then there was a brilliant flash of light, the momentary glimpse of a big hairy hand, from which the burning matches began to fall, while the interior of the dark hut was lit up, showing the dog, with eyes glistening and bared teeth, crouched to spring, and the two young men kneeling, each with his weapon raised. but they did not fire, feeling that it would be madness to trust to hitting the unseen, for the hand was too small a target; and before they could make up their minds what to do next, two shots were fired from outside, and a cry rang out on the midnight air. chapter thirty four. the striking of another match. the long-silent dog burst out into a hoarse bark once more, as the two young men knelt there as if paralysed, and the tiny splints died out one by one where they had fallen amongst the wood ashes, while from the roof there was a horrible scrambling, struggling sound, hoarse cries, the crunching of the frozen snow, followed by the scraping sound as of some one sliding down the slope of the roof, and then a dull, heavy thud, a groan or two, and finally complete silence. "he has it," said dallas hoarsely. "hush! hark!" cried abel. for there was another shot, then another, and another, till quite a dozen had rung out, each growing more and more distant; and as the young men dashed to the door now and threw it open, they saw flashes of light as other shots were fired. then came shouting, voices calling to one another. "some of the lads heard the firing at last, and come to our help," said dallas. "look out; there's some one coming back," whispered abel. "i hear him. be ready, and if he's an enemy let him have it. hah! bravo! good dog! you're not so very bad, then." for at the sound of the heavy footsteps coming at a trot over the creaking snow scruff uttered a fierce growl, began to bay and dashed out into the darkness. "he'll have him," said dallas. "but come on; we mustn't leave it all to him." "hullo there!" came in a cheery, familiar voice. "good old dog!" and scruff's fierce bay changed to a whining yelp of pleasure, while tregelly's hearty cry of "ahoy!" came. "ahoy! ahoy!" was sent out joyfully in answer, and directly after the big cornishman came trotting up. "thank god, my sons," he cried. "but what about that chap on the roof? did i bring him down with those two shots?" "was it you that fired?" cried the young men in a breath. "of course. who did you think it was?" "the enemy--we did not know--some of the others come to our help," was the confused answer, given in a duet. "nay, it was me, my sons; he gave me such a chance--lighting up a whole box of lucifers. i could see him splendid. going to burn you out, wasn't he?" "no; to see if we were dead, and, if not, to fire again." "i'm afraid the other beggar has got away." "but you had some one with you?" said dallas eagerly. "yes, i suppose so, but it is so plaguy dark. i was so long away that i made up my mind--or something i can't explain made it up for me--to come straight on and get to you early in the night; but that blessed sledge got heavier and heavier, so that i had to stop and rest and have a pipe now and then. last time i was going to stop i was so near my shanty that i thought i'd go round by it, and see how things were there. so i did; left the sledge and crept up to it, to find a bit of fire smouldering, showing some one lived there; but nobody was at home. no, that isn't right, for when i got inside i struck a match, and somebody was at home; but he didn't live there. understand?" "that scoundrel who was bitten by the dog?" cried dallas excitedly. "was he there?" cried abel. "his mummy was," said tregelly. "i dunno how they could do it--i couldn't. i didn't want to live in such company as that. i stayed just as long as the match burned, and then i came away as fast as i could. ugh! it wasn't nice. those fellows can't be men." "and then you came on?" "yes, my son. i came along at a horrible crawl, which was getting slower and slower; for it's no use to deny it--us big chaps have so much to carry on one pair of legs that we're downright lazy ones. there i was, getting slower and slower, and smoking my pipe, and in a rare nasty temper, cussing away at that old sledge for being so heavy, and that sleepy that i kept dropping off fast as a top, and waking up again to find myself going on like a bit o' machinery. `this won't do,' i says to myself; and i roused up again, knowing that i couldn't have been asleep long, because my pipe wasn't out; but all the same i dreamed a lot, all about dragging a truck on a tram-line down in botallack mine, right away under the sea. then i'm blessed if i wasn't asleep again, fast as a top--chap told me once that didn't mean a spinning top, but a _taupe_, which he said was french for dormouse. but that don't matter, do it?" "no, no," said abel impatiently. "go on." "all right, my son. where had i got to?" "you were fast asleep again," said dallas. "so it was, my son; and then something woke me, and what do you think it was?" "you heard the firing?" "nay; i must have yawned or sneezed, for i'd dropped my pipe; and i s'pose i'd slept longer that time, and it must have been out, for i couldn't see a spark in the dark, and although i went down on my hands and knees, and crawled in all directions with my nose close to the ground, i couldn't smell it." "what did you do then?" said abel. "swore, my son, till i was ashamed of myself, and very thankful i was that you gents couldn't hear me. `they'd drop your acquaintance, my son,' i said to myself, `if they heard you.' then i got up again, and was feeling for the trace, to start off again, thinking a deal of my poor old pipe, when `hullo!' i says to myself, `firing!' there it was, plain enough, two shots together, and after a bit two more. "that was enough for me, so i slips my rifle out from where it was tied on to the sledge. next minute, as two more shots were fired, i came, leaving the sledge to take care of itself--coming on as fast as i could, feeling sure that the enemy was at you chaps, but wondering why the firing should be so one-sided. couldn't make it out a bit." "but it went on, and i was wide awake enough now, and hadn't come much farther when i was brought up short by the clicking of guns being cocked, and some one says in a low voice, `stand,' he says, `or we'll blow you out of your skin.' `two can play at that,' i says: `who are you?' `norton, and six more,' says the voice; `who are you?' `bob tregelly o' trevallack, cornwall, mates,' i says. `good man and true,' says another voice. `look here, mate, there's firing going on up at your place; we've heard it ever so long, and couldn't quite make out where it was, but it's there for certain.' `yes,' i says, `come on; but let's spread out and take or make an end of those who are firing.'" "hah!" ejaculated abel. "go on." "they did just as i told 'em, and spread out, while i crept nigher and nigher, reglarly puzzled, for the firing had stopped. last of all i saw that chap's face as he lit up a whole box of matches. that was enough for me. i knew him again." "was it redbeard?" said dallas excitedly. "no, my son; i'm sorry to say it wasn't the moose with the finest pair of horns; but i had to take what i could get, and i fired. but i've left the sledge out yonder to take care of itself. i hope none o' them ruffians o' street-boys'll find it and get helping themselves." "then redbeard has got away again," said abel. "don't know yet, my son, till the others come back. they may have had better luck than i did." at that moment scruff burst out in a deep-toned bark from the back of the hut. "look out," said tregelly sharply, as they halted, having reached the front. "we may get a shot if he's only wounded." "spread out, and let's take both sides together." they separated in the darkness, and advanced with finger on trigger, ready to fire. "stand!" "stand!" "oh, it's you!" "oh, it's you!" "yes, my son; it's me. where's the game i shot?" "we have not seen him," said dallas. "he must have crawled away." "wounded beasts are dangerous," said tregelly, "so look out." "but where's the dog?" said abel, in a hoarse whisper. "hi! scruff! scruff!" a sharp bark came from close at hand in the darkness. "look here," whispered the big cornishman; "you two get your pieces to your shoulders and be ready. i'm going to chance it and light a match. ready?" "yes." "then come on!" chapter thirty five. the help that came late. there was a momentary pause, and then-- _scratch_ went the match, and the tiny flame feebly lit up the place, to show them the great dog sitting at the edge of the shaft, looking down. then the light went out. "all right, my sons," said tregelly coolly. "let's go in and get the lantern. the beggar has rolled about, and dropped down the pit. sorry we can't cover him up. but we can't, on account of the gold." just then there came a hail, and another, and another, while when the lantern was lit and held up it served as a beacon to bring six men up to the hut door. "got the other one?" cried tregelly. "no; he got away in the darkness," said norton. "but what about the one you shot at?" "he's yonder," said tregelly. "rolled down into the shaft." so it proved, for by the light of the lantern the body of one of the marauders was hauled up. "stone dead," said tregelly. "well, it has saved him from being hanged." "and others from having to do it," said another. "but no one will be safe till his mate's in the same state," said tregelly. "and he soon will be," said another. "glad we all came in time to help you two." "we are most grateful, gentlemen," said dallas. "leave the unhappy wretch where he is. come inside, and rest and refresh." it was about an hour later, when their fellow gold-seekers who had come to their help had gone, promising to return next day and help over the interment of the dead man, that dallas turned to tregelly, who was seated with his big arms resting upon his knees, gazing down into the cheery fire that had been lit. "sleepy, bob?" "nay, my son. never felt so wide awake in my life. i'm thinking." "what about?" asked abel. "about having killed a man," said the big fellow gravely. "it was in self-defence," said dallas. "i dunno, my son. you see, i never give him a chance. seems rather cowardly." "the wretch was trying to destroy our lives," cried abel hotly. "eh?" "yes; he and his companion had been firing at us for long enough," said abel. "ah," cried dallas, "and they did wound the dog. here, old fellow, let's look at you." in effect, the dog was just then licking at one particular part of his back, and examination proved that a bullet had ploughed off a little strip of skin. "only make him sore for a bit," said tregelly, after he had examined the dog in turn. "poor old chap! i wish i'd a bit o' pitch to touch it over for you. but i hadn't thought of that, my sons." "thought of what?" "'bout him trying to kill you. that didn't make it quite so bad o' me, did it?" "bad? it was stern justice, meted out to a murderer," said dallas firmly. tregelly looked at him for some moments thoughtfully. "think so?" he said. "of course!" cried abel, "and so do i. you didn't want us to be killed, did you?" "lor' a mussy me, my son! of course not. that's why i took aim at him." "and saved our lives, bob," cried dallas, clapping him hard on the shoulder. "you think, then, that they'd have settled you if i hadn't come and stopped their little game?" "i feel sure of it," cried dallas. "hah! yes, of course. thank ye, my sons. i was feeling a bit uncomfortable, and beginning to think that i should be having the chap coming to bed to me every night and telling me how i'd shot him in a cowardly way; but i shan't now. that's done me a lot o' good. hah! i feel now as if i should like a pipe." the big, amiable, honest face lit up, and was lightened by a smile as he began searching his pockets for his tobacco-pouch and pipe. "you see, i never killed a man before," he said. "but you can hardly call a chap like that a man. more like a wild beast--sort o' tiger." "it's insulting a wild beast to say so, bob," cried dallas warmly. "a wild beast kills for the sake of food. what's the matter?" "pipe," said tregelly, rising slowly and reaching out for the lantern. "i told you i dropped it out yonder, and it's somewhere by the sledge." "leave that till daylight, and we'll go with you." "won't be any daylight for hours and hours to come," said tregelly, putting out the light and feeling for his matches. "i can't wait all that time for a pipe. 'sides, the sledge ought to be brought in." "you mean to go now," said dallas. "oh, yes, my son, i mean to go now. 'tarn't so very far." "all right; we'll go with him, bel. there's no fear of the other scoundrel being about." "i don't know, my sons," said tregelly gravely. "he can't be very far away, and he's got his knife into us very deep now. p'r'aps it would be as well if you stopped here and got the breakfast ready." "if we did," replied dallas, "we should feel that you would never come back to eat it. eh, bel?" "yes; i'm going. we must leave scruff to keep house for us this time." but the dog did not seem to see matters in the same light. one minute he was giving a finishing lick to his wound; the next he had shot out through the open door, barking excitedly, and looking ready to scent out and run down the last of the savage gang. chapter thirty six. by the skin of his teeth. aided by scruff, a fairly correct line was made for the forsaken sledge, the dog seeming to know exactly what was wanted, and preventing them from over-running the spot where it had been left. this was the only thing they dreaded, for the track was--through not being beaten--almost obliterated again and again by falls of snow; but it was tolerably familiar now, the winding creek and the edge of the scrubby forest forming pretty good guides. it was still very dark when they reached the place, scruff uttering a low snuffling whine; but it was not easy to find a small object like a briar wood pipe. "must have been somewhere here i dropped it," said tregelly. "if it was daylight i should see it directly on the white snow. better light the lantern, i suppose." "it would be like inviting a shot from redbeard if he is near." "think so, my son?" said tregelly thoughtfully. "he would be almost sure to make for his old lair." "my old lair, you mean, my son." "well, your old lair, then." "yes, it do seem likely," said the big fellow, rubbing his ear. "giving him such a chance to aim at us. yes, it won't do; but i must find that pipe. look here, s'pose i go up to my hut and see if he's there." "do," said dallas, "and we'll go with you and trap him if he is there." "hoomph!" grunted tregelly. "i'm feared there won't be any trapping, my sons. if he's there he won't be took without a hard fight. hadn't you two better let that be till the other fellows come back? then we could lay siege to him and finish him off for it must come to that." "we are three to one," said dallas quietly. "it seems cowardly to wait for more." "dunno," said their companion. "he don't fight fair, or i'd tackle him myself. you see, he aren't a man; he's a savage beast. look here, we've got the sledge; let's take it on. i'll go without my pipe." "no; you shall not," said dallas. "let's go to the hut. he may not be there. perhaps fled far enough." "i dunno, my son. he'd run when he was beat for his old shelter, and i don't like making you two run bad risks just because i want a pipe o' bacca." "we do not look at it in that light, bob," said dallas firmly. "this man is our mortal enemy, who seems determined to have our lives out of revenge, and it is our duty to save those lives at his expense. after what has passed i look upon him as a sort of human tiger whose claws must be drawn. let's take this opportunity of capturing the brute. we'll go together and draw his fire; or perhaps we shall be able to see and disable him without his being able to do us any mischief." tregelly shook his head solemnly. "chaps like that, with their lives in their hands, are all eyes, and when they aren't all eyes they're all ears. i don't like this business, my sons; but what you say's quite right, and i can't help feeling that we've got a chance at him now, and the dark may help us; while if he's gone back there and roused up the fire i can make sure of him. there, it's got to be done, and if we leave it the job may be worse." "yes, perhaps much." "that's so, my son. we shall have to go about with the knowledge that that fellow's always close at hand, marking us down for a shot." "better seize this opportunity," said abel hoarsely. "i feel as if we may master him now." "what do you say, mr dallas?" asked tregelly. "i say as my cousin does. let's try." "good, then, we'll go; on'y mind this, my sons: we're going because it's our dooty." "of course." "not because i want a pipe." "no; you have already proved that you do not wish to be selfish," said dallas, "so come on." "nay, i'll lead, my sons," cried the big fellow. "it's my shanty, and i know every step of the way. you'd go right up to the door, and he'd have first chance of a shot. that won't do for me. we must get first chance, and make him shoot at random, which means at nothing at all. now then, follow me. don't fire unless you get a good chance." "but what is your plan, bob?" said dallas eagerly. "get him to fire, my son, and then go at him before he has time to load again." the lantern was left with the sledge, and with every nerve now upon the strain the two young men followed their sturdy companion, who gave them but few words as to their proceedings. "don't be in a hurry to fire," he said, "but when you get your chance, let him have it. now, tread softly, and come on." the distance was comparatively short, and abel's heart beat fast and loud, as, upon passing through a thick clump of pines, there in front of them shone the light of a wood fire through the open door of tregelly's hut. the owner stopped short and whispered. "he's there," he said; "the fire has been made up." "but he must have been and gone," said dallas. "the door is wide open." "his artfulness," said the cornishman. "it's so as he can hear our coming, and to throw dust in our eyes. he's there, or else outside waiting for us, so look out." they crept cautiously on, abreast now and hand on trigger, ready to fire at a moment's notice, front, right, or left, from wherever the danger appeared; but the icy snow crackled beneath their heavy boots, in spite of every care, and when they were about thirty yards from the open door they stopped short, feeling that the better way would be to step boldly forward, for their approach must have been heard. but still tregelly hesitated, feeling, as he did, that the peril was very great for them to advance into the light thrown from the open door, when the result would probably be a repetition of his own shot a few hours before. "open out," he whispered suddenly, "and keep away from the light. i'll take the right side; you two take the left, and when i whistle we'll all rush in together." it was no time for disputation. tregelly was leader, and dallas and abel felt it to be their duty to obey. striking off, then, to the left into the shadow, which looked intensely black by contrast, they had one glimpse of tregelly's huge form, and then the broad band of ruddy light from the door cut off everything, while well upon their guard they approached nearer and nearer, feeling that tregelly must be nearing the building at about the same rate. it was a task which, in spite of the extremely short distance, made dallas breathe hard, and feel as if he were going through some great exertion, before he was so close that he could nearly touch the rough trunks which formed the wall, the thick thatching of pine-boughs stretching out like the roof of a verandah, so that the darkness seemed more intense where they stood waiting for the signal which seemed as if it would never come. and as dallas stood in the deep silence the popping and crackling of the burning wood came out of the open doorway sharp and clear, while it seemed to him that abel's breath sounded as hoarse and loud as that of one in a deep sleep. at last! a clear, sharp, chirruping trill, and abel and tregelly darted into the light as if urged forward by the same spring, while dallas stood for the moment petrified--unable to stir. for from the upright logs close to which he stood a great hand seemed to dart out, holding him fast, while simultaneously another hand struck him a tremendous blow upon the shoulder. he closed with his assailant, but the next moment he was hurled to the ground. as, half-stunned by his fall, dallas struggled to his feet, there was a heavy trampling heard as of one escaping in the darkness over the snowy ground, and at the same moment tregelly and abel appeared at the door in the full light of the fire. "where are you, lad?" shouted the former. "here, here!" panted dallas. "hah!" cried tregelly. "fire, my lad, fire!" two more shots rang out in the direction of the retiring steps, with the result that there was a sudden cessation of the sounds; but directly after two more shots were fired out of the darkness, and a couple of bullets whistled through the open doorway. in an instant tregelly and abel sprang to right and left, and fired again in the direction of the flashes they had seen. "missed him!" growled tregelly, as the faint sound of retreating steps was again heard. "he's too many for us. don't fire, my lads. waste of powder and shot. how was it, mr dallas?" there was no reply, dallas standing close by breathing hard, with his hand pressed upon his shoulder. "are you there, dal?" cried abel anxiously, for his cousin was invisible in the darkness. "yes, yes, i'm here," said dallas, in a strange tone of voice. "what is it, my son?" cried tregelly anxiously. "i'm afraid i'm hurt," said dallas, stooping to recover his rifle. "he struck me on the shoulder with his right hand, and the place is numbed. i can feel nothing there but a smarting pain; but it bleeds, and the cloth is cut." tregelly caught him up in his arms as if he were a child, bore him into the hut, threw him on the bed, and tore off his jacket so as to expose the place to the light. "yes, he has knifed you, my son," said tregelly hoarsely; "but it's a mere scratch. he meant it, though, but reached over a bit too far." "you are saying this to calm me," said dallas excitedly. "he struck me a tremendous blow." "yes, my son; but it must have been with his wrist. i'm not cheating you. it's the simple truth. it isn't worth tying up." "thank god!" sighed dallas. "i suppose i'm a bit of a coward, but the horror of it made me feel sick as a dog." "such a crack as he must have given you would have made me feel sick, my son. did it knock you down?" "no; i closed with him, but he tripped and threw me heavily." "well, that would make you feel sick, my son, without anything else. here, on with your jacket again, and let's get out into the darkness. it's like asking the beggar to come and pot us, standing here." they hurried out directly after, to stand listening; but all was still. "now then," said tregelly, "we'd best get the sledge and make our way home; but what do you think of my gentleman now? oughtn't we to scrunch him like one would a black beetle?" "yes," said abel fiercely, "and the first time we can. but where's the dog? can that be he in the distance?" a faint baying sound, followed by what sounded like revolver shots, several in succession, was heard. then once more all was still for a few moments, when the firing began again. chapter thirty seven. when sleep is master. "hear that?" cried abel excitedly. "the scoundrel! the ruffian! he's firing at the dog." "yes, my son," said tregelly quietly; "and i'm not surprised, for old scruff can be pretty nasty when he likes." "but you don't stir. are we going to stand here and listen to that poor brute being murdered?" "it would be about madness to go after him, my son," said tregelly, coolly; "and after all, he isn't likely to hit the dog in the dark." a few minutes later they found the sledge, and as they were about to start, dallas kicked against something hard, which went spinning along the ice-covered snow. "what's that?" he said. "why, tregelly, it must be your pipe." "yes. it struck against me," cried abel. "here it is," he added in triumph. "hooroar!" cried tregelly. "now, i call that fine, my sons. why, if old scruff comes back and says he's killed master redbeard, this'll be about as pleasant a time as i ever spent. but how's your arm, master dallas?" "smarts, and feels wretched and numb, that's all. i can help pull the sledge." "all right, my son," cried tregelly, giving the line a jerk; but in vain, for the sledge was immovable, the runners being frozen to the surface of the snow. "i say; think o' that." dallas and abel gave the sledge a wrench, set it at liberty, and it glided smoothly on, tregelly insisting on dragging it all the way back to the hut, where they shut themselves in, and then prepared an early breakfast; but before it was ready there was a familiar thump on the rough door, and scruff was admitted, apparently free from fresh injuries, for he gave all an intelligent look, and then seated himself by the fire to lick his wound, before curling up and going to sleep. "i wish i could do that," said dallas. "do it without the curl," said tregelly, smiling. "it's the best thing for a man who has had such a shake as you have." "no, no. the ruffian may come back." "he won't come yet, my son," said tregelly; "but if he should think it best to give us another call, don't you be uneasy; we'll wake you up." a quarter of an hour later dallas was fast asleep, and abel looked up at tregelly inquiringly. "is the sleep natural?" he whispered. "yes; why shouldn't it be?" was the reply. "it seems so strange, after the excitement we have been through during the last twenty-four hours." "done up, my son; regular exhausted, and wants rest." "but i could not sleep, knowing as i do that the enemy might attack us at any time. think of the danger." "i wonder you ever went to sea, then, my son," said tregelly, good-humouredly. "there's always danger of the ship sinking; and yet you went to your berth, i suppose, every night, and slept soundly enough, didn't you?" "of course." "and i'll be bound to say you go to sleep this morning before long." "not i. impossible," said abel, with a touch of contempt in his tone. but tregelly was the better judge of human nature, and before an hour had passed away, weariness, the darkness, and the warmth of the fire had combined to conquer, and abel sank sidewise on the rough packing-case which formed his easy chair, and slept soundly till the short daylight had passed, and they were well on towards the evening of another day. chapter thirty eight. the red glow. weary month after month passed by, with the indefatigable adventurers leading the life of labourers working in a terrible climate to win just a bare existence from the soil. "i would not care so much if we could feel safe," said dallas; "but big as the country is, that scoundrel seems to be always on our track." "he do, he do, my son," said tregelly. "he means paying us off." "well, we are doing no more now than when we started, while others are making fortunes. let's strike right up into the mountains, make a bold stroke for fortune, and give that scoundrel the slip." the start was made, the little party striking right away into one or other of the lonely valleys running northward; but it was always the same--the gold was no more plentiful, and again and again they had ample proof that their enemy, who seemed to have a charmed life, was still following them. constant disappointment had been their portion, and a general feeling of being utterly worn out was dulling their efforts, when toward the close of a dreary day tregelly exclaimed: "look here, my sons; i think we've seen the end of that red-headed ruffian at last." "i wish i could think so," said dallas. "no," said abel; "we shall see him again. i feel that he'll be the death of us all." "bah! you're in the dumps again," said tregelly. "i feel that we must have completely given the scoundrel the slip by our last move. i'm not one of your grumbling sort, am i?" "no, bob, no," said dallas sadly. "i envy you the calm patience and perseverance you possess." the cornishman laughed. "did possess, my son. i did have a lot, but it's all used up to the last scrap, and i'm regularly done." abel looked at him in surprise, but dallas seemed too dejected to notice anything, and sat forward, haggard and staring, with his eyes fixed upon their struggling fire. "well, don't you believe me?" said tregelly. "i always believe what you say, bob; but i don't understand what you mean now." "you don't? well, then, i'll soon make you, my son. it's like this: i feel just like a squirrel in a cage, galloping on over miles of wire and never getting a bit farther, or like one of those chaps on the old-fashioned treadmill, who were always going upstairs, but never got to the top." "look here," said dallas, springing up suddenly from his seat in the rough shelter made with pine-boughs, where they had been now for some days, while they tried the banks of a tiny creek, one of many which they had followed to their sources in their daring quest. "this is no time for idle talk; which is it to be? shall we retreat at once, and try to get back to the main river, where we may find help, and perhaps save our lives, or go on?" there was a dead silence, and then a gust of wind swept down the narrow valley, laden with fine, dusty snow, evidently a forerunner of a wintry storm. "if we start back now," said abel at last, "we are not sure of reaching the settlement before the winter sets in." "and if we do we've nothing left to live upon, my sons. you see, those last supplies emptied the bag, and we've never settled down since. you both said, `let it be a man or a mouse.'" "and you said `all right,'" cried dallas angrily. "so i did, my son; but i hoped we should turn out men instead of mice." "well," said dallas bitterly, "we must not find fault with one another. we did our best." "that's true," said tregelly. "hear, hear. go on. what were you going to say?" "that i have had it my own way for long enough, but now i'll give up to you two. there's no gold worth getting here, so if you both say, `let's make a dash back for life before we are shut in by the winter that seems to be coming on early,' i'm ready, and we'll make a brave fight for it." "and if we say, `no! let's go on and fight for the stuff to the last'-- what then?" "we will not look back," cried dallas, stepping outside, to stand gazing, with a far-off look in his eyes, straight along the narrow ravine running up into the savage-looking snow-covered mountains. "go on," said abel, who seemed to catch his cousin's enthusiasm as he stood there, gradually growing whitened by the fine drifting snow. "go on?" said dallas, without turning his head; "well, let's go on. the gold must be up yonder, where it crumbles or is ground out of the rocky mountains, to be washed, in the course of ages, down the streams into the gravel and sand." "ay, there must be plenty of it up yonder, my son," said tregelly, stepping out to shade his eyes and gaze upward towards the wilderness of mountains to the north, probably never yet trodden by the foot of man. "then i say, as we have come so far, let's go on and find it," cried dallas; "and if we fail--well, it is only lying down at last to sleep! no one will know, for our bones will never be found. i feel as if i can't go back--and you, bel?" for answer abel laid his hand upon his cousin's shoulder, and stood gazing with him into the dimly seen, mysterious land, just as, high up, one of the snowy summits suddenly grew bright and flashed in the feeble sunshine which played upon it for a few minutes before the snow-clouds closed in again. and as if the one bright gleam had inspired him, tregelly began to whistle softly. "look here!" he cried, "never say pitch a thing up when there's a bit of hope left. `to win or to die' is my motto!" "and mine," cried dallas, enthusiastically. "and mine," said abel, in a soft, low, dreamy voice. "then look here," said tregelly; "we've got enough to give us all a small ration for seven days, so let's load up one sledge and leave the others. then we can take it in turns and push right on up into the mountains with nothing to hinder us. snow don't make a bad shelter when you've plenty of blankets, and there's nothing to fear now. old redbeard never could have come up here; he must have gone off by one of the side gulches, and got round and back to where he can rob some one else." "yes; we must have passed him days ago," said dallas. "very well, then, we can all sleep o' nights without keeping watch." "and we can push on and on, just trying the rocks with the hammer here and there wherever we find a place clear of ice." "that's the way, my son, and who knows but what we may shoot a bear or something else to keep us going for another week, eh?" abel nodded--he could not trust himself to speak; and then, with determination plainly marked in their haggard faces, they set to work in the shelter of the dwarfed pines around them, and packed one sledge with all they felt to be necessary to take on this forlorn hope expedition, and with it the last of their dwindling store of food. "there," cried dallas, pointing up the narrow gully, as they finished their preparations, "how could we despair with such a sign as that before us?" his companions stood and looked up in the direction indicated, where the transformation that had taken place was wonderful. an hour before they had gazed through drifting, dusty snow at forbidding crags and wintry desolation. for a few minutes that one peak had flashed out hopefully, but only to fade away again, while now their eyes literally ached with the dazzling splendour of what seemed to be a grotto-like palace of precious stones, set in frosted silver and burnished gold; for the mountains blazed in the last rays of the setting sun with the hues of the iris magnified into one gorgeous sheen. "yes, that looks as if we'd got to the golden land at last, my sons," said tregelly. "it's something like what one has dreamed of after reading the `arabian nights'; only you see they aren't fast colours, and they won't wash." "never mind," said dallas; "we know that the gold must be there, and we'll find it yet. ready?" for answer tregelly picked up the trace, and was about to pass it over his head, but he paused and looked round. "here," he cried; "where's that there dog?" abel went into the rough shelter they had made, to find scruff curled-up fast asleep beneath one of the skins they were going to leave behind; but he sprang up at a touch, and trotted out to take his place by tregelly, who slipped his slight harness over the sturdy animal's head. "no shuffling now, my son," he said merrily. "you're stores, you know, and we shall want you to eat when the rest of the prog is done. forward! we're going to do it now." chapter thirty nine. the last bivouac. shortening days and shortening distances in and out of the wild ravine, where the water ran trickling merrily along in the brief sunny hours, but froze hard again at night. every halting-place was more difficult to reach than the last, and climbing up the slippery sides of the stream bed was as often the means of progression as the simple tramp. the sledge grew more difficult to draw, though its weight was really less and less: but in a mechanical way all joined hands in getting it over masses of rock, or through cracks where at times it became wedged in fast. for it could not be left behind, loaded as it was with the links which held them to life. and at last the brief day came to an end, when the shortest journey of all had been made, little more than a mile along the narrow rift with its often perpendicular sides, where the greater part of the way had been one constant climb over the rock-burdened bed of the stream, whose sources were somewhere in the icy region, apparently as far away as when they started on their journey. they had halted in a narrow amphitheatre of rocks, on one side of which lay a shelf dotted with dwarf pines, thick, sturdy, and old, many having shed their last needles years before, and displaying nothing now but thin bare trunks and a few jagged, weather-worn boughs. snow had fallen heavily in the mountains during the previous night, and the side of the amphitheatre at the back of the shelf to which they had dragged the sledge was glazed with ice, where the snow above had melted in the warm mid-day rays, and _frozen_ again and again. it was bitter winter all around as the short day began to close in; but there was plenty of wood, and they felt if they climbed higher next day it would be into the region of wiry heaths and moss. quite instinctively, axe in hand, each of the weary three made for the dead wood and began to cut and break down the brittle boughs. "ay, that's right, my sons," said tregelly, with the ghost of a smile; "let's have a good fire if it is to be the last." the smile was reflected in dallas's face, and he nodded; but he did not speak--only went on hacking away in a mechanical fashion, and the small wood was heaped-up against the icy wall at the back of the broad shelf. then a match was struck and sheltered till the smallest twigs caught; these communicated with the larger, and in a very short time there was a roaring fire, whose heat was reflected from the glazed surface of the rock, making the snow melt all around and run off till there was dry bare rock, on one piece of which, full in the warm glow, scruff curled-up and went to sleep. outside the snow lay deep and high, as it had been drifted in the heavy fall, forming a good shelter from the wind; and by a liberal use of their axes the dwarf firs that they cut down proved a good shelter when laid in a curve on the other side, while when no longer wanted for that purpose they would be free from the clinging snow and more fit to burn. roof there was none save the frosty sky, spangled with myriads of stars; but the weary party paid no heed to that want. there was the fire, and in due time the tin of hot tea to pass round, and the roughly made bread. they seemed to want no more, only to lie down and rest in the warmth shed by the crackling wood--to take a long, long rest, and wake-- where? the question was silently asked by each of his inner self again and again, but never answered, for no answer seemed to be needed. the weary, weary day two years long was at an end. they had worked well and failed; they could do no more; all they wanted was rest and forgetfulness--peace, the true gold after all. sleep was long coming to dallas, weary though he was; and he lay there with his head slightly raised, gazing at the weird scene, distorted and full of strange shadows, as the fire rose and fell. there lay, big and heavy, the sturdy friend and companion in so many adventures, just as he had lain down; and close by, poor abel, the most unfortunate of the party, so near that he could rest his hand upon the rough coat of the dog. "poor bel!" mused dallas; "how unfortunate he has been!" but the next minute he was thinking of how trivial the troubles of the past seemed to be in comparison with this--the greatest trouble of them all. for though they had all lain down to sleep so calmly, and with the simple friendly good-night, they had all felt that it was for the last time, and that their weary labours were at an end. "all a mistake--a vain empty dream of a golden fortune," dallas said to himself. "the idea was brave and strong, but it was the romance of a boy. fortunes are not to be made by one stroke, but by patient, hard work, long thought as to how that work shall bring forth fruit, and then by constant application. ah, well, we are not the first to make such mistakes--not the first to turn our backs upon the simple substance to grasp at the great shadow." he lay gazing sadly at the crackling fire, whose flames danced, and whose sparks eddied into spirals and flew upwards on the heated air; and then with eyes half-closed he watched the glowing embers as the great pieces of wood became incandescent. he was still gazing into the fire with a dull feeling of pitying contempt for himself, seeing imaginary caverns and ravines of burnished gold, when with a sigh upon his lip as he thought of the simple-hearted, loving mother watching and waiting at home for those who would never cross the threshold again, sleep came to press heavily upon the half-closed eyelids, and all was blank. chapter forty. the solid reality. a strange feeling of stiffness and cold so painful that for some moments dallas could not move, but lay gazing straight before him at the heap of ashes, which gave forth a dull glow, just sufficient at times to show the curled-up form of the great dog, and beyond him, rolled up like a mummy and perfectly still, abel, just as he had last seen him before he closed his eyes. it was so dark that he could not see tregelly, and he lay trying in vain to make him out. his head was dull and confused, as if he had slept for a great length of time, and his thoughts would not run straight; but every train of thought he started darted off into some side track which he could not follow, and he always had to come back to where he had made his start. there it was--some time ago, when they had piled up the fire to a great height so that it might burn long and well while they all sank painlessly and without more trouble into the sleep of death. and now by slow degrees he began to grasp what seemed to be the fact, that while his companions, even the dog, had passed away, he was once more unfortunate, and had come back, as it were, to life, to go alone through more misery, weariness, and despair. he shivered, and strangely inconsistent worldly thoughts began to crawl in upon him. he felt he must thrust the unburned pieces of pine-wood closer together, so that they might catch fire and burn and radiate some more heat. it was so dark, too, that he shuddered, and then lay staring at the perpendicular wall beyond the fire--the wall that looked so icy and cruel over-night, but now dim, black, and heavy, as if about to lean over and crush them all out of sight. yes, he ought, he knew, to thrust the unburned embers together and put on more wood, so as to make a cheerful blaze; but he had not the energy to stir. he wanted another rug over him; but to get it he would have had to crawl to the sledge, and he was too much numbed to move. besides, he shuddered at the idea of casting a bright light upon his surroundings, for he felt that it would only reveal the features of his poor comrades hardened into death. and so it was that he lay for long enough in the darkness, till the numb sensation began to give way to acute pain, which made him moan with anguish and mentally ask what he had done that he should have been chosen to remain there and go through all that horror and despair again. the natural self is stronger than the educated man in times of crisis. a despairing wretch tells himself that all is over, and plunges into a river or pool to end his weary life; but the next moment the nature within him begins to struggle hard to preserve the life the trained being has tried to throw away. it was so here. dallas made a quick movement at last, turned over, and picked up a half-burned, still smouldering piece of pine, painfully raked others together with it, and threw it on the top, glad to cower over the warm embers, for the heat thrown out was pleasant. as he sat there after raking the ashes more together, and getting closer, it was to feel the warmth strike up into his chilled limbs, and fill the rug he had drawn round his shoulders with a gentle glow. soon after, the collected embers began to burn, and a faint tongue of flame flickered, danced, went out, and flickered up again, illuminating the darkness sufficiently to let him make out that the banked up snow had largely melted, and that tregelly had crawled away from where he had lain, and come over to his, dallas's, side, apparently to place his heavy bulk as a shelter to keep off the bitter wind from his young companion. there was something else, too, which he did not recognise as having seen before he lay down--something dark where the bank of snow had been, which had wonderfully melted away in the fierce glow of the fire; for that sheltering bank had been so big before. what did it matter to one who was suffering now the agonising pangs of hunger to augment those of cold? but the sight of the big motionless figure dimly seen by the bluish flickering light appealed strongly to the sufferer, and something like a sob rose to his throat as he thought of tregelly's brave, patient ways, and the honest truth of his nature. these feelings were sufficient to urge him forward from where he crouched, to go and lean over the recumbent figure and lay a hand upon the big clenched fist drawn across the breast of the dead. it was a hand of ice, and with a piteous sigh dallas drew back and crept to where abel lay rolled in his rugs. just then the dancing flame died out, and it was in the pitchy darkness that dallas felt for his cousin's face. the next moment he uttered a cry, and there was a quick rustling sound as of something leaping to its feet. then the dog's cold nose touched his cheek, and there was a low whine of satisfaction, followed by a panting and scuffling as the dog transferred his attentions to abel. "and we're both left alive," half groaned dallas; but the dog uttered a joyous bark, and he sprang painfully to his feet, for a familiar gruff voice growled: "now, then, what's the matter with you, my son?" and then: "fire out? how gashly dark!" "bob!" faltered dallas. "you, master dallas? wait a bit, my son, and i'll get the fire going. how's mr wray?" there was a weary groan, and abel said dreamily: "don't--don't wake me. how cold! how cold!" tregelly sighed, but said nothing for the moment, exerting himself the while in trying to fan the flickering flame into a stronger glow, and with such success that the horrible feeling of unreality began to pass away, with its accompanying confusion, and dallas began to realise the truth. "i--i thought you were lying there dead," he said at last. "oh, no, my son; i'm 'live enough," said tregelly, who still bent over the fire; "but i never thought to open my eyes again. shall i melt some snow over the fire? there is a scrap or two more to eat, and when it's light we might p'r'aps shoot something. but i say, we must have slept for an awful long time, for we made a tremendous fire, and the snow's melted all about wonderful." "yes, wonderfully," said dallas, who crouched there gazing at the figure where the bank of snow had been. "it's my belief that we've slept a good four-and-twenty hours, and that it's night again." "think so?" "i do, my son, and it's to-morrow night, i believe. i say, how the snow has melted away. why, hullo!" he shouted, as the flames leapt up merrily now, "who's that?" "i don't know," faltered dallas; "i thought at first it was you." "not a dead 'un?" whispered tregelly in an awestruck tone. "yes; and whoever it was must have been buried in that bank of snow, so that we did not see him last night." tregelly drew a burning brand from the fire, gave it a wave in the air to make it blaze fiercely, and stepped towards the recumbent figure lying there. "hi! look here, my son," he cried. "no wonder we didn't see him come back." dallas grasped the fact now, and the next moment he too was gazing down at the fierce face, icily sealed in death, the light playing upon the huge red beard, while the eyes were fixed in a wild stare. "hah!" ejaculated tregelly. "he'll do no more mischief now, my son. but what was he doing here? rather a chilly place for a man to choose for his lair. thought he was safe, i suppose. only look." for a few moments dallas could not drag his eyes from the horrible features of their enemy, about which the dog was sniffing in a puzzled way. but at last he turned to where tregelly was waving the great firebrand, which shed a bright light around. "it was his den, master dallas," growled tregelly. "look here, this was all covered with snow last night when we lit the fire, and it's all melted away. why, only look, my son; he spent all his time trying to do for us, and what's he done?--he's saved all our lives. flour, bacon, coffee. what's in that bag? sugar. why, this is all his plunder as he's robbed from fellows' huts. there's his gun, too, and his pistol. but what a place to choose to live in all alone! you'd ha' thought he'd have had a shelter. here, i'm not _going_ to die just yet." a wave of energy seemed to inspire the great fellow, who picked up the rug that had sheltered him during the night, and gave dallas a nod. "when a man dies," he said solemnly, "he wipes out all his debts. we don't owe him nothing neither now." as tregelly spoke he drew the rug carefully over the figure lying there, and the next minute set to work to make the fire blaze higher, while dallas, with half-numbed hands, tried to help him by filling the billy with pieces of ice, setting it in the glowing embers, and refilling it as the solid pieces rapidly melted down. they were both too busy and eager to prepare a meal from the life-saving provender they had so strangely found, to pay any heed to abel. "let him rest, my son, till breakfast's ready; he's terribly weak, poor lad. mind, too, when we do rouse him up, not to say a word about what's lying under that rug. i'll pitch some wood across it so as he shan't notice before we wake him up." dallas nodded, and with a strange feeling of renewed hope for which he could not account, he worked away; for it seemed the while that the store of provisions they had found would do no more for them than prolong their weary existence in the wild for two or three weeks. tregelly brought forward more wood from the shelter they had formed; the fire burned more brightly; bacon was frying, and the fragrance of coffee and hot cake was being diffused, when, just as dallas was thinking of awakening his cousin to the change in their state of affairs, a hoarse cry aroused him and made him look sharply at where, unnoticed, abel had risen to his knees; and there, in the full light of the fire, he could be seen pointing. "we're too late, my son," growled tregelly; "he has seen it. meant to have covered it before he woke." "no, no; he is not pointing there." "look! look!" cried abel. "poor lad, he's off his head," whispered tregelly. "do you hear me, you two?" cried abel hoarsely. "look! can't you see?" "what is it, bel?" said dallas soothingly, as he stepped round to the other side of the fire; and then, following the direction of his cousin's pointing finger, he too uttered a wild cry, which brought tregelly to their side, to gaze in speechless astonishment at the sight before them. for the thick glazing of ice had been melted from the perpendicular wall of rock at the back of their fire, and there, glistening and sparkling in the face of the cliff, were veins, nuggets, and time-worn fragments of rich red gold in such profusion, that, far up as they could see, the cliff seemed to be one mass of gold-bearing rock, richer than their wildest imagination had ever painted. the effect upon the adventurers was as strange as it was marked. abel bowed down his face in his hands to hide its spasmodic contractions; while dallas rose, stepped slowly towards it, and reached over the glowing flame to touch a projecting nugget--bright, glowing in hue, and quite warm from the reflection of the fire. "ah!" he sighed softly, as if convinced at last; "it is real, and not a dream." tregelly turned his back, began to whistle softly an old tune in a minor key, and drew the coffee, the bacon pan, and the bread a little farther away. "ahoy there, my sons!" he cried cheerily; "breakfast! fellows must eat even if they are millionaires." it was too much for dallas, before whose eyes was rising, not the gold, for he seemed to be looking right through that, but the wistful, deeply-lined face of a grey-haired woman at a window, watching ever for the lost ones' return. at tregelly's words he burst into a strangely harsh, hysterical laugh, and then, too, he sank upon his knees and buried his face in his hands, remaining there motionless till a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and he started to find it was abel who was gazing in his eyes. "dal," he cried, in a voice that did not sound like his own, "we shall pay the old uncle now." at that moment the dismal tune tregelly was whistling came to an end, and they saw that he was sitting with his back to them, looking straight away. they stepped quickly to his side, and he started up to hold a hand to each. "to win or to die, didn't you say, my sons?" he cried cheerily. "yes, something like that," replied dallas huskily. "well, it means winning, my sons," cried tregelly, "for we won't die now." chapter forty one. showing how good came out of evil. the store of provisions proved on examination to be far greater than had been anticipated, and it seemed plain enough that their enemy had, while seeking a place of refuge from which he might carry on his nefarious career, hit accidentally upon the greatest discovery of gold that had been made; and after decently disposing of his remains, the three adventurers began to examine with something approaching breathless awe the vast treasure that they could claim as theirs. the first thing to be done, though, was to make use of their axes and contrive a shelter right in the centre of the patch of dwarf pine, their plan being to hack out the size of the hut they intended to make in the dense scrub, saving everything approaching to a straight pole to use for roofing. they worked well, for the discovery of the gold and a fair supply of provisions seemed to send new life into them; and before many hours had passed they were provided with shelter for themselves and their stores. their next step was to mark out and peg what was legally allowed to each man as discoverer of a new field's claim. and now, in spite of the lateness of the season and their height up in the mountains, it seemed as if fate had ceased to persecute them and was ready to help them make the treasure they had found safely their own. it was too late to expect to do much before the winter closed in with its inclement darkness, so the energies of all were devoted to making the most of the glorious spell of fine weather which now ensued, and preparing for the winter. "we've found it; and after it has been lying here ever since the world began," said tregelly, "it isn't likely to fly away now, and nobody's going to take it away from us. first thing is, have we got as much on our claim as ever we're likely to want?" "more," said dallas; "and i propose that one of us goes down to the old spot to give the news to norton and our old friends, that they may come and be the first to take up claims." "that is what i meant to propose," said abel. "good nails driven in, and i clinch them," said tregelly. "only look here: i always like to do a good turn to a man who means well." "of course," said dallas; "but what do you mean?" "there's that judge. i think he ought to have a pull out of this, too. he nearly hung us up on a tree, but he meant well, and it was all for law and order. what i propose is this. we'll make our own claims sure, and get our friends up to secure theirs; and then let's tell the judge, and he'll come up with a picked lot to keep all right." "excellent," said dallas. "but who goes down first to see about stores?" "i will, my sons. i'm strongest, and as to bringing up plenty, i shall have plenty ready to help. but i say, play fair; you won't run away with my third while i'm gone?" tregelly started down the ravine in company with scruff the very next day, and many more had not elapsed before he was back with the whole party from their old workings, eager to congratulate the fortunate discoverers and place ample stores at their service. they had just time to get up another supply, enough for the coming winter, before it seemed to sweep down like a black veil from the northern mountains. but building does not take long under such circumstances. wood had been brought up from out of a valley a few miles lower down, and in the shelter of a dense patch of scrub pine in a side gully, where the new-comers found the gold promising to their hearts' content, they were ready to defy the keenest weather that might come. two years had elapsed, and winter was once more expected, for the days were shortening fast, when three men sat together in their humble hut, discussing the question of going home; and the thought of once more meeting one whose last letter had told of her longings to see her boys again, brought a flush to the young men's cheeks and a bright light to their eyes. they had been talking long and loudly, those two, while tregelly had sat smoking his pipe and saying nothing, till dallas turned to him sharply. "say something, my son?" the big fellow cried. "of course i will. here it is. i've been thinking of all that gold we've sent safely home through the banks, and i've been thinking of what our claim's worth, and what that there company's willing to give." "well," said abel, "go on." "give a man time, my son. i warn't brought up to the law. what i was thinking is this: we three working chaps in our shabby clothes are rich men as we stand now." "very," said dallas. "and if we were to sell our claim now we should be very, very rich." "very--very--very rich," said abel, laughing as a man laughs who is in high spirits produced by vigorous health. "well, go on," said dallas. "here it is, then: what's the good of our going grubbing on just to be able to say we're richer still? `enough's as good as a feast,' so what's the good of being greedy? why not let some one else have a turn, and let's all go home?" "what do you say, bel?" "ay! and you, dal?" "ay!" "the `ays' have it, then," cried tregelly. "well done, my sons. hooroar! we're homeward bou-wou-wound!" he roared in his big bass voice. "hooroar! we're homeward bound!" business matters are settled quickly in a goldfield, and the next day it was known in the now crowded ravine, where every inch of ground was taken up, that the big company of which the judge was the head had bought the three adventurers' claim, known far and near as redbeard's, for a tremendous sum. but all the same, heads were shaken by the wise ones of the settlement, who one and all agreed that the company had got it cheap, and they wished that they had had the chance. "you're one of the buyers, aren't you, norton, and your lot who came up first are the rest?" "that's right," said norton, smiling. "hah!" said the man. "kissing goes by favour." "of course," said norton. "but then, you see, we were all old friends." "we said it was to win or to die, bel," said dallas one day, when all business was satisfactorily settled and they were really, as tregelly had sung, homeward bound. "yes," said abel quietly, "and it all seems like a dream." "but it's a mighty, weighty, solid, golden sort o' dream, my son," said the big cornishman, "and there's no mistake about it, you've won. i say, though, i'm glad we're taking the dog." the end. [illustration: the head and shoulders of a man intently studying them] klondike nuggets and how two boys secured them by e. s. ellis author of "deerfoot series," "boy-pioneer series," etc. illustrations after orson lowell doubleday & mcclure co. new york copyright, , by doubleday & mcclure co. contents page the gold-hunters at juneau up the lynn canal the avalanche through chilkoot pass a significant discovery the plotters on lake bennet into british territory at white horse rapids on the yukon at dawson city on the edge of the gold-fields prospecting a find the claim a golden harvest a startling discovery the trail into the mountains a sound from out the stillness a turning of the tables a lion in the path a general settlement of accounts conclusion list of illustrations. page the head and shoulders of a man intently studying them frontispiece. jeff "roswell, do you know that strange man has been following us for the past hour?" catching the eye of the amazed boys, tim winked the tent-poles were shoved down into the snow all joined in pushing and pulling one sled suddenly hardman made a sign "you're a pretty fellow to stand guard," said frank "oh, look there! isn't it dreadful?" "we're at the fut of the lake," shouted tim the current was not only very swift, but the channel was filled with rocks tim and jeff lit their pipes; hardman sat apart and the three cheers were given with a will "i don't see the use of your harping on that affair," said hardman "it's gold!" he exclaimed the boys stood attentively watching the operation "i have just thought what tim's business is at dawson," said frank "we have been robbed! all the gold is gone," the tell-tale footprints watching at the turn in the trail "hands up, younker!" "we have made a mess of it," was the disgusted comment of frank tim and his prisoners "say, tim, you hain't any idea of going to college, have you?" klondike nuggets and how two boys secured them chapter i. the gold-hunters. jeff graham was an argonaut who crossed the plains in , while he was yet in his teens, and settling in california, made it his permanent home. when he left independence, mo., with the train, his parents and one sister were his companions, but all of them were buried on the prairie, and their loss robbed him of the desire ever to return to the east. hostile indians, storm, cold, heat, privation, and suffering were the causes of their taking off, as they have been of hundreds who undertook the long journey to the pacific coast in quest of gold. jeff spent several years in the diggings, and after varying fortune, made a strike, which yielded him sufficient to make him comfortable for the rest of his days. he never married, and the income from his investments was all and, indeed, more than he needed to secure him against want. he was now past threescore, grizzled, somewhat stoop-shouldered, but robust, rugged, strong, and, in his way, happy. his dress varied slightly with the changes of the seasons, consisting of an old slouch hat, a red shirt, coarse trousers tucked in the tops of his heavy boots, and a black neckerchief with dangling ends. he had never been addicted to drink, and his only indulgence was his brierwood pipe, which was his almost inseparable companion. his trousers were secured at the waist by a strong leathern belt, and when he wore a coat in cold weather he generally had a revolver at his hip, but the weapon had not been discharged in years. there were two members of that overland train whom jeff never forgot. they were young children, roswell and edith palmer, who lost both of their parents within five years after reaching the coast. jeff proved the friend in need, and no father could have been kinder to the orphans, who were ten and twelve years younger than he. roswell palmer was now married, with a son named for himself, while his sister, mrs. mansley, had been a widow a long time, and she, too, had an only son, frank, who was a few months older than his cousin. the boys had received a good common-school education, but their parents were too poor to send them to college. jeff would have offered to help but for his prejudice against all colleges. the small wages which the lads received as clerks in a leading dry-goods house were needed by their parents, and the youths, active, lusty, and ambitious, had settled down to the career of merchants, with the hoped-for reward a long, long way in the future. one evening late in march, , jeff opened the door of mr. palmer's modest home, near the northern suburb of san francisco, and with his pipe between his lips, sat down in the chair to which he was always welcome. in truth, the chair was considered his, and no one would have thought of occupying it when he was present. as he slowly puffed his pipe he swayed gently backward and forward, his slouch hat on the floor beside him, and his long, straggling hair dangling about his shoulders, while his heavy beard came almost to his eyes. it was so late that the wife had long since cleared away the dishes from the table, and sat at one side of the room sewing by the lamp. the husband was reading a paper, but laid it aside when jeff entered, always glad to talk with their quaint visitor, to whom he and his family were bound by warm ties of gratitude. jeff smoked a minute or two in silence, after greeting his friends, and the humping of his massive shoulders showed that he was laughing, though he gave forth no sound. "what pleases you, jeff?" asked mr. palmer, smiling in sympathy, while the wife looked at their caller in mild surprise. "i've heerd it said that a burned child dreads the fire, but i don't b'lieve it. after he's burnt he goes back agin and gits burnt over. why is it, after them explorers that are trying to find the north pole no sooner git home and thawed out than they're crazy to go back agin! look at peary. you'd think he had enough, but he's at it once more, and will keep at it after he finds the pole--that is, if he ever does find it. nansen, too, he'll be like a fish out of water till he's climbing the icebergs agin." and once more the huge shoulders bobbed up and down. his friends knew this was meant to serve as an introduction to something else that was on jeff's mind, and they smilingly waited for it to come. "it's over forty years since i roughed it in the diggings, starving, fighting injins, and getting tough," continued the old minor musingly. "after i struck it purty fair i quit; but i never told you how many times the longing has come over me so strong that it was all i could do to stick at home and not make a fool of myself." "but that was in your younger days," replied his friend; "you have had nothing of the kind for a good while." jeff took his pipe from the network of beard that enclosed his lips, and turned his bright, gray eyes upon the husband and wife who were looking curiously at him. they knew by the movement of the beard at the corners of the invisible mouth that he was smiling. "there's the joke. it's come over me so strong inside the last week, that i've made up my mind to start out on a hunt for gold. what do you think of that, eh?" and restoring his pipe to his lips, he leaned back and rocked his chair with more vigor than before, while he looked fixedly into the faces of his friends. [illustration: jeff.] "jeff, you can't be in earnest; you are past threescore--" "sixty-four last month," he interrupted; "let's git it right." "and you are in no need of money; besides it is a hard matter to find any place in california where it is worth your while--" "but it ain't californy," he broke in again; "it's the klondike country. no use of talking," he added with warmth, "there's richer deposits in alaska and that part of the world than was ever found hereabouts. i've got a friend, tim mccabe, at juneau; he's been through the klondike country, and writes me there's no mistake about it; he wants me to join him. i'm going to do it, and your boy roswell and his cousin frank are to go with me. oh, it's all settled," said jeff airily; "the only question is how soon you can git him ready. a day oughter be enough." the husband and wife looked at each other in astonishment. they had not dreamed of anything like this; but if the truth were told, mr. palmer had been so wrought up by the wonderful stories that were continually coming from alaska and british columbia, that he was seriously thinking of joining the northward-bound procession. startling as was the announcement of jeff graham, a discussion of the scheme brought out more than one fact to recommend it. the youths were in perfect health, strong and athletic. jeff volunteered to provide all the funds needed, and his early experience in mining and his love for the boys made him an invaluable guide and companion despite his years. he had turned over in his mind every phase of the question, and met each objection the affectionate mother brought forward, alarmed as she was at the thought of having her boy go so many miles from under her care. "it will be necessary to talk with roswell about it," said the father, after the conversation had lasted a considerable while. "no, it won't; i've talked with him, and he's as crazy as me to go." "but what will frank's mother say?" "she's said what she's got to say; had a talk with her last night, and it's all fixed. i've sent word to tim that i'll be at juneau by next steamer, and have two of the likeliest younkers with me on the coast; then we'll head for the upper yukon, and bime-by hire a ship to bring back all the gold we'll scoop in." "it seems to me that we have nothing to do in the premises, jeff." "nothing 'cept to git the youngster ready." chapter ii. at juneau. now it is a serious undertaking for any one to make a journey to the gold regions at the headwaters of the yukon, as every one will admit who has been there. all know of the starvation which threatened the people of dawson city during the winter of - , when the whole country was stirred with sympathy, and our government made use of reindeer to take food to the suffering miners. no dangers of that kind confronted roswell palmer and frank mansley, but their parents could not contemplate the undertaking without anxiety. the mothers held more than one consultation, and there was a time when both were inclined to object to the boys going at all. the dread of that desolate, icy region in the far northwest grew upon them, until it is safe to say that if the departure had been postponed for only a few days mrs. mansley and mrs. palmer would never have given their consent. but mr. palmer laughed at their fears, and assured them there was no cause for alarm. he spoke so cheeringly that they caught his hopefulness, but neither noticed the lump he swallowed, nor with what difficulty he kept back the tears when the hour for parting came. he was fully as anxious as they, but he knew how to dissemble, and would not have confessed his real emotions for the world. after all, it was jeff graham who deserved the credit for the willingness of the parents to see their sons venture upon the long and dangerous journey. to him the trip was much the same as a visit to los angeles or the yosemite valley. his self-confidence never faltered. he was sure it would be only a pleasant outing, with the certainty of a big reward at the end of it. the sly fellow dwelt on the pale complexion and debilitated appearance of the lads. he even said that a cough which he heard frank try to suppress (in swallowing some fruit, a bit of it went the "wrong way"--it was nothing more) indicated the insidious approach of consumption. jeff was the only one who was able to see any paleness in the countenance of the young athletes, or suspect them of being otherwise than fine specimens of youthful health and vigor; but since he was as solemn as a judge when making his declaration, the father and mother of the one and the mother of the other could not feel quite certain there were not grounds for his fears. and so it being settled that the boys were to go to the klondike gold fields under the care of the grim old argonaut, it only remained to complete the preparations in the short time at their disposal. had the mothers been free to carry out their wishes, their sons would have been loaded down with baggage upon leaving san francisco. there are so many things which seem indispensable, when an affectionate mother is considering the comfort of her only son, that she is sure to overwhelm him. at first the mothers insisted upon each being furnished with a large trunk, which would have to be crowded to bursting to contain what was needed, but jeff put his foot down. "nothin' of the kind. didn't i tell you that we'll git all that's needed at juneau or dyea or some point on the road? you've forgot that." "but, jeff, there are some articles which they _must_ take with them." the old miner lit his pipe, sat down in the rocking-chair at the palmer home, where the mothers had met while the boys and mr. palmer were down-town making a few forgotten purchases. the old fellow chuckled a little and then became serious. "in the fust place, not a trunk!" and he shook his head decisively. "do you expect them to take what they want in their pockets?" "umph! it would be the sensiblest thing they could do, but we can't be bothered with any trunks, that would be sure to be lost in the first shuffle. each of us will have a good, big, strong carpet-bag, and nothing more. you can cram them as full as you choose, but what you can't git in has got to be left at home." there could be no mistake as to jeff's earnestness, and neither mother attempted to gainsay his words. "now," said he, "jest lay out on the floor what you have in your mind that the youngsters need, and i'll tell you what they _do_ need." "you mustn't forget," observed mrs. palmer, as she started to comply, "that the boys are now down-town buying some things which they positively cannot get along without." "as, for instance, what?" "well, tooth-brushes, soap, combs, courtplaster, handkerchiefs, buttons, thread, quinine, and pain-killer." "is that all?" asked jeff so quizzically that both ladies laughed. "you have forgotten," added mrs. mansley, "the shirts, underclothing, socks, and shoes." "they are here," replied mrs. palmer, stepping briskly into the next room and returning with her arms full. "i've got to lay down the law," observed jeff, just as mr. palmer and the two boys came in, glowing with excitement. "here are the young men, and they look as if they had bought out half the town. dump everything on the floor, and let's sort 'em out." when the pile was complete the miner gravely remarked: "nothing less than a freight-car will answer for all that stuff, and i don't b'lieve we can charter one through to dawson. in the first place, i s'pose the tooth-brushes will have to go, though i never found any use for such things, and i can crack a bull hickory-nut with my teeth. the same may be obsarved of the soap and combs, while a roll of court plaster don't take up much room. we'll be likely to need thread, buttons, and some patches for our clothes, though i've got a supply in my carpetbag. the quinine and pain-killer they may take if you can find a corner to squeeze 'em in. as to the underclothing, extra shirts, it depends whether there is room for 'em; but the boys mustn't think of taking their dress suits along, 'cause _i'm_ not going to. there ain't any room for violins, pianos, or music-boxes, and the only clothing and shoes that can go with this party is what we wear on our bodies and feet." "suppose the shoes wear out?" asked mrs. mansley in dismay. "then we'll go barefoot. now, see here, we shan't be away more than three months. a pair of well-made shoes will last longer than that, and the same is true about our clothes, though we have the means of mending them, if modesty calls for it, which ain't likely to be the case in the diggings. caps, coats, vests, trousers, and shoes are to sarve from the day we start till we come back. if one of the boys casts a shoe and loses it, we'll find some way of getting him another. what's this?" suddenly asked jeff, picking up a small volume from the floor and opening it. he looked at the fly-leaf, on which was written: "to my dear boy roswell, from his affectionate mother. read a portion every day, and be guided in your thoughts, words, and deeds by its blessed precepts. then it shall always be well with thee." there were two of the small bibles, the other being similarly inscribed with the name of frank mansley. the boys and their parents were standing around the seated miner, and no one spoke. he looked at each precious volume in turn, and then reverently laid them among the pile of indispensables. "that's the mother of it," he said, as if speaking with himself; "it's a good many years since my poor old mother done the same thing for me when i started for californy, and i've got the book among my things yet, though i don't read it as often as i should. _them_ go if we have to leave everything else behind." when the task was completed, every one acknowledged the excellent judgment displayed by jeff graham. the three were arrayed in strong, thick, warm clothing, and, in addition, each carried a heavy overcoat on his arm. in the valises were crowded underclothing, shirts, handkerchiefs, and the articles that have been already specified. it was wonderful how skilfully the mothers did the packing. when it looked as if every inch of space was filled, they found a crevice into which another bottle of standard medicine, an extra bit of soap, more thread and needles and conveniences of which no other person would think were forced without adding to the difficulty of locking the valises. nothing remaining to be done, on the following day the boys kissed their tearful mothers good-by, and warmly shook hands with mr. palmer, who brokenly murmured, "god bless you! be good boys!" as he saw them off on the steamer bound for seattle, and thence to juneau, where they safely arrived one day early in april, . in making such a voyage, many people are necessarily thrown together in more or less close companionship, with the result of forming numerous acquaintances and sometimes lasting friendships. following the advice of jeff, the cousins had little to say about their plans, though they became interested in more than one passenger, and often speculated between themselves as to the likelihood of certain ones meeting success or failure in the gold regions. there were three sturdy lumbermen all the way from maine. a curious fact about them was that, although they were not related at all, the name of each was brown. they were light-hearted and the life of the large party. one brown had a good tenor voice, and often sang popular ballads with taste and great acceptability. another played the violin with considerable skill, and sometimes indulged in jig tunes, to which his friends, and occasionally others, danced an accompaniment. "they'll succeed," was the verdict of roswell, "for they are strong, healthy, and will toil like beavers." "and what of the two men smoking their pipes just beyond the fiddler?" asked frank. "i had a talk with them the other day; one has been a miner in australia, and the other spent two years in the diamond mines of kimberley, south africa. meeting for the first time in san francisco, they formed a partnership; they, too, are rugged and must understand their business." "no doubt of it. do you remember that stoop-shouldered old man whose room is next to ours?" "the one who has such dreadful coughing spells in the night?" "yes; he is far gone with consumption, and yet he won't believe there's anything the matter with him. he is worse than when he came on board: but he says it is only a slight cold which will soon pass off, and he is just as hopeful as you or i of taking a lot of nuggets home with him." "he never will see the other side of chilkoot pass." "i doubt whether he will ever see this side." thus the boys speculated, sometimes amused and sometimes saddened by what they saw. there was a big san francisco policeman, who said he had cracked heads so long that he thought he knew how to crack some golden nuggets; a correspondent of a prominent new york newspaper, whose situation was enviable, since his salary and expenses were guaranteed, and he was free to gather gold when the opportunity offered; a voluble insurance agent, who made a nuisance of himself by his solicitations, in season and out; a massive football-player, who had no companion, and did not wish any, since he was sure he could buck the line, make a touchdown, and kick a goal; a gray-haired head of a family, who, having lost his all, had set out to gather another fortune along the klondike. he walked briskly, threw back his shoulders, and tried hard to appear young and vigorous, but the chances were strongly against him. there were a number of bright clerks; a clergyman, pleasant and genial with all; gamblers, with pallid faces and hair and mustaches dyed an intense black, who expected to win the gold for which others dug; young and middle-aged men, some with their brave wives, serene and calmly prepared to bear their full share of privation and toil; and adventurers, ready to go anywhere for the sake of adventure itself. in truth, it was a motley assemblage, which to the boys was like a continually shifting panorama of hope, ambition, honesty, dishonor, pluck, and human enterprise and daring, that was ever present throughout the thousand miles of salt water that stretches from seattle to juneau. juneau, the metropolis of alaska, was founded in , and named in honor of joseph juneau, the discoverer of gold on douglas island, two miles distant. there is located the treadwell quartz-mill, the largest in the world. the city nestles at the base of a precipitous mountain, thirty-three hundred feet high, has several thousand inhabitants, with its wooden houses regularly laid out, good wharves, water works, electric lights, banks, hotels, newspapers, schools, and churches. "here's where we get our outfit," said jeff, as they hurried over the plank to the landing. "but where can tim be?" he paused abruptly as soon as he was clear of the crowd, and looked around for the one who was the cause of his coming to this out-of-the-way corner of the world. he was still gazing when a man, dressed much the same as himself, but short, stockily built, and with the reddest hair and whiskers the boys had ever seen, his round face aglow with pleasure stepped hastily forward from the group of spectators and extended his hand. "ah, jiff, it does me good to see your handsome silf; and how have ye been, and how do ye expect to continue to be?" tim mccabe was an irishman who, when overtaken by misfortune in san francisco, found jeff graham the good samaritan, and he could never show sufficient gratitude therefor. it was only one of the many kindly deeds the old miner was always performing, but he did not meet in every case with such honest thankfulness. jeff clasped his hand warmly, and then looked at the smiling boys, to whom he introduced his friend, and who shook their hands. he eyed them closely, and, with the quizzical expression natural to many of his people, said: "and these are the laddies ye wrote me about? ye said they were likely broths of boys; but, jiff, ye didn't do them justice--they desarved more." "tim is always full of blarney," explained jeff, who, it was evident, was fond of the merry irishman; "so you mustn't mind him and his ways." roswell and frank were attracted by jeff's friend. he was one of those persons who, despite their homeliness of face and feature, win us by their genial nature and honest, outspoken ways. no one ever saw a finer set of big, white teeth, nor a broader smile, which scarcely ever was absent from the irishman's countenance. he shook hands with each lad in turn, giving a warm pressure and expressing his pleasure at meeting them. "i'm glad to greet ye, me friends," he said, as the whole party moved out of the way of the hurrying, bustling swarm who were rushing back and forth, each intent on his own business; "not only on your own account, but on account of me friend jiff." "i do not quite understand you," said roswell with a smile. "well, you see, i've met jiff before, and formed a rather fair opinion of him; but whin a gintleman like mesilf is engaged on some important business, them as are to be favored with me confidence must have their credentials." "and you accept our presence with him as proof that he is what he should be?" tim gravely inclined his head. "do ye think i would admit jiff as a partner if it was otherwise? not i." "but," interposed frank, "how is it with _us_? you never saw us before." "one look at them faces is enough," was the prompt reply; "ye carry a certificate wid ye that no one can dispoot." "and i should like to know," said jeff, with assumed indignation, "what credential _you_ have to present to us, young man." "mine is the same as the young gintlemen," answered tim, removing his thick fur cap and displaying his whole wealth of fiery red hair; "obsarve me countenance." his face became grave for the first time, while all the rest laughed. "i'm satisfied and hungry," said jeff; "take us where we can get something to eat." "i knew by that token that i had forgot something, and it's me breakfast and dinner. in honor of yer coming, i've engaged the best quarters at the leading hotel. come wid me." it was but a short distance up the street to a frame hotel, which was kept by a corpulent german who had been in the country for a couple of years. the men registered, during which tim remarked to the landlord, who seemed never to be without his long-stemmed meerschaum pipe between his lips: "this gintleman isn't the burglar that ye would think from his looks. he belongs to a good family, or ye wouldn't obsarve him in my company. the young gintlemen are two princes that are travelling _in cog_. in consideration of all of them having delicate appetites like mesilf, not forgetting the honor of their company, ye will be glad to make a reduction in your exorbitant rates, baron fritz, i am sure." the phlegmatic german smiled, and in a guttural voice announced that his terms were three dollars a day, including rooms and meals, which, when all the circumstances are considered, was not extravagant. the party carried their luggage to their rooms, where they prepared themselves for the meal, which was satisfactory in every respect and better than they expected. it came out during the conversation that tim mccabe had not a dollar to his name, and he spoke the truth when he said that he had not eaten a mouthful that day. it would have gone hard for him but for the arrival of jeff graham, though there is such a lively demand for labor in juneau that he must have soon found means to provide himself with food. as for jeff, he was glad in his heart that his old friend was in such sore straits, inasmuch as it gave him the pleasure of providing for him. tim had taken out some five hundred dollars, but a companion whom he fully trusted robbed him of it, and the small amount left barely kept the irishman afloat until the arrival of the old miner. jeff graham showed prudence in bringing a plentiful supply of funds with him, and since he expected to take back a hundredfold more than he brought, he could well afford to do so. stowed away in his safe inside pocket was fully two thousand dollars, and inasmuch as gold is the "coin of the realm" in california, as well as in alaska, the funds were in shining eagles and half eagles--rather bulky of themselves, but not uncomfortably so. the experience of mccabe and jeff prevented any mistake in providing their outfit. they had good, warm flannels, thick woollen garments, strong shoes, and rubber boots. those who press their mining operations during the long and severe winter generally use the water boot of seal and walrus, which costs from two dollars to five dollars a pair, with trousers made from siberian fawn-skins and the skin of the marmot and ground squirrel, with the outer garment of marmot-skin. blankets and robes, of course, are indispensable. the best are of wolf-skin, and jeff paid one hundred dollars apiece for those furnished to himself and each of his companions. the matter of provisions was of the first importance. a man needs a goodly supply of nourishing food to sustain him through the trying journey from juneau to dawson city, the following being considered necessary for an able-bodied person: twenty pounds of flour, twelve of bacon, twelve of beans, four of butter, five of vegetables, five of sugar, three of coffee, five of corn-meal, one pound of tea, four cans of condensed milk, one and one half pounds of salt, with a little pepper and mustard. because of the weight and bulk, jeff omitted from this list the tea, the condensed milk and butter, and while the supply in other respects was the same, respectively, for himself and mccabe, that of the boys was cut down about one third; for besides the food, the party were compelled to take with them a frying-pan, a water-kettle, a yukon stove, a bean-pot, a drinking-cup, knives and forks, and a large and small frying-pan. since they would find a good raft necessary, axes, hatchets, hunting-knives, nails, one hundred and fifty feet of rope, and two juneau sleds were purchased. to these were added snow-shoes, a strong duck-tent, fishing-tackle, snow-glasses to protect themselves against snow-blindness, rubber blankets, mosquito-netting, tobacco, and a few minor articles. the start from juneau to the gold fields should not be made before the beginning of april. our friends had struck that date, but the headlong rush did not begin until some time later. one of the principal routes is from seattle to st. michael, on the western coast of alaska, and then up that mighty river whose mouth is near, for nearly two thousand more miles to dawson city. the river is open during the summer--sometimes barely four months--and our friends took the shorter route to juneau on the southern coast, from which it is about a thousand miles to dawson. while this route is much shorter, it is a hundred times more difficult and dangerous than by the yukon. from juneau there are four different routes to the headwaters of the yukon, all crossing by separate paths the range of mountains along the coast. they are the dyea or chilkoot pass, the chilkat, moore's or white pass, and takon. at this writing the chilkoot is the favorite, because it is better known than the others, but the facilities for passing through this entrance or doorway to the new el dorado are certain to be greatly increased at an early day. it was learned on inquiry that another day would have to be spent in the town before the little steamer would leave for dyea. while tim and jeff stayed at the hotel, talking over old times and laying plans for the future, the boys strolled through the streets, which were knee-deep with mud. the curio shops on front and seward streets were interesting, and from the upper end of the latter street they saw a path leading to the auk village, whose people claim to own the flats at the mouth of gold creek. on the high ground across the stream is a cemetery containing a number of curious totemic carvings, hung with offerings to departed spirits. it would cost a white man his life to disturb any of them. it was early in the afternoon that the cousins were strolling aimlessly about and had turned to retrace their steps to the hotel, when frank touched the arm of his companion and said, in a low voice: "roswell, do you know that a strange man has been following us for the past hour?" [illustration: "roswell, do you know that strange man has been following us for the past hour?"] "no; where is he?" "on the other side of the street and a little way behind us. don't look around just now. i don't fancy his appearance." a minute later, roswell managed to gain a good view. "i don't like his looks as well as he seems to like ours. shall we wait for him and ask him his business?" "no need of that, for he is walking so fast, he will soon be up with us. here he comes, as if in a great hurry." a few minutes later the boys were overtaken by the suspicious stranger. chapter iii. up the lynn canal. roswell and frank were standing in front of one of the curio stores, studying the interesting exhibits, among which was a pan of klondike gold, but they kept watch of the stranger, who slouched up to them and halted at the side of frank. "i say, pards," he said in the gruff, wheedling tones of the professional tramp, "can't you do something for a chap that's down on his luck?" as the lads turned to face him they saw an unclean, tousled man, very tall, with stooping shoulders, protruding black eyes, spiky hair, and a generally repellent appearance. "what's the trouble?" asked frank, looking into the face that had not been shaven for several days. "had the worst sort of luck; got back from klondike two days ago with thirty thousand dollars, and robbed of every cent. i'm dead broke." "you seem to have had enough to buy whiskey," remarked roswell, who had had a whiff of his breath, and placed no faith in his story. the man looked angrily at them, but restrained himself, in hopes of receiving help. "there's where you're mistaken, my friends; i haven't had anything to eat for two days, and when a stranger offered me a swallow of whiskey to keep up my strength, i took it, as a medicine. if it hadn't been for that, i'd have flunked right in the street--sure as you live. what are you doing, if i may ask, in juneau?" "we are listening to you just now, but we are on our way to the gold fields," replied roswell. "not alone?" "we are going with two men, one of whom has been there before." "that's more sensible. let me give you a little advice--" "we really do not feel the need of it," interposed roswell, who liked the man less each minute. "you must excuse us, as we wish to join them at the hotel. good-day." "see here," said the fellow angrily, as he laid his hand on the arm of frank; "ain't you going to stake me a bit?" the lad shook off his grasp. "even if we wished to do so, we could not, for our friend at the hotel has all the funds that belong to our party. perhaps if you go there, and he believes the story, mr. graham may do something for you, but tim mccabe has not the means with which to help anybody." at mention of the irishman's name the fellow showed some agitation. then, seeing that he was about to lose the expected aid, he uttered a savage expression and exclaimed: "i don't believe a word you say." "it is no concern of ours whether you believe it or not," replied roswell, as he and frank started down the street toward their hotel. the fellow was amazed at the defiance of the lads, and stood staring at them and muttering angrily to himself. could he have carried out his promptings, he would have robbed both, but was restrained by several reasons. in the first place, juneau, despite the influx of miners, is a law-abiding city, and the man's arrest and punishment would have followed speedily. moreover, it would not have been an altogether "sure thing" for him to attack the youths. they were exceptionally tall, active and strong, and would have given him trouble without appeal to the firearms which they carried. they looked round and smiled, but he did not follow them. when they reached the hotel they related the incident. "would ye oblige me with a description of the spalpeen?" said tim mccabe, after they had finished. roswell did as requested. "be the powers, it's him!" exclaimed tim. "i 'spected it when ye told the yarn which i've heerd he has been telling round town." "whom do you mean?" asked frank. "hardman, ike hardman himsilf." "who is he?" "didn't i tell ye he was the one that robbed me of my money? sure i did, what is the matter wid ye?" "you told us about being robbed," said jeff, "but didn't mention the name of the man who did it." "i want to inthrodooce mesilf to him!" exclaimed tim, flushed with indignation; "axscoose me for a bit." he strode to the door with the intention of hunting up and chastising the rogue, but, with his hand on the knob, checked himself. for a moment he debated with himself, and then, as his broad face lit up with his natural good humor, he came back to his chair, paraphrasing uncle toby: "the world's big enough for the likes of him and me, though he does crowd a bit. let him git all the good out of the theft he can, say i." dyea is at the head of navigation, and is the timber line, being a hundred miles to the northwest of juneau. it is at the upper fork of what is termed lynn canal, the most extensive fiord on the coast. it is, in truth, a continuation of chatham strait, the north and south passage being several hundred miles in extent, the whole forming the trough of a glacier which disappeared ages ago. on the day following the incident described our friends boarded the little, untidy steam launch bound for dyea. there were fifty passengers beside themselves, double the number it was intended to carry, the destination of all being the gold fields. the weather was keen and biting, and the accommodations on the boat poor. they pushed here and there, surveying with natural interest the bleak scenery along shore, the mountains white with snow, and foretelling the more terrible regions that lay beyond. hundreds of miles remained to be traversed before they could expect to gather the yellow particles, but neither of the sturdy lads felt any abatement of courage. "well, look at that!" suddenly exclaimed roswell, catching the arm of his companion as they were making their way toward the front of the boat. frank turned in the direction indicated, and his astonishment was as great as his companion's. tim mccabe and the shabby scamp, ike hardman, were sitting near each other on a bench, and smoking their pipes like two affectionate brothers. no one would have suspected there had ever been a ripple between them. catching the eye of the amazed boys, tim winked and threw up his chin as an invitation for them to approach. frank shook his head, and he and roswell went back to where jeff was smoking his pipe. they had hardly time to tell their story when the irishman joined them. [illustration: catching the eye of the amazed boys, tim winked.] "i obsarved by the exprission on your faces that ye were a bit surprised," he said, addressing the youths. "is that fellow the hardman you told us about?" asked roswell. "the same at your sarvice." "and the man who robbed you of your money?" tim flung one of his muscular legs over the other, and with a twinkle of the eyes said: "hardman has made it all right; the matter is fixed atween oursilves." "then he give you back your money?" was the inquiring remark of jeff. "not precisely that, though he said he would do the same if he only had it with him, but he run up agin a game at juneau and was cleaned out. whin he told me that i was a bit sorry for him. he further obsarved that it was his intintion if he won to stake me agin and add something extra for interest on what he borrowed of me. that spakes well for hardman, so we shook hands over it," was the hearty conclusion of tim. the boys were too astonished to speak. jeff graham's shoulders shook, and he looked sideways at his friend with a quizzical expression, unable to do justice to his feelings. as for tim, his red face was the picture of bland innocence, but he was not through. astounding as were the statements he had just made, he had a still more astounding one to submit. chapter iv. the avalanche. it was late in the day that the little steamer arrived at dyea, which was found to be a village with one log store, a number of movable tents, and without any wharf, the beach being so flat that at high water the tide reaches a half mile or more inland. to guard against losing any of their supplies, tim mccabe told his friends that it would be necessary to unload them themselves. "from this p'int," said he, "we must hoe our own row; under hiven we must depind on oursilves. hardman, lind a hand there, and step lively." to the astonishment of the youths, the man took hold and wrought with right good will. jeff looked at tim queerly as he pointed out the different articles, he himself, as may be said, overlooking the job; but the conclusion was that the irishman had promised him a small amount for his help. when, however, the task was finished tim came to the group, and while hardman, with shamefaced expression, remained in the background, he said with that simplicity which any one would find hard to resist: "you see poor hardman is in bad luck; he hain't any outfit, and wants to go to the gold fields, but will have to git some one to stake him. obsarving the same, i made bowld to remark that it would give me frind jiff the highest plisure to do it for him, not forgetting to obsarve that i knew his company would be agreeable to the byes, and he will be of great hilp to the same." "well, i'm blessed!" exclaimed the old miner, removing his hat and mopping his forehead with his big red handkerchief. then he turned half way round and looked steadily at the fellow, who was standing with his head down. "poor dog! let him come along, but if he makes any trouble, i'll hold you responsible, tim." "and i'll be happy to take charge of the same 'sponsibility, and if he don't toe the mark, it's mesilf that will make him. do you hear that, ike?" he roared, turning fiercely toward the fellow, who started, and meekly replied that he heard, though it was impossible for anything to reach him except the last thunderous demand. "it isn't for us to say anything," remarked roswell aside to his chum, "but that means trouble for us all." "it surely does; we must be on our guard against him." the outfits were piled on a sandspit about a mile below the trading posts of healy and wilson. in the foreground were the ranch and store owned by them, and beyond towered the coast mountains, their tops gleaming in the sunshine with enormous masses of snow, while hundreds of miles still beyond stretched the immense yukon country, toward which the eyes of the civilized world are turned at the present time. one of the strange facts connected with alaska and the adjoining region is that in may the sun rises at o'clock and sets at , while in june it rises at . and sets at . . thus the summer day is twenty hours long, and it has a diffuse twilight. the change from winter to summer is rapid, winter setting in in september, and in the klondike region zero weather lasts from november to may, though at times the weather moderates early in march, but does not become settled until may. the yukon generally freezes shut in the latter part of october, and breaks up about the middle of may, when the western route to the gold fields by the river becomes practicable. the hour was so late when our friends had finished carrying their outfit beyond reach of the high tide, which rises twenty feet at dyea, that they lodged and took their meals at the ranch trading post. by arrangement, an early breakfast was eaten the next morning, and the goods were loaded upon the two yukon sleds with which they were provided. these were seven feet long, sixteen inches wide, and were shod with steel. other gold-seekers were stopping, like themselves, at the ranch, but they lagged so much that when the men and boys headed northward they were alone. jeff graham and ike hardman passed the rope attached to one of the sleds over their shoulders, the elder in advance, and led off. tim took the lead, with the boys behind him, with the second sled, following the trail left by their friends. the deep snow was packed so hard that no use was made of the snow-shoes which jeff had provided. from dyea the trail led for five miles over the ice, when they reached the mouth of the cañon. this is two miles long with an average width of fifty feet. the sleds were dragged over the strong ice, but later in the season, when it breaks up, travellers are obliged to follow the trail to the east of the cañon. the party were so unaccustomed to this kind of labor that they found it exhausting. curiously enough, jeff bore the fatigue better than any. his iron muscles were the last to yield, and he was the first to resume the journey. he chaffed the others, and offered to let them mount his sled while he pulled them. beyond the cañon is a strip of woods three miles in length, which bears the name of pleasant camp, though it has not the first claim to the name. it does not contain the ruins of even a cabin or shanty--nothing, in fact, but trees, through which the wintry winds sough and howl dismally. there the party halted, ate lunch, rested for an hour, and then set out with the determination to make the next camping ground before night. the ascent now became gradual, and before the day was spent they arrived at sheep camp, on the edge of the timber. this is the last spot where wood for fuel can be obtained until the other side of chilkoot pass is reached. the tent was pitched on top of the snow, the poles and pins being shoved down into it. jeff took it upon himself to cut what fuel was needed, gathering at the same time a liberal quantity of hemlock brush, upon which to spread their blankets for beds. since it was necessary to use the stove, and it must rest on the snow, a simple arrangement provided against trouble from the melting of the latter. three poles, eight feet in length, were laid parallel on the snow and the stove placed upon them. although a hole was soon dissolved beneath, the length of the supports kept the stove upright. [illustration: the tent poles were shoved down into the snow.] the experience which jeff and tim had had made them both excellent cooks, which was a fortunate thing for the boys, since they would have made sorry work in preparing a meal; but the art of the irishman deserved the many compliments it received. with the aid of baking powder he prepared a goodly number of light, flaky biscuit, and by exposing some of the butter to the warmth of the stove, it was gradually changed from its stone-like hardness to a consistency that permitted it to be cut with a knife and spread upon the hot bread. the coffee was amber, clear, and fragrant, and with the condensed milk and sugar would have reflected credit upon the _chef_ of any establishment. in addition, there were fried bacon and canned corn. until this time the boys had never believed they could eat bacon, but nothing could have had a more delicious flavor to them. it was not alone because of their vigorous appetites, but partly on account of the bitterly cold weather. there is a good deal of animal heat evolved in the digestion of fat bacon, and it is therefore among the favorite articles of food in the arctic regions. probably there isn't a boy in the country who would not revolt at the thought of eating a tallow candle, and yet if he was exposed to the rigors of greenland and the far north, he would soon look upon it as one of the greatest delicacies of the table. the hemlock branches were now spread on top of the snow at the side of the tent, a large square of canvas was placed over them, upon which the blankets and robes were put, the whole forming a springy, comfortable bed. roswell and frank were sure that in all their lives they were never so tired. leaving the three men to talk and smoke, they stretched out on their blankets, wrapping themselves in them, and almost immediately sank into deep, dreamless slumber. the sleep had lasted perhaps a couple of hours, when, without any apparent cause, frank mansley awoke in the full possession of his senses. lying motionless, he listened to the soft breathing of his cousin beside him, while the regular respiration of the men left no doubt of their condition. everything around was in blank, impenetrable darkness and all profoundly still. "it's strange that i should awake like this," he thought, slightly shifting his position. "i'm tired, and was so drowsy that i felt as if i could sleep a week, but i was never wider awake than i am this minute--" amid the all-pervading silence he was sensible of a low, solemn murmur, like that of the distant ocean. at first it seemed to be the "voice of silence" itself, but it steadily increased in volume until its roar became overpowering. startled and frightened, he lay still, wondering what it could mean, or whether his senses were deceiving him. then he suddenly remembered the vast masses of ice and snow which towered above them all through the day. he recalled the stories he had read of the glaciers and avalanches, and how tim mccabe had referred to them as sometimes overtaking travellers in this part of the world. he knew what it meant, and, leaping from his couch, he shouted: "wake up! quick! an avalanche is upon us!" chapter v. through chilkoot pass. as frank mansley's words rang through the tent they were followed by the awful roar of the descending avalanche, and all awoke on the instant. but no one could do anything to save himself. they could only cower and pray to heaven to protect them. something struck the side of the tent, like the plunge of a mountain torrent, yet it was not that, nor was it the snow. tim mccabe knew its nature, and catching his breath, he called: "it's the wind of the avalanche! that won't hurt ye!" the wonder was that it did not blow the canvas like a feather from its path; but the tent held its position, and the appalling rush and roar ceased with more suddenness than it had begun. the throbbing air became still. jeff graham, who had not spoken, struck a match, and holding it above his head, peered around the interior of the tent, which he observed had sagged a good deal from the impact of the avalanche's breath, though the stakes held their places in the snow. he saw frank mansley standing pale with affright, while roswell, sitting on the edge of his couch, was equally startled. ike hardman had covered his face with his blanket, like a child, who thus seeks to escape an impending danger. incredible as it may seem, tim mccabe was filling his pipe in the gloom, preparatory to a smoke. "be aisy," was his comment, as he struck a match and held it above the bowl; "we're as safe as if in 'frisco, and a little safer, for it's whin ye are there ye are liable to have an airthquake tumble the buildings about yer hid." "wasn't that an avalanche?" asked the amazed frank. "it was that, but it didn't hit us. if we had put up the tint a little beyant and further to the right, we'd've been mashed flat." he spoke the truth. the enormous mass of snow, weighing thousands of tons, had toppled over and slid down the mountain-side with a roar like niagara, but stopped short, just before reaching the tent. some of the feathery particles sailed forward and struck the canvas, the greatest effect being produced by the wind, but the monster was palsied before he could reach forward and seize his victims. when the situation became clear, every one uttered expressions of gratitude, but the boys were not relieved of all fear. what had taken place might occur again. "not a bit of it," was tim's reassuring reply. "i've obsarved the things before, and we shan't be bothered agin to-night. take me advice and go to sleep, which the same is what i shall do mesilf as soon as i finishes me smoke." the shock, however, had been too great for all to compose their nerves at once. jeff was the first to succumb, having faith in the assurance of his friend, and ike hardman soon followed him in the land of dreams. frank and roswell lay for a long time talking in low tones, but finally drowsiness overcame them, and with the pungent odor of tim's pipe in their nostrils they sank into slumber, which was not broken until jeff called to them that breakfast was waiting. the melted snow furnished what water they needed to drink and in which to lave their faces and hands. then, before eating, they hurried outside the tent to survey the snowy mountain that had come so near swallowing them up. they were filled with amazement when they looked upon the vast pile, amid which were observed many chunks and masses of ice, several that must have weighed hundreds of pounds, lying on the snow within a few yards of the tent. had one of these been precipitated against the shelter, it would have crushed the inmates, like the charge from the most enormous of our seacoast guns. it was a providential escape, indeed, for our friends, and it was no wonder that they continued to discuss it and to express their gratitude to heaven, that had mercifully shielded them while they slept. standing at sheep camp, they saw the summit towering thirty-five hundred feet in front, though chilkoot pass, which they were to follow, is five hundred feet lower. the task of climbing to the summit of this pass is of the most trying nature conceivable, and many gold-seekers have turned back in despair. terrific weather is often encountered, and men have been held in camp for weeks, during which the crest of the mountains was hidden by clouds and tempests, and the whirling snow and sleet were so blinding that they hardly ventured to peep out from their tent. the weather was such as has baffled the most intrepid of explorers for centuries in their search for the north pole. our friends were unusually fortunate in being favored with good weather, there being hardly any wind stirring, while, more wonderful than all, the sun shone from an unclouded sky, in a section where the clear days average less than seventy degrees in the course of the entire year. no one who has ever climbed chilkoot pass will forget it. some, alas! who have made the attempt never succeeded in reaching the other side, but perished in the frightful region; while many more have become disheartened by the perils and difficulties and turned back when on the threshold of the modern el dorado. at the foot of the pass our friends met two men, bending low with the packs strapped to their shoulders, and plodding wearily southward. tim called to them to know what the trouble was, and received a glum answer, accompanied by an oath that they had had enough of such a country, and if they ever lived to reach new york, they would shoot any man who pronounced the word "klondike" in their presence. it is a curious fact regarding this famous pass that the snow with which it is choked is what makes it possible for travel. the snow sometimes lies to the depth of fifty or sixty feet, and from february, through may, and often june, its smooth surface allows one to walk over it without trouble. should it be fine and yielding, the snow-shoes come into play, but when the crust is hard, no better support could be asked. the trouble lies in the steep incline, which becomes more decided the higher one climbs. underneath this enormous mass rush violent torrents of water, which, hollowing out passages for themselves, leave the snow white arches far above, over which one walks upon a natural bridge. later in the season, when the effects of the warm weather are felt, these arches begin to tumble in, and the incautious traveller who misses his footing and drops into one of the huge crevices is lost. as has been said, the steepness increases as one approaches the top, the last five hundred feet being like the roof of a house. bending forward under their loads, our friends often found their noses within a few inches of the snow, while masses of rock protruding in many places added to the difficulties of travel. the combined strength of the party was required to get a single sled to the top. while one was left behind, they joined in pushing and pulling the other, with frequent pauses for rest, until, after hours of the hardest work conceivable, they succeeded in reaching the summit. then, resting again, they began their descent for the other sled. it was fortunate that the crust of the snow removed the need of using the long snow-shoes, whose make suggests the bats used in playing tennis, for the men were the only ones who knew how to handle the awkward contrivances, which would have proved a sore perplexity for roswell and frank. under some circumstances it becomes a question which is the harder, to descend or ascend a steep hill. despite the utmost care, the whole five stumbled several times. roswell felt the chills run through him, and he held his breath in dismay when he saw himself sliding toward the edge of a ravine, over which if he fell he would have been dashed to death on the instant. while desperately trying to check himself, he shouted for help, but it looked equally fatal for any one to venture near him, since the slope was so abrupt that he could not check himself. jeff graham was carrying the coil of rope which he had loosened from the first sled, and, seeing the peril of his young friend, he flung the end toward him with the skill of a mexican or cowboy in throwing the _rita_, or lasso. the youth was slipping downward on his face, with his terrified countenance turned appealingly to his friends, while he tried, by jamming his toes and clutching at the surface, to check himself, and frank was on the point of going to his help when the end of the rope struck his shoulder and he seized it with both hands. the next minute he was drawn back to safety. "i'm surprised wid ye," remarked tim mccabe, when the panting youth stood among them again. "i thought ye were too tired to indulge in any such foolin'. whin ye want to slide down hill, make use of the slid instead of your stummick." "i don't think i'll want to do any more sliding down hill in this part of the world," replied the frightened, but grateful youth. once more they bent to their work, and pulling themselves together, succeeded at last in reaching the summit with the second sled, the whole party utterly used up. even jeff graham sat down on one of the loads, panting and too tired to speak. when he found voice, he said: [illustration: all joined in pushing and pulling one sled.] "what fools we are! and yet if i went back to 'frisco, i'd start agin for the klondike the next day; so i reckon we'll keep on." no one responded, for they were so wearied that talking itself was labor. looking to the southwest, they could see the blue shimmer of the pacific, where the gulf of alaska rolls its white surges against the dismal shores. far in the distance a faint line against the sky showed where a steamer was probably ploughing its way to st. michael's, with hundreds of gold-seekers on board, the van of the army that is pushing toward the klondike from the west, the south, and the east, until it would seem that even that immense region must overflow with the innumerable multitudes, drawn thither by the most resistless magnet that can make men brave peril, suffering, and death. turning in the opposite direction, they saw the mountain slope melting away in the great valley of the yukon, with the trail leading through a narrow, rocky gap, and with naked granite rocks rising steeply to the partly snow-clad mountains. the party had been fortunate in completing the ascent in less than a day, when it often requires twice as long. the first half mile of the descent was steep, when the slope becomes more gradual. the glare of the snow compelled all to use their glasses, and seven miles from the summit they reached the edge of timber, where camp was made. freed from all fear of descending avalanches, with plenty of food and wood for fuel, the exhausted gold-hunters lay down on their blankets, resting upon more hemlock boughs, and enjoyed the most refreshing sleep since leaving the steamer at juneau. it was not until considerably after daylight that jeff awoke and started a new fire, with which to prepare their breakfast, and when that was ready the boys were roused from slumber. they were now within three miles of lake lindeman, a body of water five miles in length, and the journey was speedily made. it was on the shore of this lake that the party expected to build a raft or boat with which to make the long, rough voyage to the yukon, but, to their pleased surprise, they found an old indian, with a broad scow, anxious to transport them and their luggage to the foot of the lake. he had already secured three men and their outfits, but was able to carry the new arrivals, and jeff was not long in making a bargain with him. chapter vi. a significant discovery. game is so scarce in the valley of the upper yukon and in the klondike country that many gold-seekers take no firearms at all with them. years ago the indians showed occasional hostility toward the missions and trading-posts, but nothing now is to be feared from them. they are often hired to help carry loads through the passes, and with that aptitude for imitating the white man, they have speedily learned to charge high prices for their labor. before leaving juneau, jeff graham presented each of his little party with an excellent revolver, quoting the remark which a cowboy once made to a tenderfoot: "you may not want the weapon often, but when you do you'll want it mighty bad." jeff took with him his own pistol which he had carried for years, besides which he was provided with a fine winchester rifle. he knew he was not likely to find any use for it in shooting game, but he grimly observed that if a pistol should prove handy, the larger weapon was apt to prove much more so. the indian who engaged to take them to the foot of lake lindeman was old, but wiry and tough, and understood his business. he could speak a few words of english, which were enough for his purposes. he raised a small soiled sail of canvas on the scow, and with the help of a long pole kept the heavily laden craft moving. although the lake was open thus early in the season, the shores were lined with ice, much of it extending into the water for a number of rods. huge cakes sometimes bumped against the scow, but they caused no damage, and did not interfere with its progress. the three men who had first engaged the boat looked as if they had come a long distance. our friends had no recollection of having seen them on the steamer from seattle or on the steam launch that connects juneau with dyea at the head of lynn canal. where they came from, therefore, was a mystery, the probability being that they had been loitering about dyea for a long time, waiting for the season to advance sufficiently to allow them to start for the yukon. they seemed reserved to the point of sullenness, keeping by themselves and showing so much antipathy to any approach that they were let alone. but just before the foot of the lake, nearly six miles distant, was reached, frank mansley made an interesting discovery. the most ill-favored of the trio was an acquaintance of ike hardman. no one else noticed the significant fact, and it was partly through accident that the truth came to the lad. the two men acted as if strangers, not exchanging a word on the passage, and seemingly feeling no interest in each other. all of frank's friends were near the bow of the boat, looking to where they were soon to touch shore. two of the strangers were standing just back of and near them, while hardman was in the middle of the boat, apparently watching the old indian as he plied his paddle with untiring vigor. the third stranger was at the stern, seated on the gunwale, smoking a clay pipe and seemingly taking no note of anything about him. when ike hardman sauntered among the piles of luggage to the rear, frank was impelled by an impulse for which he could not account to watch him. he had no well-defined suspicion, and least of all did he suspect what proved to be the truth. hardman halted a few paces from the man sitting on the edge of the boat, and, so far as appearances went, did not pay any attention to him. a quick, furtive glance to the front put the lad on his guard, and he, too, turned his face toward land, but his position was such that he could look sideways at the two, while not seeming to do so. suddenly hardman, with his back partly toward the youth, made a sign with his hands, the meaning of which frank could not catch, because the signal was not fully seen, but the fellow sitting down nodded his head, and taking his pipe from between his lips, said something in so guarded a voice that only the ears for which the words were intended could understand them. this brief interchange ought to have been enough, but hardman did not appear to think so. he stepped somewhat closer, and he, too, spoke, still gesticulating with one of his hands. the man addressed was impatient. he nodded again in a jerky fashion, and made answer with less caution, as a consequence of which the eavesdropper caught the words, "yes, yes, to-night; i understand." [illustration: suddenly hardman made a sign.] hardman was satisfied, and came back to the front of the boat, which was now approaching the shore. his friend smoked a few minutes until the scow bumped against the projection of ice, and, the old indian leaping lightly out, carried the heavy stone anchor as far as the rope would permit. this held the boat in place, and the unloading began. the indian offered to help for an extravagant price, but his offer was refused, and the respective parties busied themselves with their own work. the discovery made by frank mansley caused him considerable uneasiness. the dislike which he felt toward hardman the first time he saw him had never abated, and it was the same with his cousin. young as they were, they felt that a great mistake was made when hardman was allowed to join the party, and they wondered that jeff permitted it, but, as has been shown, they were too discreet to object. that hardman, on his part, detested the youths was apparent, though he tried to conceal the feeling when he feared it might attract the attention of others. he had little to say to them or they to him. frank decided to tell his chum of the discovery he had made, and they would consult as to whether they should take jeff and tim into their confidence. meanwhile, the trio gathered their loads upon their backs and started northward without so much as calling good-by to those whom they left behind, and who were not sorry to part company with them. the gold-hunters had had a little lift on their journey, but it was not worth considering, in view of what remained before them. a mile advance with sleds and their packs took them to the head of lake bennet, where it may be said the navigation of the yukon really begins. the lake is about twenty-eight miles long, contains a number of islands, and in going to the foot one passes from alaska into british columbia. along its shores were scores of miners, busily engaged in building boats with which to make the rest of the journey. sad to say, owing to their impatience and lack of skill, some of the boats were so flimsy and ill-constructed that they were certain to go to pieces in the fierce rapids below, and add their owners to the long list of victims whose bodies strew the pathway from chilkoot to the upper yukon. here, too, it became necessary for our friends to build a craft, and since it was comparatively early in the day, jeff and tim, each with an axe over his shoulder, went into the wood, already partly cut down, hardman accompanying them, in order to bear his turn. the boys remained behind to guard the property, though their neighbors were so occupied with their own affairs that they gave them little heed. frank took the opportunity to tell his companion what he had observed on the boat while crossing the lake. "hardman has joined our company for some evil purpose," said roswell, "and the other man is his partner in the plot." "but they are gone, and we may not see them again." "one of them, at least, has an understanding with hardman, and will keep him within hailing distance." "we will say nothing to jeff or tim until to-morrow; i fear that we shall learn something to-night." the boy was right in his supposition. chapter vii. the plotters. all day long the two axes swung vigorously. both jeff and tim were expert woodmen, and they felled pine after pine. hardman pleaded that he was unaccustomed to such work; but jeff grimly told him he could never have a better chance to learn to cut down trees, and compelled him to take his turn. the work was continued until dark, which, it will be remembered, comes much later in the far north than in our latitude. the distance between the scene of their work and the point where the outfits and goods were piled was so slight that there was really no need of the boys remaining on guard. feeling that they were favored too much, they sauntered to the wood and asked the privilege of taking a hand in felling the trees. it was granted; but they made such sorry work, finding it almost impossible to sink the blade twice in the same spot, that they yielded the implements to those who understood the business so much better. the snow was deep, and the camp was much the same as the one made before entering chilkoot pass. all were tired, and lay down after the evening meal, glad of the opportunity for a few hours' sleep. in accordance with their agreement, the boys said nothing to either of their friends about what frank had observed on the boat. it was understood between them that they were to feign sleep, but to keep watch of hardman during the night as long as they could remain awake. ordinarily it is a difficult if not impossible task for one to fight off the insidious approach of slumber, but frank mansley had wrought himself into such a state of anxiety that he was sure he could command his senses until well toward morning. he and roswell lay under the same blanket, with their backs to each other, while the others were by themselves, the interior of the tent barely permitting the arrangement. had any one stealthily entered fifteen minutes after they had lain down, he would have declared that all were asleep, though such was not the fact. despite his nervousness, frank was beginning to feel drowsy when he was startled and set on edge by a sound that penetrated the profound silence. it resembled the whistle of a bird from the timber, soft, clear, and tremulous. almost in the same instant he heard one of the men rise stealthily from his couch. it was easy to determine, from the direction of the slight rustle, that it was hardman. frank thrust his elbow into the back of his comrade as a warning for him to be alert; but there was no response. roswell had been asleep for an hour. it was too dark to perceive anything within the tent, though all was clear outside; but the lad's senses were in that tense condition that he heard the man lift the flap of the tent and move softly over the snow on the outside. with the same silence, frank flung back the blanket that enveloped him and stepped out on the packed snow of the interior. pausing but a moment, he crept through the opening. in that cold region men sleep in their clothing, so he had nothing to fear from exposure. the night was brilliantly clear, the sky studded with stars, and not a breath of air stirring. he remained a brief while in a crouching posture, while he peered in different directions. before him stretched the lake, its shores crusted with snow and ice, with the cold water shining in the star-gleam. still stooping low and looking intently about him, he saw something move between the tent and the water. a second glance revealed hardman, who was standing alone and looking about him, as if he expected the approach of some person. impatient at the delay, he repeated the signal that had aroused the attention of frank a few minutes before. the tremulous note had scarcely pierced the air when a shadowy form emerged from the wood and walked the short distance that took him to the waiting hardman. the two were so far off that it was impossible to identify him; but the lad was as certain it was the man who had exchanged the words and signs with hardman as if the noonday sun were shining. frank mansley would have given anything he had to be able to steal near enough to overhear what passed between them, but that was clearly impossible. to move from his place by the tent was certain to bring instant detection. now and then he could catch the faint murmur of their voices, but not once was he able to distinguish a syllable that was uttered. the interview lasted but a short time. whatever understanding was reached between the plotters must have been simple, else it would not have been effected so soon. suddenly the stranger moved off over the snow in the direction of the wood and disappeared among the trees. at the same moment hardman moved silently toward the tent. frank was on the alert, and when the man entered he was lying on his couch, his blanket over him, and his chilled body against the warm form of his comrade, who recoiled slightly with a shiver, though he did not awake. the fear of frank mansley had been that the two men were plotting some scheme for the robbery of jeff, though it would seem that they would prefer to wait until he had made a strike in the gold district. what the youth had seen convinced him that the latter plan would be followed, or at least attempted, and he had hardly reached that conclusion when he fell asleep. "you're a pretty fellow to stand guard," he remarked to his cousin the next morning, after the men had gone to the wood again. [illustration: "you're a pretty fellow to stand guard," said frank.] "i didn't try to stand guard," replied roswell with a laugh; "i was lying down all the time." "why didn't you keep awake?" "because i fell asleep, and you would have done the same if you hadn't kept awake." "probably i should--most people do; but what do you think of it, roswell?" "first tell me something to think of." his cousin told all that he had seen the night before. "there can't be any doubt that hardman and one, if not all three of those fellows, are plotting mischief. it might have been one of the others who signalled to and met him. i think we ought to tell jeff." "we'll do so before night. it isn't likely hardman suspects anything, and you will have no trouble in finding the chance." "you think it best that i should tell jeff?" "by all means, since you will tell what you saw. such things are best first-hand; but neither of us will say anything to tim." "why not?" "jeff is the leader of this expedition. tim is so soft-hearted that likely enough he would try to convince hardman of his wrongdoing, and so put him on his guard. let jeff tell him if he chooses." "i hope he will drive hardman out of our party; my impression of him is that he would not only rob but kill for the sake of gold." roswell looked grave. the same thought had been in his mind, but he disliked to give expression to it. he hoped his cousin was wrong, but could not feel certain that he was. "frank, make an excuse for calling jeff here; he ought to know of this at once." looking toward the timber, they saw that their friend had just given up his axe to hardman, who was swinging it a short distance from where tim mccabe was lustily doing the same. frank called to him, and when the old miner looked around, he beckoned for him to approach. jeff slouched forward, wondering why the boys had summoned him from his work. he was quickly told. he listened, silent, but deeply interested, until the story was finished. then, without any excitement, he said, "don't let tim know anything of this, younkers;" and, with a strange gleam in his keen gray eyes, the old man added, "i've got a winchester and a revolver, and i keep 'em both loaded, and i've plenty of ammunition. i think i'll have use for 'em purty soon." chapter viii. on lake bennet. the men wrought steadily in felling trees, and by the close of the second day had enough timber for their raft. it would have been much preferable could they have constructed a good, stout boat; but it was not feasible, though jeff and tim would have built it had they possessed the necessary planking and boards. they had provided themselves with oakum, pitch, and other material; but the labor of sawing out the right kind of stuff would have taken weeks. the irishman had learned from his late experience; as a result of which a double-decker, as it may be termed, was planned. this consisted first of a substantial framework of buoyant pine logs, securely nailed together, while upon that was reared another some two feet in height. this upper framework was intended to bear their outfits, over which were fastened rubber cloths. the alaskan lakes are often swept by terrific tempests, the waves sometimes dashing entirely over the rafts and boats, and wetting everything that is not well protected. the upper deck serves also partially to protect the men. the boys spent a portion of the days in fishing. there was a notable moderation in the weather, the snow and ice rapidly melting. sitting or standing on the bank, they cast out their lines, baited with bits of meat, and met with pleasing success. plump, luscious white-fish, grayling, and lake trout were landed in such numbers that little or no other solid food was eaten during their halt at the head of lake bennet. work was pushed so vigorously that on the third day the goods were carefully piled on the upper deck, secured in place, and with their long poles they pushed out from the shore on the voyage of twenty-eight miles to the foot of the sheet of water. they were provided with a sturdy mast reared near the middle of the craft, but they did not erect a sail, for the reason that the strong wind which was blowing was almost directly from the north, and would have checked their progress. the unwieldy structure was pushed along the eastern side, where the poles were serviceable at all times. each took his turn at the work, the boys with the others, and the progress, if slow, was sure. the first twelve miles of lake bennet are quite shallow, with a width barely exceeding a half mile. fifteen miles down occurs the junction with the southwest arm, and the point had hardly come into sight when tim said: "now look out for trouble, for here's where we'll catch it sure." all understood what he meant, for a wind was blowing down the arm with such fierceness that it looked as if everything would be swept off the raft. the prospect was so threatening that they ran inshore while yet at a safe distance, and waited for the gale to subside. "is it likely to last long?" asked roswell, when they had secured shelter. "that depinds how far off the end of the same may be," was the unsatisfactory reply. "i've knowed men to be held here for days, but i have hopes that we may get off in the coorse of two or three weeks." the boys as well as jeff could not believe that tim was in earnest, for his lightest words were often spoken with the gravest expression of face; but their former experience taught them to be prepared for almost any whim in the weather. they recalled those dismal days and nights earlier on their journey, when they were storm-stayed, and they were depressed at the thought that something of the nature might again overtake them. when the boys proposed to put up the tent, the irishman said: "it is early in the day; bide awhile before going to that trouble." this remark convinced them that he was more hopeful of a release than would be implied from his words; so they wrapped their heavy coats closer and hoped for the best. the men lit their pipes, while the boys huddled close together and had little to say. unexpectedly there came such a lull in the gale early in the afternoon that the voyage, to the delight of all, was resumed. ike hardman was in more genial spirits than at any time since he joined the company. he showed an eagerness to help, declining to yield the pole when jeff offered to relieve him, and ventured now and then upon some jest with roswell and frank. their distrust, however, was not lessened, and they were too honest to affect a liking that it was impossible to feel. they had little to say to him, and noticing the fact, he finally let them alone. whatever misgiving jeff may have felt was skilfully concealed, and the fellow could have felt no suspicion that his secret was suspected by any member of the company. the wind blew so strongly that there was some misgiving; but observing that it came from the right quarter, the sail was hoisted, and as the canvas bellied outward, the raft caught the impulse and began moving through the water at a rate that sent the ripples flying over the square ends of the logs at the front. all sat down on the upper framework, with the exception of jeff, who stood, pole in hand, at the bow, ready to guide the structure should it sheer in the wrong direction. the conformation of the shore and a slight change of wind carried the raft farther out on the lake. observing that it was getting slightly askew, jeff pushed the long pole downward until his hand almost touched the surface of the water. while holding it there the other end bobbed up, having failed to touch ground. "no use," he said, facing his friends, who were watching him, "the bottom may be half a mile below." "that looks as if we're over our hids," said tim; "by which token, if this steamer blows up we've got to swim for our lives, and i never larned to swim a stroke." the boys looked at him wonderingly. "how is it you did not learn?" asked roswell. "i've tried hundreds of times. i kept in the water till me toes begun to have webs between 'em, but at the first stroke me hid went down and me heels up. i can swim in that style," he added gravely, "but find the same slightly inconvanient owing to the necissity of braithing now and thin. i tried fur a long time to braithe through me toes, but niver made much of a succiss of it." "and i learned to swim in one day," remarked frank; "strange that you should have so much trouble." "undoubtedly that's because yer hid is so light, while me own brains weigh me down; it's aisy to understand that." "if we should have any mishap, tim," said frank, "you must remember to hold fast to a piece of wood to help you float--a small bit is enough." "i have a bitter plan than that." "what is it?" "niver have anything to do wid the water." "that would be certain safety if you could carry it out; but you can't help it all times--such, for instance, as the present." "and i'm thinking we shall have plinty of the same before we raich dawson." "after we get to the foot of this lake, what comes next, tim?" "caribou crossing, which we pass through to lake tagish, which isn't quite as big as is this one. i'm thinking," he added thoughtfully, watching the rising anger of the waves, "that bime-by, whin we come near land, we'll be going that fast that we'll skim over the snow like a sled to the nixt lake." roswell pointed to the shore on their right, indicating a stake which rose upright from the ground and stood close to the water. "what is the meaning of that?" he asked. "that," replied tim, "marks the grave of some poor chap that died on his way to the klondike. do ye obsarve that cairn of stones a bit beyont?" each saw it. "that marks anither grave; and ye may call to mind that we obsarved more of the same along lake lindeman." such was the fact, though this was the first reference to them. "and we shall hardly be out of sight of some of the same all the way to the klondike; and i'm thinking," was his truthful remark, "that hundreds more will lay their bones down in these parts and niver see their loved ones again." it was a sad thought. in a few years improved routes, railway-tracks, and houses for food and lodging will rob the klondike region of its terrors, but until then death must exact a heavy toll from the gold-seekers crowding northward, without regard to season or the simplest laws of prudence. roswell was standing on the upper deck, near a corner, when he exclaimed excitedly: "oh, look there! isn't it dreadful?" [illustration: "oh, look there! isn't it dreadful?"] he was pointing out on the lake, and, following the direction of his hand, all saw the answer to his question. chapter ix. into british territory. all hurried to the side of roswell, who was pointing to a place a short distance from the raft. it was the body of a man that they saw, floating face upward. his clothing was good, and the white features, partly hidden by a black beard, must have been pleasing in life. the feet and hands, dangling at the sides, were so low in the water that only when stirred by the waves did they show, but the face rose and fell, sometimes above, and never more than a few inches below, so that it was in view all the time. the group silently viewed the scene. the body drifted nearer and nearer and faintly touched the edge of the raft, as the wind carried it past. then it continued dipping, and gradually floated away in the gathering gloom. "we ought to give it burial," said frank to jeff, who shook his head. "what's the use? we might tow it ashore, dig up a foot of the frozen earth, and set a wooden cross or heap of stones to mark the grave, but the lake is as good a burial-place as it could have." "i wonder who he could have been," said roswell thoughtfully. "some man, no doubt, who has come from his home in the states, thousands of miles away, and started to search for gold. he may have left wife and children behind, who will look longingly for his coming, but will never see his face again." "the world is full of such sad things," observed tim mccabe, impressed, like all, with the melancholy incident, and then he expressed the thought that was in the mind of each: "there be five of us: will we all see home again?" there was no reply. hardman had not spoken, and, as if the occasion was too oppressive, he sauntered to another part of the raft, while the rest gradually separated, each grave and saddened by what he had witnessed. it is well for us to turn aside from the hurly-burly of life and reflect upon the solemn fact of the inevitable end that awaits us all. but the long afternoon was drawing to a close, and the question to be considered was whether the raft should be allowed to drift or land, or they should continue forward, despite a certain degree of danger during the darkness. all were eager to improve the time, and jeff, as the head of the expedition, said they would keep at it at least for a while longer. "as far as i can tell," he said, "there's no danger of running into anything that'll wreck us, and we must use our sail while we can. besides," he added, after testing it, "the water is so deep that we can't reach bottom, and there isn't much chance to help ourselves." the wind which swept over the raft had risen almost to a gale, and brought with it a few scurrying flakes of snow. there was a perceptible fall in the temperature, and the chilly, penetrating air caused all to shiver, despite their thick clothing. finally night closed in, and the raft was still drifting, the wind carrying it four or five miles an hour. the night was so short that the hope was general that the straightforward progress would continue until sunrise, though tim, who was better acquainted with the region, expressed the belief that a storm of several days' duration had set in. since there was nothing to do, the men and boys disposed of themselves as comfortably as possible on the lee side of the raft, beyond reach of the waves, though the spray now and then dashed against their rubber blankets which each had wrapped about his shoulders and body. after a time jeff took his station at the bow, though an almost imperceptible change of wind caused the structure to drift partly sideways. roswell and frank, who were seated back to back and in an easy attitude, had sunk into a doze, when both were startled by a bump which swung them partly over. they straightened up and looked around in the gloom, wondering what it meant. "we've struck shore," called jeff, who was the only one on watch. "the voyage is over for the time." there was hurrying to and fro, as all perceived that he had spoken the truth. the corner of the raft had impinged against some ice that was piled on the beach. the gloom was too deep for any one to see more than a few rods, so that tim, who had traversed the sheet of water before, was unable to guess where they were. "provided we've come over a straight coorse," said the irishman, "we can't be far from the fut of the lake." "we'll know in the morning, which can't be far off," replied jeff; "we'll make ourselves as comfortable as we can until then." despite the wind, they managed to light several matches and examine their watches. to their surprise, the night was nearly gone, and it was decided not to attempt to put up their tent until daylight. accordingly, they huddled together and spent the remaining hour of gloom in anything but comfort. at the earliest streakings of light all were astir. springing from the ground, tim mccabe hurriedly walked a short way to the northward. the others had risen to their feet and were watching him. as the gray light rapidly overspread the scene, they saw the lake, still tossing with whitecaps, stretching to the south and west, with the shore faintly visible. on the east, north, south, and west towered the snow-capped mountains, with mount lotne and other peaks piercing the very clouds. the sun was still hidden, with the air damp, cold, and penetrating. tim mccabe was seen to stand motionless for some minutes, when he slowly turned about on his heels and attentively studied the landmarks. then he suddenly flung his cap high in air, and, catching it as it came down, began dancing a jig with furious vigor. he acted as if he had bidden good-by to his senses. "whoop! hurrah!" he shouted, as he replaced his cap and hurried to his friends. "we're at the fut of the lake!" [illustration: "we're at the fut of the lake," shouted tim.] such was the fact. a steamer guided by pilot and compass could not have come more directly to the termination of the sheet of water. tim had cause for rejoicing, and all congratulated themselves upon their good fortune. "there's only one bad thing about the same," he added more seriously. "what's that?" asked jeff. "we're no longer in the united states." "that's the fact," said hardman, "we're in british columbia." after all, this was a small matter. inasmuch as the signs indicated a severe storm, it was decided to stay where they were until its chief fury was spent. the snow was shovelled aside to allow them to reach the frozen earth, into which the stakes were securely driven, and the tent set up, with the stove in position. beyond chilkoot pass plenty of timber is to be found, consisting of pine, spruce, cottonwood, and birch. thus far not the first sign of game had been seen. the whole country, after leaving dyea, is mountainous. most of the goods were left on the raft, where they were protected by the rubber sheathing and the secure manner in which they were packed and bound. three dreary days of waiting followed, and the hours became so monotonous at times, especially after the hard, active toil that had preceded them, that in some respects it was the most trying period of the memorable journey of our friends from dyea to dawson city. the men found consolation in their pipes, which frequently made the air within the tent intolerable to the youngsters. like most smokers, however, the men never suspected the annoyance they caused, and the boys were too considerate to hint anything of the kind. when their young limbs yearned for exercise, they bolted out of doors, in the face of the driving sleet and fine snow which cut the face like bird-shot. locking arms, they wrestled and rolled and tumbled in the snow, washed each other's faces, flung the snow about--for it was too dry to admit of being wrought into balls--and when tired out, they came back panting and with red cheeks, showing that their lungs had been filled with the life-giving ozone. it was necessary now and then to cut fuel from the adjacent wood, and this was done by tim and jeff. the boys asked to be allowed to try their hand, but they were too unskilful in wielding an axe, and their request was denied. now and then the howling gale drove the smoke back into the tent, where it was almost as bad as the odor from the pipes. the four slept at intervals through the day and most of the long night; but now and then the men laid aside their pipes, the stove "drew," and the atmosphere within was agreeable. the only books in the company were the two pocket bibles furnished by the mothers of roswell and frank. neither boy forgot his promise to read the volume whenever suitable opportunity presented. seeing frank reclining on his blanket, with his little bible in hand, jeff asked him to read it aloud, and the boy gladly complied. it was a striking sight, as the men inclined their heads and reverently listened to the impressive words from the book of life. there was no jesting or badinage, for that chord which the creator has placed in every human heart was touched, and responded with sweet music. many an hour was thus passed--let us hope with profit to every one of the little party. finally the longed-for lull in the storm came, and the voyage was renewed. the trip through caribou crossing was made without mishap, the distance being about four miles, when they entered marsh lake, often known as mud lake, though no apparent cause exists for the title. no difficulty was experienced in making their way for the twenty-four miles of its length, at the end of which they debouched into lynx river, where twenty-seven more miles were passed without incident or trouble worth recording. chapter x. at white horse rapids. "we're doing well," observed tim mccabe, when the raft with its load and party of gold-seekers reached the end of lynx river, "but be the same token, we're drawing nigh the worst part of the voyage, and we'll be lucky if we git through the same without mishap." "what have we ahead?" asked jeff. "miles cañon; it's a little more than half a mile long, and if this raft isn't as strong as it should be it'll be torn to pieces." fortunately jeff had given attention from the first to the stability of the structure, upon which everything depended. he was continually examining it from stem to stern, and where there was a suspicion of the necessity, he drove nails and strengthened the craft in every way possible. the sail was used whenever possible; but since they were really among the network of lakes which form the headwaters of the yukon, the current carried them steadily toward their destination, and there were hours when they scarcely lifted their hands except to keep the raft in proper position by means of the poles. the weather grew steadily milder, for summer was approaching. the snow and ice rapidly melted, and now and then, when the sun shone, the thick clothing felt uncomfortable during the middle of the day. our friends were in advance of the great multitude that were pushing toward the klondike from the south, from canada and to st. michael's, whence they would start on the two-thousand-mile climb of the yukon, as soon as it shook off its icy bounds. it was impossible that the party should not view with solicitude their entrance into miles cañon, though tim assured his friends that much more dangerous rapids would remain to be passed. the cañon is five-eighths of a mile long, with an angry and swift current. although the raft was tossed about like a cockleshell, it went through without injury, and none of the goods were displaced or harmed. following this came the severest kind of work. for three miles it seemed as if the river could be no worse, and the raft must be wrenched asunder. the current was not only very swift, but the channel was filled with rocks. each man grasped one of the strong poles with which the craft was provided, and wrought with might and main to steer clear of the treacherous masses of stone which thrust up their heads everywhere. there were many narrow escapes, and despite the utmost they could do, the raft struck repeatedly. sometimes it was a bump and sheer to one side so suddenly that the party were almost knocked off their feet. once, owing to unintentional contrary work the raft banged against the head of a rock and stood still. while the men were desperately plying their poles the current slewed the craft around, and the voyage was resumed. [illustration: the current was not only very swift, but the channel was filled with rocks.] "look out!" shouted jeff; "there's another rock right ahead!" unfortunately it was just below the surface, and there were so many ripples and eddies in the current that neither tim nor hardman was sure of its exact location, but taking their cue from the leader, they pushed with all their strength to clear the obstruction. they failed, and the flinty head swept directly under the logs and gouged its course for the entire length of the craft. all felt the jar, and those who could look beneath the upper deck saw the lower timbers rise from the impact, which was so severe that when the raft at last swung free it was barely moving, but, like a wounded horse, it shook itself clear, and the next moment was plunging forward as impetuously as ever. the fears of the party were intensified by sight of wreckage along the banks, proving that more than one of their predecessors had come to grief in trying to make the passage. while all were on edge with the danger, however, they found themselves at the end of the perilous passage and floating in comparatively smooth water again. men and boys drew sighs of relief, the former mopping their perspiring brows and looking their mutual congratulations. "the fun is only just begun," said tim mccabe; "we had matters purty lively fur a time, but they'll soon be a good deal livelier." "what is next due?" asked frank. "i belave," said tim, "that some folks spake of death as riding on a pale horse, don't they?" "yes." "that must be the raison they call the nixt plisure thramp white horse cañon, or white horse rapids." "where are they?" "but a little way ahid; many men have been drowned in thrying to sail through the same; and him as doesn't know how to swim in a whirlpool hasn't ony business to thry it." "what, then, do you mean to do?" "thry it," was the imperturbable response. such talk was not calculated to cheer the listeners, but knowing the irishman as they did, they received his statement with less seriousness than they should have done, for he had by no means overrated the peril in their front. jeff made another examination of the raft while he had the opportunity, and strengthened it in every possible way. he was pleased that it stood the test so well, though it had been severely wrenched, and when it crawled over the sunken rock it had narrowly missed being torn asunder. the fastenings of the goods were examined and everything prepared, so far as it could be done, for the crucial trial at hand. the party were seated in various positions about the raft, looking anxiously ahead, when tim pointed a little way in advance, with the question: "do ye all obsarve that?" he indicated a high bank of sand on the right which had been cut out by the erosion of the violent current. near by some philanthropist had put up a sign, "keep a good look out." "you have larned what other people think of the same," he added; "there's been more than twinty men drowned in there." "because they could not swim?" asked frank. "'cause the best swimmer in the world can't swim in there; you and mesilf, boys, will soon be on the same futting, for the raison that we won't have any futting at all." "how long is the cañon?" "not quite half a mile. miles cañon, that we've just passed through, is like a duck-pond alongside the rapids in front of us." "can a boat go through?" "the thing has been done, but only about one in fifty that starts into them rapids ever raiches the outlet, excipt in bits the size of yer hand." frank and roswell looked at each other in consternation. was it possible that jeff would allow the criminal recklessness tim contemplated? where the chances were so overwhelmingly against success, it was throwing away their lives to trust themselves to the fearful rapids that had already caused so many deaths. "if you want to try," said roswell, excitedly, "you may do so, but neither frank nor i will. put us ashore!" he addressed himself to jeff, who was seated on the edge of the upper deck, calmly smoking his pipe. he did not look around nor seem to hear the appeal. "never mind," interposed frank; "if they are willing, we are not the ones to back out. i know of no law that prevents a man making a fool of himself." "very well," replied his cousin, more composedly, "i am ready." chapter xi. on the yukon. jeff graham looked inquiringly at tim mccabe, who nodded his head by way of reply. at the same time he said something to hardman, and all three rose to their feet. then the poles were plied with an effect that speedily drove the raft against the bank, where tim sprang ashore and secured it. brave and reckless as was the fellow, he had no intention of trying to take the boat through the exceedingly dangerous white horse rapids, but he could not refuse the chance for a little amusement at the expense of his young friends. in truth, no one should ever attempt to take a boat through white horse rapids. the best course, perhaps, is to let it drift down the rapids, guided by a rope one hundred and fifty feet in length. if it passes through without material injury, the craft is still at command below. another plan is to portage. at this writing there are roller-ways on the western side, over which the boats can be rolled with a windlass to help pull them to the top of the hill. in lining a craft, it must be done on the right-hand side. three miles farther down comes the box cañon, one hundred yards in length and fifty feet wide, with a chute of terrific velocity. repeated attempts have been made by reckless miners to take a boat through, but it is much the same as trying to shoot the rapids below niagara, and the place has well earned its title of "the miners' grave." still, the feat has been performed in safety. progress was so effectually barred at white horse that our friends gave up their raft as of no further use. it was certain to be shattered, and where there was so much timber it was comparatively easy to build another, with which to make the remaining two hundred and twenty miles, particularly as there was no need of constructing a double-decker, for the rough voyaging was at an end. the goods were, therefore, packed upon the yukon sleds, and then the raft set adrift. it was never seen again, though an occasional stray log afterward observed bobbing in the current below the rapids may have formed a part of the structure that had served the travellers so well. there was enough snow for the sleds, but the work was exhausting, and was not completed until late in the afternoon, when the tent was set up and camp made. by the close of the following day the raft was finished. it contained enough pine lumber to float a much heavier load than formed its burden, but, as we have stated, it lacked the double deck, since the necessity for one no longer existed. the raft was no more than fairly completed when a storm that had been threatening broke upon the party. since it was expected, and there was no saying how long it would last, the tent was set up and secured in place. considerable fuel had been gathered, and every preparation was made for a prolonged stay, though it need not be said that each one hoped it would prove otherwise. in a country where for four-fifths of the days the sun does not show itself, such weather must be expected, and, on the whole, our friends counted themselves fortunate that they had been able to make such good progress. the tent was hardly in position, and all within, huddling around the stove, in which tim had just started a fire, when they were startled by a hail: "halloa, the house!" the four hurried outside, where a striking sight met them. eight men, each with a heavy pack strapped over his shoulders, and bending over with his load, thickly clad, but with their faces, so far as they could be seen through the wrappings, wet and red, had halted in front of the tent, which they scrutinized with wonder. "are you going to begin digging here?" called one of the men, whose eyes, nose, and mouth were all that was visible behind his muffler. "not while the storm lasts," replied tim. "if we had room, we'd ask ye to come inside and enj'y yoursilves till the weather clears. at any rate, we'll be glad to give ye something warm to ate and drink." "oh, that's it!" exclaimed another of the men. "you're afraid of the storm, are you?" "we're not much afraid, but we ain't in love with the same. won't ye come in--that is, one or two at a time?" "thanks for your invitation, but we haven't the time to spare. we're afeared they'll get all the gold in the klondike country if we don't hurry. you're foolish to loiter along the road like this." "we're willing to lose a bit of the goold for sake of the comfort. if ye are bound to go on, we wish ye good luck." "the same to yourselves," the plucky and hopeful miners called as they plodded forward. for two dreary days the party was storm-stayed in camp. "here," said jeff graham, when making ready to resume their voyage, "we leave our yukon sleds." "shall we not need them on our return?" asked roswell. "we should if we returned by this route, but i wouldn't work my way against these streams and through the passes again for all the gold in the klondike country. we shall take the steamer down the yukon to st. michael's, and so on to seattle." "that is a long voyage," suggested hardman. "yes, four thousand miles; but it will be easy enough for us when we are on a steamer." "the yukon is closed for eight months or more each year." "we don't intend to go down it when it's closed, for i didn't bring skates along, and i don't know how to skate, anyway." "you do not expect to stay long in the klondike country?" was the inquiring remark of hardman, who showed little interest in the intentions of their leader. "that depends; we shall come back in two months, or six, or a year, according as to how rich we strike it." "s'pose you don't strike it at all." jeff shrugged his shoulders. "we'll make a good try for it. if we slip up altogether, these folks i have brought with me won't be any worse off than before; but i don't intend to slip up--that ain't what i came into this part of the world for." "no, i reckon few people come for that," was the comment of hardman, who seemed to be in a cheerful mood again. nothing could have offered a stronger contrast to their previous rough experience than that which now came to them. fourteen miles down the river brought them to lake labarge, where they had nothing to do but to sit down and float with the current, using the poles occasionally to keep the raft in the best position. thirty-one miles brought them to lewis river, down which they passed to the hootalinqua; then to the big salmon, and forty-five miles farther to the little salmon, the current running five miles an hour, and much swifter in the narrow cañon-like passages. then beyond the little salmon the craft and its hopeful passengers floated smoothly with the current for a distance of one hundred and twenty miles, when the boys were startled to see four giant buttes of stone towering above the water, which rushed violently among them. "what place is that?" asked frank, who with his cousin surveyed the immense towers with deep interest. "five-finger rapids," was the reply. "they look dangerous." "so they be, unless ye happens to know which two to pass between; now, which would ye selict as a guess?" roswell and frank studied them awhile, and the latter answered: "it doesn't seem to me that it makes much difference which one you take." "ah, but it makes a mighty difference. we should have big trouble if we neglicted to folly the right side of the river." [illustration: tim and jeff lit their pipes; hardman sat apart.] jeff and hardman were already working the raft in that direction, and tim now gave his aid. it looked perilous, but, knowing the right course, the craft made the passage without any mishap. all settled down to enjoy the smooth sailing that was before them once more. tim and jeff lit their pipes, hardman sat apart, while the boys were together near the front of the raft. the weather was clearer than it had been for several days, and much more moderate. may was well advanced, and the short, hot summer was at hand. if all went well, they would reach the gold country at the right season, and as they neared the goal the spirits of all rose, and a longing to get forward manifested itself in many ways. they waited until night had fairly come before they went ashore and encamped, and they were off again at daybreak, despite the uncannily early hour at which it comes in that part of the world. six miles down the lewis river took them to the rink rapids, through which they passed without difficulty. just beyond are the ruins of fort selkirk, where the pelly and lewis rivers unite. tim mccabe studied the mouth of the pelly, as it poured into the lewis, and soon as the point was fairly passed, he turned to his friends, his round face aglow. "i offer me congratulations," he said, doffing his cap and bowing low. "on what?" asked frank mansley. "the stream over which ye are now floating takes the name of the yukon, and doesn't give up the same till it tumbles into the pacific siveral miles to the west of us." "several miles!" repeated frank; "it must be three thousand." "something like that, i belave. the worst part of our journey is behind us." "how far are we from juneau?" "to be exact, which i loikes to be, it is five hundred and tin miles." chapter xii. at dawson city. naturally the route over which the little party of gold-seekers were journeying steadily improved. the yukon, like many other great rivers of the world, comes into being a lusty, vigorous infant, the junction of the lewis and pelly making it a stream of considerable proportions from the moment it takes its name. other gold-hunters were seen from time to time, and there were pleasant exchanges and greetings with most of them. it was the custom of jeff graham to keep going so long as daylight lasted, when the raft was worked into shore and an encampment made. for a time the old miner kept his winchester within immediate reach, hoping to gain sight of some deer or wild game, but as day after day and night after night passed without the first glimpse of anything of the kind, he gave up in disgust. "it's the most villainous country on the face of the earth," he said, as he lit his pipe at the evening fire. "if it wasn't for the gold that we know is here, no decent man would stay over night in it. frank, tell me something about the confounded country." "me!" replied the boy, with a laugh. "i don't know half as much as you and tim." "yes, you do. tim don't know anything more than the best way to travel through the mountains and across the lakes." the irishman took his pipe from between his lips to offer protest against this slur, but changed his mind, and resumed smoking, though his eyes twinkled. "a man that takes a lot of gold out of the ground and then lets a thief steal it isn't fit to go alone." "which is why i've provided mesilf with a chap that knows it all," said tim, not the least offended, though hardman scowled, for the remark was a pointed reflection upon him; but he held his peace. "what about the injins here?" pursued jeff, addressing the boys; "they're different from ours in californy." frank had no wish to air his knowledge, but he replied: "i have read that the natives belong to the red and yellow races--that is, the indian and mongolian. there are two stocks of indians--the thlinkets and the tenneh. there are only a few thlinkets, and they live along the coast. that old indian who ferried us over lake lindeman is a tenneh, as are the natives of the interior. you may not think they are much like our indians, but they belong to the chippewayan family, the same as the apaches, who have caused so much trouble in mexico and arizona." "that has been my 'pinion," said tim, who now heard the fact for the first time; "and the raison why the alaska redskins ain't as bad as the apaches is 'cause the weather is so cold it freezes up all the diviltry in them." "roswell," continued jeff, who was proud to show off the learning of his young friends, "why do they call the eskimos that name?" "the name, which means those who eat raw flesh, was given to them by the indians. they call themselves aleuts, or innuits. the innuits are the same as the eskimos of greenland and the arctic regions, while the aleuts belong to alaska, the long, narrow peninsula which extends southwesterly from the mainland and the aleutian islands, that look like a continuation of the peninsula. as for the climate, temperature, and size of alaska, you and tim know as much as we do," said roswell, who disliked as much as his cousin to seem to display his knowledge. "why not be modest," gravely asked tim, "and say that ye knows almost as much as mr. mccabe, leaving mr. graham out of the quistion, be the token that he knows nothing at all, and i'm afeard will niver larn?" "as you please," replied roswell; "you and jeff may settle that between you." "and ther's nothing to sittle, as me mither used to obsarve whin she looked into the impty coffee-pot; jiff won't pretind that he knows anything of this country so long as he is in the prisence of mesilf." "very true," gravely replied the old miner; "but if i do scoop in any gold, i think i'll know 'nough to shoot any man that tries to steal it." as he spoke he darted a glance at hardman, who was sitting a little back from the fire, also smoking, but glum and silent. the boys wondered why jeff should make these pointed references, when he had never hinted anything of the kind before, but the old miner had a purpose in mind. while not seeming to pay any special attention to hardman, he had studied him closely for the past few days, and felt little doubt that he was planning mischief. the words, therefore, that jeff uttered were meant as a warning to the rogue of what he might expect if he attempted any crooked work. no further reference was made to the unpleasant subject, although jeff and tim chaffed each other for a long time, even after the boys had wrapped themselves in their blankets and lain down to sleep. no watch was set, as would have been the case had they been journeying through a wild part of their own country, for there was nothing to be feared from wild animals or indians. the only being whom jeff and the boys distrusted was a member of their own company, and they did not believe he would do anything wrong until after the party had secured something worth the risk on his part. deprived of many of the comforts of home and a mother's care, it did not take the boys long, under the tutelage of the older ones, to attend to their own wants. roswell and frank soon learned how to sew on a button and do the mending which their garments occasionally required. they washed their clothing and kept themselves in better form than do many men when placed in a similar situation. with the weather growing more summery and hardly a bit of ice in the river, the raft glided down the upper yukon. ninety-eight miles from the head of the yukon, the craft passed the mouth of the milk river, and in this case the party saw the appropriateness of the name, for its water has a perceptible whitish color. a goodly distance remained to be passed, for it was ten miles to stewart river, and twenty-five more to fort ogilvie, where they spent the night. they were now nearing their journey's end, and all showed a peculiar agitation, such as is natural when we feel ourselves close upon the solution of a problem that has baffled us for a long time. one form of this emotion was the impatience to get forward faster than before. there was nothing of the feeling when leaving seattle or juneau or dyea, nor did they experience it to any degree while toiling through the hundreds of miles from lake to lake and down the upper waters of the streams which help to form the yukon. roswell and frank were grateful for one blessed fact--they were stronger and in more rugged health than ever in their lives. when making their way through the passes and helping to drag the sleds, they felt more than once like giving up and turning back, though neither would have confessed it; but now they were hopeful, buoyant, and eager. they had sent the last letter which they expected to write home for a long time upon leaving dyea, where they bade good-by to civilization. the afternoon was young when the raft drifted into a portion of the yukon which expanded into a width of two miles, where it was joined by another large stream. on the eastern shore loomed a straggling town of considerable proportions. "tim," said frank, suspecting the truth, "what place is that?" "frinds," replied tim, vainly trying to conceal his agitation, "that town is dawson city, and the river flowing into ours is the klondike. ye have raiched the goold counthry, which, being the same, i rispictfully asks ye all to jine mesilf in letting out a hurrah which will make the town trimble and the payple open their eyes so wide that they won't git them shet agin for a wake to come. are ye riddy? altogither!" [illustration: and the three cheers were given with a will.] and the cheers were given with a will. chapter xiii. on the edge of the gold-fields. the little party of gold-seekers had every cause to congratulate themselves, for after a journey of nearly two thousand miles from seattle, through wild passes, dangerous rapids and cañons, over precipitous mountains, amid storm and tempests, with their lives many a time in peril, half frozen and exhausted by the most wearisome toil, they had arrived at dawson city, in the midst of the wonderful gold district of the northwest, all without mishap and in better condition than when they left home. the boys, in roughing it, had breathed the invigorating ozone and gained in rugged health and strength. youth and buoyant spirits were on their side, and their muscles, which would have become flabby in the unwholesome atmosphere of a store, were hardened, and their endurance and capacity for trying work immeasurably increased. there are thousands of men to-day enjoying life, without an ache or pain, who owe their splendid condition to the campaigning they underwent in the war for the union. if that terrific struggle swept multitudes into their graves, it brought the balm of strength and health to many more, who otherwise would not have lived out half their days. the trying experience of jeff graham in his youth and early manhood did this service for him. it was not strange, therefore, that he with his iron muscles bore the strain better than any of his companions. he seemed to be tireless, and his sturdy strength often put others to shame. he had never sapped his constitution by dissipation; and it may be said that the severe hardships of that journey from dyea through chilkoot pass and the wild regions about the upper yukon confirmed that which already existed within his splendid make-up. as for roswell palmer and frank mansley, their excellent home training, not denying credit to the grim old miner for his wise counsel, had held them free from the bad habits which too often make boys effeminate and weak and old before their time. gifted by nature with the best of constitutions, they had strengthened rather than undermined them. neither had known an hour's illness throughout the long, laborious journey, and they were in the best condition possible for the great task that now confronted them. as for tim mccabe and ike hardman, their weakness lay in yielding to the temptation to drink. no such temptation appeared on the road, and their enforced temperance had the best effect. tim was less disposed to drink than the other, but, sad to say, he indulged at times. hardman's ideal was to obtain the means for doing nothing and minister to his base appetites. it was in that dr. george m. dawson, the leader of an exploring expedition sent by the canadian government into the yukon district, made a report confirming the presence of gold in vast quantities throughout that section. the principal mining camp established there was named in his honor. it faces on one of the banks of the yukon river, along which it extends for about a mile. it has a sawmill, stores, and churches of the baptist, presbyterian, methodist, and roman catholic denominations. being the headquarters of the canadian northwest mounted police, it is one of the best-governed towns on the american continent. at the time of our friends' arrival its population was about four thousand, but the rush will swell it in an incredibly short while to ten, twenty, and possibly fifty times that number, for beyond question it is the centre of the most marvellous gold district that the world has ever known. copper, silver, and coal are found in large quantities, but no one gives them a thought when so much of the vastly more attractive yellow metal is within reach. it is singular that while the existence of gold was incontestably known for many years, little or no excitement was produced until and , when the whole civilized world was turned almost topsy-turvy by the bewildering reports. during the first three months of the latter year more than four million dollars were taken from a space of forty square miles, where a few placer claims were worked. what harvest will be during the next few years no man dare attempt to guess. how suggestive the fact that on one stream so much of the metal has been found that it was given the name "too much gold creek!" inasmuch as our friends are now on the ground, a few more facts are proper, in order to understand the task that confronted them. dawson city, it will be remembered, is in british territory, and all the great discoveries of gold have been made to the east of that town. doubtless gold will be gathered in alaska itself, but the probabilities are that the richest deposits are upon canadian soil. the mining claims begin within two and a half miles of dawson city, on the klondike, and follow both sides of that stream into the interior, taking in its tributaries like hunker's creek, gold bottom, last chance, bear creek, bould's bonanza, and el dorado. of these the richest are el dorado, gold bottom, hunker, and the oddly named too much gold creek. the last is the farthest from dawson city, and the least known; but there can be no question that numerous other streams, at present unvisited, are equally rich, and will be speedily developed. just now placer mining is the only method employed. according to the mining laws of the northwest, the words "mine," "placer mine," and "diggings" mean the same thing, and refer to any natural stratum or bed of earth, gravel, or cement mined for gold or other precious mineral. there is very little quartz mining, or crushing of rocks, as is practised in many sections of california. this requires expensive machinery, and little necessity for it seems to exist in the klondike. in placer mining the pay dirt is washed by the simplest methods, such as were practised in california during the pioneer days. everything was hurry and bustle at dawson city on that day, late in may, when our friends arrived. it was a noticeable fact that the date of their arrival was exactly two months after the boys kissed their parents good-by in san francisco. tim mccabe had gathered much practical knowledge during his experience in this region, while jeff had not forgotten what he passed through "in the days of ' ," to which wisdom he had added, as opportunity presented, while on the way to the klondike. when the party had eaten together at the principal hotel and the men had lit their pipes in a group by themselves, a surprise came. the old miner smoked a minute or two in silence, and then turned to hardman, who was sitting a little apart, moody and reserved. "ike," said he, "i've stood by you all the way from juneau, hain't i?" the fellow looked wonderingly at him, as did the others, none suspecting what was coming. "in course," was the gruff reply of hardman; "we all stood by one another, fur if we hadn't we wouldn't stood at all." "you've got to dawson city without it costing you a penny, haven't you?" "there hain't been much chance to spend money since we left dyea," replied hardman with a grin. jeff was nettled by this dodging of the issue; but he kept his temper. "and if there had been you hadn't a dollar to spend onless you kept back some of that which you stole from tim." "i don't see the use of your harping on that affair," said hardman angrily. "i've owned up, and am going to make it all right with tim. it's none of your business, anyway, and i don't want to hear any more of it." [illustration: "i don't see the use of your harping on that affair," said hardman.] "well, what i'm getting at is this: if it hadn't been for me you'd never got to this place. you're here, and now you must look out for yourself; i won't have you an hour longer in the party; we part; get away as soon as you can!" hardman looked savagely at the old miner, as if suspecting he had not heard aright. but a moment's reflection convinced him there was no mistake. with a muttered imprecation he rose to his feet and left. but it was by no means the last of him. chapter xiv. prospecting. after the departure of hardman, jeff explained to tim why he had driven him from their company. he told what frank had seen when crossing lake lindeman, and how the fellow afterward, when he thought all were asleep within the tent, went out to meet his confederate. "i didn't want to turn him loose on the road," added jeff, "though i had half a mind to tell him to hunt up his friends and join them. but he now has the same chance as the rest of us, and must look out for himself." "begorra, but ye are right, jiff," was the hearty response of the irishman. "i'm beginning to suspict that he didn't intind to give back that money he borrered--that is, if he should iver lay hands on the same." jeff looked pityingly at his friend; but reading in the expression of his face that he was jesting, he made no response. instead, he spoke impressively: "you never would have lost that money if you hadn't been in liquor." "that's the fact, jiff; but how did ye find it out?" "my own common sense told me. you've been looking 'round the last hour for a chance to indulge agin." "i'll admit," was the frank response, "that a dim idea of the kind has been flickerin' through me brain; but i cast the timptation indignantly behind me. do you know why?" "no." "nobody offered to pay for the drinks, and i haven't a cint to pay for any mesilf." "and you won't get a cent from me; you must earn it by taking out gold. if you succeed it'll be yours, and you can do as you please with it." tim removed his cap and scratched his head. "i've gone a good many wakes without it, and i feel so much better that i'm thinking of keeping up the good work." "i hope you will, and prove yourself a man of sense. but we have no time to waste; we oughter be on our way now." the sentiment suited all, and was followed without delay. amid the crush and hustle it was impossible to hire a horse, mule, donkey, or boat. everything had been engaged long before, and there were hundreds of disappointed applicants who, like our friends, were obliged to make the tramp eastward on foot, carrying their utensils with them, and leaving behind all that was not necessary in the work of placer mining. during the brief stay at dawson city the four attentively studied such maps as they could secure, and gathered all information from the many who were qualified and willing to give it. as a consequence, when they started up the klondike, they had a well-defined idea of their destination. the first stream which flows into the river from the southward is the bonanza, some twenty-five miles long. this itself has numerous small tributaries emptying into it; but hearing that all claims had been located, and not believing it possible that any valuable ones had been overlooked, they pushed on to twelve mile creek, also flowing from the south. there the same facts confronted them, and camping on the road when necessary, our friends finally reached too much gold creek, thirty-five miles from dawson. gold-hunters were all around them, and frequently the men and boys tramped for miles in the company of men whom they had never seen before; but such a life levels social distinctions, and they were soon upon as friendly terms as if they had come from seattle in company. at the mouth of too much gold creek they encountered two grizzly miners, each mounted on a mule that was so covered with additional luggage that little besides his head, ears, and forefeet was visible. they intended to cross the klondike and prospect on the other side. jeff asked whether there was no gold along the creek which they had just descended. "it's full of it," was the reply of the elder; "but we're too late; all the claims have been taken up." "did you go to the headwaters?" "no; we didn't want to waste the time, when all the claims are gone; there are other places as good as that, and we'll strike one; so good-by, friends." laughing and in high spirits, the two miners struck their boot heels against the ribs of their mules and were off. it may be worth recording that both of them struck it rich within the following week, and a month later started for home rich men. "it ain't likely," said jeff, "that there are many claims left along this river; but there must be some. anyhow, we'll try it; i'm sure there are places among those mountains that nobody has visited." to the east and south towered a spur of the rocky mountains. it would take hundreds of men a long time thoroughly to explore their recesses, and it was the intention of the leader to push in among them. the region resembled that to which he had been accustomed in california, and he would feel more at home there. so the wearisome tramp was resumed and continued, with occasional rests, until late at night. other parties were continually encountered, and all had the same story to tell of there not being a foot of desirable land that was not pre-empted. some of these people were returning, but most of them pressed on, hopeful of striking some spot that was awaiting them. encamping under the shelter of a rock, the journey was resumed early the next morning, and, some twenty miles from the klondike, a turn was made eastward among the mountains, which stretch far beyond the farthest range of vision. they were following a small stream that showed no signs of having been visited, and by noon had reached a point where they seemed as much alone as if in the depths of africa. "i guess we may as well try it here," said jeff, and he began to unload his pack, in which he was promptly imitated by his companions. they quickly finished, and sat down for a long rest. it had been a steady climb almost from the first. but for their previous severe training the boys would have succumbed, but they stood it well. the stream which flowed in front of them was little more than a brook, that seemed to be made by the melting snows above. it was clear and cold, and they drank deeply from it. rocks and bowlders were above, below, in front, and at the rear. when their utensils and equipage were laid in a pile, jeff went off in one direction, tim in another, while the boys plunged deeper into the mountains, all engaged in prospecting as best they could. inasmuch as the boys had never had any experience in that sort of work, their only chance of success was through accident. they followed up the stream, as nearly as they could judge, for about an eighth of a mile, still among the huge rocks, when they sat down to rest. "we may as well go back," cried roswell, "for jeff and tim are the only ones who know when they have come upon signs of gold; we may have passed a half-dozen places where it can be taken out by the bushel--" frank touched his cousin's arm and indicated by a nod of his head a pile of rocks a few rods away and a short distance above them. looking thither, they saw the head and shoulders of a man intently studying them. when he found he was observed he lowered his head and disappeared. "do you know him?" asked frank, in an undertone. "no; i never saw him before." "yes, you have. he crossed lake lindeman with us. he's the one that signalled to hardman and afterward met him at night outside of our tent." chapter xv. a find. it was an unpleasant discovery to the boys that after parting company with the ill-favored man who was known to be a friend and comrade of the rogue ike hardman, and after travelling hundreds of miles to this lonely spot, they should meet the fellow again. doubtless he was engaged on the same errand as themselves, and the presumption was that sooner or later he would be joined by hardman. "i don't know that there is any danger," said roswell; "but it would be more comfortable to know they were not going to be our neighbors." "let's follow up the man and question him," said frank, starting to climb the rocks behind which the other's face had vanished. it took only a few minutes to reach the spot; but when they did so, and looked around, nothing was seen of him. "he evidently doesn't wish to make our acquaintance," said frank. "i hope he will continue to feel that way; we must tell jeff and tim about this. let's hurry back to camp." they now started to descend the stream, which they had followed from the point where they left their luggage. by using the brook as their guide, they were in no danger of losing their way. about half the distance was passed when they came to a point where the walking looked better on the other side. the stream was so narrow that frank, who was in the lead, easily leaped across. roswell started to follow, but tripped and fell on his hands and knees, one foot splashing in the water, which was only a few inches in depth and as clear as crystal. "are you hurt?" asked frank, pausing and looking around at him. "not a bit. i don't know what made me so awkward." "halloa! what's that?" at first frank thought it was a small fish holding itself stationary in the brook; but that could not be, and he stooped down to see more clearly. with an exclamation, he dashed his hand into the water and drew out a rough, irregular nugget nearly two inches in diameter each way. it was bright yellow in color, and so heavy that there could be no doubt of its nature. "it's gold!" he exclaimed in a half-frightened undertone, as he passed it to roswell, who was as much excited as he. he "hefted" it and held it up to the light. [illustration: "it's gold!" he exclaimed.] "no mistake, it is. i wonder what it is worth." "several hundred dollars at least. i'll bet there are lots more about here." they straightway began a vigorous search up and down stream, confident of finding other similar nuggets, but none was discovered, and finally they reached the place where their baggage had been left, and where tim and jeff were awaiting them. "look!" called the delighted frank, holding up the nugget. "see what we found!" "begorra, but i shouldn't wonder if that's worth something," remarked tim, catching the contagion. jeff merely smiled and reached out his hand without any appearance of excitement. "let me have a look at it." he never used glasses, nor did he bring any acid with which to test such yellow metals as they might find, for he needed neither. he had been trained too well in his early manhood. the instant he noted its great weight he was convinced of the truth. but, without speaking for a minute or two, he turned the nugget over, held it up to the light, and then put it between his big, sound teeth as if it were a hickory-nut which he wished to crack. he looked at the abrasion made by his teeth, tossed the nugget several feet in the air, and, catching it in his palm as it descended, said: "that's pure gold. haven't you any more?" "no," replied frank; "we searched, but couldn't find any." jeff moved his hand up and down and closed one eye, as if that would help him to estimate the weight more exactly. "i should say that it is worth from six to eight hundred dollars; you younkers have made purty good wages for to-day. i hope," he added quizzically, "you'll be able to keep it up." "and how have you made out?" asked roswell. "tim says he didn't come onto anything that looks like pay dirt; but i struck a spot that gives me hope. we'll locate here for a while." of course it was impossible for the party to bring any material with them from which to construct a dwelling. the regulation miner's cabin is twelve by fourteen feet, with walls six or seven feet high, and gables two feet higher. it consists of a single room, with the roof heavily earthed and the worst sort of ventilation, owing to the small windows and the necessity of keeping warm in a climate that sometimes drops to fifty or sixty degrees below zero. the miners keep close within the cabins during the terrible winter weather, or, if it permits, they sink a shaft to bed-rock and then tunnel in different directions. the ground never thaws below a depth of two feet, so there is no need of shoring to prevent its caving. the pay dirt is brought up by means of a small windlass and thrown into a heap, where it remains until spring, when it is washed out. since the season was well advanced, the men and boys prepared themselves to wash the pay dirt whenever found. but, first of all, it was necessary to establish a home for themselves while they remained in the region. they had a single axe and a few utensils besides the shovels, pans, and articles required in their work. while tim was prospecting, he gave more attention to searching for a site for a home than for gold, and was fortunate enough to find a place among the rocks, which was fitted up quite comfortably. the stone furnished three and a part of four walls necessary, and they cut branches, which were spread over the top and covered with dirt for the roof. owing to the moderate weather and the trouble from smoke, the fire was kindled on the outside when required for cooking purposes. the yukon stove, because of its weight, was left at dawson city, whither one of them expected to go when it became necessary to replenish their stores. although the nights were still cold, the weather was comparatively comfortable. before long it would become oppressive during the middle of the day. as jeff figured it out, they had enough food, tobacco, and supplies to last for a couple of weeks, or possibly longer. if they struck a claim which they wished to stake out, it would be necessary for one of them to go to dawson city to register it, the process being quite simple. the prospector is forbidden to exceed five hundred feet up and down a stream, following the course of the valley, but the width may run from base to base of the mountains. thus a miner's claim is one of the few things that is often broader than it is long. should the stream have no other claims located upon it, the one thus made is known as "the discovery claim," and the stakes used are marked . this claim is the starting-point, the next one up and the next down the stream being marked no. , and there can be only two such on any stream. next, four stakes must be driven in place, each being marked with the owner's initials and the letters "m. l.," meaning "mining location," after which it must be bounded with cross or end lines, and within the ensuing sixty days the claim has to be filed with the government's recorder at dawson city. should a claim be staked before the discovery of gold, the prospector has sixty days in which to find the metal. if he fails to do so in the time mentioned, his claim lapses, since it is absolutely essential that he shall find gold in order to hold it permanently. chapter xvi. the claim. not the least interesting feature of the stay of our friends in the gold region was their dwelling during those memorable days. the rocks came so nearly together that an irregular open space was left, which averaged a width of twenty feet with a depth slightly less. thus three sides and the floor were composed of solid stone. when the roof, as described, was put in place, the dwelling had the appearance of a cavern fully open at the front. there the canvas composing the tent was stretched, and so arranged that the dwelling, as it may be called, was completed. it was inclosed on all sides, with the door composed of the flaps of the tent, which could be lowered at night, so that the inmates were effectually protected against the weather, though had there been any prowling wild animals or intruding white men near, they would have had little difficulty in forcing an entrance. it has been explained how all trouble from the smoke of a fire was avoided. one of the peculiarities of this primitive house was its interior arrangement. there were so many projecting points on the walls that they were utilized as pegs upon which to hang the extra garments. a ledge a couple of feet above the floor served as a couch, upon which the boys spread their blankets, while the men laid theirs on the floor itself. the mining and cooking utensils were neatly arranged against the rear wall, where were piled the small canvas bags intended to contain the gold dust and nuggets that were to be gathered. jeff expressed the truth when he said: "this will sarve us well while the weather is moderate; but if we should be here when the thermometer goes down to fifty or sixty degrees below zero, we'd turn into icicles before we could say jack robinson." hardly pausing to place their house in order, the party set out to investigate the find which jeff hoped he had made. going up the stream for a short distance, they turned off into a narrow valley, which never would have attracted the attention of the boys. the old miner stood for some minutes attentively studying his surroundings, and then, instead of beginning to dig, as his companions expected him to do, he said with an expression of disgust: "boys, i've made a mistake; there's no gold here." "how can you tell until you search?" asked the astonished roswell. "it ain't what i thought it was; you don't find the stuff in places like this. there's no use of wasting time; come on." wondering at his action, the three, smiling but silent, trailed after him. climbing over some intervening bowlders, they shortly emerged into a place altogether different from any they had yet seen. it was a valley two or three hundred feet in width, with the sides gently sloping. there was no snow on the ground, and here and there a few green blades of grass could be seen sprouting from the fertile soil. through the middle of this valley meandered a stream eight or ten feet in width, but shallow, and so clear that the bottom could be plainly seen while yet some distance away. the valley itself soon curved out of sight above, and it was impossible, therefore, to guess its extent in that direction. below it terminated, not far from where they stood, the rocks coming together so as to form a small cañon, through which the creek rushed with a velocity that reminded them of the dangerous ones they had passed on their way from chilkoot pass. "wait here a bit," said jeff, as he started toward the stream. the others obeyed, watching his actions with interest. he strode to the creek, along which he walked a few rods, his head bent as he carefully scrutinized all that passed under his eye. suddenly he stopped and stared as if he had found that for which he was looking. then stooping down, he leaned as far out as he could, gathered a handful of the gravelly soil, and put it in the washer which he had taken with him. this was repeated several times. then he dipped the pan so as nearly to fill it with water, after which he whirled it round several times with a speed that caused some of the water to fly out. that part of his work completed, he set down the pan which served as a washer, and walked rapidly back toward his friends. "another disappointment," remarked frank; "it isn't as easy to find gold as we thought." "i don't know about that," said tim mccabe. "jiff looks to me as if he has hit on something worth while. how is it, jiff?" he called as the old miner drew near. "that's our claim," he replied; "we'll stake it out, and then i'm going to dawson to file it." "are you sure there is gold here?" asked roswell, in some excitement. "yes, i hit it this time. we mustn't lose any days in staking it out, or somebody else will get ahead of us." the assurance of jeff imparted confidence to the rest. the stakes were cut and driven, according to the rule already stated, and then jeff breathed more freely. "we've got sixty days to find the stuff," he said, "and nobody daren't say a word to us. all the same, i'm going to dawson to file the claim and make things dead sure." "when will you go?" "now, right off. i want to bring back some things with me, and i'll be gone two or three days, but i won't lose no time." jeff was one of those men who do not require long to make up their minds, and whom, having reached a decision, nothing can turn aside from its execution. ten minutes later he was hurrying toward dawson city, forty miles or more distant. inasmuch as tim mccabe had practical knowledge of placer mining, the three decided to improve the time while jeff was absent in taking out some of the gold which he assured them was there. as has been explained, this form of mining is of the crudest and cheapest nature. in winter, after sinking a shaft to bed-rock, tunnels are run in different directions, and the frozen dirt piled up until warm weather permits its washing out. the distance to bed-rock varies from four to twenty feet. the gold is found in dust, grains, and nuggets, the last varying from the size of a hickory-nut or larger to small grains of pure gold. it quite often occurs that the bed-rock is seamy, with many small depressions. it is supposed that when the _débris_ containing the original gold swept over this bed-rock, the great weight of the metal caused it to fall and lodge in the crevices, where it has lain for ages. certain it is that the richest finds have been made in such places. having fixed upon the spot where the work should begin, tim mccabe and the boys set to work to clear off the coarse gravel and stone from a patch of ground. at the end of several hours they had completed enough to begin operations. tim dropped a few handfuls of the finer gravel or sand into his pan, which was a broad, shallow dish of sheet iron. then water was dipped into the pan until it was full, when he whirled it swiftly about and up and down. this allowed the gold, on account of its greater specific gravity, to fall to the bottom, while the sand itself was floated off by the agitation. tim had learned the knack of dipping the pan sideways, so as gradually to get rid of the worthless stuff, while the heavy yellow particles remained below. the boys stood attentively watching the operation, which was carried on with such skill that by and by nothing was left in the bottom but the yellow and black particles. the latter were pulverized magnetic iron ore, which almost always accompanies the gold. frank's and roswell's eyes sparkled as they saw so much of the yellow particles, even though it looked almost as fine as the black sand. [illustration: the boys stood attentively watching the operation.] "how will you separate them?" asked frank. "now ye'll obsarve the use that that cask is to be put to," replied tim, "if ye'll oblige me by filling the same with water." this was done, when tim flung about a pound of mercury into the cask, after which he dumped into it the black and yellow sand. as soon as the gold came in contact with the mercury it formed an amalgam. "this will do to start things," said tim. "when we have enough to make it pay, we'll squaze it through a buckskin bag." "what is the result?" "nearly all the mercury will ooze through the bag, and we can use the same agin in the cask. the impure goold will be placed on a shovel and held over a hot fire till the mercury has gone off in vapor, and only the pure goold is lift, or rather there's just a wee bit of the mercury still hanging 'bout the goold; but we'll make a big improvement whin jiff comes back. the filing of this claim ain't the only thing that takes him to dawson city." "what do you think of the deposit here?" "i b'lave it's one of the richest finds in the kloondike counthry, and if it turns out as it promises, we shall go home and live like gintlemen the rist of our lives." chapter xvii. a golden harvest. tim mccabe and the boys wrought steadily through the rest of the day and the following two days. inasmuch as the summer sun in the klondike region does not thaw the soil to a greater depth than two feet, it was necessary to pile wood upon the earth and set it afire. as this gradually dissolved the frozen ground, the refuse dirt was cleared away, so as to reach paying earth or gravel. the results for a time were disappointing. the gold-hunters secured a good deal of yellow grains or dust, and ordinarily would have been satisfied, but naturally they were greedy for more. there came times of discouragement, when the boys began to doubt the truth of the wonderful stories that had reached them from the klondike region, or they thought that if perchance the reports were true, they themselves and their friends had not hit upon a productive spot. tim, when appealed to, had little to say, but it was of a hopeful nature. it would have been unnatural had he not been absorbed in the work in hand. that there was gold was undeniable, for the evidence was continually before them, but the question was whether it was to be found in paying quantities upon their claim. at the close of the second day all they had gathered was not worth ten dollars. but the harvest rewarded them on the third day. tim was working hard and silently, when he suddenly leaped to his feet, flung down his pick, and hurling his cap in the air, began dancing a jig and singing an irish ditty. the boys looked at him in amazement, wondering whether he had bidden good-by to his senses. "do ye obsarve that beauty?" he asked, stopping short and holding up a yellow nugget as large as the one the boys had taken from the brook several days before. roswell and frank hurried up to him and examined the prize. there could be no doubt that it was virgin gold and worth several hundred dollars. twenty minutes later it was roswell's turn to hurrah, for he came upon one almost as large. and he did hurrah, too, and his friends joined in with a vigor that could not be criticised. congratulating one another, the three paused but a few minutes to inspect the finds, when they were digging harder than ever. "i think it is my turn," remarked frank; "you fellows are becoming so proud, that if i don't find--by george, _i have found it_!" incredible as it seemed, it was true, and frank's prize was larger than any of the others. instantly they were at work again, glowing with hope and delight. no more nuggets were taken out that day, but the gravel revealed greater richness than at any time before. jeff graham put in an appearance while they were eating supper, and, to the surprise of all, he was riding a tough little burro, which he had bought at dawson for five hundred dollars. his eyes sparkled when he learned what had been done during his absence, but he quietly remarked, "i knowed it," and having turned his animal loose, after unloading him, he asked for the particulars. although it was quite cold, the four remained seated on the bowlders outside of their primitive dwelling, the men smoking their pipes and discussing the wonderful success they had had, and the still greater that was fairly within their grasp. "we're not so much alone as i thought," remarked jeff, "for there are fifty miners to the east and north, and some of them ain't far from where we've staked out our claim, and more are coming." "they can't interfere with us?" was the inquiring remark of roswell. "not much. as a rule, folks don't file their claims till they've struck onto a spot where the yaller stuff shows; but i've done both, 'cause i was sartin that we'd hit it rich. if anybody tried to jump our claim, the first thing i'd do would be to shoot him; then i'd turn him over to the mounted police that are looking after things all through this country." "ye mane that ye'd turn over what was lift of his remains," suggested tim gravely. "it would amount to that. things are in better shape here than they was in the old times in californy, where a man had to fight for what he had, and then he wasn't always able to keep it." "what do you intend to do with the burro?" asked frank. "let him run loose till we need him. he brought a purty good load of such things as we want, and i'm hoping he'll have another kind of load to take back," was the significant reply of the old miner. this was the nearest jeff came to particulars. his natural reserve as to what he had done and concerning his plans for the future prevented any further enlightenment. the fact that they had neighbors at no great distance was both pleasing and displeasing. despite the assurance of their leader, there was some misgiving that when the richness of the find became known an attempt would be made to rob them. gold will incite many men to commit any crime, and with the vast recesses of the rocky mountain spur behind them, the criminals might be ready to take desperate chances. it was hardly light the next morning when the party were at it again. the pan or hand method of washing the gold is so slow and laborious that with the help and superintendence of jeff a "rocker" was set up. this was a box about three feet long and two wide, made in two parts. the upper part was shallow, with a strong sheet-iron bottom perforated with quarter-inch holes. in the middle of the other part of the box was an inclined shelf, which sloped downward for six or eight inches at the lower end. over this was placed a piece of heavy woollen blanket, the whole being mounted upon two rockers, like those of an ordinary child's cradle. these were rested on two strong blocks of wood to permit of their being rocked readily. this device was placed beside the running stream. as the pay dirt was shovelled into the upper shallow box, one of the party rocked it with one hand while with the other he ladled water. the fine particles with the gold fell through the holes upon the blanket, which held the gold, while the sand and other matter glided over it to the bottom of the box, which was so inclined that what passed through was washed down and finally out of the box. thin slats were fixed across the bottom of the box, with mercury behind them, to catch such particles of gold as escaped the blanket. the stuff dug up by our friends was so nuggety that many lumps remained in the upper box, where they were detained by their weight, while the lighter stuff passed through, and the smaller lumps were held by a deeper slat at the further end of the bottom of the box. when the blanket became surcharged with wealth it was removed and rinsed in a barrel of water, the particles amalgamating with the mercury in the bottom of the barrel. sluicing requires plenty of running water with considerable fall, and is two or three times as rapid as the method just described, but since it was not adopted by our friends, a description need not be given. at the end of a week jeff, with the help of his companions, made a careful estimate of the nuggets and sand which they had gathered and stowed away in the cavern where they slept and took their meals. as nearly as they could figure it out the gold which they had collected was worth not quite one hundred thousand dollars--very fair wages, it will be conceded, for six days' work by two men and two boys. on sunday they conscientiously abstained from labor, though it can hardly be said that their thoughts were elsewhere. since one hundred thousand dollars in gold weighs in the neighborhood of four hundred pounds, it will be seen that the party had already accumulated a good load to be distributed among themselves. it may have been that the expectation of this result caused jeff to bring the burro back, for with his help it would not be hard to carry double the amount, especially as everything else would be left behind. to the surprise of his friends, jeff announced that it was necessary for him to make another visit to dawson city. it was important business that called him thither, but he gave no hint of its nature. he hoped to be back within two or three days, and he departed on foot, leaving the animal to recuperate, and, as he grimly added, "make himself strong enough to carry a good load to town." jeff left early in the morning. the afternoon was about half gone, when tim with an expression of anxious concern announced that he had just remembered something which required him to go to dawson without an hour's delay. "it's queer that i didn't think of the same while jiff was here," he said, "so that he might have enj'yed the plisure of me society, but it won't be hard for me to find him after i git there. ye byes wont be scared of being lift to yersilves fur a few days?" he asked with so much earnestness that they hastened to assure him he need have no misgivings on that point. "we shall keep hard at it while you are away, but since jeff is also absent we shall be lonely." "luk fur me very soon. i'll advise jiff to make ye an extra allowance for yer wurruk while him and me is doing nothing." two hours after the departure of mccabe, frank, who was working the rocker while his chum was shovelling in the dirt, suddenly stopped, with expanding eyes. "i have just thought what tim's business is at dawson." [illustration: "i have just thought what tim's business is at dawson," said frank.] "what is it?" "it is his longing for drink. he has gone on a spree, taking one of his nuggets with him to pay the cost. jeff will be sure to run across him, and then there will be music." chapter xviii. a startling discovery. the weather was mild, for the short, oppressive northwest summer was rapidly approaching. during the middle of the day the sun was hot, and the boys perspired freely. by and by would come the billions of mosquitoes to render life unbearable. those pests often kill bears and wolves by blinding them, and the man who does not wear some protection is driven frantic, unable to eat, sleep, or live, except in smothering smoke. jeff had said that he meant to complete the work, if possible, and start down the yukon before that time of torment arrived. for two days the boys wrought incessantly. they had learned how to wash and purify the gold in the crude way taught them by the old miner, and the rich reward for their labor continued. jeff had brought back on his previous visit to dawson city an abundant supply of strong canvas bags, in which the gold was placed, with the tops securely tied. these were regularly deposited in the cavern where the party made their home, until a row of them lined one side of the place. it was a striking proof of the wonderful richness of their find, that one of these bags was filled wholly with nuggets, which must have been worth fifteen or twenty thousand dollars. early on the afternoon of the third day another thought struck frank mansley, and he ceased shovelling gravel into the rocker for his companion. "what is it now?" asked roswell with a smile. "don't you remember that on the first day we arrived here, while we were prospecting up the little stream, we saw that friend of ike hardman?" "yes, of course." "well, we never told jeff about it." "i declare!" exclaimed roswell. "how came we to forget it?" "this gold drove it out of our minds. i never thought of it until this minute. i tell you, roswell, i believe something has gone wrong." and frank sat down, removed his cap, and wiped his moist forehead with his handkerchief. "what could have gone wrong?" asked the other lad, who, despite his jauntiness, shared in a degree the anxiety of his friend. "all the gold we have gathered is in the cavern. i believe hardman and those fellows are in the neighborhood and mean to steal it." "it's a pity we didn't think of this before," said roswell, laying down his shovel. "let's go back to the cavern and keep watch till jeff comes back." inspired by their new dread, they hastily gathered up what gold had been washed out, stowed it into another canvas bag, and then frank slung it half filled over his shoulder and started for the cavern, something more than an eighth of a mile away. they walked fast and in silence, for the thought in the mind of both was the same. from the first the most imprudent carelessness had been shown, and they could not understand how jeff ever allowed the valuable store to remain unguarded. it is true, as has already been stated, that the section, despite the rush of lawless characters that have flocked thither, is one of the best governed in the world, and no officers could be more watchful and effective than the mounted police of the northwest; but the course of our friends had much the appearance of a man leaving his pocketbook in the middle of the street and expecting to find it again the next day. a bitter reflection of the boys was that this never would have been the case had they told jeff of the presence of the suspicious individual in the neighborhood. if anything went amiss, they felt that the blame must rest with them if matters were found right, they would not leave the cavern until one or both of their friends returned. when half the distance was passed, roswell, who was in the load, broke into a lope, with frank instantly doing the same. a minute later they had to slacken their pace because of the need to climb some bowlders and make their way through an avenue between massive rocks, but the instant it was possible they were trotting again. it had been the custom for the gold-seekers to take a lunch with them to the diggings. this saved time, and their real meal was eaten in the evening after their return home. the moment roswell caught sight of the round, irregular opening which served as the door of their dwelling, he anxiously scanned it and the pile of wood and embers on the outside, where the fire was kindled for cooking purposes. the fact that he saw nothing amiss gave him hope, but did not remove the singular distrust that had brought both in such haste from the diggings. he ran faster, while frank, discommoded by the heavy, bouncing bag over his shoulder, stumbled, and his hat fell off. with an impatient exclamation he caught it up, recovered himself, and was off again. as he looked ahead he saw roswell duck his head and plunge through the opening. "is everything right?" shouted frank, whose dread intensified with each passing second. before he could reach the door out came his cousin, as if fired by a catapult. his eyes were staring and his face as white as death. "right!" he gasped; "we have been robbed! all the gold is gone!" [illustration: "we have been robbed! all the gold is gone."] and overcome by the shock the poor fellow collapsed and sank to the ground as weak as a kitten. frank let the bag fall and straightened up. "no; it cannot be," he said in a husky voice. "look for yourself," replied roswell, swallowing a lump in his throat and turning his eyes pitifully toward his comrade. a strange fear held frank motionless for several seconds. despite the startling declaration of his cousin, a faint hope thrilled him that he was mistaken, and yet he dared not peer into the interior through dread of finding he was not. reflecting, however, upon the childish part he was playing, he pulled himself together, and with the deliberation of jeff graham himself bent his head and passed through the door. enough sunlight penetrated the cavern to reveal the whole interior in the faint illumination. when they left that morning the row of canvas bags was neatly arranged along the farther wall, where they stood like so many corpulent little brownies. every one had vanished. frank mansley stared for a moment in silence. then he stepped forward and called in a strong, firm voice: "come, roswell, quick!" the other roused himself and hastily advanced. "take your revolver," said frank, as he shoved his own into his hip-pocket, and begun strapping jeff's cartridge belt around his waist. as roswell obeyed, his cousin took the winchester from where it leaned in one corner. "now for those thieves, and we don't come back till we find them." chapter xix. the trail into the mountains. on the outside of the cavern the boys halted. after the shock both were comparatively calm. their faces were pale, and they compressed their lips with resolution. some time during the preceding few hours thieves had entered their home and carried away one hundred thousand dollars in gold dust and nuggets, and the youths were determined to regain the property, no matter what danger had to be confronted. but the common sense of the boys told them the surest way to defeat their resolve was to rush off blindly, with not one chance in a thousand of taking the right course. "roswell, that gold weighs so much that no one and no two men could carry it off, unless they made several journeys." "or there were more of them; they would hardly dare return after one visit." "why not? hardman (for i know he is at the bottom of the business) and the other rogue have been watching us for several days. they knew that when we left here in the morning we would not come back till night, and they had all the time they needed and much more." "but if there were only two, they would have to keep doubling their journey, and i don't believe they would do that. perhaps they used the donkey." "let's find out." the burro was accustomed to graze over an area several acres in extent and enclosed by walls of rocks. since the first-mentioned brook ran alongside, the indolent creature could be counted upon to remain where the pasture was succulent and abundant. the place was not far off, and the boys hurried thither. a few minutes later the suggestive fact became apparent--the donkey was gone. "and he helped take the gold!" was the exclamation of frank. "they loaded part of it on his back and carried the rest. i don't believe they are far off." it was certain the thieves had not gone in the direction of the diggings, and it was improbable that they would attempt to reach dawson city, at least, for an indefinite time, for they must have known that jeff graham and tim mccabe had gone thither, and that there they were likely to be seen and recognized. at any rate, it would be hard for them to get away through the town for a considerable period, during which the grim old miner would make things warm for them. the conclusion of the boys, therefore, after briefly debating the problem, was that the men had turned into the mountains. these stretched away for many miles, and contained hundreds of places where they would be safe from pursuit by a regiment of men. "but if they took the burro," said roswell, "as it seems certain they did, they must have followed some kind of a path along which we can pursue them." "provided we can find it." they were too much stirred to remain idle. frank led the way to the corner of the enclosure which was bisected by the brook. there the moistened ground was so spongy that it would disclose any footprint. the marks made by the hoofs of the burro were everywhere, and while examining what seemed to be the freshest, roswell uttered an exclamation. "what is it?" asked his cousin, hurrying to his side. "do you see that?" asked the other in turn, pointing to the ground. there were the distinct impressions of a pair of heavy shoes. the burro had been loaded at the brook, or his new masters had allowed him to drink before starting into the mountains. [illustration: the tell-tale footprints.] the boys took several minutes to study the impressions, which appeared in a number of places. the inspection brought an interesting truth to light. one set of imprints was large, and the right shoe or boot had a broken patch on the sole, which showed when the ground was more yielding than usual. the others were noticeably smaller, and the toes pointed almost straight forward, like those of an american indian. a minute examination of the soil failed to bring any other peculiarity to light. the conclusion, therefore, was that only two men were concerned in the robbery. the problem now assumed a phase which demanded brain work, and the youths met it with a skill that did them credit. the question was: "if the burro was loaded with the gold at this point, or if he was brought hither, which amounts to the same thing, where did he and the thieves leave the enclosure?" neither of the boys had ever felt enough interest in the animal to make an inspection of his pasturage ground, and therefore knew nothing about it, but scrutinizing the boundaries, they fixed upon two gaps or openings on the farther side, both leading deeper into the mountains, one of which they believed had been used. "let's try the nearest," said roswell, leading the way across the comparatively level space. there the ground was higher, fairly dry and gravelly. a close scrutiny failed to reveal any signs of disturbance, and forced them to conclude that some other outlet had been taken. they made haste to the second. this was drier and more gravelly than the other. while the soil seemed to have been disturbed, they could not make sure whether or not it was by the hoofs of an animal, but frank caught sight of something on a projecting point of a rock, just in front. stepping forward, he plucked it off, and held it up in the light. it consisted of a dozen dark, coarse hairs. "that's where the burro scraped against the rock," he said. "we are on their path." in their eagerness they would have kept beside each other had not the passage been so narrow. often they came to places where one would have declared it impossible for a mule or donkey to make his way, but there could be no question that the property of jeff graham had done it. frequently he slipped, and must have come near falling, but he managed to keep forward with his precious load. less than two hundred yards distant the pursuers came to a depression of the soil where it was damp, and the footprints of the donkey and the two men were as distinct as if made in putty. there could be no question that the boys were on the trail of the despoilers. as they advanced, frank, who was in advance; frequently turned his head and spoke in guarded tones over his shoulder to his cousin. "they are pushing into the mountains," said he, "but there's no saying how far they are ahead of us." "no; if they made the start early in the morning, it would give them a big advantage." "i believe that is what they did, knowing there was no danger of our returning until night." "that knowledge may have made them slow. anyhow, they are not travelling as fast as we, and we must overtake them before long." a few minutes later frank asked: "do you believe they have thought of being followed?" "they must know there is danger of it. they will fight to keep that gold, and if they get the first sight of us will shoot." "they may have revolvers, but i don't believe either has a rifle. we will keep a lookout that we don't run into them before we know it and give them the advantage." this dread handicapped the boys to some extent. the trail was not distinctly marked, often winding and precipitous, and compelling them to halt and examine the ground and consult as to their course. while thus engaged, they awoke to the fact that they had gone astray and were not following the trail at all. chapter xx. a sound from out the stillness. the error occurred in this way: the trail that the boys had been assiduously following was so faintly marked that the wonder was they did not go astray sooner. in many places, there was little choice as to the route, because it was so broken and crossed that one was as distinct as the other. nevertheless, frank pressed on with scarcely any hesitation, until he again reached a depression where the soft ground failed to show the slightest impression of shoe or hoof. "my gracious!" he exclaimed, stopping short and looking at his companion; "how far can we have gone wrong?" "we can find out only by returning," replied roswell, wheeling about and leading the way back. they walked more hurriedly than before, as a person naturally does who feels that time is precious, and he has wasted a good deal of it. the search might have been continued for a long time but for a surprising and unexpected aid that came to them. they had halted at one of the broken places, in doubt whither to turn, and searching for some sign to guide them, when roswell called out: "that beats anything i ever saw!" as he spoke, he stooped and picked up something from the ground. inspecting it for a moment, he held it up for frank to see. it was a large nugget of pure gold. "these mountains must be full of the metal," said frank, "when we find it lying loose like that." "not so fast," remarked his companion, who had taken the nugget again, and was turning it over and examining it minutely. "do you remember that?" on one of the faces of the gold something had been scratched with the point of a knife. while the work was inartistic, it was easy to make out the letters "f. m." "i think i remember that," said frank; "it is one of the nuggets i found yesterday, and marked it with my initials. those folks must have dropped it." there could be no doubt of it. what amazing carelessness for a couple of men to drop a chunk of gold worth several hundred dollars and not miss it! it must have been that the mouth of the canvas bag containing the nuggets had become opened in some way to the extent of allowing a single one to fall out. "i wonder how many more have been lost," mused frank, as he put the specimen in his pocket. at any rate, it served to show the right course to follow, and the boys pressed on, looking more for nuggets than for their enemies. the mishap must have been discovered by the men in time to prevent its repetition, for nothing of the kind again met the eyes of the youths, who once more gave their attention to hunting for the lawless men that had despoiled them of so much property. the trail steadily ascended, so broken and rough that it was a source of constant wonderment how the burro was able to keep his feet. he must have had some experience in mountain climbing before, in order to play the chamois so well. the boys fancied they could feel the change of temperature on account of the increased elevation. they knew they were a good many feet above the starting-point, though at no time were they able to obtain a satisfactory view of the country they were leaving behind. they seemed to be continually passing in and out among the rocks and bowlders, which circumscribed their field of vision. considerable pine and hemlock grew on all sides, but as yet they encountered no snow. there was plenty of it farther up and beyond, and it would not take them long to reach the region where eternal winter reigned. a short way along the new course, and they paused before another break; but although the ground was dry and hard, it was easy to follow the course of the burro, whose hoofs told the story; and though nothing served to indicate that the men were still with him, the fact of the three being in company might be set down as self-evident. it would not be dark until nearly o'clock, so the pursuers still had a goodly number of hours before them. a peculiar fact annoyed the boys more than would be supposed. the trail was continually winding in and out, its turns so numerous that rarely or never were they able to see more than a few rods in advance. in places the winding was incessant. the uncertainty as to how far they were behind the donkey and the men made the lads fear that at each turn as they approached it, they would come upon the party, who, perhaps, might be expecting them, and would thus take them unprepared. the dread of something like this often checked the boys and seriously retarded their progress. "we may as well understand one thing," said frank, as they halted again; "you have heard jeff tell about getting the drop on a man, roswell?" "yes; everybody knows what that means." "well, neither mr. hardman, nor his friend, nor both of them will ever get the drop on us." the flashing eyes and determined expression left no doubt of the lad's earnestness. "is that because you carry a winchester and they have only their revolvers?" "it would make no difference if both of them had rifles." roswell was thoughtful. "it is very well, frank, to be brave, but there's nothing gained by butting your head against a stone wall. suppose, now, that, in passing the next bend in this path, you should see hardman waiting for you with his gun aimed, and he should call out to you to surrender, what would you do?" "let fly at him as quickly as i could raise my gun to a level." "and he would shoot before you could do that." "i'll take the chances," was the rash response. "i hope you will not have to take any chances like that--" they were talking as usual in low tones, and no one more than a few feet away could have caught the murmur of their voices, but while roswell was uttering his words, and before he could complete his sentence, the two heard a sound, so faint that neither could guess its nature. as nearly as they were able to judge, it was as if some person, in walking, had struck his foot against an obstruction. it came from a point in front, and apparently just beyond the first bend in the trail, over which they were making their way. [illustration: watching at the turn in the trail.] "we are nearer to them than we suspected," whispered roswell. "and they don't know it, or they wouldn't have betrayed themselves in that manner." "it isn't safe to take that for granted." roswell, after the last change in their course, was at the front. frank now quietly moved beyond him, winchester in hand, and ready for whatever might come. confident they were close upon the men they sought, he was glad of the misstep that had warned them of the fact. there certainly could be no excuse now for hardman and his companion securing the advantage over the boys, when one of them held his winchester half raised to his shoulder and ready to fire. within a couple of paces of the turn in the trail the two were almost lifted off their feet by a sound that burst from the stillness, startling enough to frighten the strongest man. it was the braying of the burro, not fifty feet distant. chapter xxi. a turning of the tables. the boys were in no doubt as to the author of this startling break in the mountain stillness. it was their own burro that had given out the unearthly roar, and they were confident of being close upon the trail of the two men who were making off with the gold. but a moment later, round the corner in front of them, the donkey's head came into view, his long ears flapping, as if training themselves for the fight with mosquitoes that would soon come. the animal was walking slowly, but the astonishing fact immediately appeared that he was not only without any load on his back, but was unaccompanied by either hardman or his confederate. suspecting, however, they were close behind him, the boys held their places, the foremost still on the alert for the criminals. the burro came forward until within a rod, when he seemed to become aware for the first time of the presence of the youths in his path. he halted, twiddled his rabbit-like ears, looked at the two, and then opened his mouth. the flexible lips fluttered and vibrated with a second tremendous bray, which rolled back and forth among the mountains, the wheezing addendum more penetrating than the first part of the outburst. as the animal showed a disposition to continue his advance, the boys stepped aside and he came slowly forward, as if in doubt whether he was doing a prudent thing; but he kept on, and, passing both, continued down the trail, evidently anxious to return to his pasturage. "what does it mean?" asked roswell. "i have no idea, unless--" "what?" "they can't make any further use of the burro, and have allowed him to go home." "but they can't carry away all the gold." "then they are burying it. let's hurry on, or we shall be too late." lowering his winchester, frank led the way up the trail, slackening his pace as he reached the bend, and partly raising his weapon again. rocks and bowlders were all around, but the trail still showed, and the donkey could have travelled indefinitely forward, so far as the boys could see. nowhere was anything detected of the two men. "they may have turned the burro loose a half mile off," said frank, chagrined and disappointed beyond expression. his companion warned him to be careful, as he began pushing forward at a reckless rate, as if fearful that the men would get away after all. just beyond the point where the burro had appeared the path forked, each course being equally distinct. the boys scrutinized the ground, but could not decide from what direction the animal had come. had they possessed the patience, they might have settled the question by kneeling down and making their scrutiny more minute; but frank could not wait. "i'll take the right," he said, "while you follow the left. if you discover either of them, shoot and shout for me." it may be doubted whether this was wise counsel, and roswell did not feel himself bound by it, but he acted at once upon the suggestion. his weapon was in his grasp as he hurried over the path, and the cousins were quickly lost to each other. the inspiring incentive to both boys was the dread that they were too late to recover the gold that had been stolen. since its weight was too great for a couple of men to carry, the natural presumption was that they had buried or would bury it in some secure place, and return when it was safe to take it away. because of this, roswell palmer sharply scrutinized every part of his field of vision as it opened before him. there were numerous breaks in the path which permitted him to look over a space of several rods, and again he could not see six feet from him. reaching an earthy part of the trail, he leaned over and studied it. there was no sign of a hoof or footprint. "the burro did not come this far," was his conclusion; "i am wasting time by wandering from frank." he was in doubt whether to turn or to advance farther. he had paused among the bowlders, where little was visible, and, convinced of his mistake, he shoved his weapon back in his pocket, so as to give him the freer use of his hands, and turned back over the trail along which he had just come. he had not taken a dozen steps when he was checked by the most startling summons that could come to him. it was a gruff "hands up, younker!" [illustration: "hands up, younker!"] it will be recalled that roswell was less headstrong than his cousin, as he now demonstrated by his prompt obedience to the command, which came from an immense rock at the side of the path, partly behind him. having elevated his hands, the youth turned to look at his master. one glance at the countenance was sufficient. he was the individual whom frank had seen secretly talking with hardman on the boat that carried them from the head to the foot of lake lindeman, and whom both had seen on the day of their arrival in this neighborhood. roswell palmer now displayed a quickness of wit that would have done credit to an older head. his revolver he had placed in a pocket on the side of him that was turned away from the man, and it will be remembered that the lad had placed it there before receiving the peremptory summons to surrender. in the hope that his captor was not aware that he carried any firearms, roswell kept that part of his body farthest from him. the man was standing at the side of the rock with a similar weapon in his grasp, and showed that he was elated over the clever manner in which he had gotten the best of the youth. his own weapon was not pointed at him, but held so that it could be raised and used on the instant. "what do you mean by treating me thus when i am walking peaceably through the mountains, offering harm to no one?" asked roswell with an injured air. "what are you doing here anyway?" demanded the other, whose unpleasant face indicated that he did not fully grasp the situation. "my friend and i set out to look for some men that have stolen our gold. have you seen them?" this sounded as if the boy had no suspicion of the fellow before him, and taking his cue therefrom, he said: "no; i don't know anything about it. did they jump your claim?" "we had the gold among the rocks where we live, but when we came home to-day, we found that some persons had been there and taken it all." something seemed to strike the man as very amusing. he broke into laughter. "you can put down your hands, my son, if you're getting tired." "you won't shoot?" asked roswell in pretended alarm. "not much," replied the other, with a laugh; "i haven't a charge in my weapon nor a single cartridge with me; but all the same, i'll keep an eye on you." "not doubting your word, i have to inform you that my pistol is loaded, and i now shall take charge of you." as he spoke, roswell produced his weapon, and the other was at his mercy. chapter xxii. a lion in the path. to put it mildly, the man was astonished. not dreaming the boy was armed, he had been foolish enough to announce that he had brought him to terms by the display of a useless weapon. he stared in amazement at roswell, and then elevated both hands. the boy laughed. "you needn't do that; i am not afraid of you. if you will lead me to the spot where you and hardman hid our gold, i will set you free." "i don't know anything about your gold," whimpered the fellow, who now proved himself a coward. "i was only joking with you." "you and he took it. i shall hold you a prisoner until my friend comes up, and then turn you over to the mounted police." "all right; if it is a square deal, follow me." he turned and darted behind the rock. the youth made after him, but when he came in sight of the fugitive again he was fifty feet distant, and running like a deer. perhaps roswell might have winged him, but he did not try to do so. he felt a natural repugnance to doing a thing of that nature, and the fact was self-evident that it would do no good. the man would sturdily insist that he knew nothing of the missing gold, and there could be no actual proof that he did. had he been held a prisoner he might have been forced to terms, but it was too late now to think of that, and the youth stood motionless and saw him disappear among the rocks. "i wonder how frank has made out," was his thought. "he can't have done worse than i." meanwhile, young mansley had no idle time on his hands. he had hurried up the fork of the trail, after parting with his companion, until he had passed about the same distance. the two paths, although diverging, did not do so to the extent the boys thought, and thus it came about that they were considerably nearer each other than they supposed. it need not be said that frank was on the alert. suspecting he was in the vicinity of the men for whom they were searching, he paid no attention to the ground, but glanced keenly to the right and left, and even behind him. he was thus engaged when something moved beside a craggy mass of rocks a little way ahead and slightly to the right of the path he was following. a second look showed the object to be a man, and though his back was toward the lad, his dress and general appearance left little doubt that he was hardman. his attitude was that of listening. his shoulders were thrown slightly forward, and he gave a quick flirt of his head, which brought his profile for the moment into view. this removed all doubt as to his identity. it was ike hardman. frank's first thought was that he was standing near the spot where the gold had been secreted, and was looking around to make sure no one saw him, but it may have been he heard something of the movements of his confederate that had escaped roswell palmer. afraid of being detected, frank crouched behind the nearest bowlder, but was a second too late. hardman had observed him, and was off like a flash. to frank's amazement, when he looked for him he was gone. determined not to lose him, the youth ran forward as fast as the nature of the ground would permit. reaching the spot where he had first discovered the man, he glanced at the surroundings, but could see nothing to indicate that the gold had been hidden anywhere near, though the probabilities pointed to such being the fact, for it must have been in that vicinity that the burro was turned free. but the boy felt the necessity of bringing the man himself to terms, and with scarcely a halt he hurried over the bowlders and around the rocks in what he believed to be the right direction, though he had no certain knowledge that such was the fact. he was still clambering forward, panting, impatient, and angry, when a figure suddenly came to view a little way in advance. frank abruptly stopped and brought his gun to a level, but before he could aim he perceived to his amazement that it was his cousin roswell standing motionless and looking with wonderment around him. a moment later the two came together and hastily exchanged experiences. "we have made a mess of it," was the disgusted comment of frank, "for we had them both and let them get away." [illustration: "we have made a mess of it," was the disgusted comment of frank.] "all the same we must be near the spot where the gold was hidden, and i believe we can find it by searching." "we may, but the chances are a hundred to one against it. how strange that those two men carried no firearms!" it has been shown that the klondike country is not one of dangerous weapons, because it is well governed, and the necessity, therefore, does not exist for men to go about armed. many of them unquestionably carry pistols, but larger weapons are few, and the majority have neither, for they only serve as incumbrances. strange, therefore, as it may seem, hardman and his companion had but a single revolver between them, and the man who carried that spoke the truth when he said all its chambers were empty and he was without the means of loading it. the great oversight of the two was that when they entered the cavern and took away the gold, they left the winchester and revolvers. this may have been due to their eagerness to carry off every ounce of gold, but the commonest prudence would have suggested that they "spike" the weapons, so as to prevent their being used against them. a brief consultation caused the boys to decide to return to the cavern and await the return of their friends. then the whole party could take up the search, though it seemed almost hopeless. disheartened, they started down the trail, frank in advance and both silent, for their thoughts were too depressing for expression. suddenly the leader stopped and raised his hand for his companion to do the same. the cause was apparent, for at that moment, in rounding a bend in the path, they saw ike hardman in front, moving stealthily in the same direction with themselves, but the rogue was watchful and caught sight of them at the same moment. as before, he was off like an arrow, the winding trail allowing him to pass from sight in the twinkling of an eye, as may be said. before they could take up the pursuit a great commotion broke out below them, and wondering what it could mean, the boys stopped to listen. it immediately became apparent that the fugitive had come in collision with some one approaching from the other direction over the trail, and that same person was gifted with a vigorous voice of which he was making free use. "ah, but ye are the spalpeen i've been looking fur! this is the way ye sittle up fur the money ye tuk from me! mister hardman, do your bist, for that's what i'm going to do. do ye hear me?" "it's tim!" exclaimed roswell; "let's hurry to his help!" but frank caught his arm. "it's the other fellow who needs help, and tim will take it as unkind for us to interfere, but we can look on." and they hurried forward. chapter xxiii. a general settlement of accounts. quick as were the boys in hurrying to the point where they heard the indignant tim, they did not reach it until the affray was over. wholly subdued, ike hardman begged for mercy at the hands of his conqueror, and promised to do anything desired if he received consideration. it is a well-known fact that the wrath of a good-natured person is more to be feared than his who is of less equable temperament. the boys had never seen tim mccabe in so dangerous a mood. he and jeff graham had returned to the cavern shortly after the departure of the cousins in pursuit of the thieves, and it did not take them long to understand what had occurred. they set out over the same trail, along which they readily discovered the footprints of all the parties. tim, in his angry impatience, outsped his more stolid companion, and by good fortune came upon hardman while in headlong flight down the mountain path. the latter tried for a time to make it appear that he knew nothing of the abstraction of the gold from the cavern, but tim would have none of it, and gave him the choice of conducting them to the place where it was concealed or of undergoing "capital punishment." like the poltroon that he was, hardman insisted that his companion, victor herzog, was the real wrongdoer, but he offered to do what was demanded, only imploring that he should not be harmed for his evil acts. tim extended his hand and took the winchester from frank mansley. he knew it was loaded, and he said to his prisoner: "lead on, and if ye think it will pay ye to try to git away or play any of yer tricks, why try it, that's all!" the threat was sufficient to banish all hope from hardman, who led them along the trail a short way, then turned on to the pile of rocks beside which frank had seen him standing a short time before. "there it is!" he said, with an apprehensive glance at his captor. "where?" thundered tim; "i don't see it!" no digging had been done by the criminals, but a bowlder had been rolled aside, the canvas bags dropped into the opening, and the stone replaced, as he quickly demonstrated. "count 'em, roswell," said tim. both boys leaned over, and moving the heavy sacks about so as not to miss one, announced that all were there. "and now i s'pose i may go," whined hardman. "not a bit of it. i won't make a target of ye fer this gun, but ye shall remain me prisoner till i turn ye over to the police." thereupon hardman begged so piteously that the boys interceded and asked that he be allowed to go, but tim sternly bade them hold their peace. the bowlder having been replaced, while he glanced around to fix the locality in his memory, he ordered the captive to precede him down the trail, reminding him at the same time that the first attempt on his part to escape would be followed by the instant discharge of the gun. thus, as the long afternoon drew to a close the strange procession wound its way down the mountain, the prisoner in front, his captors directly behind, with frank and roswell bringing up the rear. the boys talked in whispers, but said nothing to their friend, who was in such a stern mood that they shrank from speaking to him. they speculated as to the fate of herzog, the other criminal, who seemed to have effected his escape, but recalled that jeff graham was likely to be met somewhere along the path, and it might be that this had occurred with disastrous results to the evil fellow, for it will be remembered that the old miner was one of the few who always carried their revolvers with them. the expectation of the boys was not disappointed. when about half way down the trail they came upon jeff, who had his man secure, thanks to the good fortune which gave him an advantage of which he instantly availed himself. roswell and frank thought that when jeff learned that all the stolen gold had been recovered he would be willing to release the prisoners, but such intention was as far from him as from tim mccabe. while he had no desire for revenge, he felt it would be wrong to set the evil-doers free, and he knew that they would receive the punishment they had well earned as soon as placed within the power of the law. it was beginning to grow dark when the party reached their cabin. just before reaching it they crossed the pasturage ground of the burro, who was seen quietly browsing, as if he had not taken any part and felt no interest in the proceedings of the afternoon. halting in front of the opening, jeff said to tim: "you have the gun and know it's a repeater." the irishman nodded his head. "keep guard over these fellows till i come back; it won't be long." "i'll do the same--on that ye may depind." [illustration: tim and his prisoners.] the massive figure swung off in the gloom. he gave no intimation of whither he was going, and no one could guess, except that he promised shortly to return. a few minutes after his departure, both hardman and herzog renewed their pleadings for mercy--for at least they suspected the cause of the old miner's departure--but tim checked them so promptly that they held their peace. at his suggestion, the boys started a fire and began preparing supper. they had hardly completed the task when jeff graham reappeared and he brought two companions with him. though they were on foot, they were members of the mounted police, whose horses were but a short distance away. in the discharge of their duties, they were on a tour among the diggings to learn whether there was any call for their services. jeff had seen them during the afternoon, and knew where to look for them. there was no nonsense about those sturdy fellows. they made their living by compelling obedience to the laws of their country, and were always prepared to do their duty. at the suggestion of jeff, they questioned the men, who admitted their guilt, supplementing the confession with another appeal for clemency. without deigning a reply, the officers slipped handcuffs upon them, and declining the invitation to remain to supper, departed with their prisoners, whom they delivered to the authorities at dawson city on the following day. since they had admitted their guilt, our friends were not required to appear as witnesses, and the case may be closed by the statement that hardman and herzog received the full punishment which they deserved. when the evening meal was finished, the men and boys remained outside in the cool, clear air, the former smoking their pipes, and all discussing the stirring events of the day. the boys confessed their neglect in failing to make known the presence of herzog in the neighborhood, because the fact was driven from their minds by their excitement over the discovery of gold. "had we done as we ought," said frank, "it isn't likely this would have happened." "you are right," replied jeff, "for we should have been more watchful." "and wasn't it oursilves that was careless, anyway, in laying so much wilth where any one could git at the same?" asked tim. "yes," admitted the old miner, "but things are different here from what they was in the early days in californy, and you can see that these two men are the only ones that would steal our stuff." "at prisint they saam to be the only ones, but we can't be sure that ithers wouldn't have tried to do the same." "well, boys," was the surprising announcement of jeff graham, "to-morrow we leave this place for good and take the next steamer down the yukon for home; our hunt for gold is done!" chapter xxiv. conclusion. there was little sleep that night in the cavern home of the gold-seekers. the fact that the whole crop of the precious stuff was the better part of a mile away in the mountains, even though apparently safe, caused every one to feel uneasy. in addition was the announcement of jeff graham, the leader, that their work in the klondike region was ended. in keeping with his habit of making known only that which was necessary, he gave no explanation, and his friends were left to speculate and surmise among themselves. all, however, suspected the truth. at early dawn tim mccabe and the boys started up the trail, leading the burro. the old miner remained behind, saying that he expected company and his help was not needed in recovering the pilfered gold. the anxiety of the men and boys did not lessen until they reached the well-remembered spot and found the canvas bags intact. they were carefully loaded upon the strong back of the animal, secured in place, and the homeward journey begun. frank and roswell walked at the rear, to make sure none of the gold was lost. in due time they reached their primitive home, with all their wealth in hand. to their surprise, jeff was absent. the recent experience of the three confirmed them in their resolution not to leave the nuggets and dust unguarded for a single hour. while some were at work in the diggings, one at least would be at the cavern on the watch against dishonest visitors. it was agreed that tim and roswell should go to the little valley to resume work, while frank with the winchester and smaller weapon acted as sentinel. as the two were on the point of setting out, jeff graham appeared with two well-dressed gentlemen, both in middle life. they were talking earnestly, and halted just beyond earshot to complete what they had to say. then, without waiting to be introduced to jeff's friends, they bade him good-day, and hurried down the path to where their horses were waiting, and lost no time in returning to dawson city. "get ready to foller," was the curt command of jeff; and within the following hour the whole party, including the donkey, were on the road. they were compelled to spend one of the short nights in camp, but reached dawson city without the slightest molestation from any one or the loss of a dollar's worth of gold. as jeff had announced his intention, they brought away only their auriferous harvest and such clothing as was on their bodies. at the hotel he held another long interview with the two gentlemen who had called on him at the diggings; and the first steamer down the yukon, which was now fairly open, bore among its hundreds of passengers jeff graham, tim mccabe, roswell palmer, and frank mansley. the combined gold of the fortunate passengers on that trip must have amounted to nearly a million dollars. some weeks later jeff and tim were seated alone in one of the rooms at the palace hotel, san francisco. they had met by appointment to close up the business which had taken them into the klondike region. "you know, tim," said the old miner, "that this whole thing was my own." tim nodded his head. "i was aware of the same before ye mentioned it. ye paid all our ixpenses like a gintleman, and we're entitled to fair wages for hilping and no more." the generous disavowal of all claim to a share in the rich find touched jeff, who hastened to say: "some folks might think that way, but i don't. it was a speculation on my part. it didn't cost much to get us to the klondike, and so that don't count. i have delivered to the mint all the gold we brought back, and have been paid one hundred and twenty thousand dollars for it. you know what was done by the two men that visited us at the diggings?" "the byes and mesilf had the idea that they bought out your claim." "that's it. i was anxious to get out of the country before the summer fairly set in and the mosquitoes ate us up alive. from the way the dirt panned out, we should have been millionaires in a few weeks, but we had enough. there ain't many men as know when they have enough," was the philosophical observation of jeff. "i do, so i sold my claim for a hundred and eighty thousand dollars. as i figure out, that makes the total three hundred thousand dollars, which, divided among us four, gives each seventy-five thousand dollars. how does that strike you, tim?" "it almost knocks me off my chair, if you mean it." "the boys being under age, i have turned over their shares to their parents; and do you know," added jeff, with an expression of disgust, "they both fixed things so as to go to college? you wouldn't believe it, but it's the fact. howsumever, it's their business, and i ain't saying anything. say, tim, you hain't any idea of going to college?" asked jeff, looking across at his friend with a startled expression. [illustration: "say, tim, you hain't any idea of going to college, have you?"] "i won't unless ye will go wid me. how does that strike ye?" jeff's shoulders bobbed up and down with silent laughter, and immediately he became serious again. "as soon as you sign this paper, tim, i shall give you a certified check for seventy-five thousand dollars on the bank of californy. are you ready to sign?" "i'll sign me own death warrant for that trifle," replied tim, his rosy face aglow, as he caught up the pen. "read it first." his friend read: "i, timothy mccabe, hereby pledge my sacred honor not to taste a drop of malt or spirituous liquor, even on the advice of a physician who may declare it necessary to save my life, from the date of the signing of this pledge until the fourth of july, one thousand nine hundred and seven." as tim gathered the meaning of the words on the paper, his eyes expanded; he puckered his lips and emitted a low whistle. "do ye mind," he said, looking across the table with his old quizzical expression, "the remark that the governor of north carliny made to the governor of south carliny?" jeff gravely inclined his head. "i've heerd of it." "what do ye s'pose he would have said if the time between drinks was ten years?" "i've never thought, and don't care." "he would have died long before the time was up." "when you left the boys in the diggings you came to dawson city to spend the worth of that nugget for whiskey. i happened to meet you in time and made you go back with me. you'd been off on sprees a half dozen other times, if i hadn't kept an eye on you. drink is the enemy that will down you if you don't stop at once. if you'll stay sober for ten years, i'll take the chances after that. are you going to sign?" tim's eyes were fixed on the paper which he held in his hand. he mused loud enough for the listening jeff to catch every word: "to sign that means no more headaches and bad health, but a clear brain and a strong body; no more hours of gloom, no weakness of the limbs and pricks of the conscience; no more breaking the heart of me good old mother in ireland, but the bringing of sunshine and joy to her in her last days; it means the signing away of me slavery, and the clasping to me heart of the swate boon of liberty; it means the making of mesilf into a man!" with a firm hand he wrote his name at the bottom of the paper, and flinging down the pen, said: "with god's help, that pledge shall be kept." "amen," reverently responded jeff; "there's your check for seventy-five thousand dollars." the end. "colorado jim" by george goodchild a. l. burt company publishers--new york published by arrangement with w. j. watt & company printed in u. s. a. copyright, , by w. j. watt & company all rights reserved printed in the united states of america contents chapter page i. a son of the west ii. the bright lights iii. social advancement iv. angela v. frost and fire vi. the great awakening vii. the climax viii. the white trail ix. high stakes x. angela meets a friend xi. fruitless toil xii. into the wilderness xiii. the terror of the north xiv. the breaking-point xv. the quest xvi. the great lie xvii. a change of front xviii. a gleam of sunshine xix. the crisis xx. complications xxi. natalie tries her luck xxii. gold xxiii. departure xxiv. conclusion colorado jim chapter i a son of the west out of the brooding darkness was born the first timid blush of the morn. it sprang to life along the serried edge of the medicine bow, a broadening band of blood-red light. for one instant it seemed that some titan breath had blown at the source, darkening the red to purple; and then, with startling suddenness, the whole wide range flamed up. the full red rim of the sun smote aloft, sending the shades scuttling down the valleys, to vanish in thin air. the man at the window of the medicine bow hotel drew in his breath with a slight hissing sound, as the whole magnificent landscape sprang into dazzling light. it had always taken him like that. he remembered the day when, as a boy of seven, he had first seen the sun soar over the ridge, from the old "prairie schooner" encamped in "the garden of the gods." no less wonderful was it now; for jim conlan, late owner of topeka mine, and almost millionaire, was but a magnified version of the boy of twenty-three years back. time had brought its revenges, its rewards, its illusions; but the great winds, the everlasting hills, and the wild life of the west had combined in cementing the early resolutions and ideas. he had won through by dint of muscle and hard thinking. he saw now that the secret of his success was determination. he had earned a reputation for never letting go anything to which he had put his hand. men feared him, but loved him at the same time. he had proved himself to be a staunch friend but an implacable enemy. his six feet three inches of bone and sinew was usually sufficient to scare off any trouble-seekers. colorado jim, as they called him, was the product of primal nature, unpolished, rough as the gaunt mountains of the medicine bow, and as inscrutable. all through the short summer night he had sat at the window waiting for the dawn. the man who never let go had let go something this time, and that something was nothing less than his whole life. he never believed it would hurt him like it did. for the past three years he had been restless. the soul and mind of him ached for expansion. the chief incentive to work had gone. he had more money than he could spend--in the west. yonder was new york, paris, london. alluring visions of civilization flashed through his brain. what was the use of money if not to burn, and where in the whole of colorado could one burn money and get full value? the idea to sell out began to obsess him, and in the end he sold. hating sentimentality and fearing any demonstration of such, he had packed up secretly and left the rough shack by the topeka mine for the comparatively arcadian comforts of the hotel in the township ten miles back. in a few hours he would be on the train bound for the east--and the future. thorough in all things, he had packed his bags overnight, leaving but a few necessities such as razor and tooth-brush (recent acquisitions) to complete. he left the window now with a curious sigh, and gave a last pull on the strap of the largest bag with his big, muscular hands. even now, with the ramshackle stage-coach almost at the door, he could not bring himself to believe that the old life was over and done with. what the devil was he up to, anyway, hiking around in creased trousers and black boots? colorado jim bound for europe--london! it sounded impossibly fantastic. but there it was, written on the labels of his bags--"james conlan, london, via new york." he tucked the rebellious collars of his soft blue shirt into his waistcoat, and pulled out an enormous watch. "rob ain't on time," he muttered; then, "emily!" a voice that sounded like the action of a saw in contact with a nail came from below. "yeah?" "my bill--quick!" "but you ain't had no breakfas' yet." "ain't takin' none. come along right now and give a hand with these grips." the owner of the voice, a shriveled-up, extremely untidy girl of about eighteen, with her hair in "crackers" and her eyes scarcely more than half open, entered the room, and stood gaping at him. she had gaped at him consistently for two whole days, and he didn't like it. he wasn't used to women--didn't understand them and didn't want to. he didn't even understand that the romantic emily had fallen passionately in love with him exactly forty seconds after her sleepy eyes had first beheld him. "for god's sake don't stare at me! take the grips, gal, take 'em. not that one, it would dislocate your internals." she dropped the big one like a hot brick and grabbed the two smaller ones. at the door she found opportunity to scan him once more, and to murmur under her breath, "lor', ain't he wonderful!" before her master came along and ended her rapturous soliloquies. he entered the room and nodded to jim. "so you're making out, jim?" "looks like it." "wal, i'm sure sorry, and there ain't a guy in these parts who ain't sorry too." jim shrugged his big shoulders and jerked out his chin. "maybe there ain't one more sorry than yours truly." "what!" "jest that." "it's junk you're talking." jim smiled whimsically. "nope, it's god's truth. i didn't figure it all out till i came here. i wish i hadn't sold out. i guess i'm best fitted for running mines or herding cattle, dan. and i'm leaving all the boys who know me for those who don't--and i don't git on with folks who don't know me. god knows what persuaded me to sell to that macaroni-eating swab. but it's done, and there ain't no manner of good wailing about it." dan laughed lugubriously. "a man that can knock a million out of a mountain can git along most anywheres, i guess. wish i had your chance." "what'd you do?" "i'd hitch up to some smart gal in new york or london and start a family." jim made a grimace. "'pears to me you ain't strong on originality. i'd rather run a cattle ranch--they don't talk back." "gosh! man, wimmen's all right if you know how to treat 'em. they're like bosses, they want careful breakin' in." jim shook his head. he remembered the time when a girl from down east, on a holiday tour, had looked over his mine. her eloquent blue eyes had made him feel decidedly sheepish. colorado jim, who had tackled most of the bad men around medicine bow, and had tamed the wildest bronchos that ever roved prairie, was lamentably lacking where the fair sex was concerned. he didn't know what to do, what to say, or how to say it. "dan," he said, "you hev to have a gift that way--an' i ain't got it." "my lad, you've got a figure and a 'physog' that'll sure turn every gal's head that takes a slant at 'em." "let up!" growled jim. "it's honest truth, laddie. gee! i gotta hankering for the bright lights myself. i lived in new york once. _some_ village. and with a million in your wallet ... ah!" he gave a long sigh as he reflected upon the quantity of "bright lights" a million would purchase. "i'd have three houses, a hundred suits, a footman with a powdered wig like i seen in the magazine pictures. i'd have a bath each night in eau-de-cologne, and go to roost in real silk peejamas. i'd larn to dance, and have a valee to dress me and shave me...." "yep," mused jim, "and then you'd wake up, dan. here, where's that bill? you talk too much. what in hell is that?" a terrific hullabaloo came up from below. a roar of laughter and the babble of male voices was mixed with the rumble of wheels and the pistol-like crack of a whip. "looks like a celebration," said dan. jim sauntered to the window. underneath was rob's coach, packed full of miners. they slid from the roof of the vehicle and from inside, and began to fire revolvers and dance around like niggers. then one of them saw jim. "hi, colorado jim, come out of that!" he bawled. jim ducked back from the window as a roar came up from below. "looks like they're for giving you a send-off," said dan. "who told them? i kept it quiet--can't stand ceremonies." "it must have been rob." "confound him! there's no time for kissing. it's fifty miles to graymount, and the train is scheduled for noon. send 'em away." dan opened his eyes with horror at the suggestion. "i ain't takin' risks. you got heaps of time. it's only five o'clock and the road is good to graymount." "more'n rob's hosses are. that off-side mare's like a sausage on four crooked sticks." "jim! we want colorado jim!" was howled up from below. the much desired went to the window. "boys," he bawled, "you all run along home. i gotta catch a train." his voice was drowned by horrible threats of what they would do if he didn't hike down immediately. he turned to dan. "they're a darn fine lot of boys, but i wish they wouldn't git so worked up. where's emily?" emily, who was standing in the doorway, ogling him unseen, came forward. "there's something to buy a dress with, and see here, don't get a draughtboard pattern. if there's any money over, buy soap--scented soap." emily's eyes almost fell from her head at the sight of the fifty-dollar note. she rubbed her hands down her dress and took it. jim had grabbed the heavy bag and was half-way down the stairs before she could summon enough breath to murmur the incessant refrain, "ain't he jest wonderful!" at the door jim was grabbed by a dozen hefty pairs of hands and hoisted on to shoulders. one man took the big bag, and with remarkable skill flung it clean on the top of the waiting coach, much to rob's disgust. the hurtling missile came down like a thunderbolt, and nearly went through the roof. "don't get fresh, boys," pleaded jim. "these are my sunday clothes." they ran him twice up the main street, yelling and whooping like a pack of wild indians. a queer awry figure stuck its head from the window of a tumble-down shop and, seeing the cause of the disturbance, shook his fist and yelled: "the sheriff ought to be fired, to allow ..." a shot from a revolver shivered his shop-window to atoms, and a ten-dollar note was flung at him. he slammed down the window, realizing that discretion was the better part of valor. the high-spirited men went on their way, rousing the whole population as they progressed. after about twenty minutes of these capers they reached the hotel again. jim was praying that the business was over. he fought his way to the ground, but was immediately hoisted on to the top of rob's coach. "give over, boys ..." "who is the whitest man in medicine bow?" sang ned blossom. "colorado jim!" howled the chorus. "who is the huskiest two-hundred-pounder in the hul of ameriky?" "colorado jim!" "who is it the gals all lu-huv?" "colorado jim--sure!" jim swung his big figure over the side of the coach. he grabbed two of his tormentors by the scruffs of their necks and jerked them on to the ground. "i'm through with all this," he cried. "rob, get that animated bunch of horse-hair going." ned blossom held up his hand. "cut it out, boys," he ordered. "see here, jim, we got wise to this absconsion of yours, and we thought we'd jest bunch in. the boys are feeling queer about it, though there ain't much show of handkerchiefs. we--we thought mebbe you'd accept a little--kinder keepsake. it--it ain't much, but--but---- wal, here it is." he jerked something from his pocket and put it into jim's hand. it was a gold cigarette-case, with an inscription worked in small diamonds: "to colorado jim from his chums." jim stood gazing at this token of their regard. he hated sentiment, and yet was as big a victim of it as anyone. when he spoke his great voice wavered. "i'm going a hell of a distance before i find boys like you. i wish i wasn't going. i--wish----" he grabbed ned's hand quickly, and then that of each of the other men, and jumped into the coach. they understood the emotion in the big heart of him. rob started the team and away went the coach in a cloud of dust. hats went up in the air and revolvers barked. "good-bye, colorado jim! good-bye!" emily at the door, clasping the fifty-dollar note in her grimy paw, waited until the coach was a mere dot in the distance. then she rubbed a sorrowful eye. "gee, but he was jest wonderful!" she moaned. chapter ii the bright lights new york brought jim conlan up with a start. everything was amazing; everything was bewildering. he felt like a lost soul, stunned with the noise, dazed by the sights. in the fastnesses of his beloved west he had never imagined that such a place existed on the face of the earth. he felt stifled and ill at ease. his clothes were different to those worn in this city. people gave him a quick passing glance, knowing him at once for a westerner. feeling a trifle embarrassed under their glances, he reflected upon the advisability of buying new and more appropriate garb. a tailor was requisitioned and, finding his client to be indifferent in the matter of costs, fixed him up with a fine wardrobe--and a fine bill. jim spent the best part of two hours trying on the new things. the long mirror in his bedroom did its best, but it wasn't good enough for jim. he groaned as he saw this stranger staring at him from the mirror. he wasn't built for that sort of garb. the hard hat looked perfectly idiotic and the starched collars nearly choked him. eventually he tore the offending article from his sunscorched neck and flung it across the room. the other things followed. he stood once more in the rough gray clothes that served for "best" out west, and jammed the comfortable stetson hat on his head. "i'm darned if i'll wear 'em!" he growled. a few days of shopping and theaters, and he began to grow homesick. thoughts of colorado and the boys constantly flickered in his brain. here he was an outcast--a nonentity. he was not good at making friends, and the new yorkers were not falling head over heels to shake hands with him, though more than one pair of eyes looked admiringly at his magnificent physique. the loneliness of big cities! how terrible a thing it was. never at any time had jim felt so lonely. the rolling wind-swept prairie had at least something to offer. in every manifestation of nature he had found a friend. the wind, and the hills, and the wild animals seemed in some queer way sterling comrades; but here---- he began to hate it. it was one huge problem to him. how did it live? what did all the millions do for a subsistence? it was the first time he had seen the poor--the real, hopeless, inevitable poor. he had seen men "broke," down to their last cent; men on the trail, starving, and lost to all sense of decency. but that was merely transitory. these people were different; they were born poor, and would be poor until their bones were laid in some miserable congested cemetery. he found them actually reconciled to it--unquestioningly accepting their fate and fighting to postpone the end for as long as possible. it sickened him. oh, colorado! with your wide prairie and your eternal peaks, your carpeted valleys and your crystalline streams, your fragrant winds and your gift of god--good men! he was sitting in the lounge of his hotel one evening, feeling more than usually homesick, when he noticed a beautiful woman sitting near him. her evening dress was cut well away at the shoulders, displaying a white neck around which a pearl necklace glowed in the light. a mass of auburn hair was coiled up neatly round her head, with a rebellious little curl streaming down one ear. the curl fascinated jim. he thought it ought to be put back in its proper place, but a second's reflection revealed to him the fact that it was intended to trickle thus alluringly. it was there for effect. it enhanced her considerable charm. in the midst of his interested survey she turned and caught his eye. he began to study his boots with an embarrassed blush. when he ultimately stole another glance at this wealth of feminine beauty he found she was busily engaged in similar scrutiny--of himself. they both smiled. then she stood up, languidly, and came across to him. "pardon me, but you are from the west, aren't you?" "right first time." "ah, i thought so. you westerners can't disguise yourselves. i love the west. i was born in wyoming." here at last was a sympathetic soul. jim edged along a little. she sat down. "you don't like new york?" she queried. "i don't," he replied emphatically. "it leaves me gasping for breath." she nodded. "i felt like that when first i came down. i wish i were you to be going back again." jim laughed. "but i'm not going back." she opened her brilliant eyes and then laughed. "i know. you've made a pile and are now seeing life. is that it?" "something like that." "i knew it." jim was getting his nerve back. it was the first time he had been in close proximity to a powdered back and rouged lips, and the sensation was curious. no man with blood in his veins could help admiring the soft lines of her neck and arms--and jim had plenty of blood about him. "where'd you say you hailed from?" he queried. "rock springs, wyoming. d'you know it?" "know it? i should say! wal, if that ain't the pink limit!" "we ran a ranch there," she went on in a rich musical voice. "i wish i was there now, but there's a spell about cities. you'll find that out soon enough." "i ain't seen much spell about this one," retorted jim. "gee! i've never seen such a bunch of blank-mangy-looking men. the wimmen ain't so bad." she laughed. "thank you!" "and cyards! suffering moses! i seen a guy deal a straight flush to himself and no one savvied he'd got the pack sandpapered. out in medicine bow he'd hev' bin filled up with lead to his shoulder-blades. i guess this is a darn bad place." "you're lovely!" she said merrily. "but when in rome, do as rome does. do you go to dinner in that rig-out?" jim felt nervously at his throat. "what's wrong with it?" "nothing. it suits you admirably. but the hotel won't like it." "see here," he retorted, "i don't give a tinker's cuss what the hotel likes. anyway, it's decent, which is considerably more'n some of the dresses i've seen. there's a gal with nothin' more'n a bit of muslin she could fold up and put in her mouth. she's got mother eve beaten to a frazzle." they gossiped for half an hour, and then edith (he heard a friend call her by that name) left him and went to dinner. the next meeting happened on the following day. edith's company appealed to him. she certainly used a lot of "make-up," and creams that smelt like a chemist's shop; but all new york smelt vile to jim, so he didn't complain. taking his courage in both hands, he invited her to dine with him. she accepted with as much eagerness as maidenly modesty would permit, and jim went off to lunch in the best hotel in town, to take careful note of the proper procedure of a gentleman "standing treat" to a lady. he got it off fairly well, making notes on a sheet of paper. then he went to his room and rehearsed it all. he started dressing himself about five o'clock, and had nearly got his clothes to his satisfaction by the appointed time--seven-thirty. the dinner was a roaring success. conversation was feeble because all his time was taken up in observing correct decorum. edith sat and regarded him with curious eyes. she wondered, for good reasons, what the emotions of such a man might be. behind those quiet, simple eyes of his there occasionally flashed something that made her afraid--dreadfully afraid. she had not wasted time that day. she knew this big, uncultured fellow was james conlan, late of topeka mine--a millionaire. jim breathed a huge sigh of relief when they left the dining-hall and walked through the lounge into the wide balcony. he was standing looking out over the street when he noticed her totter and clutch a chair. "what's wrong?" he gasped. "i--i feel faint. i----" she closed her eyes. here was a situation that had not been rehearsed by jim. he wondered whether he ought to ring the fire alarm or call the police. edith solved the problem. "if--you will assist me--to the elevator----" he had never thought of that. he grabbed her arm and helped her to the elevator. she still looked pale and distressed. "fourteenth floor. no. !" she murmured. they left the elevator at the fourteenth floor. no sooner had the lift disappeared than edith collapsed on the floor. he looked round for a friend in need, but the corridor was deserted. the door near at hand was numbered . so must be near by! he stooped and picked up the still figure as though she were a child. in half a dozen strides he was at . the door was unlocked, so he pushed it open and entered. he found the electric-light switch, and then placed his burden gently on the bed. he was drawing his arm from under her when she opened her eyes. "water!" he searched and found a water decanter and a glass. she seemed too weak to sit up, so he helped her by placing one arm under her head. she sipped the liquid and looked into his eyes. then to his utter amazement she clasped both her arms round his neck and pulled his face close to hers. "hell!" he muttered. "i love you!" she said. "don't you see i----" "say, you're bad!" he said. "drink some more water----" he strove to free himself, but finding he could only do so by hurting her, refrained, and tried to bring her to her senses. undoubtedly she had suddenly gone mad! the ingenuous jim could find no other solution. he was telling her to "be a good kid" and not "to get fresh," when the door opened and slammed. he looked round to find a tall dark man, in evening dress, surveying him fiercely. "good-evening," said the stranger cuttingly. jim broke away and faced the latter. "who in hell are you?" "ask her." jim turned to edith. she seemed strangely perturbed. "my--my husband!" "wal, i'm glad to meet you," said jim coolly. "your wife had a fit or something, so i jest brought her along. i guess i'll be mushing." to his amazement the man barred his path. "a nice story," he said. the eyes of colorado jim narrowed to the merest slits. he turned to the woman. "tell him!" he growled. she shrunk before those terrible eyes of his, and gripped the pillow with nerveless hands. her lips opened but she said nothing. jim started, and then caught her by the shoulder. "did you git me? he's wanting to know why i'm here. tell him." "how can i tell him?" she wailed. the man laughed. "you needn't waste breath. so this is how mr. james conlan spends his time. it'll make a fine story...." jim's brain was working fast; but he was slow in the uptake in such circumstances as this. the woman had seemed so genuine. why did she maintain silence? it was a novel experience in his life. all the ways of this strange city were foreign to him. the man's voice broke in: "a fine story it will make in the press." "eh----!" "the morals of a millionaire." "eh!" growled jim again. "maybe you wouldn't like this to appear in print?..." and then jim saw it all. it was like a story from a magazine. he had never believed those things could be true. but here it was in real life. a frame-up--a dirty piece of blackmail. "can't we come to terms, mr. conlan...." the suave voice got no farther than that. he saw six-feet-odd of bone and muscle rear up like a piece of steel and descend on him. a great hard hand caught him by the neck and bounced him up and down the room. "you swab! you tinhorn! i've manured a potato patch with better stuff, by gawd! and she's your wife, you dirty trash! she ain't your wife--no, sir. i savvy what she is. suffering rattlesnakes! i'm waitin' to hear about it. when did you frame to put this over me? talk up or i'll yank you outer the window into the street." "damn you--let me go!" "i'll 'damn you,' you muck! take that!" a resounding slap sounded as a hand like leather met the man's face. edith screamed. "talk up!" "we--arranged--it--this afternoon," gasped the man. jim flung him to the floor and advanced on the pallid edith. she retreated before him. he was about to clasp her when a voice rang out. "hands up!" he swung round to find his late victim brandishing a revolver. an ugly leer crossed his face. he evidently meant business. jim stared at the revolver. "put 'em up or i'll drill you. i can plead the unwritten law. i've got you now, my buck-jumping desperado." jim coolly blew his nose. "put 'em up!" he put up his hands and dropped the handkerchief. he stooped to pick up the latter and, with a lightning movement, caught the edge of the mat and pulled with all his strength. the man, standing on the end of it, came to earth with a crash. jim flew at him and made for the hand that held the gun. over and over they went like cats. then it was that edith lent a hand--to her confederate. she ran to the dressing-table and took up a small penknife. jim was leaning over his victim, wresting the gun from his hand, when she reached him. the knife came down twice in his shoulder. the intense pain caused him to drop the gun, but he picked it up again, hurled his inert opponent across the room, and went to edith. the knife dropped from her fingers as she saw the blood streaming down his white shirtfront. "i don't fight wimmen," he growled. "there ain't nothing i can do to you, 'cept this." he suddenly caught her and, holding both her wrists in one hand, with the other tore every shred of clothing from her.... then without a word he strode out of the room. "i'm through with this place," he muttered. "bright lights! gosh, i'm looking for where they don't shine so strong." somewhere in england were the graves of his ancestors. he didn't want to see the graves of his forefathers, even if he could find them, but the desire to give london the "once over" was now stronger than ever. the next day he booked a steamer berth and packed his bags. chapter iii social advancement jim's first impression of london was an ocean of flying mud, through which myriads of phantasmagorial creatures and things moved in sullen, unceasing procession; an all-enveloping wall of brown fog; and a roar like unto some monster in pain. when he stood on the embankment and strove to get a glimpse of the river, he came to the conclusion that "the hub of the universe" was not up to specification. the famous strand amazed him by its narrowness and its shortness. the buildings were dirtier than any buildings he had ever seen before, and the people cold, self-contained, units who seemed visibly to shrink back into their shells at his every attempt to hold conversation. for a whole week the fog and the drizzle continued as though no sun existed, or ever could exist. he wandered aimlessly, like a lost sheep, wondering how long a man could swallow quarts of dirt with his oxygen without getting permanently transformed into a human sewer. but he was getting a grip on things. his brain was gradually adapting itself to changed conditions. no longer did he gasp when a child in stepney picked up orange-peel from the gutter and ate it. here was the unending manifestation of nature's inexorable law, the survival of the fittest, more clearly and cruelly displayed than in new york. wealth and poverty were more definitely marked. if they merged at all, it was away in the suburbs, or in the jewish quarter, whence issued, on saturdays, thousands of dark-skinned lads and girls, westward bound, to spend one hectic evening in the pleasure-ground west of st. paul's. the east end, strangely enough, appealed to him more than the west. he took expeditions down among the docks, and sat in squalid public-houses listening to the coarse conversation of their habitués. there was always something new to shock, or interest, the eyes. it was no strange thing to find a woman performing certain domestic avocations before a pot of beer. some of them brought potatoes and peas, peeling and shelling these in the bar in preference to the hovels which they inhabited. the "pub" was their club and general meeting-house. once he managed to get into conversation with one of these products of "the hub of the universe." her point of view staggered him. her meek acceptance of her lot sickened him. why didn't she fly--she and her man--away to green fields and fresh air, away from this plague-ridden, dismal city? the suggestion brought from her a peal of mirthless laughter. later he arrived at the truth. these people suffered from the greatest disease of all--_the fear of living_. their hearts were rotten. they lived and died, rooted to some few acres of mud and muck because they feared what lay beyond. like children they feared the unknown. daylight lay beyond the jungle, but they believed it to be the pit of doom--of empty stomachs and endless tribulation. nothing could be done for them until the system was smashed. unsophisticated, uncultured as he was, he succeeded in grasping the root of the problem--education. they were living a lie. the very environment conspired to perpetuate that lie. when one among them stood up and averred that life meant something more than this, that man was not made to eke out his life in bitter misery, that the result of the toil of the worker was filched by some inexplicable process, he was immediately voted "balmy." they were not ripe for fighting. there was as yet no clearly seen cause that would rouse them from their torpor. but one day the flood would burst the dam of besotted ignorance, and the human cataract would descend with appalling force. colorado jim, born out of nature, succored by the sweet winds of heaven, was learning things. when at nights he stood at his window, at the top of the hotel, and gazed over the vastness of this squat monster, london, colorado seemed very far away. hitherto he had been a poor reader; he had had no time for books. now a book came into his hands. feeling lonely, he dipped into it. it was reade's "martyrdom of man." all night long he sat and read. all the civilizations of earth passed before him in perspective. it gave him a new interest in life. he wanted to go out and take this london by the throat. it was a mockery of what civilization should be. it was an insult to dead generations of men. man had fought and suffered and died for--this! humanity had labored for tens of centuries to give birth to--this! but his healthy mind recoiled from morbid speculation. he took a trip into devonshire, and found there a recrudescence of the old calm joyousness that he believed had somehow left him. he roved the devon hills in wind and rain, drew into his lungs the fragrant breath of the moorland, and felt a better man. he sang as he walked--a great deep song that went echoing along the valleys. space--space! there was the magic potion. what were money, success, power, compared to the free delights of nature? on his return to london he seriously reflected upon the advisability of going back to medicine bow. man is a gregarious animal, and jim was feeling the need of friends. what envy was his when he perceived little groups of friends, gathered together around some table, laughing and making merry! he had found the big london clubs astonishingly exclusive. a man had to be proposed and seconded, and what not, by existing members, who had to vouch for his moral or social standing. jim felt an outsider; an alien among strange people, whose ways were not his ways. it might have been colorado for him but for a totally unexpected occurrence. he was returning from a trip to the crystal palace, and was waiting on the railway platform for his train, when a drunken man started a commotion a few paces from him. exhibiting signs of violence, two porters came forward to remove him. that was, apparently, exactly what he wanted. he slipped off his coat and danced round in ungainly fashion. the porters advanced. he lunged out and caught the foremost man a heavy blow under the chin. the man reeled back and collided violently with an immaculately dressed man who was standing on the edge of the platform. the latter staggered, lost his balance, and fell on to the line. a frenzied voice screamed: "oh, my god, the train!" the locomotive arrived with a roar. the man on the line tried to rise, but the sight of the approaching doom paralyzed him. women shrieked and men stood rooted to the spot. no one saw the big form of jim descend like a thunderbolt on the back of the terrified man. an instant later the engine passed over them.... underneath the moving mass jim's fourteen stone of human tissue was pressed close to the form beneath him. he was scarcely conscious of taking the leap. his brain had yelled one distinct order to his active limbs: "keep him down flat!" he had obeyed that subconsciously. for a second or so it was pure oblivion, and then he realized what had happened. if there should not be enough clearance?... any considerable projection would mean.... but something happened which drove the specter of fear away. there came a sharp pain in his back. it grew to intense torture. a small, red-hot cinder from the engine was eating into his flesh. he wanted to raise his head, to put out his arm and remove this merciless thing. but will prevailed. the pain grew less. the roar ceased. he realized that the train had stopped. he could hear the excited murmur of voices. everyone seemed to be talking at once. "there's another there--that big man. i tell you...." "mary, come away...." "it went right over him. oh, poor fellow!..." "the big man was holding him down. they're safe, i tell you." a quavering male voice--that of the guard--came down through the space between the platform and the footboard of the train. "hel-lo, down there!" "yank your darned train out. there's a cinder half-way through my back," growled jim. shouts were heard and the train began to move. it seemed an eternity before the last coach passed over them. by that time the cinder had grown cold. jim kneeled up and gasped. he caught the other man in his arms and climbed on to the platform. the crowd rushed forward to shake him by the hand. he could have kissed any woman there without asking, but it never occurred to him. his one idea was to get away from this hand-shaking crowd. he made for the waiting-room, still carrying his man. "for gawd's sake keep that crush out," he begged of the station-master. the latter carried out this difficult task with ultimate success. when he came back the immaculate one had recovered his senses. he was still suffering from shock, but he found enough strength to wedge a monocle into his eye and to survey jim, wonderingly. "great scott--what a feat!" he exclaimed. jim was rubbing his injured back. "my deah fellah, it was positively superhuman! you saved my life--what!" "oh, that's all right." "bai jove, i should think so! it was positively and indubitably the most courageous thing i have ever seen or read of." his cultured lisping speech and his well-bred air interested jim. here was one of the upper ten thousand, the real flower of british aristocracy. jim's eyes traveled over him, noting the cut of his clothes and his general air of careless lassitude. it had taken ten generations to produce that finished article, and the man from the "wilds" wondered what was the real nature of the animal. physically he was a degenerate. his hands were long and tapered, and his limbs were exceeding small. but he possessed grace of movement. jim felt a sneaking admiration for the hundred-and-one little tricks of movement that characterized the immaculate one. but was it only veneer? were these polished externals without inward counterpart? in the meantime the immaculate one had taken stock of his saviour. he found much to admire in this amazing giant, with swells of muscle outlined behind the cloth that covered it. no man of his set could have done what this man had done. sensitiveness, culture, seemed to negate spontaneity of action. reason had usurped the throne of will. colorado jim only reasoned in his immature fashion. he acted without reason, on the impulse of the moment. impulse had its advantages. had he stopped to reason, the immaculate one would have soon been the object of a coroner's jury. jim found the slim white hand extended towards him. he shook it. "i should--ah--like to know to whom i am indebted?" "jim conlan, but it don't matter a cuss." "it matters a great deal--to me. i should like to give you my card." he produced a gold card-case and extracted a thin piece of paste-board. jim scanned it: _alfred cholmondeley, huntingdon club_. "i gather you are not the sort of fellah who loves a torrent of oral thanks," drawled cholmondeley; "but if at any time i can be of the slightest service to you, you have only to command me." it was then that an inspiration came to jim. he scanned the card again. "say, you mean that?" "try me." "wal, if you'd like to balance the account good and proper, git me into this yere club." cholmondeley stared, and coughed. "it's--ah--it's a deuced expensive club." jim's face relaxed. "i guess i can stand the pace." cholmondeley was at his wits' end. of all the impossible things on earth jim had asked the most impossible. the huntingdon was the doyen of london clubs; its titled members could have filled a very large volume. and here was this primal man of the wilderness seeking admission! "it don't matter," said jim, with a curl of his lip. cholmondeley set his teeth. "i'll do it," he said. "it's going to be demned difficult, but it shall be done. what's your address?" "hotel cecil." "count it as done." the great feat was ultimately achieved. jim received notification to the effect that he was now a member on probation. by pre-arrangement with the immaculate one he turned up one morning at the big building in pall mall. cholmondeley, who met him in the vestibule, nearly had a fit when he saw him. he had tacitly thrown out a hint that the huntingdon was correct in the matter of dress--and jim turned up in his usual garb. the wind was knocked clean out of jim's sails by the commissionaire's greeting to cholmondeley, "morning, your lordship." "what did that guy say?" he exclaimed. "i forgot to tell you i'm a viscount," replied cholmondeley. "gee, what's that?" "it's a title conferred on one of my ancestors for something he did for his king. but it's not of the least importance." jim felt nervous. he wished he might have fallen through the earth before suggesting that he should become a member of a club of this sort. cholmondeley was mildly amused. he had fought tooth and nail against the prejudices of some of the blue bloods, who had never heard of james conlan in their lives and had looked him up in burke in vain. cholmondeley, half-way through his adventure, was beginning to enjoy it. he had come to like jim immensely, though the latter's speech at times wounded his tender susceptibilities. "my deah fellah, we have a stormy--ah--passage to weather. if i may be allowed to tender a little advice, don't talk too much--yet." jim's brows clouded. "i get you. they won't like my kind of chin-music?" "they certainly will not. let us now have a drink to celebrate this extraordinary occasion." they were sitting in the lounge when a boy came in with a telegram. "lord 'chum-ley'!" he yelled. he eventually spotted cholmondeley and gave him the telegram. jim's eyes opened wide. "say, that ain't your name, is it?" cholmondeley nodded. "wal, if that don't beat the band!" a man that could make "chumley" out of cholmondeley was certainly a juggler with letters. "why in hell do you spell it that way?" "euphony, my deah chap--euphony!" who "euphony" might have been jim hadn't the foggiest notion. he relapsed into a moody silence, wishing the club at the bottom of the sea and himself back at medicine bow, where men pronounced words in the way they were spelt--more or less. jim's career in that club was anything but smooth. under the wing of cholmondeley he was saved from absolute ostracism. two weeks of utter purgatory were lived through, but cholmondeley was staunch. every day he turned up at the club and bade jim, on peril of his life, do likewise. "stick it out, conlan," he argued. "they're expecting you to run away and die with humiliation. when they discover you are not a--what was the word you used?--ah--quitter--they'll begin to appreciate you." jim hung on. even when cholmondeley was not present he used the club. his personality began to have effect, and he soon made two or three firm friends. one of these was the honorable claude featherstone, a healthy, good-looking youth, without a trace of snobbishness or social pride in his composition. he had been the first to come to jim with extended hand. "you're american, aren't you?" "nope, i'm english all right, but america's my country." claude's eyes traveled over jim's muscular figure. "ye gods! they breed 'em big where you come from. i don't think i'll try catch-as-catch-can with you. what do you think of this menagerie of ours? that fat man over there is the duke of aberdale. if he comes and tells you a tale about having left his purse at home--beware!" claude's acquaintanceship ripened into intimate friendship. it may have been pure hero-worship, but the fact remained that he thought jim the finest specimen of manhood he had ever known. jim, on the other hand, began to drop a few of his early prejudices. he came to realize that all men have something in common, and that accident of birth placed no insuperable bar between one and another. once penetrate that icy reserve, and more often than not there was a stout heart behind it. jim began to get popular. it was rumored he was fabulously wealthy--a slight exaggeration--and this helped him through, for the money-worship fetish prevailed even among "noble lords." cholmondeley, who knew all the ropes in this intricate mesh of british social life, intimated that a peerage might be bought for £ , . but jim wasn't "taking any of that dope." "it won't make my blood any bluer, i guess," he said. in two months he had thoroughly established himself--a plebeian had taken root in a forest of belted earls and lisping aristocrats. but it stopped at that. a retired "cowboy" was all very well in a club. if he chose to take up "gun-throwing" or garrotting, there was always a score or two of hefty servants to deal with him; but in a man's home, with wives and daughters present, well----! so jim's meteoric social ascent went no farther than that. even cholmondeley, who was his eternal debtor, never took him to house parties. jim had introspection enough to see the barrier. it was towards the end of winter that jim created a commotion which was nearly the cause of his being "blackballed." but for the intervention of his considerable circle of admirers, who believed his action to be justified, and threatened to resign _en bloc_ if the matter were not quashed, jim would have shaken the dust of the huntingdon from his feet. it was in the afternoon, and a trio of men were seeking for a fourth to make up a card party. seeing jim lounging on a settee they invited him to join in. he rather reluctantly assented, for one of the players was meredith, a man he disliked intensely, which dislike was thoroughly reciprocated. they played all the afternoon, and meredith won steadily. he talked a lot about his abnormal luck, but one man present seemed to be constantly on the fidget. jim had been weaned on cards in a place where gambling was the salt of life, and "tinhorns" were as plentiful as mosquitoes in summer. he kept his eyes on the slim, nimble hands of meredith, and what he saw did not please him. meredith was in the middle of a deal when jim suddenly flung his cards across the table and stood up. "i'm through with this," he growled. the other players gasped, and meredith's brow contracted. by this time the room was full of members lounging and talking before dinner. the tone of jim's voice suggested that something was wrong. "what's the matter?" asked one of the players. "i don't like the deal." meredith leaped from his chair. "do you dare insinuate...." "i don't insinuate nothin'. i jest ain't playin' this hand." claude came behind him. "careful, jim," he whispered. "you are making a very serious accusation." meredith came across and stood within a foot of jim's taut face. "mr. conlan," he said, "i am waiting for an explanation." "where i come from," said jim grimly, "men who slip cards that way are lynched on the nearest tree." a gasp came from the company. never in the history of the club had anything like that happened. "you liar!" snapped meredith. jim's hand came out. his fingers buried themselves in meredith's shoulder, till the pale face winced with pain. his great body tightened up and his eyes were like cold steel. no one had ever called him "liar" before. it aroused all the innate fury within him. the other hand was drawn back to strike--and then he remembered. he gave an almost pitiful grunt and released his grip. cholmondeley and a few others dragged him away. "conlan," said claude, "you oughtn't to have said that. it isn't done." "there's no way out," whispered cholmondeley. "you'll have to apologize." a dapper little man, a bosom friend of meredith's, hurried forward, bristling with indignation. "you have grossly insulted a member of this club, sir. we demand an apology," he said. "better apologize," whispered claude. jim was trying to be a "gentleman," but the word "liar" from the lips of a card-sharp had pierced the thin veneer that a few months of sophisticated environment had brought about, and scratched into the coarser material beneath. restraint went to the winds. "apologize!" he roared. "apologize to a swindling tinhorn? i should smile!" chapter iv angela the featherstones were a remarkable family--remarkable in their unparalleled irresponsibility. they had a house in grosvenor place and another in devonshire. the latter, like the featherstones, was gorgeous in its external aspect, but thoroughly unstable in its foundations. the instability of lord featherstone was of a financial character. he, like the rest of his family, believed in giving a wide berth to such sordid considerations as money. whenever he wanted money he called in the family solicitor, who promptly raised another mortgage on something. featherstone was so used to signing his name on pieces of paper that custom grew into habit. lady featherstone still gave expensive house parties, and the honorable angela acted as though all the wealth of the indies was behind those magic signatures of papa. young claude, with a liberal allowance per annum, managed to wring a few thousands overdraft from his banker by dint of a plausible tongue and a charm of manner. when the crash came and featherstone was forced to face realities, the house was like a mortuary. "but surely you can raise the wind, my dear ayscough?" the aged solicitor, an intimate friend of the family, shook his head. "there's little badholme." "mortgaged to the last penny. it was never worth the ten thousand they advanced." featherstone paced up and down and blew rings of smoke into the air. "we shall have to economize, my dear ayscough. we shall have to economize." he had said that so many times before, that like the production of his autograph it had become a habit. ayscough, seeing carey street looming in the distance, was unusually glum. economy was scarcely an antidote at this stage, for mortgagees were threatening foreclosure. "i rely upon you, ayscough. i rely on you absolutely." ayscough looked blank. it was no use trying to explain to featherstone the exact state of the family's finance. generations of featherstones had eaten well into the coffers. prodigality was their outstanding characteristic. "if i might make a suggestion----" featherstone was in the mood to consider the wildest suggestion. he had none of his own. "there is--er--miss angela." "there is, ayscough. precisely--there is." then he suddenly halted and looked at the lawyer. "by jove! i see your point. but it won't avail us. angela is a queer girl. she has distinct aversions to marriage." "but if she knew that a wealthy--er--fortunate marriage would save you and lady featherstone a certain amount of anxiety----?" "i doubt it. besides, wealthy husbands are not so easily picked up. there are a dozen girls after every man of ample means. no, i think we may discard that possibility. think it over, my dear ayscough. i leave it entirely in your hands." ayscough had been thinking it over for the last three years. he went away with visions of the fall of the house of featherstone at no very distant date. at that moment the honorable angela was busily engaged sending out invitations to a dinner party. she was two years older than claude, a typical featherstone, fair and straight of limb, with finely chiseled features and delicate complexion. her eyes were large and long-lashed, but somewhat cold. a life of indolence and luxury had bred a certain air of imperiousness in her. she was known to her friends as angela the frigid. but this appellation was not quite justified. at times she was far from frigid. under different circumstances she might have been as warm-blooded as any southern peasant-girl, but pride of birth and breeding had dampered down most of the natural emotions. she was exquisite in every physical detail. she had almost finished her list of invitations when claude burst into the library. she turned her head for a second and went on writing. he strode up to the table and began to read the cards. "please go away, claude. don't touch them. they're still wet." "great heavens! you aren't asking mrs. carruthers!" he ejaculated. "why not?" "she's simply impossible. angela, take her off the list." "this is mother's list, not mine." "but that woman--angela, she isn't proper." "what do you mean?" "oh, you know." "i don't." "well, ask any of her friends. oh, by the way, i want one of those cards. thanks!" he took one, to her great annoyance, and then asked for a pen. she gave it to him with a little sigh. he filled in the blank card and read it with a grin. "mother will be annoyed if you send out invitations without consulting her." "i'll tell her when i've posted it. it's to a fellow i know very well." angela took the pen. she began to write the last card, hesitated, and then asked: "who is he?" "man named conlan." the pen dropped from her fingers. "not your cowboy friend?" "even so, fair sister. and why not? i tell you jim--conlan is the greatest thing on earth. oh, you'll love him." she frowned. "don't be ridiculous, claude. you simply can't ask that man here. you told me he swore and----" "but only when he's annoyed. you swear when you are annoyed, don't you? i've heard you." "claude!" she jerked her beautiful head upward. "swearing isn't a matter of words entirely--it's an emotion. you say 'bother,' i should say 'damn,' and conlan would say something far more effective, and they each express exactly the same emotion. but you can't judge a man by his vocabulary." "i judge him by your description of him--a retired cowboy, with few manners and less morals----" claude put the card into an envelope and sealed the latter with a heavy blow of his fist. "angela, you are perfectly cattish at times. why shouldn't i ask conlan here? he's as good as you or i, or any of the people who visit us. that he is rough in his ways and speech is due to the fact that he has had to work for his living." angela's lips curled a little. "and, moreover, unless something happens to prevent it, i shall in all probability have to solicit orders for motor-cars, or some other necessary evil. you, angela, may have to write figures in a ledger, or look after somebody else's children." angela treated him to a withering glance. "it's not so big an exaggeration after all," he resumed. "you've seen ayscough hanging around of late, haven't you? what does it convey? we're broke, angela. lord, we are an extraordinary family! broke, and sending out invitations to scores of the high and mighty as though we owned the earth!" angela flushed. even now the specter of bankruptcy failed to affect her. she had never reckoned luxury in terms of money. money values she was positively ignorant of. things were ordered and delivered, and there was an end of it. she suddenly burst into laughter. "you are most amusing, claude. bring your american hercules here and we'll charge half a guinea for a sight of him." claude said nothing. he posted his letter, and meant to make it clear to angela and the family that conlan was a friend of his, and therefore should be treated as any other guest would be. when, later, he confessed his escapade to his parents, they were almost too shocked for words. "you must write and tell him it was a mistake," urged her ladyship. "my dear claude!" expostulated featherstone. "you let impetuosity carry you to the verge of insanity. what can this poor fellow----" "poor fellow be hanged!" retorted claude, now thoroughly roused. "he's no more poor fellow than you. he's rich enough to buy us up lock, stock, and barrel; and he is as proud of his name as we are of ours, though he doesn't make a song about it." featherstone looked hurt at this exhibition of filial revolt. being a wise man he dropped the subject _pro tem_. later claude went in and apologized. "pater, i particularly want you to meet conlan. he isn't what you think him to be. if, when you see him, you don't approve of him, i'll never ask him home again." featherstone gripped his son's hand. "very well, my boy. you can rely upon me. but i do hope he won't swear--much." jim's sensations at receiving the invitation were indescribable. claude's people were the cream of english aristocracy. at first he decided he wouldn't go, but second thoughts brought him to realize that claude must have arranged this, and his regard for claude was very deep. he hunted out the discarded dress-suit and tried it on again. certainly he felt more at home in it than of yore. the collar caused him less torture, and he managed to keep the "breastplate" of the shirt from buckling, which it seemed to delight in doing. he had lost some of his facial sun-brown, and this lent him a more refined appearance. "i'll go," he muttered, "if it kills me." when the great day arrived he felt as though some invisible being were pouring quarts of ice-water down his spine. he had already made himself acquainted with "enquire within," and found that claude's mother should be addressed as "lady featherstone"; but the question of angela caused him anxious moments. he thought "honorable miss" sounded a little too japanese. he tackled claude on this delicate problem. "oh, call her anything," said that worthy. "what do you say to 'angy'?" jim didn't feel like jesting on so serious a subject. he decided that in angela's case he would drop the ceremonial form, and call her miss featherstone. the memory of that evening is destined to live as long as the body of james conlan inhabits this mortal coil. when he gave the servant his hat and stick and the footman his card, and heard that powdered monstrosity bawl "mr. james conlan" to a room filled with shimmering gowns and glistening shirt-fronts, jim's flesh went cold. but the vigilant claude helped him through. claude was like a streak of greased lightning, bouncing jim here and there to be introduced to a hundred and one people, leaving our hero a nervous wreck. featherstone and his wife acted in the most courteous fashion, her ladyship having been coerced into accepting the inevitable with as good a grace as possible. featherstone himself was instantly impressed by this muscular giant, who looked like an enlarged statue of phoebus apollo. he adjusted his monocle to get a fuller view. "claude has spoken a good deal about you, mr. conlan," he drawled. "it is a pleasure to meet you here." jim, scarcely trusting his voice, carried out a bow, at which much practice had been put in. "say, kid, how did i do that?" he whispered. "fine!" said claude. they found angela strolling with a girl friend in the conservatory, which was gayly illuminated with chinese lanterns. they turned at the sound of footsteps. angela wore a dress of deep mauve, against which her pale grecian face and her exquisite neck shone with enhanced beauty. the other girl was literally outshone by her beautiful companion. jim felt a hot wave run through him. never in his life had he seen anything so amazingly beautiful as angela. he heard claude's introduction, and bowed automatically. then claude did the most outrageous thing: he took the arm of angela's companion and tripped away with her. jim was horrified. he looked round seeking for some way of escape, but there was none. angela's face relaxed in a cold smile as she realized the terrible nervousness of this big uncouth man. it pleased her somewhat to feel that she was the cause of it. "you are a member of my brother's club, aren't you?" she asked. "yep--yes," he stuttered. he wondered if he ought to offer his arm as claude had done to the other girl, and escort her back to the house; but he dare not. there was a seat near by. angela sank into it. "won't you sit down?" she asked. he did so, with a sigh of relief. he was more at his ease sitting than standing. for the first time in his life he was ashamed of his size. angela's delicate limbs and hands made his, by contrast, appear elephantine. "have you been long in england?" "few months." "and what do you think of it?" here was a question that was easy enough to answer. "i guess it's a cute little country, but it ain't big enough for a man to breathe in. there's no wind, no sunshine. and the people are as cold as the climate." angela laughed. "so we are cold?" "oysters. i came the hul way from devonshire to london in a train with another guy--man. 'good-morning,' says i. 'good-morning,' says he--and that's all there was to it. it beats me, this frostiness--ain't natural." angela winced at the speech. the mutilated anglo-saxon caused her almost physical pain, yet the voice was musical enough and deep as a bassoon. "all you americans say the same thing." "but i ain't american. i was born in cornwall. went to colorado in ' and sailed round in a prairie schooner, with wild injuns after our scalps. i reckon that was no picnic for my people. i was a little fellow then--not big enough to tell an injun from a bear. we didn't find gold, but we found god's own country. wal, i can't remember much about it--thank god, i can't remember much." she looked at him, amazed by the tenseness of his words. "what don't you wish to remember?" his brows contracted and the big hands closed till the knuckles almost penetrated the skin that covered them. "the injuns got us in the end," he said huskily. "i jest remember the huge red sun going down on the prairie, with the wagon and two tents down by a stream, where the horses were watering. there was a kind o' grotto affair beyond the stream. old sam, the driver, came and yanked me into that. i was young, but i savvied what it meant.... it was hell arter that--shooting and screaming.... when i came out.... when i came out...." he said no more. his eyes were staring into nothingness as through his brain flashed the dreadful scene of youth. he remembered running and crying--running and crying into the wilderness until a party of emigrants rescued him from madness. angela sat with parted lips. it was strange to be sitting there listening to such horrors. she was conscious of the giant personality behind his nervousness. the great voice commanded her attention. in those few moments she was afraid of him. "let us go in," she said. the rest of the evening was a dream to jim. occasionally people stared at him as though he were a creature from a menagerie, and several adventurous folks actually talked with him. but all this was like a hazy background against which shone the almost unearthly beauty of angela. a new phase had been entered in the life of colorado jim. passion, long dampered down by wild living and arduous toil, leaped up in one soul-consuming flame. he was in love with a woman--a woman as far above him, and as unattainable as a star. he moved about like a drunken man, bewildered by this new and terrible desire. "what do you think of angy?" queried claude. "why didn't you tell me?" he said fiercely. "tell you what?" "tell me she was like that." "what on earth are you talking about?" jim shut his mouth with a snap. "nothin'," he said. these featherstones knew how to enjoy themselves. for hour after hour the dreamy strains of waltz music came from the string orchestra, and couples moved rhythmically round the big room, as though fatigue was a thing unknown. once or twice jim caught sight of the angel of his dreams, with face no longer pale, hanging on some man's arm, immersed in the all-consuming measure. it was maddening.... he was sitting in the conservatory, smoking, when featherstone came out. all the evening he had kept an inquisitive eye on jim. this was featherstone's mental day, and one of those rare occasions when he thought about money and things. "ah, mr. conlan," he drawled. "so you don't dance?" "no--leastways, not that sort." "pity. dancing is a fine exercise." "i guess i'm not in want of exercise." "no?" he looked at jim's huge figure. "'pon my word, i think you're right.... are you settling down in this country--buying a small estate, making the most of your fortune, and all that sort of thing?" "there ain't no place in this country big enough to hold me long. i could swaller all the oxygen in the strand in one gulp." featherstone laughed amusedly. "london isn't england. it's a growth upon the land. there is still wales, scotland, devonshire----" "ah, devonshire! now, that is some pretty little garden, i agree." "oh, you like it?" "sure." "so do i. wish i might live there always, but one must consider one's family, and bond street and the opera have their attractions for the young people. that is why i am selling the devonshire place. can't let good property lie unoccupied, and letting is so devilishly unsatisfactory." he was congratulating himself he had wrapped that pill up not so badly for an unbusiness-like man. jim took the bait quite well, too. he didn't want to buy any property, but he wasn't averse to keeping on the right side of featherstone. where featherstone was there was angela, and he might extend negotiations over months of time and then "turn down" the proposition if he felt like it. "say, is that property sold yet?" he queried casually. "no. it was only recently that i decided to sell. i have another country place in kent, much more convenient." "mebbe i could see it?" "certainly. my agent will be pleased to show you over." as an afterthought he added: "better still, we are spending a fortnight there, and i should be happy if you would spend the time with us. you could--ah--then examine the place at your leisure." jim's eyes glistened. the prospect of a fortnight in close proximity to angela--it was magnificent, unbelievable! he strove to control his eagerness. "i'll be sure pleased," he said. jim went home with his brain in a whirl. love had come, late, but with tremendous fury. he gained no sleep that night. the star of his desire shone like a mocking mirage before his mind's eye. it was all impossible, hopeless, but to love and lose were better than to live in ignorance of life's strongest passion. to dally with the impossible were sheer madness, he knew that. but what was to be done but obey the yearnings of his heart, though it brought its own revenge? the next morning saw featherstone in a perfectly angelic mood. the cause was soon revealed. "my dear," he confided to his wife, "i have sold little badholme." "claude!" "ah, i thought that would come in the nature of a surprise." "but you said it was mortgaged?" "quite so, but i shall get a sum much in excess of the mortgage." "but who----?" "that american fellow--conlan; not a bad chap, not at all a bad chap." lady featherstone looked a trifle hurt. she looked more so when her noble spouse added: "so i've invited him down with us for a fortnight to look over the place." "claude! whatever has taken possession of you? i thought we had done with that man. and besides, i am not going to bury myself in devonshire at the height of the season." "if you don't, my dear, there is likely to be no season--for us. you must look realities in the face. if i can sell badholme----" "but you said you had sold it!" "tut--tut! it is as good as sold. he can't refuse it after having stayed there with us. besides, the fellow is as rich as croesus!" it was accordingly settled. featherstone sent volleys over the telephone. "get the place thoroughly redecorated, ayscough. it has to be finished in three weeks. armies of workers.... and the blue room on the first floor, put in a new ceiling, something elaborate. what's that? can't do it in three weeks? but it _has_ to be done. i leave it to you, my dear ayscough.... oh, the garden wants seeing to. i must have the garden put straight.... and the paths graveled.... a few sheep in the park might lend a nice effect.... don't talk about impossibilities. this is a very urgent matter. do you think you could hire half a dozen horses?" when claude heard the extraordinary news that the family was leaving for little badholme in three weeks' time he wondered what was in the wind. when he subsequently learned that one james conlan was to visit them as guest, his suspicions overleaped his delight. angela, the imperturbable, merely went on reading bernard shaw. chapter v frost and fire little badholme hung on the sheer edge of a precipice. its hundred acres of park and meadow wooed the blue waters of the atlantic on the western side, and climbed dizzy heights on the southern, affording the spectator an uninterrupted view of the dartmoor tors. the front of the house faced seawards and, in bad weather, the spindrift, hurled over the cliff, drenched the windows and the rather unsightly stucco which the position of the house rendered necessary. featherstone had shown considerable acumen in giving jim the corner room on the first floor. it looked over country of unparalleled beauty. patchwork farmlands stretched away, on the one hand, extending to the estuary of the teign; whilst from the windows on the western side the rolling ocean shone under the summer sun. all the best furniture had been placed in that room, including a genuine hepplewhite suite of beautiful design. jim had no eye for antiques, but he had a fine appreciation of scenery. ten days had passed on wings of magic. he saw angela every day and claude all day. featherstone was perfectly charming. he could not have exhibited greater solicitude for the comfort of his guest had he been the shah of persia or the prince of wales. lady featherstone was polite, and no more. angela was frigid. she seemed to be beyond his power to excite. once or twice she showed a slight interest in his actions or reminiscences. she had even openly admired his wonderful horsemanship; but she never failed to make perfectly clear the huge gulf that loomed between a "cowboy" and a daughter of british aristocracy. the ingenuous claude was feeling extremely uncomfortable. he could not bring himself to believe that his father's extraordinary behavior was genuine. politeness was one thing, but flattery was another. all that "attention" seemed so out of place with his lordship, who was notoriously vain of his name and antecedents. claude himself was a little sick of family pride. he had even on one occasion intimated to his mother that he knew for a fact that the first featherstone got his letters patent for the noble act of assassinating a certain duke whose wife henry eighth had taken a violent liking for, a remark which so upset her ladyship that she took to bed for ten days. on convenient occasions featherstone appropriated jim to himself and deftly led the conversation into channels most dear to him. what did conlan think of the property? it was by pure accident that claude stumbled across the plot. featherstone was speaking to ayscough on the telephone, on the question of the price of little badholme. claude was flabbergasted--£ , for a place that was leaky and draughty through half the year, and which showed a tendency to slide seaward! the whole business was disgusting. he waited until his father had finished, and then interrogated him. "pater, you--you aren't trying to sell this place to conlan?" featherstone shrugged his shoulders. "mr. conlan approached me on the matter." "but it's not worth that price." the noble lord resented this remark. "claude, isn't this a matter that concerns mr. conlan and me? it's not at all pleasant to find you--eavesdropping." "eavesdropping--great scott! you don't mean you think...." featherstone came up to him. "i didn't mean that. but this is a matter of business. mr. conlan wants to buy and i want to sell. he's a perfectly free agent in the matter." he abruptly left the room. claude felt sick, humiliated. it was all so perfectly clear. jim knew nothing about english property. it was only natural he should place himself in featherstone's hands. he determined to put a stop to such a swindle as was contemplated. but his plan to warn jim was frustrated by the later realization that jim was madly in love with angela. this astonishing fact was sufficient to drive everything else from his mind. he had no delusion as far as angela was concerned. dozens of men had tried their luck on angela, and angela remained as frozen as the north pole. poor jim! he blamed himself for having been instrumental in bringing this meeting about. in her proud heart angela would merely despise any advances that jim was foolish enough to make. he watched jim carefully for the next two days. the evidence thus gained was painful to bear. the honest, magnificent, unsophisticated jim was torn and tortured by a mad, hopeless love. claude could stand it no longer. "jim," he said, "don't think me impertinent. i can't help noticing--you're in love." jim started and the color flamed up in his cheeks. "wal." "it's mad, jim, mad. she has no heart. you don't know her as i do. she's my sister and i love her, but i can't bear to see you living on hopes that are doomed to be fruitless. if you speak of this to her she'll hurt you. she doesn't mean it. it's her temperament. don't you see that to a girl of angela's social status a proposal from a man--like you is----" jim's eyes narrowed. he didn't like this. "jim," added claude swiftly, "don't do me an injustice. i'd be damned proud to have you as a brother-in-law. but don't court disappointment and pain by speaking to her----" "who said i was going to speak?" "i can see it--in your eyes." jim shrugged his shoulders. "you're right. i am," he jerked out. claude drew in his breath with a little hiss. jim suddenly swung round on him. "see here, i'm not quitting on this. i've never been a quitter and i've clinched bigger propositions than this. what's wrong with me, eh? i guess i've bin taking a lot lying down of late. last night i see it all--cut and dried. there ain't nothin' in this blood business--nothin'. if your family sprang from william the conqueror i guess mine was there at the time. if there's anything in that adam and eve yarn, i reckon they were my grandparents as well as yours. what's wrong with me? am i blind, lame, consumptive? see here, kid, i know what it is to work. i know what it is to starve. i've never stolen or lied or murdered.... there's never been a gal on this earth that had cut any ice with me. i've bin too busy working to go galivanting after skirts. but this 'ere's different. i--i--wal, i guess i love her some. oh, i know she's proud and cold and thinks there ain't nothin' in trousers good enough for her. but i'm obstinate and i'm free with my tongue--at times. so we both got our faults. they kinder equalize. anyway, i love her, and that's good enough excuse for anyone who cares a damn about himself. and there ain't no law on this earth, sir, that says a man can't put a straight proposition to a gal he loves--no, by god!" there was something different about him. he had changed in one day. the old nervousness had gone. he was dogged, determined. there was nothing to be done with him. he meant to speak to angela, though she took the compliment as a dire insult. claude, fascinated by the ring of his bass voice and the flash of fire from his amazing eyes, wondered if, after all, he had not cause for courage--and optimism. but something strange happened the following morning. angela, with a smile, asked jim to go riding with her. it was the first time she had expressed the slightest desire for his company, and it sent thrills of delight running down his spine. they took the best two of the borrowed horses, and under a perfect july sky rode out into the moors. jim was like a boy. the intoxication of her presence sent all the foreboding from his brain. he did riding tricks, at her request, and set her marveling at his uncanny control of his mount. he seemed to be on intimate terms with the latter, stranger though it was. weird "cluckings" from his mouth were understood and obeyed without use of spurs. "it's marvelous!" she said. "he seems to understand all those noises." "it's horse language," he replied simply. "oh, come!" he made no reply, but dismounted. the horse stood perfectly still. "you watch out," he said. "i'm going to tell him to walk forrard." he made a queer noise, like water running out of a bottle, and the animal walked forward. a slight variation of the sound, and it stopped. he laughed at her mystified expression, and bidding her ride on, ran at his horse and with a magnificent leap sprang clear on to its back. in a second he was rushing like the wind across the moor. he jerked up the animal until it stood almost perpendicular on its hind-legs, and came back to her. "it's jest thinking in horse-sense," he said. "i ran a ranch for seven years, and you can't do that without thinking like a horse." they sat on the top of hay tor, and looked across the tumbling country to where the sea lay like a strip of cloth twenty miles away. right across the moors came the steady westerly wind, sighing and soughing, touching their cheeks with its fresh fingers. "is colorado better than this?" she queried. "you shouldn't ask me that." "why not?" "it's your home, and one loves one's home." "one loves one's home." the phrase amused her. he must have read that somewhere. she laughed, and instinctively he knew the cause of it. he bit his lips in anger as he realized that she merely mocked his attempts at better speech. but he forgot that later as they rode home through the gloaming. once only it occurred to him that to mock her horsemanship would be scarcely worse than jibing at his mode of expression--a thing which would have seemed sacrilege in his eyes. so all the culture--if culture meant refinement of thoughts and actions--was not confined to the blue-blooded aristocrats! sweet dreams, colorado jim! dreams of a pair of blue eyes in the face of a greek goddess, with limbs that praxiteles never surpassed. and these to be won by a man from the wilderness! he awoke to despise the day with its uncertainties. she might be cold again this morning--cold as she had been the day before yesterday. but it proved to be otherwise. she greeted him with a soft "good-morning," and walked with him into the garden, among the roses and sweet-smelling things of summer. and then--oh, wonderful, exquisite marvel!--plucked a sprig of mignonette, smelled it, and placed it in his buttonhole. after breakfast he bought the property; and he bought it in a manner dear to the heart of the vendor. he wrote a cheque, then and there, for £ , , and took a receipt, intimating that the "lawyer-man" would see to all the details later. something wonderful and mysterious had happened to angela. jim was too dazed to do anything but sit and gasp. he had held her hand, and she had let him do it. he had, with amazing intrepidity, taken her arm walking down the long avenue of trees, and she made no attempt to withdraw it. quick work was needed before some fly came and settled in the ointment! he got in his quick work that evening after dinner. "won't you come to the top of the hill? it's a full moon and a fine night," he whispered. she nodded and, getting a scarf, went out with him. blue, brilliant moonlight flooded the country. from out of the trees came the eerie cry of owls, and crickets sang out of nowhere. a few bars of gold still lingered in the western sky, deepening as the world moved over. "i'm going back to-morrow," he said suddenly. "ah----!" was it a sigh, or merely an indifferent ejaculation? "this holiday has been right down beautiful." "i'm glad of that." a slight breeze blew the scarf from her neck. he took it and replaced it, and his hand touched the soft warm flesh. it stayed there. he had no power to remove it. this girl of unearthly beauty and fascination paralyzed him. to think that he should be sitting there with the perfectest woman god ever made----! the storm within him broke. his body quivered, and his great hand took the warm slim one and held it like a vice. "angela--i've gotta tell you. i--love you. i've loved you since the first night i saw you. i've never wanted anything in my life like i want you." he stopped, realizing that he was gabbing at a terrific rate. "i'm rough--real rough, i know. but a man's a man for all that, i guess. and what can any man offer you better'n love--love that ... i'm no good at words--you'll understand that. chin music ain't my line. but i'm sure crazy about you." the hand he held trembled a little, but it stayed there. "angela--will you marry me?" her head turned. he saw the moon reflected in two glorious eyes. "yes," she said slowly. "you mean--you mean that?" he gasped, his voice almost choked with unutterable joy. "yes--i mean that." in another second she was swept up in his arms. all the world went out in that passionate embrace. for the first time in his life his mouth touched a woman's lips. featherstone paced up and down the library under the strain of considerable emotion, not to say excitement. her ladyship sat with an unread book on her knees gazing into nothingness. "they're a long time," said featherstone. "perhaps angela----" "angela was sure," he interrupted. "dear, dear! i wish they'd come back." lady featherstone fidgeted. "claude, i don't like this business at all. oh heaven! to think of angela married to a parvenu--a common _nouveau riche_!" "she might do far worse. angela herself realizes that. conlan undoubtedly loves her. it's for him to win her love. once the marriage is celebrated, she need see him no more--er--that is to say, they can make arrangements whereby they do not become a nuisance to each other. he is apparently fond of this place, and angela is not. what could be more natural than for angela to take a flat in town and conlan to live here?" lady featherstone shivered. "you think this man will reconcile the situation, once it becomes plain to him? claude, he is a veritable giant. i--i don't like the look of him at all.... oh, why couldn't we have waited and found a husband for angela in her own set!" featherstone shrugged his shoulders impatiently. "time brooks no delay. we are, my dear, in a pretty devilish position. thank god angela realizes that. rich husbands are not to be picked up every day, and it is essential that angela marries a wealthy man, and that immediately." "but to marry a--a cowboy!" "he may make the best of husbands. titles are to be bought. i think i could arrange that. no, on the whole i think it is a perfectly happy arrangement for us--and for him. as angela's husband he will have access to certain houses and clubs that otherwise would be closed to him." lady featherstone lapsed into gloomy silence. "claude was coming back to-night, too," said featherstone. "i don't like the idea of that boy spending nights in town. he's getting blasé, and at times very out of hand. what business could he have in town----?" voices drifted in through the open window. a few minutes later jim came into the library. lady featherstone immediately departed. "i'd like a word with you, lord featherstone." "certainly. take a seat." jim sat heavily in the armchair which featherstone offered. "to come to the point right now--i'm in love with angela, and we want to get hitched up--er--married." featherstone looked surprised. "i guess it's a bit of a blow. but you needn't fly off the handle. i love her all right, and i ain't 'xactly penniless." featherstone stroked his chin. "there are certain conditions to my approval. you will realize that angela occupies a prominent position in the social world, and i should naturally like to be assured that you are in a position to provide for her in a way commensurate with her needs. there would be, of course, some marriage settlement. but i do not wish to deal with that side. my lawyer, mr. ayscough, is a very old family friend. he has angela's interest at heart no less than i. his assurance on the--er--financial side would be sufficient guarantee. in such circumstances i should see no reason to withhold my consent." "thanks. put it there!" said jim. "now, where does he hang out?" "i beg your pardon?" "where does he live?" "oh, ayscough? lincoln's inn fields." "good. i'm off. i'll be along there first thing in the morning and get that settlement fixed up. i ain't a man that wastes time." the meeting between ayscough and jim was very brief. ayscough explained the position in choice language, and hit up for £ , marriage settlement. jim, who didn't quite see why he couldn't be trusted to look after his own wife, agreed without demur and went out like a whirlwind. "gee, it's all over bar shouting," he muttered. "jim, you husky, you're sure a lucky feller!" chapter vi the great awakening the marriage of colorado jim with the honorable angela created no great stir, for the simple reason that it took place in a registry office and received but two lines' notice in the "social" column of the press. jim was surprised that the family should wish to keep it so quiet, but as he himself much preferred that method of getting "hitched up" he made no complaint. he drove away with his beautiful bride, feeling that the greatest step in his life had been taken--which was certainly the case. where that step was to lead him he was fortunately unable to foresee. the attitude of claude puzzled him. since that day in devonshire, when claude had endeavored to intervene, the latter had spoken scarcely a dozen words to him. he shook hands with jim at the station and with angela, but his congratulations sounded weak and insincere. jim speedily forgot him in the thrill of the moment. nice was their destination--nice in all her october glory. he was actually on honeymoon with the object of his dreams and ambitions! this chapter in jim's life need scarcely be dwelled upon in any detail. it was so amazing, so unexpectedly baffling, that it sent him clean off his pivot of balance. all that marvelous happiness in his heart was shattered little by little. the first night at the hotel at nice left him pondering. it wasn't due to the fact that angela occupied a separate room, but that he heard her _turn the key in the lock_! he sat up half the night "browsing" on that singular occurrence. the second night, and every night after, the same thing happened. nothing else was needed to send him into fits of inward rage. not for all the wealth of the indies would he have touched the handle of that door! verily he was learning. each day drove home the lesson, until he writhed under the lash of it. he had married an iceberg. he found himself very much alone. in nice angela met scores of familiar faces. she spent most of her time with these friends, leaving jim to the terrible naked truth--to wrestle with it as best he might. he had kissed her at little badholme, had apparently thawed for ever the chilly heart of her. but here it was again--the frigid exterior that no kisses could melt. what had happened to her? was it that she had never cared at all--that her acceptance of his marriage offer was dictated by ulterior motives? before it was time for them to return to england the last scrap of illusion was knocked out of him. more miserable than ever he had been in his life, he sought for some solution. it was so obvious she didn't care for him. he saw that, in the company of her "high-browed" friends, she despised him. he found himself sitting down under this contempt--meekly accepting the rôle of enslaved husband, hand-servant to a beautiful and presumably soulless woman. on the night before they left she came back to the hotel very late, to find him sitting in a brown study. he watched her, furtively, discarding the expensive cloak, and taking off the heavy pearl necklace he had been fool enough to buy. he stood up and stared for a moment, in silence, out over the moonlit sea. when he turned she was going to her room. "angela!" she stopped, not liking the imperative note in his voice. "what's wrong?" "wrong?" "yep--with us?" she shrugged her shoulders. "i wasn't aware that anything was wrong." he leaned across the table. "angela. why did you marry me?" "because you asked me." "no other reason, eh?" "isn't that reason enough?" his mouth set in a grim smile. "i thought that when wimmen married men there was usually another reason. to take a man and not to tell him the truth ain't 'xactly on the level." "don't begin recriminations," she retorted. "i'm not beginning anything," he growled. "i'm jest telling you we can't go on like this, living in the same place and acting like strangers. i'm beginning to get wise to this queer shuffle of your family's----" she shivered a little as his intense gaze searched her face. "it wasn't a straight proposition, because all the perticlers wasn't put in. i didn't know i was buying a woman----" she flared up in an instant. "how dare you----!" "wal, put it how you wish, it comes to the same thing in the end. i fell to it all right, and i ain't squealing. if i was the sort o' man you, no doubt, take me for, i might want value for money, and i'm big enough to get it.... no need to get scared. though you love me like you might a rattlesnake, i happen to love you. you might as well know it." his calmness amazed her. she had half expected a furious onslaught. on one point she wanted to put him right. "you think i despise you, but that's not true," she said. "i couldn't have married you had i despised you. but i can't love you--i can't. can't you see that our ways lie far apart? all your life, your very mode of thought and speech, are the direct antithesis of mine. isn't it plain--wasn't it plain at first that it was a mere bargain? you and i can be nothing to each other but--friends." "no, it wasn't," he growled. "if you'd have told me that, i'd have seen you to hell before i married you, or even kissed you. blood is blood, and nature's nature, and passion's passion, and gew-gaws don't count--no, nor polite chin-music either. you were my woman, and i wanted you before all the other wimmen on god's earth. it's the little things that don't matter that fills your mind. if men were all tea-slopping, thin-spined, haw-hawing creatures like some i seen here, with never a darned notion of how to dig for their daily bread, though they talked like angels and acted like cardboard saints, this world 'ud be a darned poor show.... anyway, you've got to learn that.... we're going back to-morrow, and i guess we'd better finish this play-acting. devonshire's good enough for me if you'll take the london house." she nodded. that had been her own innermost desire. she was glad he made the suggestion himself. before coming away he had leased a house in maida vale, and had given instructions to liberty's to furnish it. it would be pleasanter there, in the midst of friends, than planted away in the wilds of devonshire with a "cowpuncher." the months that followed were purgatory to jim. once or twice he ran up to the club, where he heard things that were not conducive to a happy state of mind. angela was entertaining on a lavish scale. cholmondeley told him of the extraordinary "success" of his wife's parties. according to cholmondeley every other hostess was completely outshone by the beautiful angela, whose photograph was now an almost permanent feature in the daily press. it was on one of these visits that he met claude. the latter shook hands with him heartily, but seemed ill at ease. "what's wrong, young feller?" queried jim. claude passed off the question with a laugh. later, however he came to jim. "i'm sorry," he said. jim looked at him from under his eyebrows. "look here, jim," said claude impetuously, "can't you make it up with angela? it seems silly to prolong a quarrel." "eh!" the ejaculation made claude start. "well, whatever you quarreled about, it can't be much. come along and see her now." his frank smile dissipated any suspicions in jim's mind. claude actually didn't know what was wrong with the conlans! he believed it to be a mere marital squabble, that would blow over sooner or later. "kid," gasped jim, "you are the pink limit! i guess there ain't nothing that would stop angela from regarding me as unsifted muck, just as she has since the first time i saw her." "what!" "and you didn't know. wal, it's all in the family, and you may as well git wise to it." "but she's--she's your wife----!" "yep.... don't hurry, youngster. get it right back and masticate it well. they've fine heads for business in your family, not to mention play-acting." claude flushed. he stood up and gripped a chair by the back. "steady," said jim. "i'm telling you the truth.... but i thought you knew." claude was realizing it fast enough. "then there was no quarrel?" he gasped. "she--she simply left you?" "i told her she might--and she did. but you needn't worry none, i've staked bad claims afore." claude came over to him, much affected by the deep emotion that had crept into his voice. "jim, i didn't know. i swear i didn't know. i warned you because i didn't believe she could love and respect you as you deserve. but when i heard you were engaged i believed you had melted her in a strange way.... i see now where the money came from.... god! and she was mean enough to do that--to my--my friend." jim took him by the shoulder and steadied him. "she saved your people from a big financial crash, anyway--remember that." "is that any mitigation? i'd rather die in the gutter than live on money that was obtained by a vulgar fraud. she acted a lie--a damned despicable lie. that sort of thing is done every day, but the man usually knows what he is doing, and hasn't any scruples, and the girl sometimes learns to love him.... so we're living on the benevolence and innocence of a man who isn't good enough to be the _real_ husband of a featherstone. i wish to god my name were smith or jones--or anything that is honest...." he broke away from jim, humiliated by the knowledge that had come to him. on the morrow he dropped in at the club, his face set in a way strange to him. "i dropped in to say good-bye, jim." "eh!" "we had it all out last night--a real family gathering. i think i got a little militant. anyhow, it's better this way. what sort of chance is there for a chap like me in canada, jim?" jim put down his newspaper and stared. "you don't mean that, kid." "i do. i leave liverpool this evening." jim stood up and took his hand. "i reckon you'll do," he said. "but how's the bank? you wouldn't like a kind o' sleeping partner on a fifty-fifty basis, eh?" claude shook his head. "i know what you mean, jim. but i've money enough to get started at something. if ever i get a partner out there, i shall consider myself lucky if he's half the man you are." jim sighed. "i wish i was coming too.... you're sure about the dough? come, i'd like to invest a little in a real promising proposition. say five thousand--jest a small interest----" claude gripped his hand. "you're a real brick, jim, but it can't be done. no, i can't stay to lunch. i've got one or two calls to make. good-bye." "good-bye." he was about to leave when he turned again. "you mustn't mind me saying this, jim. meredith is seeing a great deal too much of angela. there is doubtless nothing in it, but--well, angela is my sister, and i don't like meredith." when he had gone jim sat and pondered over the words. a similar hint had been dropped by cholmondeley. so angela was already considered fair spoil by men like meredith! meredith was out to win the love that he had lost. it rankled--it hurt. but behind his fury there lurked the sinister shadow of defeat and humiliation. there were giddy heights to which he could not climb, and to which meredith was soaring--meredith, a man he could have taken in his own hands and broken; a cheat, armed with every weapon that culture could forge, and little else. in the evening he summoned up his failing courage and went to angela's house. it was one blaze of light and one tumult of sound. a dapper footman opened the door and took his card. he waited in the hall, running his eyes over the rich decorations. from higher up the hall came sounds of revelry, and now and again he caught sight of figures flitting to and fro. the sound of a string band drifted down to him, and then laughter--cultured, high-toned laughter that grated on his nerves. when eventually he was shown into the drawing-room, he wished he hadn't come. angela was one blaze of glory. her guests bowed to him in a fashion that was intended, and succeeded, to make their superiority felt. angela was cool and remarkably self-possessed. "i was passing and jest dropped in," he explained. "that was very nice of you. will you take anything to drink?" he shook his head negatively. he only wanted to get away from these people. they were too polite to whisper to each other, but their silence was eloquent enough. they were laughing in their sleeves at this unfortunate husband. a figure dawdled up, and bowing, took angela's arm with a smirking smile. it was meredith. it was a pleasure to breathe the fresher air outside. jim caught the next train to devonshire, feeling like a dog that has been kicked by its mistress. he arrived home to find a pile of bills--debts incurred by angela--awaiting him. he glared at them, half inclined to return them and repudiate responsibility. but he didn't. he wrote numerous checks for considerable sums and sent them away. "what a pace! but it's got to stop. god, why can't i get a holt on myself. jim, you ain't a man. they're putting you through your paces like a circus dog, and you're taking it all lying down." he jammed on his hat and went striding out into the country. chapter vii the climax the months passed and a new year was ushered in. the lonely man at little badholme wondered what it held for him. he had seen angela only once since the evening when he had called on her. she was riding in the row with meredith. she had not seen jim, but meredith had, and smiled to himself as though he was pleasantly conscious of the pangs he gave the former. it was after breakfast one morning that the newspaper brought amazing news to little badholme. the first piece of news was to the effect that gold had been discovered in big quantities in the klondyke, and that a vast stampede was taking place. the second was of far greater importance, so far as jim was concerned. it was announced in a comparatively small headline, but it leaped out to him as he casually glanced over the columns. big crash on the stock exchange. secretary and directors of the amazon copper company abscond. it came as a shock to him. but a few months since he had invested all his money in the amazon company! he ran to the telephone and got through to his broker. the reply was what he expected; the company had gone smash without hope of recovery, the shares were not worth the paper on which they were written. he put up the receiver and sat down to think things over. he was broke. save for his small bank balance and the house over his head, he had nothing in the world. he laughed grimly as he reflected upon his meteoric career. in the meantime there was angela spending as though money came from some eternal fountain! he frowned as he remembered the precious checks that had been paid during the past few months, checks that had reduced his liquid cash reserve to a mere fragment. though he was unwilling to confess it, it gave him a certain amount of joy to anticipate her fall to earth when she realized that the lavish entertaining must cease--that the source of the magic spring had suddenly dried up. he took the next train to london, dined at the club, and then prepared to break the news to angela. at that moment the adorable angela was receiving a friend. hilary meredith, spotlessly garbed, was lounging in the drawing-room, drinking in the strains of a chopin nocturne. not only were his ears gladdened by romantic music, but his eyes were equally exercised by the radiant figure of angela, bending over the piano, with the red-shaded lights throwing her bare shoulders into perspective and turning her hair to liquid gold. the nocturne ended, she swung round on meredith. "how did you like that, hilary?" "superb--dark avenues on a june night, with odorous breezes and the lap of the sea on the beach below--and you, angela--always you, dreaming in the moonlight." "don't be absurd! why should i dream in the moonlight? and what should i dream?" he looked at her from under his long eyelashes. "of love, perhaps--who knows?" she shrugged her shoulders. "i think not." "is it then so odious to you?" "perhaps." he flung the end of his cigarette into the fireplace and, standing up, walked across to her. "you are dazzlingly beautiful to-night, angela." "you say that almost every night." "why not? a truth cannot too often be reiterated." she ran her white fingers over the notes of the piano, producing a rippling arpeggio that was like running water. "compliments are cheap." "you think that is a mere compliment? no, you know it isn't. you know i love you madly, desperately, angela. let us cease this--acting. aren't we made for each other? i'm tired of london--tired of everything but you." she stopped playing and sat perfectly still. "aren't you a little impatient, hilary? you seem to forget i have a husband." "husband!" he laughed loudly. "i thought you, too, had forgotten that by this time." "i haven't," she said. "well, it must be an unpleasant memory--the most beautiful woman in london wedded to a cowpuncher! angela, are you going to waste your life tied to an undesirable? here is love and devotion waiting.... i haven't all the gold in the universe, but doesn't breeding count?" "hilary, you are talking the veriest nonsense." "am i? then why did you ask me here to-night? you knew i would talk this nonsense, and yet you asked me." "i was lonely--that's all." she stood up and pushed the stool aside. her shoulder came up against him. in a moment he seized her arm and held her in a passionate embrace. "hilary!" "angela. it's got to be to-night--or never. i've waited until i can wait no longer. i'll call for you in an hour's time, and we can catch the midnight train----" she tried to push him away, but he clung on desperately. "it's impossible!" she cried. "please let me go." "angela----" meredith suddenly stopped. his arms fell to his side. standing just inside the door was jim conlan. angela turned and saw him too--a great grim figure, with head thrust forward and hands on hips. "how did you get here?" she demanded. "your powdered monkey outside got obstinate. said you weren't at home. seems as though he made some error." he came down the room and planted himself opposite meredith. he raised one arm and pointed to the door. "get out!" he snapped. meredith looked at angela. he would have been glad to get out just then, but he wasn't anxious for angela to be conscious of that desire. "did you get me?--get out!" meredith fidgeted. then to his horror angela said slowly: "i beg that you will stay, mr. meredith." the latter began to retreat to the settee. but he never got there. he felt a hand of steel grip him by the shoulder, and looked round to find a pair of infuriated eyes blazing down on him. "you ain't wanted here, you dirty tinhorn!" yelled jim. he ran him to the door, opened it, and then shot him into the passage. when he came back angela was standing exactly in the same place. her face was white with indignation. "how dare you--you brute!" she said. "i'll have you put out!" "sit down!" thundered jim. it was the first time he had ever addressed her in that way and she felt decidedly uncomfortable. she dropped leisurely on to a chair. "now then, listen! i've got my wind back agin. oh, i ain't going to start--recriminations--_some_ word, that! it's plain business between me and you. in the first place, we're broke. did you git that?" "what!" "stoney--clean bust. wal, money never did cut much ice with me, but it did with you. you've squandered a hell of a lot of money on things that didn't matter, and now here's old man ruin come to say how-do." angela regarded him in astonishment. "you mean to say--you've lost all your money?" "oh no. i only lost some of it. you lost the other. don't talk. i don't suppose you have any notion of what you've spent in less than six months. anyway, it's done, and squealing won't help matters.... i jest came to tell you to pack up. me and you's going to make some more money." she jumped up. "what are you talking about?" "you will pack a box or two with things that are essential for a trip to alaska." "alaska!" "jest that. we're joining the stampede--you and me. i'll call for you to-morrow morning at ten. stampedes don't allow for no waste time. first come first served." she suddenly burst into laughter. the whole thing was so ridiculous. he imagined she was going to accompany him into the frozen wastes of alaska to dig gold. it was excruciatingly funny. but when she looked again at him she didn't feel like repeating the laugh. she had never seen such fixity of purpose in any man's expression. he seemed to have added more inches to his colossal height. "you must be mad!" she said. "i'm sorry you have lost the money, but----" "you'll be ready at ten o'clock to-morrow." she saw he was in deadly earnest, but believed he was overreaching himself. "at any rate, let us talk sense," she said coldly. "you'll find i'm talking sense all right. i'm through with any other kind of talk," he replied. "i'm making the klondyke. ain't it natural for a man to take his wife with him--even though she's only a bought wife?" "you talk as though i might be fool enough to come. understand, once and for all, i refuse to go anywhere with you. please leave me." he took up his hat. "i'll be round to-morrow. get them bags packed, or you'll come without them." "you are not in colorado now," she said icily. "you can't abduct women by force in london." "i guess you'll find i can," he replied. "good-night!" after he had gone she sat down and thought the matter over. the financial catastrophe appalled her. she had grown so used to a life of luxury. and the threat? it seemed fantastic, impossible of fulfillment. never in her life had she been coerced by force. there was one way out--meredith's way. but she could not bring herself to take that course. meredith had never succeeded in arousing the slightest passion within her. he had been merely a plaything--a simpering, compliment-throwing nincompoop of a type that most society women felt a need for, as food for their vanity. she decided that the most sensible plan would be to spend the next day with her people. jim arrived at ten o'clock precisely, in a cab, with a single bag of luggage. the footman, who had already suffered once at jim's hands, tremblingly vouchsafed the news that mrs. conlan was out. "where's she gone?" he didn't know. she went out very early and had said she might not return that day. "tell her maid to get some clothes packed up for her mistress--strong ones. have 'em ready in an hour." the man stared. "beat it!" growled jim, "or i'll come and superintend it myself. if they're not ready when i come back, watch out for trouble!" he ran down the steps and told the driver to drive to lord featherstone's house. instinctively he guessed angela's port of refuge. arriving there, a burly footman told him that his lordship was not at home. the next instant jim was in the hall. the second flunkey looked at the first. they had received strict instructions that mr. conlan was not to be admitted. they both came to the conclusion that physical obstruction in this case was tantamount to suicide. "lead the way," said jim. "sir----" "lead the way, you powdered nanny-goats!" ultimately he arrived at the drawing-room door. he knocked loudly and entered. angela was sitting reading. lady featherstone was doing likewise, and his lordship was standing before the fire with his hands in his pockets. "conlan!" gasped the latter. "how dare you come here?" jim fixed his eyes on angela, who had closed the book and was regarding him in amazement. "i've come," he said grimly. "get your clothes on." "what is the meaning of this?" asked featherstone. "i've come to remove my property," said jim. "you didn't think i was hiking to the klondyke and leaving fifty thousand pounds' worth of property lying about, did you?" featherstone felt the jibe, but he was furious at the intrusion. jim turned to angela. "i'm waiting," he snapped. "you'd better go," she reported. "you merely succeed in making a fool of yourself." "oh dear!" moaned lady featherstone. "the man is dangerous. claude, call john and henry." "yep, call in your tame leopards. gee--i'm starving for a fight!" featherstone, eyeing this six-feet-three of hard knotted muscle, attempted to bring diplomacy to the rescue. "conlan," he pleaded, "i beg you to act reasonably. i understand you are going to the klondyke. but you can scarcely expect angela to accompany you there. there are certain limits to a wife's marital responsibilities." jim's eyes narrowed. "there ain't no sentiments in business. i bought her for fifty thousand. i'm not writing off anything for depreciation, cos i allow there ain't no depreciation, in a material sense. i'm jest hanging on to my property till i can get a price that leaves a margin of profit--say ten per cent. make the bidding and i'll quit." nothing was more calculated to arouse featherstone's unbridled wrath. "you vulgar cowpuncher!" he retorted. "you dare insult me in that way! you dare treat my daughter as bag and baggage--to be sold at auction like an asiatic slave----!" "i made the offer," said jim casually, "because i thought, from experience, that was your line of business." "leave my house!" stormed featherstone. "sartenly. angela, come on, we ain't wanted." angela sat like a statue. suddenly jim sprang to action. "i'm giving you two minutes," he snapped. "if you ain't ready then i'll carry you out. and if any guy tries buttin' in, wal----" lady featherstone gave a shriek of terror. "call the police," she wailed. "my dear conlan----" commenced his lordship. "i'm through with talking. one minute gone!" angela stood up. "i'm not coming to alaska," she said defiantly, "but i'll come with you out of this house, to save my mother and father further annoyance and insult." jim walked to the door and held it open. "we leave for liverpool at five o'clock to-morrow morning," he said. she got her hat and coat and walked majestically to the cab. chapter viii the white trail it was a "squaw man" rejoicing in the name of "slick george" who first revealed the magic wealth of the klondyke. whilst making a fire on a small creek now known to the world as bonanza creek wherewith to cook his evening meal, he thawed out some of the frozen gravel, and, in the manner of the born prospector, carelessly washed it, to find himself the possessor of nearly a thousand dollars in raw gold. making forty mile with a view to dissipating his newly found wealth in a gormandizing "jag," he sent the settlers in that ramshackle camp into wild excitement by producing nuggets of a size hitherto unmatched. in a few hours forty mile was a deserted place. every able-bodied man, and not a few others, responded to the lure of gold with an alacrity that was remarkable. anything that would float was pushed into the muddy yukon, and poled up the fifty-two miles river to the new eldorado. the news spread with the speed amazing in so sparsely populated a country. from all the townships lying on the banks of the yukon, from sitka and from the canadian borderland, came endless processions--good men, bad men, women and children--all with the gold-lust overleaping any other considerations. dawson, the center of all this itinerant humanity, grew from a struggling camp on a frozen muskeg to a teeming babylon. the strike proved to be genuine. already tens of thousands of dollars had been unearthed along some of the smaller creeks. the price of commodities rose as the population increased. when the arctic winter settled down, and the mountain-locked country was frozen a hundred feet down from the surface, the thousands who had made the journey in ignorance of the conditions obtaining found the food supply inadequate to meet the needs of the wanderers. the law of supply and demand operating, only the lucky stakers were able to pay the huge prices demanded for every single commodity. the news filtered through to the outer world. from the eastern states and the pacific slope, from far-away europe, came more wanderers. late in their quest, but hopeful nevertheless, they prepared for the terrible journey over the chilcoot pass and down across the frozen lakes to the land of gold. at dyea thousands were struggling to get over the pass. women and children and dogs and indians constituted the human octopus spread out over the snow at the mouth of the dyea cañon, which is the entrance to the pass. rearing above them was the white precipitous peak over which every pound of their gear and food had to be packed. included in this crowd were two familiar figures--an immense man, looking even more immense in his bearskin parkha, and a woman, garbed in similar fashion, whose faces were set and cold. they folded up their tent as the first light of the morn struck the white pinnacle above, and packed it with the other multitudinous things that formed a dump on the snow beside them. "got to make the passage now. there's wind coming," said jim. angela said nothing. she had got beyond repartee. the immediate past was a nightmare, filled with terrible journeying, close proximity with the sweepings of the gutter, and sights that at times almost froze the blood within her. and yet the worst had not arrived! twice she had tried to escape from this enforced pilgrimage, but had failed utterly. jim had brought her back by brute force. she became aware of the difficulties that faced her. she was his wife--his property. had any modern don quixote felt like rescuing a beautiful woman in distress, he might well have hesitated at sight of the husband. as civilization was left behind so the hope of escape lessened. her brain swam as she beheld this terrifying thing over which she was expected--nay, compelled--to travel. yet other women were doing it--women with children in their arms! but perhaps they loved the men they accompanied, whilst she---- she bit her lips as she looked at the grim face of jim. all the gear had to be packed over that awful height. jim, anxious to save time, collared three wiry indians and bargained with them. for ten cents a pound they were ready to pack the gear. he agreed, and she saw them take on to their backs an immense burden. each of them carried no less than pounds. with these crushing weights they were going to climb the dizzy path. it was amazing! the indians having started, jim began to strap the rest of the packages about him. despite her hate, she could not but feel a sense of admiration. when she thought his back was about to break he still added more, grunting as he took up the packages. all but a sack of beans found lodgment on that huge body. the latter he placed into her hands. "take that," he said. she hesitated, and then took it, carrying it in her arms as she might a child. "better shoulder it," he growled. "i can carry it better this way," she retorted. he said no more but began the ascent. in a few minutes she found herself almost exhausted. she moved the sack to her shoulder and found this method much easier. looking at it from the base, the chilcoot had been terrifying enough, but on the slope it was a thousand times worse. she remembered a conversation between jim and a man on the steamer who had made the ascent many times. "say, is this chilcoot as husky a thing as they make out?" queried jim. "wal, stranger, i calculated it would be steepish, but darn me if i thought it would lean back!" the other had replied. she was beginning to realize how nearly true this was. she had made up her mind she would not give way to the terrific fear that gripped her. she hated to think that she might appear contemptible in his eyes. but the last thousand feet broke all her resolutions. it shot up in one unbroken, dizzy ascent. she saw the indians, like black ants, climbing and resting alternately. she took a few faltering steps, looked down and shivered. far below was the black train of climbers, reaching away as far as the eye could see. but above--she dare not risk that awful path. she sat down. "i can't do it!" she cried. jim turned. "come on!" "i can't--i can't!" he came down to her, slipping and sliding on the frozen snow. "there's a big wind coming. you'll be blown off if you stay here." he caught her fingers with his one free hand and began to climb. step by step they proceeded. her heart felt cold within her. the indians had disappeared over the top. it must be flat there, she thought! a few snowflakes began to fall, and a sullen roar came from the north. "the blizzard!" growled jim. he hastened the pace, dragging her now. the roar increased. the sky to the north and east was inky black. below them several parties were hastily dumping their packs on the snow and preparing to meet this arctic monster.... they arrived at the summit at the same moment as the blizzard. she saw a whirling mass of snow, heard a roar like ten thousand demons let loose, and felt the strong grip of jim pulling her down on the snow. for an hour it raged. it was beyond her wildest imagination. never had she beheld or even conceived anything so utterly merciless and devastating. great masses of snow were lifted from the mountain-top and driven before the almost solid wind. it lashed her few inches of exposed flesh, until she found the antidote by placing her heavy mittens before her face and burying her head close to the ground. then it lifted, and the sun shone in dazzling radiance from a frozen sky. the packs and the party were white as the landscape that yawned away on all sides. before them was a slope as precipitous as that they had just negotiated--but it went _down_. the indians dug out their packs and, taking their pay, went on in search of further jobs. angela wondered how jim was going to negotiate the dizzy downward path. it ran almost perpendicularly to crater lake, beyond which it was easier going. jim took the big sled to the top of the slide, and commenced to dump the various packages on to it. with a coil of hemp rope he lashed this load into one compact mass. it hung on the sheer edge of a precipice, ready for instant flight. the meaning of it suddenly came to her. "you--you aren't going to slide down?" "i jest am," he said. "sit you down there." reluctantly she obeyed, clinging tightly to the knotted rope. she saw him give the sled a violent push and jump aboard. it started down the incline, gathering momentum at a dreadful rate. in twenty seconds it was rushing onward like a cannon-ball raising the snow and shrieking as it went.... the speed eventually decreased. they passed the frozen lake and made for linderman, jim dragging the sled and angela pushing on the gee-pole. after that it was a nightmare. angela's impression was of one endless white wilderness, broken only by a network of frozen lakes and occasional icy precipices. at nights they pitched their tent amid the vast loneliness, banking it with snow to keep out the freezing cold. at times they were held up for days, confined to the evil-smelling tent with a blizzard blowing outside. the oilstove was a blessing, despite its sickening odor, and only the piled-up snow kept the small tent from being blown to ribbons. it was little more than an esquimo igloo. when the wind went this merciless husband downed the tent, packed up, and was off again into the wilderness--and there were miles of this! the glare of the sun on the white snow blinded her, until she accepted the snow goggles which she had at first indignantly refused. the stillness frightened her. never had she imagined such terrible soul-torturing silence; at times she asked questions merely for the pleasure of hearing a human voice. when they overtook some struggling party the desire to stop and talk was all-consuming. but jim wasn't for wasting time in useless conversation. she hated him for that. she hated him for all the agony and pain that he had brought her. fits of uncontrollable anger possessed her. she gave vent to her feelings in bitter rebuke. it had some effect, too. she knew it hurt him by the queer light in his eyes, but he said nothing--which made her angrier still. he had become even more silent than she. one thing, however, he did regularly. when they partook of the evening meal--a sickly concoction of beans and coffee, or canned meat, and nestled down inside the bearskin sleeping-bags beside the eternal oilstove, his deep voice growled: "good-night, angela!" sometimes she responded and sometimes she did not. but it made no difference--the "good-night" was always uttered. the last stage of the journey was a fight with time. they struck the yukon river and went down over the sloppy ice. the break-up was coming, and dawson was eighty miles away. despite her bitter feelings she found excitement in the combat. at any moment the ice might split with thundering noise and go smashing down to the sea, piling up in vast pyramids as it went. each morning they expected to wake and find the ice in movement. "she'll hold," cried jim. "another twenty miles and we're through!" so they plowed their way to the eldorado of the north. it was when they were but three miles from dawson that the break-up came. it was heralded by ear-splitting explosions. jim put all his weight on to the sled. "she won't move much yet," he growled. "mush on!" for another mile they kept the river trail, and then with deafening crashes from behind them the whole ice began to move. no time was to be lost now. jim dragged the sled inland and made the bank at a suitable landing. an hour later they made dawson city. the streets were filled with half-melted snow, through which a mixed humanity trudged, laden with all kinds of gear and provisions. tents were pitched on every available piece of land. saloons were filled with mobs clamoring for drink and food. around the yukon agent's office were crowds waiting to register "claims" that might or might not make their owners millionaires. all the creeks within miles of dawson had been staked long since, and late-comers were staking likely spots further afield. news came of rich yields in some barren god-forsaken place and immediately a stampede was made for it. angela, who had pined for any kind of civilization rather than a continuance of the eternal snows, wondered if this were any better. jim pitched the tent under some spruce-trees and high up on a bluff beyond the city. "wal, we're here," he said. "yes," she replied bitterly. "you've got so far. and what next?" "we're going to git gold. yep, we sure are--and you're going to help." she shut her mouth grimly. this was a big city; there were men here going back to civilization after making their fortunes. in a few weeks the river would be free and steamers would be making vancouver. it oughtn't to be so difficult to find someone who would help her to escape from a man like this! chapter ix high stakes before many days had passed angela realized how wisely jim had traded in vancouver. at the time she had wondered why he had been so prodigal in the matter of food. it seemed to her sheer lunacy to travel over icy mountains with what appeared to be enough food for a traveling circus. now she saw that but for his foresight they might have felt the fine edge of starvation as others were doing. with remarkable suddenness the cold had vanished and the thermometer mounted daily. a dank, warm atmosphere embraced the country. under the vanishing snow were green buds that burst into bloom at the first direct rays of the sun. an unwelcome visitor invaded the camp--the mosquito. he rose from the swampy river in myriads, and made life a torture. jim had got his usual hustle on. very quickly he became a popular figure in the town. but two days after his arrival he met an old friend--a gaunt, lanky figure, with a beard a foot long. "why, darn me if it ain't colorado jim!" he turned and saw dan, late owner of the medicine bow hotel, looking wonderfully prosperous and happy. "hello, dan!" "gosh, you ain't altered none. come and hev' some poison." they pushed their way into a crowded saloon, and dan flung down a small poke of gold-dust for a bottle of whisky, from which he received no change. "what's your lay, jim?" "prospectin'." "wal, yore sure a queer cuss. why in hell d'ye want to go prospectin' with a million of the best in the bank?" jim laughed. "i'm broke, dan." "what!" "yep. an' i'm married." dan nearly choked. then he clapped his hand on his leg and roared with delight. "married. wal, i guess she's a lucky gal, even if you are bust. but how'd it happen?" "bad speculation. but i'm through with that. see here, dan, i'm wantin' to stake a couple of claims, but every darn piece of dirt seems pegged out." dan stroked his beard. "yore late. i got wise to what it'd be like, so i hiked up here early. staked twenty-two on bonanza and sold out yesterday to the syndicate. five hundred thousand i got, and never thawed out more'n a square yard of dirt. and now i'm mushing for the bright lights." jim's face contracted. "i hope you'll like 'em, dan. they sure gave me the croup. maybe i ain't built that way, and you are. 'pears to me that the klondyke is a mission-hall compared to london or new york. they'll take the gold filling from yore false teeth out there." dan surveyed him carefully. "what's wrong, jim? you seem kinder moody like. someone kicked you in the hip?" "you got it." "wal, i guess you'll git over it," said dan philosophically. "mebbe you'd like me to take some message back, eh?" "she ain't back there," said jim. "she's right here." dan looked as though he had been shot. "what's that? you ain't telling me----?" "why not?" "this is a hell of a place for ladies." jim frowned. he knew that perfectly well. now and again a feeling of self-reproach came, but he strangled it by reflecting upon the trick that had been played upon him. after all, he had bought her at her own price, and he meant to keep her. two or three of dan's lucky friends were scanning jim's enormous figure with obvious interest. "say, boys, 'member i told you about a husky guy at medicine bow who made a pile and sold out?" "sure!" "wal, this is him all right. ain't he a beaut?" they shook hands with jim and ordered more whisky. like dan they were overburdened with money, and remarkably free with it. they were beguiling the time in innocent "jags" pending the arrival of the boat in the river that was to take them out of the klondyke. "looking for a claim?" inquired one of them. "thet's so." "nothin' doing this side of blackwater, but there's a dinky little creek five mile up-river. what do they call that creek where dave staked, whitey?" "red ruin," replied whitey. "yep, red ruin. there's a mile or so at the lower end unstaked, and if there ain't gold there, my name ain't what it is. dave staked feet yesterday, and he's sure nuts on gold." dan nodded. "you hike there, jim, afore it goes to someone else." "ain't a healthy sort of name--red ruin," said jim with a laugh. "names don't count." jim was finally persuaded to try his luck there. he left the party, followed by their best wishes for success, and made for the camp up the hill. he found angela in a fit of revolt. she had done nothing since he left that morning. dirty pans and dishes littered the ground and blankets were lying in heaps all round. "angela!" she looked at him. "you ain't bin hustling overmuch." she flared up in an instant. "i'm sick of this. you brought me here by brute force. i won't go on with it. do you understand? i've tramped over that icy wilderness with you. i've suffered until i can suffer no longer. you never were a gentleman, and ordinary courtesy and respect for a woman are unknown to you, but surely you have a heart somewhere within you. can't you see this is killing me? do you want to break my heart?" "hearts are hearts, ain't they? and breaking one ain't no worse than breaking another. no, i'm no gentleman--not the kind you bin used to. that's why i came here--because here they're only men, and i'd jest as soon be a man as anything else on earth. i reckon that where a man goes his woman should go too." she flushed at the appellation "woman." "you talk like a barbarian. i'm not your woman--you understand? not your woman." "figure out how you may," he retorted, "when you buy a thing, you buy it, and it's yours until someone pays you to git it, or someone is hefty enough to take it from you. as for that, if any guy thinks about cuttin' in, he's welcome to try." the true sense of his position was made patent. his rough philosophy was good. had she been his by mere conquest, no man in the klondyke would have disputed it. being his wife, legally, his position was doubly strong. only cunning could win through. she meant to exercise that faculty as soon as opportunity presented itself. and the opportunity was close at hand. "i'm going up-river to-morrow," he said, "to prospect a creek, and to stake two claims if it's a promising place. i'll be back before sundown.... ain't you goin' to git supper?" she was on the point of refusing to carry out the necessary abhorrent domestic work, but the chance of escape which his words gave rise to brought discretion to the forefront. she cooked a dish of beans and opened some canned fruit, and they took their meal, thrusting it beneath the shielding mosquito-nets which seldom left their heads. half an hour later they made ready for sleep, in very close proximity to the hard ground, with a hanging canvas curtain between them. "good-night, angela!" he said. she returned no answer. down in the town things were just beginning to wake up. no one worried about time in dawson city. the nights were like the days, the only difference being that the nights were more noisy. time was stretched and manipulated with as much ease as an elastic band. men went to bed at eight in the morning, and woke up to take their breakfast at three or four in the afternoon. thereafter came dancing, drinking, mirth, and boisterous song. the conditions of the northern summer aided and abetted this queer juggling with time, for it was never dark, and a.m. was not much different to p.m. and as a rule, the life of the saloons was too busy a thing to take notice of any changes in the position of the sun. the next morning jim, armed with a pick and shovel and some stakes, left for red ruin. angela watched him disappear over a bluff, and immediately prepared to put into operation her scheme for escape. she packed a small sack with the few things she would require, and wrote a short note which she pinned to the flap of the tent. "i warned you i should go. there is no other way but this.--angela." she took the sack and descended to the crowded town. the river was still belching ice into the bering sea, but the last floes were leaving the upper reaches, and she knew that in a few hours navigation would be possible, up-stream. whilst many parties were content to wait for the steamer's arrival, others, less patient, were preparing to "make out" up the river and lakes and over the chilcoot. she began to put out a few furtive inquiries, and secured the names of several men who were preparing for immediate departure. she was wise enough to take a look at these worthies before committing herself to their charge, and most of them did not please her. wandering in the back areas at noon, she noticed a rough shack bearing an obviously new announcement "for sale." already a queue of prospective purchasers was lining up. when the owner--a sallow man of about fifty--appeared, he was besieged. the shack was sold in a few minutes to the highest bidder. angela, nervous but determined, interrogated the sallow man. "excuse me, but are you leaving?" he ran his keen eyes over her, immediately impressed by her beauty and her bearing. "i am." "soon?" "to-morrow morning if the river's clear." "alone?" "no--two others." angela breathed a sigh of relief. there was safety in numbers. "i want to go to england--or to new york. will you take me? i've no money or food, but i'll pay you well when i get away." the man stared. "as soon as i can cable to my people they will send me money," she resumed. "take me as far as the first cable station, and in forty-eight hours i will get money to recompense you," she added quickly. his brows contracted. "what's the hurry?" "i want to get away from someone." "ah--i see." "will you--will you take me? i'll work." he looked at her soft, exquisite face and figure, and grinned as he reflected that the work she could do was negligible; but the suggestion had its fascination. she was beautiful--and beautiful women were rare in the klondyke. he opened the door of the shack and called "tom!" tom appeared in his shirt-sleeves--a big awry figure with a face like a chimpanzee. "got a grub-staker. what do you say?" tom's face relaxed into a smirking smile as he also took a long survey of angela. "canoe's purty full up, but i dare say we can find room. where'd ye want to go?" "anywhere out of this. some place from where i can cable to england--for money." he looked at "connie," the sallow man, and nodded. the latter turned to angela. "we're off in the morning. is that your grip?" "yes." "better leave it in the shack. there's a small room at the back you kin hev' to sleep in to-night." she thanked him and went inside the shack. big bundles lay on the floor ready for the journey, and from the window in the back room she saw a long, newly made canoe. she put down her sack, and decided to get some food in the town with the few dollars she possessed, before taking refuge in the shack from jim, who would doubtless return by the evening. when she returned the third man was present. she smiled at the three of them as pleasantly as she knew how, and repaired to the back room. she imagined jim's amazement and wrath when he discovered she had gone. but it was extremely doubtful if he would find her in the short time that remained before her departure. time passed slowly enough. from outside came the sound of low voices. she crept to the keyhole and saw her three future companions sitting round the rough table engrossed in a game of cards--poker. close to hand were two bottles and three mugs. now and again a low curse came to her ears. she began to wish the door possessed a lock and key! she went back to the mattress and endeavored to get to sleep, but her brain was too full of the impending adventure to permit its flight into unconsciousness. moreover, the card party began to get boisterous. she wondered if they were going to keep it up all night. a few minutes later there was a loud crash. she sat up and heard fierce arguments proceeding from the inner room. all three of them were talking at once, and she could not hear any intelligent sentence, but it was all to do with the "deal." she went again to the keyhole just as they settled down again to play. to her amazement they were playing with matches. the big chimpanzee man, tom, had a huge pile in front of him. in the center of the table was another pile. she saw tom put down his cards and growl "three queens," picking up the matches in the pool with a triumphant laugh. "last deal," said connie. "yep. it's between me and you, connie, _but i guess she's mine_." "chickens ain't hatched yet." "she ain't no chicken--she's peaches. gee--some stake that!" angela suddenly felt sick as the truth came to her. she saw now the meaning of those matches. they were not playing for money, _but for her_! she sprang to the window, but escape that way was impossible, for it was not more than a foot square. her heart beat in terrible suspense. she realized her dreadful position--out here, a mile or more from the town, she was utterly at the mercy of these brutes. they considered her fair prey, as most women were considered in the klondyke at that time. pleading a husband would make no difference. a woman ought to know better than to leave her husband. unwittingly she had placed herself in that position. there was only one way out, and that way lay through the inner room. she resolved to take it. she took the small sack and approached the door. a look through the keyhole revealed them engrossed in the decisive "hand." with heaving bosom she turned the handle and walked swiftly through the door. she was almost past the table before they recovered from their surprise. then the chimpanzee man put out a huge arm and caught her by the wrist. "'ere, what's this?" "let me go." he grinned maliciously. "i _should_ say. why, i've jest won you!" she struggled in vain in his iron grip. "git back to thet room!" he ordered, and flung her towards the door. it was the first time any man had laid hands on her, and it aroused the devil. her face and neck went crimson. some of the fear vanished under this storm of violent repugnance. she noticed a naked hunting-knife on a ledge by the window. she flew to it and gripped it menacingly. she came nearer and raised it to strike any obstructors. then connie's lean figure leapt forward. the knife rattled to the floor and her wrist ached from the blow he had dealt it. he took her by the shoulders. "cut that! tom's won you, and you'd better get wise to that." "you brutes! do you think you can----" her voice petered out as she saw the horrible expression in tom's eyes. there was no hope of mercy there. words were lost on this monster. all the evening he had dwelled with rapture upon the object of the gamble. he took her from connie and held her fast in his arms. connie laughed. "you allus had the luck. wal, perhaps she'll transfer her affections later!" "let me go!" she cried, now thoroughly panic-stricken. "oh, god!--let me go!" the chimpanzee-man merely gurgled in his throat. he lifted her from the ground and made for the inner room. one of her hands became free. she seized a bunch of his hair until it was wrenched from his hard scalp. "ugh!" he grunted. "go on--it's my turn in a minnit." "you monster!" "good-night--boys!" he cried mockingly. "happy dreams!" sneered connie. "don't forget we start----" the third man, a silent, morose individual, suddenly gave a gasp as the outer door was flung open. the others turned and saw the enraged face of colorado jim behind a big six-shooter. chapter x angela meets a friend "hands up!" snapped jim. connie and the silent man obeyed. tom, clasping his prize, looked thunderstruck. "did you git that, you human gorilla? put 'em up." tom let angela slip to the floor. "what's all this?" he growled. jim gripped the deal table with one huge hand and flung it across the room. he advanced on connie and slapped the latter's pockets. "no guns? good!" connie went flying from a violent shove, likewise the silent man. "come here--you!" bawled jim. tom came forward, his ugly face curved in a look of intense hate. he felt jim snatch the revolver from his belt and pocket it. "what's your lay?" he growled. jim put his own revolver away and tom's hands dropped to his side. "so you took a fancy to my property, eh?" tom recoiled before the blazing eyes of his adversary. he was big and hefty enough, but no match for the well-proportioned, muscular giant before him. he was good at assessing physical values, and he felt scared. "she's mine," he said. "i won her." angela, crouching at the end of the room, saw the storm brewing. she suddenly remembered the knife, and retrieved it lest one of the trio should lay hands on it. she saw connie and his silent friend edging behind jim, and one quick glance from tom's vile face told her that the three were filled with a common purpose. connie suddenly snatched up a log of wood. "jim!" she cried, as the three men suddenly sprang forward. the big figure moved like a streak of lightning. tom was caught by two powerful arms and lifted clean off his feet. he hung for one brief second, six inches from the ground, and then executed an arc in thin air to come down with a crash against the match-boarded wall. the other two were close upon him. he dealt with the log-swinging man first. connie's arm was already raised and the thick piece of wood was on the point of coming down. had it descended, the honorable angela might have been a widow there and then, but a fifty-inch leg prevented that untimely catastrophe. it came out from jim's thigh, true in the horizontal plane, and smote connie in the tenderest part of his anatomy. he made no sound whatever, but dropped in a crumpled heap and lay still. the silent man was caught in mid-air. he had never expected the amazingly quick movement of the arms that held him. he was a miserable specimen, physically, and turned green when he saw the big fist drawn back to strike. "no, you ain't big enough to hit," said jim. "you seem to like me; come closer honey, come close!" he gathered the man close in and, exerting all his strength, crushed every atom of breath from the man's body. angela, sick with the sight of this animal manifestation, protested. "you'll kill him! he never did me any harm." jim dropped his victim with a grunt. a queer reaction set in. he was sorry. he could have rescued her without this horse-play, but the sight of her in the arms of a human chimpanzee, who knew no morality but that of the cave-man, had aroused all the innate fury within him. after all, he loved her! even though she despised him, and preferred the company of licentious beachcombers, he worshiped her. the very thought seemed to mock at him from within. "do i have to yank you back, or will you come freely?" he said in a low voice. "i'll come," she replied. they walked back to the tent in silence. she noticed that the note had gone from the flap. how he had tracked her down was a mystery. he refrained from mentioning the adventure, but she saw that it had had a great effect upon him. he ate no supper, but sat smoking through the mosquito-netting, gazing pensively at the starry heavens. when they retired he uttered his customary "good-night, angela." "good-night," she replied. the next morning found him busy caulking a big flat-bottomed boat, which was already half laden with stores. she looked at him inquiringly. "going down the river," he informed her. "i've staked two claims along a creek called 'red ruin.'" "is it far?" "matter of five miles." "a-ah!" the remaining gear was placed in the boat. angela took a seat in the bows whilst jim threw his weight on the pole, the sole means of propulsion. there was a loud crack, and the punter was almost thrown over the side as the rotten pole broke in the middle. the strong current sent the craft whirling down-stream. jim grabbed a coil of rope, made it fast to a ring-bolt, and went over the side. he reached the bank and pulled the craft inshore. "throw out the ax. i'll go cut a new pole." she handed him the weapon, keen as a razor, and watched him tramp up the steep bank. a slight breeze shifted the mist from the sprawling, muddy river and the sun clove through. an isolated mass of ice swirled along, melting as it went. a small island in the center of the stream was gashed and scoured by the recent ice-flow. trees along the bank had been shorn clear by the enormous pressure of the bergs as they fought their way to freedom. she was sitting thinking of the inscrutable future when a canoe hove into sight. the occupants--two indians and a white man--were driving it up-stream at amazing speed, considering the fact that the down current was running at a speed of at least five knots. they were passing her, scarcely a dozen yards distant, when she gave a cry of astonishment. "d'arcy!" the white man ceased paddling and looked up sharply. he turned to the indians and rapped out an order. the canoe drifted in towards angela's craft and d'arcy held out his hand, with absolute wonder written in his eyes. "angela featherstone, by all that's holy! what are you doing here?" "i'm with my husband," she replied bitterly. "but i thought--i read that you were giving house parties, attending race-meetings, and all that sort of thing. i came to canada the week before you were married. i read about it and wondered who the happy man was." angela's hand played with the running water. d'arcy was scarcely more than an acquaintance, but at least he was one of her own set. like a lot of other men, d'arcy had made love to her and been repulsed. "look here, i don't understand this," rejoined d'arcy. "you--you aren't prospecting?" she nodded. "great scott! it's bad enough for men, but for a woman----!" he looked round. "is your husband about?" "he's up the bank cutting a new pole." "i see." he gave her another searching look, the meaning of which was clear to her. in the same mute but eloquent language she gave him to understand the chief fact--she was unhappy. "to bring you here--to bring a cultured woman into a country like this----!" words failed him. he touched her hand softly. "where are you making for?" "a creek down the river called 'red ruin.' he has staked two claims there." he nodded reflectively. "i'm making for dawson for some gear. i'll drop in and see you some day if i may?" "do. i should enjoy a talk with you." "your--your husband won't object?" "does it matter?" he laughed and, shaking her hand, paddled his frail craft out into the stream. looking up, she saw jim coming down the bank, with the ax swinging in one hand and a new pole over his shoulder. he unfastened the rope and entered the boat. "who was that?" he asked. "an old friend," she replied coldly. she saw his eyes flash as he threw his weight on the pole and sent the boat hurtling down the river. but for the bitterness rankling within her, she might have found time to admire her pilot. big as he was, there was nothing ungainly about him. every movement was beautiful in its perfect exhibition of muscular energy. the hard knotted muscles in his bare arms swelled and relaxed as they performed the work allotted them. little beads of perspiration sparkled on the bare neck, and the wind played among the streaming mass of his black hair. but she had no eyes for this. from the moment when he had unceremoniously forced her on this journey of horror and desolation her wounded pride had smothered every other emotion. her soul hungered for one thing--escape. thwarted though her other attempts had been, she meant to try again. to try, and try, until he grew sick of holding a woman against her will. the unexpected genesis of d'arcy raised her hopes to high pitch. they ultimately entered the narrow, sluggish creek, and jim beached the boat on the northern side. she saw several stakes driven in the earth, and realized that these marked the boundaries of the two claims. they pitched the tent some distance from the claims--high up on the bank, to guard against the trickling water that ran down the bluff and into the creek. on the morrow jim started digging. she condescended to take a little interest in this, for the experience was novel. a lucky strike might mean freedom from this life of hardship and misery. once back in england---- the thought was tantalizing. she watched jim commence to drive a hole through the matted undergrowth, exhibiting surprise when the pick rang hard on the frozen earth beneath. "rock?" she queried. "nope--earth. it's froze right down for a hundred feet. bed-rock ought to be three or four feet down. that's where the gold is--or ought to be." "and if it isn't there?" "sink another hole, an' keep on doin' it till i git it." later in the day he reached bed-rock, at a depth of six feet from the surface. the washing-pan came into operation, and he sought eagerly for the golden dust--in vain. "muck!" he ejaculated. the next pan, and the next, produced similar results. he commenced another hole about six feet from the first, driving through fallen trees and vegetable matter that had lain there for tens of centuries. when the evening came no sign of gold had appeared. he went to the tent and partook of the meal that angela had prepared. "any luck?" she asked. "nope, but it'll come. if not here, then somewhere else. but there's five hundred feet of frontage to be bored yet." angela shrugged her shoulders. he talked as though time was of no importance. she knew he would go on and on until he had achieved what he set out to do. the summer was short--a brief four months. in october down would come the winter, freezing everything solid for eight long months. between october and november the yukon would close until the middle of may. she realized that she had, as yet, tasted but the latter end of winter. to live through the whole length of the arctic night, away in the vast wilderness of the north, was a prospect that appalled her. she wandered up the bank, and through the dense growth of hemlock that led to a precipitous hill. high up on its slope she stopped and surveyed the landscape. despite the bitterness of her soul, she could not repress an exclamation of wonderment. stretching away in all directions was tier upon tier of snow-clad peaks, aglow with the soft radiance of the low-lying sun as it swept the horizon towards the north in its uninterrupted circuit of the heavens. the southern end of the alaskan range seemed like an opalescent serrated bow, changing to violet through all the darker hues of the spectrum by some strange freak of the atmosphere, only to leap into glorious amber as the fringe of a cloud passed across the origin of illumination. everything seemed so vast, so forbidding, it reduced her to a state of ignominy. if one desired a sense of eternity, here it was. time and space merged into one inscrutable entity--the spirit of the north. she had felt that spirit when crossing the passes that led to the klondyke. here it was limned in clearer form. the everlasting peaks; the aquamarine glaciers, roaring and plunging into the sea; the vast forests sprawling across the valleys and up the bases of the mountains to some two thousand feet, virgin as they were ten thousand years ago; the noisy fiords cumbered with the ice of crystal rivers, breaking the deathlike silence with ear-splitting concussions--all combined in one awe-inspiring picture of nature's incomparable handiwork. and here under her feet were fragrant flowers, lured from the shallow covering of earth and matted creeper to last but a brief season, and then to sleep the whole long winter under the snow. she sighed and made her way down the hill towards the tent. beside the fire was jim, gazing into the past. she thought her husband was like this strange immense land--cruel but magnificent, primal and alluring, yet hateful. as she approached, a similar comparison entered jim's mind, with her as the object. "cold and proud as a mountain peak," he muttered. "there's no sun that can melt her, no storm that can move her. god, but she's beautiful!" chapter xi fruitless toil the two claims on red ruin became as honeycombed as a wasp's nest. day after day angela watched the bare-armed, red-shirted figure at work, witnessing his failure with a set face. it became patent that the claims were bad ones, and that red ruin was living up to its name. all the labor of driving through matted undergrowth and frozen gravel was vain. "hope long deferred maketh the heart sick," and it made angela's sick. she knew that sooner or later jim must accept the inevitable and abandon the quest--there. she hoped it would be soon. after all, failure meant the same as success--to her. if red ruin failed, what else could he do but pack up and go home, as thousands of others were doing? the patched-up steamers that were now plying up the river were packed with a queer gathering of "failures" and "successes." men who had staked all on this promising gamble were going back to the harness of civilization, sadder and wiser beings. the relatively few successful ones were making programmes for the future--a future in which an unaccustomed luxury figured prominently. disease and famine were taking their toll of the participants in the great adventure. from all along the yukon watershed came news of pestilence and panic. scurvy raged in circle city, and a hungry mob at forty mile was only quelled by troopers with loaded rifles. a boat coming up-river laden with belated gold-mad men and women was stopped by the commissioner, and all but those who had foresight enough to bring a twelve-months' food supply were refused a landing, for the famine was acute. these pitiful facts came to angela's ears. even money could no longer purchase food. the knowledge put a terrible weapon into her hands. if she destroyed their food supply freedom was assured. for one hour she even contemplated this means of escape. was it not for his good too? could he hope to win where thousands had failed? she tried to convince herself that it would be no act of treachery but one of kindness. the lie rankled in her brain. a revulsion of feeling came as she reflected upon the immediate past, for despite all her antagonism she could not but admire the indomitable will of him. failure was written all over the two honeycombed claims, but it never daunted him. she heard the spade and ax ringing on the hard earth from early morning till late evening, and saw him swinging up the hill, a little grim, but otherwise unchanged. she was impatiently waiting for him to confess his failure, but he never did. there was still some hundred feet of river front to be "tried out," and jim calmly went on boring his monotonous holes. it was maddening to watch him. one morning two men came poling down the creek in a flat-bottomed boat packed with gear and food. they pulled up at sight of jim. he recognized them as the owners of two claims farther up the creek. "still diggin', pard?" queried one. "yep." "wal, it's sure a waste of time. there ain't no pay dirt on this yere creek. we got five hundred feet up yonder plum full of holes, and we ain't shoveled out naught but muck." jim stretched himself. "'tain't panning out up to schedule," he grunted, "but i'm going through with this bit afore i hit the trail again." "better cut it, cap," said the second man. "i gotta hunch they didn't call this red ruin for nothin'. see here, i found six abandoned claims half a mile up. i reckon the guys who pitched that lot over were the same as did the christening of this bit of water." jim laughed carelessly. he had little doubt that the location was bad, but it went against his nature to quit before he had carried out his task. the first man stuck a wad of tobacco between his back teeth. "that pardner o' yourn don't seem to take kindly to diggin'," he ejaculated. jim stared at him, and then tightened his lips. "no need to fly off the handle, cap. i had a pard like him once, strong on paper but liked the other fellow to do the diggin'." "what the blazes are you talkin' about?" demanded jim. "i ain't inviting you to give opinions. what's more, she ain't a _him_. you go to hell--and quick about it!" the man looked at his comrade and they both grinned. jim put down the spade in a way that caused them to stare blankly. "wal, you're some joker. pete, am i blind? it's no odds, anyway, and no offense meant, but by ginger! it's the first time i've seen a woman smoke a two-dollar cigar." "what's that?" jim suddenly felt dazed as a new explanation entered his mind. he stepped down towards the boat. "what's all this?" he inquired. "i'm kinder interested." the first man explained. "i bin campin' way back there. the other guys who abandoned them claims played hell with the timber--gormandized the whole lot--must have gone in for the timber business. so i bin cuttin' spruce up there on the hill. wal, i often seen you drilling holes in this muck, but damn me if i ever seen your pard put a hand to the spade. he seems to live in that darned tent. i seen him twice hiking out--to dawson, for a jag, i guess. didn't seem on the level to me----" jim's mouth twitched. he had no doubt about the veracity of this statement. someone had been visiting angela, and she had said nothing of it. "didn't know he went to dawson," he replied evasively. "thanks for the information. i'll sure talk to him about it." they nodded and began to pole down the creek and out into the river. jim sat down on a pile of muck and mopped his brow. the tent was approachable from the river on the other side of the bluff. the spruce-trees that surrounded it hid it from the view of one working by the creek, though any occupant would have the advantage of seeing without being seen. he remembered reaching the tent a few days before, to find angela singularly embarrassed. was that the day on which the stranger had called? despite his heartache he could think no wrong of her. she was lonely, pining for the life she had left. between him and her loomed an apparently unbridgeable gulf. if she had found a friend in that mixed crowd back in dawson, hadn't she a right to see him and speak with him? his heart answered in the affirmative, but it hurt just the same. he said nothing to angela on the subject, but carried on with his thankless task, with a strange mixture of pride and jealousy eating into his heart. when more wood was needed he innocently(?) hewed down two spruce-trees in close proximity to the tent, whose removal afforded him a view of the tent entrance from the scene of his daily "grind." for a whole week he kept his eyes intermittently on the brown bell-tent, but the stranger came not. he wondered if angela had become aware of the increased vision afforded him by the felled trees, and was careful to keep her strange friend away. he noticed some slight change in her disposition--a queer light in her eye and a mocking ring in the monosyllabic replies which she gave to any questions he found it necessary to put to her. their conversation had not improved with time. if he addressed her at all it was with reference to the domestic arrangements. she, on her part, never interrogated him on any subject. every movement of her lips, and of her body, made it clear that she regarded him as a complete stranger under whose jailership certain circumstances had placed her. her determination was scarcely less than his own. she meant to break his stubborn spirit--to arouse in him, if possible, a violent aversion to her presence. already the summer was vanishing. the few birds--swallows, swifts, and yellow warblers--that had immigrated at the coming of spring were preparing for a long journey south. cold winds were turning the leaves brown, and the whole landscape deepened into autumn glory. angela noted the change with an impatience that was evident to any observer. jim, testing the last few yards of claim, pondered over the problem of her change of front. she even sang at times, in a way that only succeeded in deepening his suspicions. was she singing on account of some happiness newly found?--some interest in life which lay beyond himself and the immediate surroundings? it seemed to be the case, and the consciousness of this disturbing truth caused him acute mental agony. some other man could bring her happiness. some other man had succeeded in breaking into that icy reserve against which all attempts on his part had been vain. was it worth while continuing the drama? if he let her escape, forgetfulness might come. time had its reward no less than its revenges. why suffer, as he was suffering, all the agonies of burning, unrequited love. at nights, with that hateful curtain between them, he had writhed in anguish to hear the soft breathing within a foot or so of his head. more than once a mad desire to rise up and claim her as mate came to him, only to be cast aside as the better part of him prevailed over these primal instincts. "she's mine," he argued, "mine by purchase, an' if i was anything of a man i'd go and take her now." but just because he was a man he didn't. she owed her sanctity to the fact that this rough son of nature loved her with a love that seemed to rend his heart in twain. the thin canvas between them was as safe a partition as walls of granite. she might have found time to admire the quality of his love, considering the circumstances prevailing, but her pride left scant room for any sentiment of that sort. she merely took these things for granted. jim, with the last hole bored in the iron earth, and the precious glint of gold still as absent as ever, gazed back at the tent with knitted brows. red ruin was a failure, as he had long known it to be. the future loomed dark and uncertain. there were no more creeks near dawson worth the staking, but gold lay farther afield--over the vast repelling mountains. it would mean suffering, misery, for her. a winter in the great alone, harassed by blizzards, bitten by the intense cold, tracked by wolves and all the ferocious starved things of the foodless wilderness, was all he had to offer--that, and a burning love of which she seemed totally unconscious, or coldly indifferent. why not let her go now? to see her suffer were but to multiply his own suffering a thousandfold, and yet she was his in the sight of god! he emitted a hard, guttural laugh as the mockery of the phrase was made clear to him. he collected the gear and, slinging it across his shoulders, mounted the hill. overhead a long stream of birds was beating toward the south. he bade them a mute farewell, knowing that he would miss their silvern voices, and their morning wrangling among the spruce and hemlocks. "i guess life might be beautiful enough," he ruminated, "if one only had the things one wants, but the gittin' of 'em is sure hell!" he flung the pick and ax and washing-pan to the ground, and looked inside the tent. it was empty, and the cooking utensils were lying about as they were left at breakfast-time. then he noticed that some of angela's clothes were missing. the latter fact removed any lingering doubts from his mind. if any further evidence were required, it existed in the shape of a pile of cigar ash on the duckboarding. "so!" he muttered. he walked outside and stood gazing over the autumn-tinted country. a stray bird twitted among the trees, but the great silence was settling down every hour as the feathered immigrants mounted from copse and dell into the blue vault of heaven. "so!" he repeated, as though he were powerless to find any fuller expression of his emotions. he went back into the tent and slipped a revolver into his holster, then with huge strides went over the hill towards dawson. he covered the five miles in less than fifty minutes, and entered the congested main street. the saloons were busy as usual, and there seemed to be more people than ever. a trading store was selling mackinaws, parkhas, and snow-shoes, as fast as they could be handled. "old-timers" lounged in the doorway and grinned at the huge prices paid for these winter necessaries. jim evaded the throng and made for the river bank. he guessed that angela and her "friend" would not risk staying long in dawson, and had doubtless timed their escape to catch the last boat down-river. at that moment the _silas p. young_ gave announcement of its departure by two long blasts from its steam-whistle. jim came out on the river bank and saw the boat well out in the stream, its paddle churning up the muddy water. near him was an old man waving a red handkerchief. he recognized jim and stopped his signaling. "so you've sent her home, pard? wal, it's a darn good----" "what's that?" "yore wife. i sent mine too. it's going to be merry hell in this yere town afore the summer comes round----" jim stood petrified. he had half expected this, but now that he was face to face with it the blow came harder than he expected it to be. she was going--going out of his life for ever.... perhaps it was as well that way. he turned to hanky, the old man. "did you see her go?" "yep. i saw her go aboard." "was--was there any other guy with her?" "no--leastways, that fellow d'arcy saw her off. friend of yours, i take it?" jim nodded, scarcely trusting himself to speak. the name was unknown to him, but he remembered the man in the canoe who had spoken to angela a few months before. it must be the same man--the man who had visited her at the camp, and who had dropped the cigar ash on the floor that morning. d'arcy had triumphed, then! he concluded that the latter must be aboard, though hanky had not seen him go on the boat. he thought of lord featherstone and all those fine relations and friends of angela's. how they would chuckle when they heard that she had escaped from her "impossible husband"! his gorge rose as he visualized the scene. they had sold him something only to get it back again for nothing. it wasn't straight dealing--it wasn't on the level. they had bargained on this eventuality when they made the deal. they concluded it would be easy to hoodwink a "cowpuncher." "no, by god!" he muttered. "i ain't lettin' go." he turned to hanky. "you gotta hoss, hank?" "sure!" "will you loan him to me for an hour or two? i'll take care of him. i'm strong on hosses." "she's yourn," replied hanky. "come right along and i'll fix you up. she's stabled at dan's place." ten minutes later jim was mounted on the big black mare. he waved his hand to hanky and went up the street like a streak of lightning. chapter xii into the wilderness hanky's mare, after being cooped up in a stable for a week without exercise, stretched its neck to the fresh air, and under the urging heels of jim killed space at a remarkable rate. mounting an almost perpendicular hill, jim saw the _silas p. young_ beating down-stream, a mile or two ahead, at a steady ten knots. he made queer noises with his lips and his mount responded instantly, leaping with distended nostrils over stone and hummocks, like a piece of live steel. to be on a horse again was glorious. instantly his form had merged with the animal's--they moved as one creature, raising dust and moss as they thundered down the river. the boat turned a corner and was lost to view for a few minutes, but a mile lower down he saw it again, with a creamy wake streaming behind it. he was nearer now and going strong. he pressed his hand over the glossy neck of the horse and crooned to it. "gee, yore some hoss--you beaut! the man that lays whip on your flanks oughter be shot. we're gaining, honey. another league and we'll be putting it over that 'honking' bunch of machinery. stead-dee!" the thundering pace was maintained. uphill, downhill, on the flat, it was all the same. heels were no longer necessary. the horse understood that the big "horse-man" wanted to get somewhere in quick time, and meant to see him through. twenty minutes later they were abreast of the _silas p. young_. then they shot into a deep gully and were lost among a thick forest of spruce-trees. for two miles horse and man evaded low-hanging branches and treacherous footfalls, until the timber thinned and the straggling yukon came again to view. away up-stream was the steamboat, crawling down by the near bank. there was no time to be lost if angela's escape was to be frustrated. he tethered his foam-flecked mount to a tree and crept down the steep bank. the muddied water swirled along at a ramping five knots--a vile-looking cocoa-colored mass that was scarcely inviting to any swimmer. he raised his hands and dived down. with a powerful over-arm stroke he made for the line which the steamboat was following. in that wide welter of water the bobbing head would in all probability be lost to view, or any kind of shout would be drowned by the clanking noise of the paddle-wheels. the extreme danger of the exploit was not lost upon him, but the resolve, once rooted, stuck fast. he looked up and saw the _silas p. young_ bearing down on him, her squat nose setting her course in dead line with his eyes. treading water, he waited for the psychological moment. the chief danger lay in the vicinity of the paddle-wheel. to be caught up in that meant certain death. he resolved to fetch the boat as near the bows as possible and on the port side. he heard a bell ring twice, and then to his horror the boat changed her course. it was barely two hundred yards away, and bore straight down on him. he dived and swam for his life to avoid direct impact.... at that moment a man saw him and yelled out something to the captain. the latter peered over the side, but saw nothing. "you're drunk!" he retorted. "tell you i seen a man right under her nose. better stop the boat." the captain shrugged his shoulders. "i guess i'll keep straight on," he replied. "what's it got to do with me, anyway? he ain't a passenger----" he stopped and gasped as an enormous, saturated spectre climbed over the side. a crowd of men playing cards nearby stopped their game and stared. "who in hell are you?" asked the captain. jim shook the wet from his hair and pushed forward without a word. his keen eyes ranged all over the packed decks. then he grunted as he caught sight of a familiar figure in the stern of the boat. it was angela, white of face, and amazed at the appearance of this totally unexpected apparition. the crowd, struck dumb with wonderment, made way for him. he strode up to angela and stopped within a foot of her, gazing fixedly into her eyes. "you!" "yep--it's me all right. are you ready?" "ready----!" "can't wait too long. it's a tidy swim, and the river gits wider every mile." she recoiled from him in horror. for the past hour she had been dreaming of the comforts and joys of civilization. once in the river, escape had seemed certain--and here was her pugnacious jailer with determination written all over his set features. "i'm waiting," he said calmly. "are you mad?" she retorted. "i'm finished with that terrible life. this time you have come too late. unless you go ashore now there will not be another chance." "then we'll go right now." "we!" "yep--you and me." he moved towards her and caught her firmly by the arm. a group of men, interested spectators of the drama, thought it was time to interfere. one of them, a grizzled man of fifty, touched jim on the arm. "what's all this, stranger?" "don't butt in," growled jim. his interrogator disregarded him, and turned to angela. "who is this broiler, missie?" "he is--he is----. he wants to take me back there, to a place i hate! oh, please bring the captain!" the captain was already pushing his way through the crowd, annoyed at this unconventional method of boarding his ship. he put both hands in his pockets, stuck out his little bearded chin, and glared at jim. "what the blazes do you mean by boarding my ship? where's your ticket, eh? and leave that lady alone--she's a passenger of mine." some of his indignation vanished when the fierce gray eyes of jim fixed him in an unflinching stare. he saw trouble looming in the offing. jim turned his eyes to angela. "we'll be mushing," he said briefly. linking her arm in his, he began to push through the crowd. the grizzled man said something to his comrade, and they spread out and formed a human barrier to his further progress. "don't butt in, boys--'tain't healthy," warned jim. "git him!" whispered the grizzled man, "and yank him back in the river!" jim's hand flew to his belt and the big revolver was jerked out in a trice. he pushed it into the stomach of the foremost man, and caused that worthy to shiver with terror. the latter backed away, whilst his friends hunted for firearms. "stand aside!" roared jim. the lane widened, but at the end of it were two men handling revolvers, with a dangerous glint in their eyes. "so yore after stoppin' a man eloping with his own wife, eh?" "wife----?" "thet's so." the crowd stared. this put a new complexion on matters. the captain looked at angela. "say, is that husky your 'old man'?" angela flushed with embarrassment. "i hate him, and i won't go with him!" she cried hotly. the captain spread out his hands. "why in hell didn't you say so afore?" he asked jim. "is it any of your darned business?" "i guess it's your funeral, all right," chuckled the grizzled man. "better come on as far as eagle. i'll put you off there," said the captain. "can't stop just here." jim shook his head and moved towards the rail. "i'm sure in a hurry," he said. "we ain't scared of a drop of water, are we angy?" angela bestowed upon him a look of mingled contempt and terror. the high wooded bank seemed miles away, and the river ran like a millrace. "i won't come--i won't!" she hissed. but he had already reached the rail. her heart seemed to freeze with horror as he lifted her on to the seat and clasped her firmly round the waist, imprisoning her arms so that resistance became impossible. "stop!" yelled the captain. "you can't go that way----" a gasp came from the crowd as they saw him take a deep breath and leap down with his burden. they disappeared beneath the filthy water, to come to the surface a few seconds later in exactly the same position as they had entered it--angela with her arms held from behind, and the amazing husband swimming on his broad back, with head towards the nearest bank. the current carried him down-stream, but his inshore progress was swift and certain. a huge yell came from the admiring spectators as the _silas p. young_ pursued her course and rounded another bend. angela, stunned and terrified by this unexpected precipitation into ice-cold water, lay like a log with eyes closed. she lost all account of time in the mental paralysis that gripped her.... only when they touched bottom and jim commenced to carry her to the bank did her full sense come into operation. she stood in her sodden clothing, her pale, beautiful face quivering as she regarded this monster of a man. "you brute! you heartless ruffian! oh, if i could only make you feel what i think of you!" "if i could only make you feel just what i think of you!" he said slowly. "but we're both trying to do just what can't be done. let's drop it and find the hoss. better foller behind, and not try running away. maybe you think it amuses me to yank you back like this every time--but it don't." he began to tramp along a beaten path that wound up over the hill. angela followed, with swift steps, for a cold wind blew down the valley and set her teeth chattering. overhead thick gray clouds obliterated the sun. a mile farther on jim stopped and, slipping off his coat, went to her. "you're cold. put it on." "no--thanks." "put it on!" "why this sudden regard for my welfare?" it was like a stab to him. she saw it and was pleased. but later on she was a little ashamed of that throb of transient joy. she would have liked to express her regrets, but her pride prevented such a descent. they found the horse, pawing impatiently at the ground. he whinnied plaintively as he heard jim's footfall and the call that the latter's lips gave utterance to. without a word jim lifted angela into the saddle and mounted behind her. a "cluck" from his lips, and the mare went galloping across the uneven country towards red ruin. they arrived there just as the first flakes of snow began to fall. for a whole week no single word passed between them. the first snow had come, and every day found the thermometer registering a lower temperature. in a week or two the whole land would be in the grip of the pitiless winter. what were jim's intentions? she saw him pondering over a map and marking routes. after a trip into dawson he came back with a team of dogs and a new sled, plus dog-feed, snow-shoes, and sundry other gear. one evening he broke the silence. "angela!" she lifted her head from the book that she was reading. "we're hitting the trail to-morrow." "to where?" "north--the chandalar river district. there's nothing left worth staking down here. but there's gold up there, and we can't afford to waste time." "very well," she said icily, and turned to the book again. he put his arm across and closed the book. "better git this thing clear." "isn't it clear?" "nope. listen here--we got enough grub to carry us over the winter, that and no more. my last wad of dollars went to buy them dawgs. i guess you think i'm trash, and perhaps i am, but up here in the north men stick by their pardners till they strike gold or leave their bones on the trail. you're my pard now--won't you act on that and make the best of it?" her eyes shone defiantly in the glare of the paraffin lamp. appealing to her sense of justice was useless in the face of circumstances. "you call it partnership when the one is forced against her will, and the other uses every kind of diabolical means to assist his mastery? i am coming with you because there is no way out of it. you understand. nothing but force can save me--i see that. your code of life is based on brute strength devoid of any kind of moral sense." his lips moved in a way that evidenced his resentment. "what you call 'moral sense' is a pretty queer thing, i allow. it lets a man sell his daughter for hard cash, and it lets that daughter play with a man's feelings. if that's moral sense i ain't takin' none." "will you never forget that? do you think i would have gone on with that had i believed you misinterpreted the whole thing?" "misinterpreted! say, do your kisses allow of misinterpretation?" she was amazed at this quick and telling thrust. she had yet much to learn about colorado jim. education is a matter of mind, independent of environment. she made the mistake of believing it to be the special monopoly of high-schools and gentle breeding. she was unable to recognize the diamond in its crude unpolished state. "when i kissed you, did you think that was a kind o' habit with me?" he queried. she shrugged her shoulders, not wishing to remember the incident. "it was the first time anything like that had happened to me," he resumed, "and it was like touching heaven while it lasted. but i see now there was nothing in it--no more than kissing one of them saloon women---- ugh!" she felt like striking him, in her anger, at the insulting comparison, but she was not unconscious of the truth of it.... she opened the book again, and strove to forget his presence and the approaching horror of arctic wanderings. she saw him pull the fur cap down over his ears, and disappear through the tent opening to feed the howling malemutes. on the morrow they packed their tent, loaded the sled with everything they possessed, and set their head for the north. she sat on the sled, clad in thick mackinaw coat, fur cap, and mittens, whilst jim stood behind with a twenty-foot whip clasped in his hand. the mixed team of twelve dogs snarled and snapped at each other as they waited for the word of command. "mush--you malemutes!" cried jim. the long curling whip came down with a whistling crack, and the team went trotting across the dazzling white plain. chapter xiii the terror of the north there is no stillness like the stillness of the arctic. in the frozen wastes of the north the human voice is a blessed and desirable thing. imagine an ice-locked land, stretching on either hand for thousands of miles, with never a bird's song to break the silence, where nothing lives but a few starved wolves, and consumptive indians existing for the most part in foetid igloos, venturing out but rarely in search of edible roots or an occasional indigenous animal. ninety per cent. of the human life of alaska was settled along the yukon valley, in close proximity to the vast artery that connected with the outer world. north of that the boundless wilderness stretches away over plain and mountain to the very pole. traveling is slow and tortuous, for beaten trails are few, and the wanderer must "pack" his own trail where the snow is deep--walking in front of the sled and treading a negotiable sled-track by means of snow-shoes. the body craves for warmth, and warmth can only be obtained by excessive consumption of food. the normal ration of a healthy being is trebled to counteract the enormous evaporation of bodily heat. fat is the staff of life. the esquimo, settled along the coast by the bering sea, takes his meal of ten pounds of blubber and feels a better man. by imitative methods the white man survives the awful cold and the pitiless conditions. to angela it seemed that every single discomfort to which human life was subject was epitomized in these appalling wastes. the ice was yet new and river trails were unsafe. day after day they plowed through the deep snow, ever northward, with the wind in their teeth, and the sun but a mere spectre mounting the horizon, with an effort, to sink again but a few hours later. the dogs frightened her. they were fierce, untamed brutes who snarled at each other and fought on occasion, until the stinging lash descended on their thick coats to remind them of the terrible master behind the sled. she came to see how necessary was the whip. they responded to that and that alone. some of them were half wolf--creatures that were the result of inter-breeding on the part of athabaskan indians. like their wolf parent their energy was immense. they ate but twice daily--enormous meals of pulped fish and nondescript material which filled two of the sacks on the sled. they camped on bleak mountains and along frozen creeks. in the latter case jim made double use of the camp-fire. before retiring into the snow-banked tent for the night the fire was heaped high with branches. in the morning the thawed ground beneath it was excavated and washed with snow-water, lest it harbor the much desired red mineral. muck! always muck! it seemed to her amazing that he should continue this heartbreaking quest. much as she had prized the things that money could buy, she began to hate it now. as they penetrated farther north, so the conditions grew more appalling. no longer the sun mounted the horizon. night and day were much the same thing--a mysterious luminiferousness, merging into the fantastic lights of the great aurora borealis, that occasionally leapt across the northern sky in spectrumatic beauty, to flicker and die, and rise again. day after day the journey went on. the ice being now strong, they skimmed across rivers and creeks, raising the snow in clouds and "switchbacking" over hummocks in a fashion that under other conditions might have been exhilarating. then came the monotonous digging and washing, with its inevitable unsuccessful issue. striking the yukon river at the "flats"--where it is reputed to be thirty miles wide--they followed its course for three weary days, until fort yukon was passed and the junction of the chandalar river was made. it was while negotiating the rough surface of chandalar that the "terror of the north" came down. jim heard it coming before angela was aware of any unusual sound. for two days there had been no wind, saving a light zephyr that laid its bitter finger on the exposed flesh. now a legion of devils were preparing for attack. a sound like unto a human sigh broke the silence. it died away and came again, a little stronger. immediately jim pulled the "leader" dog to the lift and cracked the long whip over the team. "mush, darn you, mush!" "what's that?" inquired angela, as an uncanny groaning met her ears. "the wind. gee, but she's going to raise the dead!" the high bank loomed up and the sled turned a half-circle and came close under a protecting bluff. jim tied the team to a tree and ran forward to angela. she was standing terror-stricken at the sound of the approaching monster. behind her was a huge snow-drift. he pointed to the white mass, and shouted that his voice might be heard above the niagara of sound. "we'll sure freeze stiff unless we git inside that--hurry!" they bored their way into the crisp snow, like dogs in a rabbit-hole. there was scarcely need to urge angela to use her strength. the noise of the approaching blizzard was like to fifty thousand shrieking devils. the little light that remained was suddenly blotted out. at nearly a hundred miles an hour the solid mass of wind and snow came roaring down from the mountains. the whole earth seemed to reel under the impact. inside the sheltering snow mass it was cold enough, but outside nothing human could live. the dogs, familiar with this phenomenon of the higher latitudes, had crawled into the snow and would lie there until the noise subsided. the two humans huddled up inside the snow heard nothing and saw nothing. it was as if the whole world had suddenly crashed into a sister planet and was hurtling into space, a broken mass. hours passed and no change came. occasionally the snow-drift seemed to shift a little, and jim dreaded that some clutching finger of the wind would tear the frozen morsel of shelter from the cliff and drive it into thin air. that were indeed the end, for at fifty degrees below zero the arctic hurricane is like a knife, from whose murderous edge no escape is possible. they crawled lower in the snow until they reached the ice itself. it was suffocating, for the wind had blown in the entrance and fresh air was excluded.... jim felt the body close to him--it was still as death. a great fear swept through him. she was not strong enough for this trial--she was----! he thrust his hand inside the thick coat and felt the heart. it was beating but slowly, and her hands were cold. he clasped her to him and rubbed the face with snow, growling like an animal in pain as the hideous uproar continued. she had nearly fainted; but another hour of this poisonous incarceration and she would never recover. he dare not attempt to get to the fresher air. outside it was certain death, and any moment might assist the wind in carrying out the task it seemed so determined to perform.... a piercing wind suddenly entered, and the whole mass quivered. he realized that the worst was about to happen--the snow was moving. before he could fix on his mittens the snow and its two inmates were flung like a rifle-shot across the ice. there was a thundering roar, and the whole pile broke into a myriad parts. still clasping the unconscious angela, he went helter-skelter before the blast, pitching and sliding on the ice. the power to think was leaving him. brain and body seemed numbed and out of action. he was only conscious that he held in his arms the thing from which not even this murderous wind could sever him. he calmly waited for the end--the dreamy, painless end that freezing death would bring.... then he suddenly gave vent to a choking cry of joy. the wind had suddenly, marvelously vanished. he heard it howling its way across the land to the south. he dragged himself from the ice and looked back. the aurora was flashing again and the sky was clear. the strange arctic light was settling down on the scene, turning the snow-clad waste into mysterious colors. he rubbed his frost-bitten hands vigorously with snow and hurried up the river with angela clasped in his arms. he found the sled overturned, some distance from where he had left it, and hurriedly rigged up the tent on a suitable place on the bank. in a few minutes he had angela inside, on a pile of blankets, and was forcing brandy between her lips. seeing that she was reviving, he lit the oil stove and went to round up the dog-team. when he returned angela was boiling the kettle on top of the stove. she handed him a cup of cocoa in silence. he took it without attempting to drink it. her extraordinary recovery amazed him. "is it all over?" she queried ultimately. "yep," he gasped. "but it sure did blow some." "yes--it's a good job we were inside the snow-drift," she replied indifferently. he put down the mug of cocoa that he had taken up. of all bewildering things this was the most bewildering. she was acting again--acting in her own subtle fashion. he came to the conclusion that women were beyond his comprehension--and angela most of all. on the next morning the temperature was moderately high. they left the river and found a good trail along the bank. angela asked no questions regarding his destination. she had got beyond caring very much now. she determined to adopt an attitude of cold indifference. the sled was negotiating a bad piece of trail when it suddenly stopped, and she heard an ejaculation from behind her. she saw jim step down and examine something black in the snow. she gave a little cry as he caught the black object and pulled it up--it was a dead man, frozen as stiff as a board. "poor devil!" muttered jim. "i guess he got caught in that wind." he searched through the pockets of the mackinaw coat, but found nothing that would act as a means to identification. he let the body fall and covered it with snow. "aren't you going to bury him?" he nodded and looked round him in expectant fashion. "must have a shack or a tent round about. he's got no pack of any kind. if it was a tent, likely enough it's a hundred miles away by now. if it was a shack it'll be very useful--to us." she prayed it might be the latter. anything was better than this mad wandering. they found the shack ten minutes later, nestling in a hollow, with its chimney still smoking. they pulled up outside and went to investigate the home of the unfortunate stranger. it was a comfortable affair, containing two rooms and a small outhouse, plus a certain amount of rough furniture. in the corner of the outer room was the ubiquitous yukon stove, with a fryingpan on the top containing a much overdone "flapjack." a pair of snow-shoes lay in a corner, and sundry articles of clothing were hanging on nails. in the next room was a camp-bed and more clothes, two bags of flour, one of beans, a few tins of canned meat, a rifle and a hundred cartridges--but no letters or information of any kind respecting its late owner. "it'll do," said jim. "it'll be better than a tent, anyway." angela agreed reluctantly. somehow it seemed heartless to coolly take possession of this place, with its late owner lying dead but a bare mile away. it gave her an uncanny sensation as she glanced at all the little things that belonged to him, that his cold hands had touched but a few hours ago. she reflected that a year ago such an incident as this would have chilled her with horror. but apart from arousing a small amount of sentimentality it affected her now very little. it came as a shock to her to realize that fact--she was becoming as wild as this "cowpuncher" husband of hers, who even now was sallying forth with spade and ax to excavate a shallow grave in the frozen earth, to save a man's body from prowling wolves. and all without an atom of sentiment! so little did she know of him! she did not see him remove his cap as he gently placed the luckless man in his last resting-place, or hear the short whispered prayer that he uttered. the dogs were unharnessed and driven into the outhouse which was to serve as their future domicile. jim collected the dead man's belongings together and made a neat pile of them in one corner of the outer room. angela's personal things were taken into the more comfortable inner room, which boasted of a match-boarded wall--not to mention half a dozen rather indelicate prints tacked on to the same. when he had occasion to go into the room again, after angela had been there, he noticed that the prints had been torn from the walls. angela was certainly very proper--for a married woman! chapter xiv the breaking-point the weeks that followed were a testing-time for angela. her resolutions wavered and died, confronted as she was by the terrible isolation and loneliness. stoicism was easy enough in theory but most difficult in practice. the unchanging icy vista and the eternal silence drove her to desperation. she tried work as an antidote, and found it dulled the edge of her despair. they were fortunate enough to find a fish-trap in the outhouse. jim regarded this discovery with great satisfaction. he chopped a hole in the river ice and, baiting the trap with a canned herring, managed to entice a "two-pounder" into the wicker basket. angela's attempt to cook it was not entirely a failure, and the repast was a pleasant change from the eternal beans and pork. thereafter angela took over the piscatorial department. it meant going to the river each morning and breaking the newly formed ice over the fish-hole--a task that called forth all her physical energy. at times the fish were scarce and the journeys without result, but they were not entirely wasted. she found that her body glowed with the exercise and her soft arms began to develop muscle. each day jim took the sled and the dogs, and explored the creek in the neighborhood. farther and farther afield he went, staying away at nights and leaving angela to the melancholia of her soul. the shack seemed full of a strange presence, a ghostly kind of ego that made itself felt. then along the valley came the bloodcurdling howl of a wolf, to add to her terror and misery. the icehole froze up on one bitter night, and all the efforts of jim could not reach water again. he eventually gave up the task as hopeless. "frozen right down to the river bed," he explained. the great loneliness took deeper hold of her. the eternal gloom began to affect her mentally. she became the victim of prolonged fits of depression; jim, tired and heavy-hearted with his arduous wanderings, noticed the change in her. it caused him acute mental agony, and not a little self-reproach. at nights he pondered the problem. was he subjecting her to unjustifiable misery? had he a right to do this? he knew he had not, but he was hoping--hoping vainly that she might abandon that spirit of antagonism, manifest in her every movement, and speak and act as one human being to another. he grew sick to realize that her will was no less strong than his own. what was there left to do but take her back and acknowledge defeat? defeat! the word aroused all his innate stubbornness. never had he acknowledged defeat before. he had won through by sticking to the task at hand. was he to give in now--to let this frozen-hearted woman beat him all round? how featherstone would purr with pleasure when he knew! how all those high-browed aristocrats would congratulate this ill-treated wife on disposing of her unfortunate husband! the old grievance still rankled, and his refusal to forget it reacted upon himself. this wilderness of great cold and hardship could not break his endeavor, but a woman was slowly and surely doing so. all his dreams evolved around her--maddening dreams in which he was grasping and missing her.... the climax was to come, and it came in a way that was totally unexpected. it came with such crushing relentless weight that it left him a mere wreck of a man. for three days angela had spoken no word. when he arrived back at the shack after the usual vain hunt for gold, she gave him but a quick glance, sufficient enough to convey to her that he had failed for the hundredth time. on the third night, instead of handing him his meal from the stove she sat down and burst into passionate sobs. instinctively he put out his hand to clasp her trembling fingers. she pushed it away fiercely and stood up, shaking with emotion. "you've got to let me go!" she cried. "when the spring comes." "no, now. i can't wait until the spring. this is killing me--killing me. can't you see that it will be too late then?" "angela, we came for a set purpose. if i fail when the spring comes, we'll go back to the life you want." "i'm going now," she said grimly. "to-night!" his mouth tightened. "be reasonable!" "reasonable! you talk of reason--you who brought me here to live like a dog, to treat as a dog----" he sighed as he remembered her aversion to any attempted acts of kindness on his part. in every instance she had made it clear that she wanted nothing from him--that she refused kindnesses, sacrifices, on her behalf. "i ain't treated you in any way different to that in which a husband would treat his wife." "wife--you call me that?" "what do you call it, then?" "prisoner--slave!" his face hardened. "and if i did, ain't there some justification? if our deal had been a love deal i guess the arrangement would have been canceled long ago. but it wasn't. it was commercial transaction to which you gave your approval. it may be morally wrong to keep you, but the whole darned frame-up was morally wrong. so morals don't come into it--savvy? legally i got a claim to my--goods, and you're asking me to forgo that claim. but you don't show much regret at taking a hand in that dirty business----" "i told you i was sorry." "yep--sorry, because it's hurting _you_." she knew this was true, and the fact that he knew it too stung her. she sunk her head in her hands and remained for some time in silence. when she raised it again her face was full of a new determination. "you are only bringing pain upon yourself," she said tensely. "i can bear it." "can you?--i wanted to spare you--but you are forcing me to this--forcing me to tell you something that is going to hurt you." the tragic tone of her voice caused him to stand as though petrified. "i said i should go now--to-night; and i am going." "so!" he stammered, feeling an awful pang of fear at his heart. "you have hitherto considered no one but yourself. how far will you carry your desire for vengeance?" "i don't get you----" "wait! i told you it was killing me up here. that didn't seem to influence you much--but suppose there is someone else to be considered----" "what are you saying?" "are you blind? can't you guess? the other person is as yet unborn." his eyes were blind with pain. he gripped a chair and swayed dizzily. his mouth moved, but uttered no sound. when at last he spoke the words came as though forced from a clutched throat. "not that!--god, you don't mean that? tell me you don't mean that--angela----" she sank her head on her bosom and a sob escaped her. the next moment her head was jerked up and she was gazing into his steely fixed eyes. "was it--that man--d'arcy?" another sob convinced him. he flung her arm aside and walked to the door. he had encountered hardships, disappointments, physical and mental pain, but nothing like this devastating destroyer that was gripping him. he stumbled out of the shack like a terribly sick man. "oh god!" he groaned. "and i loved her!" she had won--won by means so foul that he would have died rather than that truth should have become known to him. all life was rotten, rotten to the core! heaven was uprooted and legions of devils usurped the throne of the almighty. he unlatched the outhouse and feverishly harnessed six of the dogs to the sled. trembling and ill, he crept into the shack to find her vanished to the inner room. he divided up the food in two equal portions, placed half his small financial funds inside a flour-sack, where he knew she would find it, and piled the things onto the sled. then he called her in a low, almost inaudible, voice. she came from the inner room, closely swathed in furs and with her head sunk. "the sled's outside.... you can mush the dogs.... they're the tamest six.... fort yukon is down the river, and the weather's good...." she nodded and walked through the door. the arctic moon, shedding a queer blue radiance over the snow hung high in the black vault. directly overhead the great bear gleamed like hanging lamps, with magnificent vega blazing like a rich jewel. she turned to him once. "jim!" "go! go! follow the river.... good--good-bye!" a choking response came back. the whip cracked and the dogs moved forward. in a few minutes she was a black blur against the scintillating snow. with a groan he turned about and went inside. for him it was a night of unparalleled agony. hour after hour saw him there, at the small window, gazing fixedly up the valley, until a slight increase in the light brought him to full consciousness, to realize that a new day was born. he prepared a meal and, despite his lack of appetite, managed to consume it. then he took the ax and the rip-saw and made for a bunch of trees higher up the hill. all day the noise of chopping and sawing broke the silence. by the evening, after a day of feverish and unremitting toil, he had fashioned a satisfactory sled. sleep came to him then--the deep dreamless sleep of exhaustion. but he awakened early, and began to pack the sled with sufficient food for the long journey. the six fierce brutes that remained were fed and harnessed, and he again ran over the details of his load to assure himself that nothing was missing. at the last moment he remembered the washing-pan and shovel, and placed them with the other miscellaneous articles. he had no dog-whip, but calculated he could mush the dogs without that. he gave one glance at the shack, emitted a fierce torrent of oaths, and pushed the sled into action. they went down the incline at a terrific rate and bumped on to the river. yonder lay dawson and d'arcy. whatever happened, he meant to get d'arcy, if it meant taking the pole _en route_. out of this anticipation he derived some grain of pleasure--and he needed it to leaven the misery in his soul. his hand moved to the revolver in the pocket of the big bearskin coat, only to be withdrawn before he touched it. "nope--not that way," he muttered grimly, "but with my two hands." chapter xv the quest it was a weary and travel-stained man that drove a dog-sled into dawson a fortnight later. the team was like the "musher," lean and wild-eyed, after their four hundred miles of merciless driving. through wind and snow this man had kept the trail. sleep became a thing unknown during the latter stages of the journey. he expected to find d'arcy in dawson--and the desire to meet d'arcy had grown into a craving. he had half killed the dogs and himself in this mad journey, but the incentive was tremendous. how he missed her! despite her soul-withering confession, he found himself building up visions of her in his brain. life had become suddenly hopelessly blank, brightened by one thing--the desire for retribution upon the head of the man who had smashed his idol. man, sled, and dogs went hurtling down the street--a black mass in the falling snow. he handed them over to a man at the yukon hotel and mixed with the crowd in the gaming saloon. no one seemed to know anything about d'arcy, so he inquired for hanky brown. hanky was at length run to earth in a dance-hall. "gosh, it's colorado jim!" the latter hurled at him the question that obsessed him. "where's d'arcy?" "d'arcy? who in hell is d'---- gee, i got you. you won't find d'arcy in dawson. he's up in endicott somewhere." jim's face fell. endicott was north of the chandalar river. it meant another journey of five hundred miles back beyond the place where he had come. "you're certain, hanky?" "sure. ask tony." he turned round and beckoned a man from the back of the hall. "'member that swell guy they called d'arcy--didn't he go with lonagon and shanks on that northern trip?" "yep. struck a rich streak up there--so i heered. why, what's wrong?" "nothin'," said jim. "i was just kinder anxious to see him. i guess i'll get along." hanky was gazing at him curiously. he felt that something was wrong, but couldn't lay his finger on the trouble. "you ain't going up to endicott?" "maybe i am." "it's sure a hell of a journey just now, and you ain't likely to find that man among them hills." "i'll find him all right, hanky. are you clearing out next spring?" "yes. gotta quarter share in ' below' on black creek. we sold out yesterday to the syndicate. the missus'll be crazed when she hears. and how about you?" "no luck. i don't think i was born lucky, hank. i used to think so----" hanky shook his head and pointed to the untasted spirit in jim's mug. "drink up!" jim quaffed the vile spirit and fastened the chin-strap of his cap. "jim, don't go to endicott." "eh?" "don't. you're looking ugly, boy, and things are done sudden-like when you're that way." jim gave a harsh laugh and his eyes flashed madly. then he stopped, biting off the laugh with a snap of his teeth. "there are some crimes for which there ain't no punishment but one, hanky. there's no power on this earth, bar death, that'll stop me from gitting d'arcy. if i don't come back before the break-up you can take it that he saw me coming before i got him." he thrust his hands into the big mittens strung to his shoulders, and nodding grimly went through the door. ten minutes later he was cracking the new dog-whip over the backs of his yelping team, and mounting the high bank heading for the north once more. there is nothing more exciting than a manhunt when the pursuer is convinced that his cause is just, and the punishment he intends to inflict well-merited. jim, peering through the blinding snow, saw in imagination the man he sought, all unconscious of the swift justice that was coming to him from out of the wilderness. this was man's law, whatever the written law might be. not for one instant did his determination waver or his conviction falter. d'arcy had partaken of forbidden fruit--partaken of it consciously, without regard for any suffering it might cause to others--and d'arcy must pay the penalty! it was a primitive argument and one that appealed to passions, but he was in many respects still a primitive man, with primitive ideas of right and justice. that law was good enough. it had served through all his experience of western life, and would serve now! the storm developed in fury, but still he drove the howling, unwilling dogs into the teeth of it. icicles were hanging from his two weeks' growth of beard, and thick snow covered him from head to foot. extraordinary luck favored him, for the snags and pitfalls were innumerable, and any deviation from the old obliterated trail might launch the whole outfit down into an abyss. fortunately he struck the river again without such a catastrophe happening. the snow ceased to fall and the sky cleared. the red rim of the sun peeped over the horizon, flooding the landscape with translucent light. before him lay the snow-clad yukon, broad and gigantic, running between its high wooded banks, contrary to all precedents, northwards. amid the maze of peaks and valleys, high up on the endicott mountains, a strange affray was taking place. in a small hut, sandwiched between two perpendicular ice-walls, three men crouched at holes newly bored through the log sides. they were d'arcy and his two companions, lonagon and shanks. it was lonagon who had first struck gold in this desolate region, late in the summer, whilst engaged in hunting caribou. shanks had gone in with him on a fifty-fifty basis, but both lacked the wherewithal to finance a trip so far north. against their desire they were obliged to take in a third person. d'arcy, having assured himself that lonagon was no liar, put up the money to buy food and gear and joined in. the idea was to thaw out the frozen pay dirt all through the winter, and to wash it when the creek ran again. unlike the claims nearer dawson, it made small appeal to the big capitalized syndicate. lonagon was of opinion that more gold could be washed out in one season than the syndicate would be willing to pay as purchase price. lonagon's optimism had been vindicated. the pay streak seemed to run along the whole length of creek. "it sure goes to the north pole!" ejaculated shanks gleefully. d'arcy realized that he had struck a good proposition. they built the rough hut and commenced their awful task. day by day the dump of excavated pay dirt grew larger. they tested it at times to find the yield of gold ever-increasing. at nights they sat and talked of the future. shanks and lonagon were for running a big hotel in san francisco. that seemed to be their highest ideal, and nothing could shift them from it. the fact that each of them would in all probability possess little short of a million dollars made no difference whatever. they were set on a drinking-place--where one could get drink any hour of the night without having to knock folks up, or even to get out of bed for it! d'arcy was planning for a life of absolute luxury. he had been poor from birth--the worst poverty of all, coupled as it was with social prominence. he glowed with pleasure as he looked forward to a time when moneylenders and dunning creditors would be conspicuously absent. it was shanks who brought the trouble upon them. shanks had hit upon a thlinklet encampment a mile or two down the creek. there were about a dozen mop-headed, beady-eyed men, and some two dozen women--two apiece--and children. shanks in his wanderings after adventure had met a more than usually attractive thlinklet girl. she had not been averse to his approaches and it ended in a pretty little love-scene, upon which the husband was indiscreet enough to intrude. having some hard things to say to shanks, who unfortunately for the devoted husband, knew a lot of the thlinklet dialect, and who resented aspersions upon his character from an "injun polygamist," the latter promptly shot him. the girl screamed with terror, and the thlinklet community ran as one man to the scene of the tragedy. shanks, reading swift annihilation in their eyes, promptly "beat it" for the hut. they were now in the midst of their trouble. all the indians had turned out armed to the teeth. not unskilled in the art of war, they had garbed themselves in white furs, presenting an almost impossible target for the men inside the hut. a spokesman had come forward demanding the body of shanks, and was told to go to blazes. they now crept along the deep ravine spread out over the snowy whiteness. "i wish you'd kep' your courtin' till we got to 'frisco," growled lonagon. "i didn't even kiss the gal!" retorted shanks. "i was jest telling her----" there was a report from outside, and a rifle-bullet whizzed within a few inches of his head. "gee, they've got guns!" exclaimed lonagon. "that's darn unfortunate!" d'arcy crept forward and, squinting through the small loop-hole, fired twice. he gave a grunt of great satisfaction. "that's one less." a fusillade of shots came from the ravine. they ripped through the thick logs and out the other side. d'arcy drew in his breath with a hiss. "they'll get us when the light goes," he said. "hell they will!" "looky here," said shanks, "let's hike out and get at 'em. can't shoot through these little slits." "they're about four to one--and there are at least six rifles there," said d'arcy. shanks sneered. "they couldn't hit an iceberg." "reckon they could, with an arrow," growled lonagon. "we'd be crazed to go out there." d'arcy was for following shanks' advice. they debated the point for a few minutes and then decided to attempt an attack. but the decision was made too late. there came a diabolical yell down the ravine. shanks ran to a loop-hole. "gosh!--they're coming--the whole lot of them!" he cried. the three men ran to their posts and commenced firing at the leaping figures of the thlinklets. three or four of them bit the snow, but the remainder reached the hut. shots came through and the sound of hatchets sounded on the thick logs. d'arcy fired and a scream of anguish followed. then he threw up his arms and fell back with a groan, his rifle sticking in the slit through which it had fired. shanks ran to him, and saw a round hole through his coat, near the heart, around which the blood was freezing as it issued. there was obviously nothing to be done with d'arcy. shanks dragged the rifle from the hole and reloaded it, cursing and swearing like a madman. still came the steady thud, thud of the hatchets, but they rang much more hollow, and the two defenders expected to see part of the wall go down at any moment. suddenly the sound of hatchets ceased and some of the noise subsided. lonagon peeped through a crack, and saw half a dozen indians coming up with a battering-ram in the shape of a felled tree. they approached at a wide angle, out of the line of fire. "shanks, it's all up. get your six shooter--we'll have the black devils inside in a minute." shanks flung down the rifle and snatched the revolver from his belt. he bent low and took a glimpse at what was happening outside. the indians were but twenty yards away, and preparing to charge the half dissected portion of the wall with their heavy ram. he tried to get a shot at them, but could not get enough angle on to the revolver. he saw them ambling towards him, and then, to his surprise, one of them gasped and pitched headlong. the remainder stood, transfixed, at this inexplicable occurrence. before they recovered from their amazement another man howled with pain and placed one hand over a perforated shoulder. from afar came the sharp crack of a firearm. shanks suddenly saw the shooter, high up on the ice wall above them. "gee whiz! lonagon--it's a big feller up on the cliff! whoever he is, he's got buffalo bill beaten to a frazzle. did you see that? a bull's-eye at three hundred feet, and with a six-shooter. it clean wallops the band!" he unbarred the door, as the remaining thlinklets went helter-skelter down the ravine, and waved his hands to the figure above him. lonagon turned to the still form of d'arcy. he lifted the latter on the camp-bed, poured some whisky between his teeth, and saw the eyes open and shine glassily. "how's it going?" he queried. d'arcy gave a weak smile. "i'm finished with gold-digging, pat. it's a rotten shame to have to let go just when luck has changed ... but that's life all over.... i'm cold--cold." lonagon, who recognized death when he saw it coming, pulled some blankets over d'arcy and turned moodily away. his was not a sentimental nature. forty years in the north had killed sentiment, but he liked d'arcy--and it hurt. he went out to get a sight of their unknown ally. he found him and his hungry, grizzled team coming down the ravine with shanks. it was jim--but scarcely the jim of old. for a month he had traveled up from dawson and among the merciless peaks, eating but half rations and fighting storm and snow with all the power of his indomitable will. he looked like a great gaunt spectre, with hollow cheeks and eyes that shone in unearthly fashion. shanks could not make head or tail of him. his proffered hand had been neglected and his few questions went unanswered. he was pleased when lonagon turned up, for he had a deadly fear of madmen. "what cheer, stranger!" cried lonagon. "you turned up in the nick of time." jim stopped the sled and regarded him fixedly. "are you--lonagon?" he asked in a husky voice. "sure!" "then where's d'arcy? i want d'arcy. d'ye git that? it's d'arcy i'm after." lonagon looked at shanks. shanks tapped his forehead significantly to indicate that in his opinion the stranger had left the major portion of his senses out on the trail, and wasn't safe company. "so--you want d'arcy?" quavered lonagon. "i said so." "wal, you're only jest in time. come right in and see for yourself." jim reeled across to the cabin and hesitated on the threshold. "it's kinder private," he growled. "oh, like that, is it?" lonagon began to smell a rat. he pursed his lips and met jim's flaming eyes. undaunted, he placed his back to the door. "see here, we're mighty obliged to you for plugging them injuns, but you ain't going in there till we know what your game is. you ain't safe--there's a skeery look in your eyes and--" he lowered his voice--"d'arcy is hitting the long trail." jim started back in amazement. the news brought him the bitterest disappointment he had yet suffered. after all this terrible time on the trail fate was to rob him of his reward! for a moment he became suspicious. "so he put you up to that, eh? better stand away. i ain't in a humor for hossplay. we got a score to settle." shanks stepped up to him. "that score will be settled in less'n an hour. the injuns got d'arcy over the heart. go in and see. i reckon you'll find there's no need to settle scores." lonagon, realizing that nothing could worsen d'arcy's condition, turned away and watched jim enter the cabin. once inside the door, jim saw that the two men had spoken the truth. d'arcy's deathly white face was turned towards him and the hands were clenched on the brown blanket. providence was robbing him of his vengeance, and despite his crushing sense of failure, somewhere in his heart leapt a great gladness. he approached the bed, and the sound of his heavy tread awoke the dying man to consciousness. he turned his glassy eyes on his visitor, and for a moment failed to recognize him. then memory came. "you--you are the man--i saw--on the bank at dawson.... angela's husband!" jim nodded grimly. "i've come," he said. "didn't you know i'd come?" chapter xvi the great lie d'arcy regarded him fixedly. it astonished him that a man should travel hundreds of miles in the arctic winter to vent his wrath on another. "why should you come?" he murmured. "you--you ask me that! you----" he stopped as a spasm of pain crossed d'arcy's face. in the presence of impending death he found a strange difficulty in giving full vent to his hate. "i see," gasped d'arcy. "it's because i helped her to escape. perhaps i was wrong, but believe me, it was better that way. i knew her years ago.... it gave you pain, but it may have saved her from hating you--eventually...." this seeming hypocrisy staggered jim. that any man facing the shadow of death could act in such manner was amazing. he quivered with violent repulsion. "i wasn't referring to that," he snapped. "she didn't escape--i brought her back." "you--you brought her back! then why did you come here?" "i came to kill you--with my hands. did you think i would rest until that score was settled?" d'arcy attempted to drag himself into a sitting position, but the pain it caused him rendered the attempt vain. he closed his eyes for a few seconds, then slowly opened them. he became conscious of the fact that they were at cross-purposes. "i don't understand.... in any case you are too late.... but why do you want to kill me? what i did, i did for the sake of friendship. i don't doubt you would--do the same for a woman in trouble--if--if you loved her." jim passed his hand across his brow. it was bewildering, baffling! "god, ain't you got a soul?" he gasped. "can you lie there within a few minutes of death and take a pride in what you did? damn the fate that got you plugged before i could get my hands on you. i suffered hell out there, these two months, hunting you all over the mountains, and now ..." d'arcy surveyed the distraught speaker in bewilderment. he had said that angela had been brought back from the _silas p. young_. then it wasn't that escape that had sent him up here in bitter, revengeful mood. he began to touch the outer edge of the truth. "i'm cold," he muttered. "and it grows dark.... where are you?... i must know more, ... tell me what troubles you.... do you think there was anything more in that business but friendship? speak!" "i know!" "ah--i see.... so that's it.... see here, friend.... i'm going out ... right out, where perhaps there's a tribunal.... i've done bad things, but not that.... i'm glad you came ... in time. and you thought that of me--o god!" jim recoiled with blanched cheeks before these words, ringing as they did with truth. he tried to get a clear grip of the position, but his brain reeled under the force of this astounding dénouement. d'arcy was speaking again--so faint he could scarcely hear. "and to think that of--her! man--man--and you look as though you love her.... she's all that's good and pure, though her pride is--great, too great,... and she's willful and unrelenting.... go back and put this right. don't let this terrible unjust suspicion remain...." "but--she told me that," gasped jim. despite the pain occasioned by the movement, d'arcy dragged himself higher on the pillow and gazed at jim in horror. "she--she told you--that!" jim wished he had bitten his tongue off before those words had been uttered. was ever physical blow more cruel than this--to inflict insult and guilt of so despicable a nature upon a perfectly innocent man! he snatched at the nerveless hand on the bed and held it. "i'm sorry," he groaned. "i didn't know--i didn't think she would frame up a dirty lie like that." d'arcy suddenly smiled wistfully. "and where is she now?" "i sent her away." "you sent her--well, perhaps it was best," he said. "you've got to forget that story. circumstances excuse many things." "they don't excuse that." "i think they do.... all the blame is not with her. that she should give utterance to such a lie proves to what extremes she was forced. she tried by every other means to escape--and failed. you held her, not by love, but by brute strength." "you don't understand," retorted jim. "i bought her. she knows that. i didn't know i was buying her, but she knew all the time----" "you--can't buy a woman's soul." "what's that got to do with it?" "everything. it was her soul that writhed under that jailership----" "yep--and her soul that told that damned lie." d'arcy shook his head. "you tried to win by the superiority of your physical strength. is that moral? is it justifiable? she had no other way to fight but by subtlety and falsehood. both ways are equally detestable. therefore it is not for you to condemn.... tell lonagon ... i'm going--going...." jim ran outside and brought in lonagon and shanks. before they could reach the bed the soul of d'arcy had flown from his pain-ridden body. lonagon put the blanket over the dead man's face, and shanks made strange noises in his throat. "he was a white man, though he was a gentleman," muttered lonagon. jim staggered to the door, dazed by the outcome of this meeting. but his mind had cooled down and the crazy desire for vengeance, now vanished, left him a more normal creature. but he felt sick and weary. the future seemed so hopeless and blank. had he the desire to search for angela and bring her back, his storm-wrecked body would have refused. lonagon approached him. "so you didn't kill him?" jim glared. "wal, it's jest as well, for i'd hev sure killed you." "and i'd have been darned glad," growled jim. a great nausea overtook him, and he clutched the door-post for support. shanks looked at him, and shook his head. "better not hit the trail to-day. you got fever." jim shrugged his shoulders. "i'm all right. i'll be mushing back to my shack. 'tain't far--two days' run. so long!" he went to the sled, untethered the dogs, and sent them scuttling up the ravine. but the sickness remained. his head seemed nigh to bursting and all his limbs set up a chronic aching. he vaguely realized that he was in the grip of mountain fever, which had fastened on to his abused body and was breaking him up. he had estimated his journey back to occupy two days, but he meant to do it in one. illness on the trail meant death, and little as life meant to him now, the natural desire to fight for it mastered the inclination to lay down and succumb to the fever and the elements. hour after hour the sled whirled along. once he stopped and mechanically gave the dogs a meal. he became transformed into an automaton, acting by some subliminal power that set his direction correctly and assisted to maintain his body in an upright position. only one part of his brain functioned, and that part was memory. all the outstanding incidents of his adventurous career passed before him in perspective. he saw himself fighting and winning from the time when first he had set out with a gripsack to seek a fortune in the wide plains of the west. at the end of this remarkable chain of successes was the dismal picture of his present failure. a woman, rather than suffer subjugation at his hands, had perjured her soul in a dreadful lie. d'arcy was right. souls were not to be bought or "broken-in." he had won in the old days because the primitive law prevailed in all things. no longer did that work. civilization assessed man on a different basis. the law of the wild had been superseded by other qualities--qualities which, presumably, he did not possess. it was a bitter enough awakening for him to feel himself a failure. wandering, half deliriously, in a vicious mental circle he came again and again to that point. he had failed in the great test--he had failed to win the heart of the woman he truly loved. so much for all those physical attributes! they conquered women in the stone age. they might conquer women now, of a kind, but they were futile weapons to employ against a modern woman, benefiting by centuries of progress and culture, with fine mentality and inflexible will. what then were the qualities that counted? was it love? no, not love, for his bosom was bursting with it. not sacrifice, for he would have died for her--and she must know it. was it culture? was it education? chivalry? his tortured brain could find no answer. the woman herself had faced that same inward tribunal. to her, too, the obstacle was not quite clear. but it was pride of birth. it saturated her; it subjugated all passions, all emotions. it rendered her incapable of exercising her real feelings. she had placed the man low down in the scale, and had kept him there by the mere consciousness of this accident of birth. the man behind the sled ceased to ponder the enigma. his mind became a complete blank as the shack hove into sight along the valley. he lurched from side to side as the dogs, scenting their kennel, increased their speed. the sled hit a tree, and flung him to the ground, but the dogs went on. he raised himself to his knees, his teeth chattering in ghastly fashion. his half-blind eyes could just make out the hut in the distance, a black smudge against the pure white snow. with a great effort he began to crawl towards his refuge.... his legs felt like lead and soon refused to respond to the weakened will that moved them. he uttered a deep groan and collapsed in the snow, his head buried in his great arms. chapter xvii a change of front for five days the fever raged, and then it left him, a mere wreck of his former self. all through that unconscious period the strangest things had happened. arms had lifted him up from the pillow, and hands had fed him with liquid foods. some glorious half-seen stranger had taken him under her care; but her face was hidden in a queer mist that floated before his eyes. at times he had tried to rise from the bed, his unbalanced mind obsessed with the idea of washing for gold, but those same strange, soft hands had always succeeded in preventing this--saving once. on that occasion he actually succeeded in getting from the bed and standing up. he carefully placed one leaden leg before the other, and was nearly on the threshold of the door when the familiar apparition appeared. "she doesn't know--i'm wise to all that happened--but i know. she had to do that--poor gal!... i'll jest go and tell her it's all right--not to worry none...." two supple arms caught him. he pushed them away, rather irritably. "don't butt in.... it's her i'm thinkin' of--angela. she's sure hard and cold and can't see no good in me,... but she's got to be happy--got to be happy.... maybe she's right. i'm only fit for hosses and wild women...." he found himself in bed again, and quite unconscious of the fact that he had ever been out of it; but he still continued to ramble on in monotonous and eerie fashion, about angela, colorado, fifty thousand pounds, and sundry other things. full consciousness came early one morning. he had been lying trying to piece together all the queer things that floated to his brain through the medium of his disarranged optic nerve. he succeeded in arriving at the fact that there was a bed and he was lying on it, and that the ceiling was comprised of rough logs.... then an arm was placed behind his head and a mug of something hot was placed to his lips. but he didn't drink. his sight was coming back at tremendous speed. the hazy face before him took definite shape. a pair of intensely blue eyes were fixed on him, and red shapely lips seemed to smile. "angela!" he gasped. she nodded and turned her eyes down. "yes, it is i. don't talk--you are too weak." "but i don't understand. why did you come back?" he saw the mouth quiver. "i came back because----" "go on." "i came back because i told you a lie.... i didn't realize then what a despicable lie it was--one that reflected upon the character of a good friend, and made me seem like dirt in your eyes.... i wanted my freedom at any price, but that price was too high.... i--i couldn't go and let you think--that." her shoulders shook, and he saw that she was trying to conceal her sobs. "when did you come back?" he queried in a slow voice. "two days after i left. i found you gone, but knew you must come back, because some of the gear was here." she hesitated. "did--did you go after--him?" he nodded grimly, and she gave a little cry of terror. "you--you found him?" he nodded affirmatively. "and then----?" "i found him dying from a bad injury." "dying----?" "yes. he's dead now." she turned on him with horrified eyes. "you--you didn't kill him?" "nope. i went there for that, but the injuns got him first." tears swam in her eyes. she moved her hands nervelessly and put the painful, crucial question. "did he know--why you came?" he inclined his head, much affected by her attitude of abject shame. she gave a smothered cry and sank her head into her hands. "don't, don't!" he implored. "he understood all right, and he's dead and gone. forget it!" he took the mug of hot cocoa, anxious to drop a subject which caused him as much pain as it did her. through the frosted windows he could see the sunlit, beautiful landscape, shining with incomparable radiance. soon the spring would come, and with it the soul-filling song of birds, breaking the long silence of the winter. "it must be round about march," he said. "i sure have lost count of time." "it's march the third or fourth," she replied. he glanced round the room and was surprised to notice its tidy appearance. all the domestic utensils were clean and neatly arranged on shelves, and the window boasted a pair of curtains. he began to realize how near death he must have been--so near, indeed, but for her he would have crossed the abyss before this. "where did you find me?" he asked. "away back on the fringe of the wood. the dogs came home with the sled and i followed the tracks till i found you. i--i thought you were dead." "and you carried me here?" "i unpacked the sled and went back with it. i managed to get you on to it--the dogs did the rest." he gave a low sigh. "i'll soon be up and about again." "i don't think you will. you are terribly weak--and look so ill." he laughed weakly. "i ain't much of an invalid. you'll see." she did see. his recovery was amazingly rapid. he seemed to change hourly, making new flesh at an astonishing pace. his iron constitution performed miracles of transformation. in three days, despite argument, he was out of bed. on the tenth day he shouldered the shovel and the washing pan and went out to a small creek to hunt the elusive gold. but failure still dogged him. he flung down the shovel and devoted hours to thinking over the position. when the pale sun began to sink behind the multicolored peaks he came to a decision and tramped back to the shack. a meal was awaiting him, spread on a clean white cloth. he noticed that the knives had been cleaned, and that a bowl of water was heated ready for a wash, which he badly needed. it was a pleasant but astonishing change. for the first time it brought a real sense of "home." he half regretted the decision made but an hour before, but he meant to go through with it, hurt how it might. "angela," he said. "we're packing up to-morrow." she looked at him queerly. "where to?" "dawson." "and then----" "the break-up is coming, and there'll be boats out to san francisco." "i see. we are going back?" "that's about the size of it." "because you have failed?" he tightened his lips and his eyes flashed. "nope. i ain't failed. i'll never let this thing beat me. i'll git gold if i stay till i'm fifty----" "but you said we were----" "i kind o' got it mixed. i meant that you should go home. see here, i've got enough dollars to get you back to england--and it's about time." she put down her knife and fork, and he saw a queer light gathering in her eyes. he had expected a look of joy and triumph, but it wasn't that. "listen," she said. "a year and a half ago you made a business deal. you bought me, with my own consent, for fifty thousand pounds----" "cut that out," he muttered. "i ain't sticking to that--now." "but i am." "eh!" "that night when i escaped from you, by a mean trick, i was glad enough--in a way. but out there, in that cruel wilderness, i came to see that a business transaction, properly conducted, is a sacred affair. when one buys a thing, it belongs to one until someone else can pay the price. that's the position, isn't it?" "nope. i can give away my property if i wish." "not in this case." "hell i can!" "hell you can't!" "why not?" "because--i can't accept anything from you. food is a different matter. you fixed the conditions yourself--'fifty-fifty' you called it. and that's how it stands." he jerked his chair back and strode up and down the shack. this unexpected swing of the pendulum upset all his arrangements. he feared she did not understand the true state of affairs. "things is different--i've failed," he growled. "_we've failed_--you mean." "and i'm broke." "_we're_ broke," she corrected. impatiently he caught her by the arms. he lowered his voice to impress upon her the necessity of carrying out his plan. "don't you see how we stand? angela, i'm asking you to do this. i've only that passage money left. this ain't the place for you----" "why didn't you discover that before?" he bit his lips at the retort. "i guess i was looking at things squint-eyed. i bin used to rough women who were born to hardship----" she flared up indignantly. "and that's just it. you want to make me less than these--wild women. women are women all the world over. if they can suffer uncomplainingly, so can i. if they can dig gold and mush dogs, so can i. i dug out there along the creeks when you were ill and unconscious----" "you dug----" words failed him. "yes. i _won't_ appear contemptible in your eyes. and i won't accept gifts--not even of freedom. you bought me and paid for me, and the debt remains." "but i didn't buy your--soul." "and i'm not giving it you," she retorted. he sunk his head, feeling hopelessly beaten in the argument. all the time he was conscious of inward joy. to let her go was to suffer hell. the sudden fierceness that leaped out from her only increased his insatiable desire for her. she seemed even more beautiful in the rôle of tigress than in the old frigid pose of a greek goddess. "have your own way," he said. "i intend to. you fixed the laws and you can't abuse them. fifty thousand pounds is a lot of money--more, perhaps, than most men would pay for me. but one day someone may----" he clutched her and glared into her eyes in deep resentment. "do you think i would give you up for money?--my god!" "you gave me your word," she said. "you never go back on your word--you said so." he uttered a groan. "it was fifty thousand," she said in level tones. "i shall not forget." "angela!" "plus ten per cent. interest," she added tensely. chapter xviii a gleam of sunshine another week, and jim had recovered all his old strength. with the spring in close proximity, and the food supply running dangerously short, he spared neither himself nor the dogs in his last feverish endeavor to achieve success. angela's attitude puzzled him not a little. since that fierce passage of words in the shack she had made no single reference to the future. she carried on the housekeeping with increased zest. never again were the breakfast plates found unwashed at the next meal. she began to take a pride in making the cabin as comfortable as circumstances would allow, even going to the trouble of seeking berried evergreens in the woods and transforming these into table decoration. occasionally she went out to meet the disappointed jim coming back from his fruitless expeditions, and mushed the dogs while he sat on the sled. it seemed that she had succeeded in reconciling the situation--in making the best of a bad job. one morning jim announced his intention of exploring a small creek not a great distance from the shack. he started off with shovel and pick and the eternal washing-pan under a leaden sky. it was then an idea came to angela. on her journey back from her abortive flight she had noticed a creek which displayed all the characteristics of those rich, shallow claims of which the klondyke yields so many examples. why not undertake a prospecting trip on her own account? there was a spare shovel, pick, and pan, and she had bored holes in frozen gravel before. she decided to harness up the sled and put her plan into execution. at noon she started off with her team on the eight-mile journey. a close study of the map had convinced her that by taking the overland route she would save at least two miles either way. but her knowledge of maps was not great, and she entirely neglected to take into consideration the contour markings, which would immediately have warned any experienced traveler against such a passage. the trail led up over a big hill and down a ravine, and for a mile or two was good "going." coming out of the ravine the configuration changed. a jumbled mass of precipitous hills and canyons confronted her. she drove the dogs to an elevated point and looked before her. the great serpentine river came to view, clearly outlined by its wooded banks, and no more than two miles distant. on the near side of the river ran the creek she sought. she gave a sigh of relief and urged the dogs on. the road narrowed and ascended again. the mountain-side fell away, and she found herself on a narrow ledge with a vast chasm beneath. she thought of turning back, but there was no room to turn the dogs round. catching her breath, she went carefully forward. a few small flakes of snow on her shoulders, and then the inky sky began to empty itself. it came down in a great mass, obliterating everything. a cold terror began to possess her. in the blinding snow she could not discern the path for more than a yard or two ahead, and by the side of her yawned that dreadful chasm! she edged in close to the perpendicular wall, peering into the whirling mass of snow. the dogs stopped, and she urged them on again, knowing that the pass must soon descend to the river. suddenly there was a fierce uproar among the dogs. the sled jerked forward, and commenced to move at tremendous speed. a slight wind created a funnel-like opening in the dense white cloud before her. she gave one long shriek of horror at the sight which met her eyes. the sled was on the very brink of a precipice! it hovered there for a moment--just long enough for her to fling herself sideways against the wall; then it, and the team, vanished over the side, taking a mass of snow down, down into the bottomless depths. she crouched against the wall, petrified by what had happened. a thundering noise came up from the black hole, reverberating through the pass and over the mountains as sled and dogs were hurled to their doom. she put her fingers in her ears to keep out the dreadful sound. it ceased, and the great silence came again. faint and sick, she realized that her left shoulder was aching with intense pain through contact with the rock wall. there was nothing to be done but go back and confess the catastrophe to jim. she stood up and commenced creeping along the dreadful path. her left arm was hanging in useless fashion, setting up acute pain at the shoulder. the full significance of her folly came to her. she had driven a team of dogs worth at least a thousand dollars to oblivion. their chief means of travel was gone, and hundreds of miles lay between them and civilization. how could she confess the loss to jim? what would he say? for an hour she plodded on through the deep snow, her mind ranging over the past. whatever might be said of this wild husband of hers, he had played the game as he saw it. she had to admit this. culture and breeding were very desirable things, but had he not some other natural quality which, at the least computation, balanced these attributes? could any man of her own set have acted with greater respect for her womanhood than he? until recently she had been no companion to him--nothing but a continual drag on the wheel. she had hurt him in speech and action. she had deliberately set her mind on making clear to him his cultural and moral inferiority. in return for this he had given her to feel a complete sense of safety. sleeping within a few feet of him she had never, for a moment, felt the slightest possibility of molestation or intrusion on his part. it had been easy to take this all for granted--because he was a wild man and she was a cultured woman. she had come to see that "wild men" did not show such a refinement of consideration, even though they might conceivably acknowledge their social inferiority. she knew of no other man with whom she could have entrusted herself as she did with this one. moreover, he was her husband.... she was glad she was making things a little more pleasant for him. she saw that his natural gayety and _joie de vivre_, long subdued, were again welling up within him. but yesterday she had heard him singing, coming back from his day's unfruitful task. she knew herself to be the cause of that song. it was rather pleasant to reflect upon. now she must tell him of the loss of the dog-team, brought about by her impetuosity and disregard for his position as leader of the expedition. she came upon the cabin and entered it, to find him still away. she took off her snow-covered garments with great difficulty, for her injured arm hurt her at the least movement. she was putting the kettle on the stove when he entered. "gee! but i thought we'd done with snow," he ejaculated. "but i guess this is the last drop." he shook off his muklucks and flung the bearskin parkha into a corner. with his usual quick introspection he noticed that something was amiss. "anythin' wrong?" he queried. he touched her on the injured arm and she winced with pain. "hello, you ain't hurt your arm?" she nodded. "jim, i've done an awful thing. i've lost the dog-team." she saw him start, and realized the full extent of the loss. to her surprise his furrowed brows relaxed and he smiled whimsically. "things do sure happen at the wrong time. but how did you manage that?" she told him in low, self-reproachful tones, and winced again as a movement of the injured arm brought agony. "say, that's bad." "yes. i know. without the dogs----" "oh, darn the dogs! i meant your arm. it's hurting you a heap. ain't you had a look at it?" "not yet. it's rather a job getting my dress undone." he promptly walked across the room, and in a few seconds came back with two huge red handkerchiefs. "sit you down," he ordered. "we'll start on this right now. how do you manage this arrangement?" "it--it unbuttons at the back," she stammered. she felt his big inexperienced hand at work on the buttons, and soon her dress was slipped over the injured shoulder. a little hiss escaped him as the round white arm came to view, with a hideous black bruise around the shoulder-joint. she stole one look at his face, and saw his perturbed countenance surveying the injury. "move your arm a little--that way." she did so with a groan. "good--there ain't nothin' broke." he soaked the handkerchief in cold water and tied up the arm with astonishing skill. then he fashioned a sling with the other handkerchief, and carefully bent her arm and tucked it inside the latter. "how's that?" she smiled gratefully. "it seems much easier." "sure! it'll be fine in a day or two. you sit down here and i'll git some tea." without waiting to see this order obeyed, he ran to the stove and poked the fire into a blaze. the singing kettle began to boil, and a few minutes later they were having tea. she watched him carefully, and knew that the loss of the dogs was worrying him. yet he had made so light of that, and so much of her comparatively trivial injury! "about them dawgs, angela?" "yes." "it's kinder unfortunate, because grub's low and it's a hell of a way to dawson. i guess we'll have to pack up to-morrow and git going. we can do a bit o' digging on the way back." her eyes shone strangely. "it was all my fault, jim." "bound to happen at times," he said. "dawgs is the silliest things. see here, you're worrying some over that, ain't you now?" "i--i know what it means--to you." "it don't mean nothin' so long as you didn't go over that cliff with 'em. we'll make dawson all right. i've bin up against bigger trouble than this." he jumped up and commenced vigorously to wash up the cups and saucers, talking rapidly all the while and refusing to allow her to lend a hand. "i done this for years, back there in medicine bow," he said. "gee, them were times! there wasn't water enough to make tea with in the summer. me and my two chums used to buy a pail of water for twenty dollars. it had to serve the three of us a whole day. we washed in it, and then drank it----" "ugh!" "wal, if we'd drank it first we couldn't have washed in it after. i guess them chaps had logic. when we _did_ strike a spring, gold wasn't in it for excitement. it was like finding heaven. hookey swore he'd never touch whisky again, and he didn't until we hit the next saloon." she laughed merrily as he turned and dried his wet hands. "it's good to hear you laugh," he said. "if you'd only laugh sometimes, angela, i wouldn't care a damn about short rations. i seen men laugh on the plains when the chances were that two hours later their scalps would be hanging at the belts of injuns. i was only a kid then ... but laughing is a fine thing. you can't beat a man who laughs." "you used to laugh then?" "sure!" "but not now!" he stared out through the window. "maybe that's why i'm being beaten," he said. she stood up and touched him on the arm. "i don't think you'll ever be beaten," she said. he shook his head, almost fearful of meeting those clear, beautiful eyes of hers. "only one thing in the world can beat me," he said. "and that is the thing which above all others i'm mad to get; and it ain't gold." he spent the evening packing up the gear and the food that remained, ready for the journey down the river. the home-made sled was again requisitioned, after undergoing sundry repairs. late in the evening angela, from the inner room, called him. nervously he went inside, to find her with her wonderful hair flowing over her shoulders and her dress half undone. "i--i can't get it off," she complained. he attended to the stubborn buttons and pulled the top down over her shoulders. on the threshold of the door he called back. "good-night, angela." she stood surveying him intently, and then came towards him. "whatever lies before us, don't think me ungrateful. i'll try to be a good comrade in the future if you'll let me. you've suffered so much.... it was never my wish that you should suffer. even a bought wife has--a soul." he saw the swell of her bosom below the pure white shoulders. all her intoxicating beauty seemed to be pleading to him. her lips, made for kissing, were like alluring blossoms of spring. for a moment he stood drunk with passionate desire. then he touched her fingers lightly and went outside. chapter xix the crisis it was spring on the yukon--the radiant, glorious spring that is sandwiched between the intense winter and the dank, enervating summer. birds sang in the woods, their liquid voices accompanied by the deep noise of the river, belching its millions of tons of ice into the bering sea. in the lower valleys the snow had vanished, and the rich green carpet of the earth shimmered in the clear sunlight. south of fort yukon angela and jim were threading their way through a pine-forest. both carried packs on their backs, for the sled had been discarded but a few days before, having served them faithfully for a hundred-odd miles. jim found a small clearing and slung the huge pack from his shoulders. angela discarded her smaller pack and came to help him rig up the tent. "better than the winter, eh?" he queried, as an inquisitive bird came and hopped around them. "in many ways, but the winter's wonderful enough when one has grown acclimatized. i shall never forget those mountains and the glory of the sunset.... are we far from dawson?" "two hundred miles or so." "and will the food last out?" that was the crucial question. until the river traffic began the purchase of food was almost an impossibility. she saw jim's face tighten, as it had tightened every time she had broached the subject. a week before he had insisted that the remaining food be equally divided, since they now both engaged in the search for gold--that eternally elusive mineral that seemed as far away as ever. the beans and flour and canned meat had been duly apportioned, and placed in their respective sacks. when they separated for the day each took his food with him, cooking it in primitive fashion in the open. for the last few days angela had been anxious about jim. he seemed to have changed in an extraordinary manner. his cheeks were thinner and his eyes looked dead. yet he was merry enough when at nights they forgathered around the fire and told their respective tales of vain searching. she was frying some beans over the fire when he rose and pointed back through the wood. "i guess i'll jest go along and prospect the lay of the land from the hill," he said. "but aren't you going to have something to eat?" "nope--not now. i ain't hungry. i'll be back again in no time." she ate her meal reflectively. it was queer that he should want to go to the hill, when but recently they had passed over it and had taken their bearings from the ice-laden river that lay to the east! despite his assurance of excellent health she knew something was wrong with him. but what? a little later she followed the path he had taken. the thickly grown wood was alive with spirit of spring. small animals scampered underfoot, and overhead a bird breathed forth its soul in incomparable song. she stopped for a minute to listen to the latter--clear-throated as an english nightingale--singing away as though winter and the stark desolation had never been. a slight breeze moaned among the tree-tops, and woodland scents were wafted to her nostrils. adown the gale came the slanting rays of the setting sun, red and wonderful and warm. from near at hand came another sound--a noise as of one slashing at the earth. carefully she made her way in the direction of the noise, curious as to its meaning. she peered round a tree, and saw something which took her breath away. jim was kneeling on the ground, hacking with his jack-knife at the earth. then from the excavated foot or so he took a root, scraped it with the knife, and began to gnaw it like a dog. she had heard of edible roots, on which half-starved indians in the north managed to subsist for long periods. but for jim to do this.... her brain reeled at the sight. the significance of it dawned upon her. he was afraid of the future. he knew the food could not last out, and was saving his rations for the time of emergency. that was the meaning of those thinning cheeks and the dead eyes. he was famished with hunger...! with a choke she ran towards him, holding up her hands with horror. he tried to hide the root he was chewing, but became aware that she had seen it, and that she knew the true motive of his expedition. "jim, why, you're starving! why didn't you tell me?" he stood up and put the knife into his pocket. "'tain't as bad as all that," he said casually. "gotta make that grub pan out, somehow. i told you i was rough--an animal. don't look so plumb sober. i lived for a month on roots once...." "come back!" she cried imperiously. "why didn't you tell me? i had a right to know!" he said nothing. there was nothing to be said. she didn't know what starvation was really like, and he did. she led him back to the camp, her face flushed and her eyes moist. "now sit down. i'm going to cook you a good meal, and you are going to eat it. where's your grub sack?" his mouth closed down with a snap. if she saw the grub sack the whole truth must come out, and he didn't want that. "i've had my meal," he replied. "don't trouble now. i ain't a bit hungry. them roots is sure wonderful when you git used----" she shrugged her shoulders impatiently, and looked round for his kit. seeing it a few yards away she rose from her knees and made for it, but his hand came out and stopped her. "angela," he said hoarsely. "we got days to go yet...." she put his arm aside and reached the pile of kit. the sack in which his food was carried was a white canvas one, easily distinguished from the rest. she turned over one or two things and found it--flat and empty. "gone--all gone!" she stood with it hanging from her fingers as a suspicion entered her mind. slowly she came to him, her bosom throbbing madly. "what have you done with it?" "i guess i've bin a bit too free with it." "what have you done with it?" she reiterated. "wal, it's gone, and squealing won't help matters." "where has it gone?" "where does food usually go? see here, angela--i'm right sorry about it all. maybe i'll shoot a bird to-morrow, and then i'll have a gormandizing jag." but the stratagem failed to have effect. she was thinking of the apparent inexhaustibility of her own supply. two nights before she had heard him go from the tent, and the next morning the ring which he usually wore on his finger was found in her sack. moreover, the contents had seemed strangely increased. she saw it all now. the bag slipped from her fingers and she covered her face with her hands. "i know!... i know now!" she burst out. "i've been eating your food as well as my own. you have been replenishing my supply from your own sack. all this time you've been famished with hunger, and you've let me go on eating--living on your hunger. oh, god! don't you see how mean i feel?" then her eyes flashed and her tone changed. "but you had no right to do it. how dare you?" "i guess i'd dare a lot of things for certain reasons. see here, you've bin through a hell of a lot up here, but you've never suffered hunger, and it wouldn't be good for you, i'm thinking. cold and frostbite is one thing, and hunger's another. there's nothin' like starvation to freeze up your heart. it's like a red-hot iron inside, gittin' redder and redder.... shootin' a starvin' dog's a mercy, i reckon." "is it any worse for me than you?" "yep." with that dogmatic assertion he relapsed into silence. angela flew to her own small supply of food and produced the requisities for a good meal. the mixture was soon spluttering over the fire, emitting odors almost unendurable to the hungry, watching jim. angela turned it out on to a plate. "come along," she said. "i told you----" she went to him and put her arm round him. "if you've any regard for me--if you want to make me happy, eat that." it was the first time she had ever displayed any real depth of feeling, and it was like balm to him. but his obstinacy prevailed, for in the dish was a normal day's ration for the two of them. "maybe you think we'll drop across food on trail, but we won't. there's nothin' to be got until the first freighter comes up the river. better put it back." she took her arm away and went to the dish. "if you won't eat, i'll throw it away--i swear i will!" "angela!" "it's your own maxim, your own teaching--share and share alike. i won't recognize any other doctrine. it shall go to the birds unless...." she meant what she said, and he knew it. "all right--i'll eat," he mumbled. half an hour later, feeling a hundred per cent. better, he rose to his feet and entered the tent, where angela was busily engaged putting down the blankets on improvised mattresses of gathered moss and young bracken. "see," she said, "i've split up the food again. how long will it last if eked out?" he turned out one of the sacks and ran his eye over the contents. "two days, at a pinch." "and how soon can we make dawson?" "a week, hard plugging." "then it looks as though the 'pinch' will have to be resorted to--and expanded." he saw she was smiling as she tucked his bottom blanket carefully under the moss. "when you put it that way we can make anything," he said. "if i had a canoe we could push up the river a good deal faster than overland, but i ain't got one--and that's the rub." "then we'll have to depend on luck." "no friend o' mine. luck don't cut much ice up here." angela shook her head. she had a slight suspicion that luck had not entirely deserted them. though the future seemed black and threatening, were there not compensating elements? there were worse things than dying in the wilderness with a "wild man." chapter xx complications devinne's trading-post was not the sort of place one expected to find in alaska. devinne himself was a queer customer, a man of good education and birth. that he chose to establish a trading-post on the upper reaches of the yukon was a mystery to all who knew him. the real reason was a secret in the heart of devinne, and had reference to a quarrel in a parisian club in which a blow had been struck in a moment of pardonable fury, resulting in the death of a revered citizen of paris. devinne found the yukon district a comparatively "healthy" spot. he had started the trading-post four years back, and had prospered very considerably. he had started in a small way, taking trips into indian villages and bargaining for furs. a man of quick intelligence, he soon acquired a substantial knowledge of most of the queer indian dialects, which proved a tremendous asset from a business point of view. after one year's profitable trading he had built the "post." it was a fairly commodious affair, boasting three rooms upstairs and three below, plus a long shed attached to the rear of the main building where he carried on his business, with two half-breed assistants, who slept in the shed itself. a year after the post was completed natalie, devinne's only daughter, a woman of uncertain age, came out to keep house for him. natalie had all the quick passions of her southern mother, which doubtlessly accounted for the sudden rupture between herself and her husband after but a brief span of married life. two years in alaska had not changed her nature. unlike devinne, she was quick to anger. she ruled her father as completely as she had ruled her husband, until that worthy sought refuge under the wing of another, less tyrannous, woman. on this night, in late may, natalie and her father sat in the big front room which afforded them an uninterrupted view of the river. natalie was busy at crochet-work, and devinne was going over some accounts with a view to finding what profit the year had yielded. judging by his frequent purrs and sighs, the result was not displeasing. natalie looked up. "well?" she queried, in french. "another good season and we'll be able to get away." "where to?" "los angeles would not be so bad. a good, equable climate, a little society, and a club or two--ah!" "but is it safe?" he furrowed his brows. "we'll risk it. four years is a long time, and i think i am changed somewhat. you won't be sorry to leave this country--ma cherie?" natalie put down her crochet. "no. it seems a waste of one's life. mon dieu, i am tired of it." devinne cocked up his ears as two shrill hoots came from the river. he sprang to the window and saw the dim light of a ship going up the river. "it's the old _topeka_ back again. she's early this season, which is fortunate, for we're badly in need of that consignment. 'chips' will have to get up to dawson to-morrow and bring the stuff back. maybe the piano is aboard." "was it wise to get the piano, when we are leaving next fall?" "we can sell it--at a profit, too.... what's that?" "that" was a sharp rap on the outer door. it was repeated again in a few seconds. callers were unusual at that time of the day, but all callers were welcome enough in alaska. natalie ran out and unbarred the door. in the dim light she saw the figure of a big man supporting a woman, who was obviously on the verge of utter collapse. "why, vat is it?" she ejaculated in her broken english. "it's all that's left of us," growled a voice. "i guess we're nearly beat." he staggered, and natalie ran to the mute figure of angela. "father, father!" she cried. devinne appeared in a second, and took in the situation at a glance. while jim relinquished angela to the excited natalie, devinne took him by the arm and led him into the sitting-room. "it's good fortune that led you here. how long have you been without food?" "two days." "we'll soon put that right. don't talk till you've eaten. i'll get you something to take the edge off while natalie cooks a sound meal." he left jim reclining on the couch, and came back with a loaf of bread and some canned beef. jim eyed the food with ravenous eyes. "where's angela?" he queried. "angela?--who is--ah yes, your companion. you haven't told me your name." "conlan--jim conlan." "and the lady?" "my--my sister." he started to see angela standing in the doorway, her arm linked in that of natalie. she regarded him in amazement as the untruth left his lips, and then came and sat down at the table. "you vill excuse me. i go make something verra nice," said natalie, and vanished into the kitchen. "now go ahead," said devinne. "regard that as _hors-d'oeuvre_ till the supper is ready." they partook of the good home-made bread, and of the meat, devinne regarding them with kindly eyes. "it's a good thing the steamer is early, or we might have been as badly off as you. we have but a week's supply, but the new lot will be down in a day or two.... where have you come from?" "endicott," said jim. "we lost our dogs and got delayed some. gee, but food is a wonderful thing!" natalie came in and discreetly removed the remainder of the loaf and the meat. "no more, pleece," she said. "you vill haf no room for zat supper. i haf him on the stove now." she laughed merrily, not a little pleased at this unexpected invasion. for months she had seen no one but wandering indians and grizzled miners. it was a delight to hold conversation with a pretty woman--not to mention a strapping son of hercules, like unto nothing she had ever seen before. jim found devinne a charming and interesting host. over a pipe they discussed new york and london, these being devinne's idea of paradise, a point of view which jim scarcely shared. by the time supper was ready they all felt like old friends. natalie, much to angela's embarrassment, displayed particular interest in jim. "but your brother--he ees magnifique! such eyes--such limbs! mon dieu, but i haf nevaire seen one lak him. and you go all zat way wit' him?--you are verra brave--and so beautiful." angela would have liked to return the compliment--for the french woman was beautiful enough, and fascinating to her finger-tips--but she felt annoyed that jim should have placed her in this position. why should he attempt to pass her off as his sister? it was unpardonable! and here was this french woman regarding him with eyes of obvious admiration. angela felt a queer little stab in the region of her heart. "i can trade you some food the day after to-morrow, conlan," said devinne. "i guess i'll be making dawson to-morrow." "nonsense! if you succeed in getting food there, it will be at famine price. better stay. nay, i insist. it isn't often we have the pleasure of meeting good company, and we claim you as guests for at least two days." jim glanced at angela and saw her mouth twitch. for some reason angela was keen to get away, but nevertheless there was sound reasoning in devinne's argument. at dawson food would fetch a fabulous price, until the freights could bring in bigger supplies. devinne, with his acute business acumen, had insured a certain supply by ordering the stuff at the close of the last season and paying freightage in advance. jim intimated that he would wait for the arrival of the food, much to angela's chagrin and to natalie's unconcealed joy. "we'll have to rig you up a bed in the next room, conlan," said devinne. "we only boast one spare room upstairs, and ladies come first--even in alaska." "sure!" "so you've no luck at prospecting?" "nope. i guess we came too late." devinne shook his head. "this country is full of gold, but it's just luck in finding it. i know old-timers who have mushed their legs off without striking a cent. on the other hand young cheechakos, without a grain of experience, have gone straight to the gold and made millions. you aren't giving up?" "i never give up," growled jim. "but there's my--my sister to be considered. 'tain't a kind thing to yank a woman over the trail in winter." devinne agreed with a nod of his head. conlan puzzled him a good deal. it was amazing that he should be the brother of that beautiful blonde girl, who spoke in cultured tones and was as different from him as chalk is from cheese. there lurked the suspicions that their relationship was other than brother and sister, but being a cleanminded man he strove to banish the thought. in the meantime natalie was showing angela the sleeping-room reserved for her, and talking at a tremendous rate about "la belle france" and all the things she had sacrificed--among these latter she omitted to include her late husband. doubtless she no longer regarded him as a sacrifice! it was later in the evening that jim faced the music. he carried angela's few belongings up to her room, and was bidding her "good-night" when she turned on him with flashing eyes. "how dare you tell lies?" "eh?" "how dare you tell that woman i was your sister?" "i didn't. i told devinne." "don't quibble. i--i thought you were above mean falsehood." he shrugged his shoulders, surprised that she did not see his object. "if i had told her the truth it would have been embarrassing for you." "for me!" "yep. angela, don't you see it would mean----" "well?" "it would mean that we should have to act as man and wife." "well, haven't you always tried to act as--husband?" "have i?--i guess not. and i'm not wanting to take advantage of a situation. if you'll look clearly you'll see this thing square. i guess it would have bin awkward if they had yanked us into this room--together." he said "good-night" softly and shut the door. angela sat down on the bed and stared at the wall. so he had thought of that! it was amazing the things he could think of when he tried hard! she tore off her clothes and flung herself on to the pillow, annoyed, exasperated, and generally bewildered. then she got up, lighted the candle again, and surveyed her fresh, incomparable beauty in the mirror. "am i getting old--ugly?" she murmured. "ah yes--natalie is pretty enough to get things if she tries!" chapter xxi natalie tries her luck life at the trading-post might have been a pleasant thing to angela but for one patent fact, and this fact was rendered more palpable every hour. it requires a woman to thoroughly analyze another woman's feelings, and angela experienced little difficulty in probing the heart of natalie. from the moment when jim had first stepped through the doorway angela had been aware of the fact that all natalie's interest was centered on him. she had seen the look of suspense in natalie's face when devinne had inquired of jim their relationship, and had heard the soft sigh when the untruthful answer was returned. hitherto she had imagined love at first sight to be a mere figure of speech, but not now. it was chiefly that fact which aroused her anger against jim. it looked as if he deliberately gave the lie to encourage these passionate advances of natalie. jim himself was the flower of innocence. natalie was certainly an attractive woman, and she had the knack of enhancing her attractiveness by subtle, and not ungraceful, movement of her body and limbs. but all her charms were eclipsed by the mystical beauty of angela. but for her constant obtrusiveness, it is doubtful whether jim would have noticed her prettiness at all. he found the post a pleasant enough place after the eternal discomforts of the trail, and devinne a thoroughly good fellow. he did not fail to notice a queer change in angela--a relapse into moody silence, so different from the cheerfulness which she had exhibited in the immediate past--but ascribed it to the fact that she was still pining for civilization and the old life. and he meant that she should have this, despite her resolution to accept nothing from him. once they touched dawson, he meant to get her aboard a boat--by physical force if necessary--and face the miseries of life without her. for this purpose he kept intact the wad of notes necessary for her passage, and sought devinne with a view to raising money on an article of great sentimental, and moderate intrinsic, value--the cigarette-case given him by his old chums at medicine bow. devinne was amazed when the proposition was put to him. he had no idea that his guest was reduced to such plights. "i'll loan you the food with pleasure," he said. "there's no need to part with something you evidently love." jim shook his head. "what's it worth?" "difficult to say--at least a thousand dollars." "wal, see here, you loan me five hundred on it with the option of redeeming it within a year. i'll sure strike gold by then." devinne nodded. "very well, if you insist. i'll be here until next spring. it'll be waiting for you any time you drop in." jim pocketed the notes and commenced to bargain for several necessaries apart from the anxiously awaited food. in the meantime natalie was preparing for attack. she garbed herself in her most seductive dress, and assailed jim as he was leaving devinne, and commenced to inveigle him into accompanying her on a walk. "i was just going to look over some gear in the stores," he explained. "oh, but zat can vait. zee day is so magnifique. mees angela, you say to him hee es to come." angela, who had just entered the passage, turned crimson. "my brother usually pleases himself," she said, and walked away. a few minutes' artful pleading, and jim was beaten. it seemed outrageous to refuse her so small a--pleasure. he got his hat and stalked along beside her. angela watched them disappear towards the river. she felt furious with jim--furious because he could not see that this brazen-faced woman was making love to him all the time. the studied voluptuous movements, the bright lift of the eyes, the mad rush to secure for him anything she thought he might need--how could any man but a fool misinterpret these actions? and jim looked so innocent--too innocent, she thought. at any rate, he had gone with her on that walk, and anything might happen--natalie wouldn't care. she went out of the house, feeling very wroth and very dejected. devinne met her outside the store and smiled in his quiet, pleasant fashion. "where's jim?" he asked. "i--i think he has gone for a walk with natalie." he raised his eyebrows and then laughed. "take care of your brother, miss conlan. natalie is a holy terror when she sets her cap at something. i must confess he's enough to turn any normal woman's head. natalie has a weakness for big men. it'll certainly take a big one to keep her in order." angela forced a smile into her features, and went away feeling more miserable than ever. what might not a woman, well versed in love-making, succeed in achieving with an ingenuous fellow like jim! and she was pretty too...! it was three hours later when jim and natalie returned. angela saw them coming up through the woods, natalie chattering away in her broken english and jim laughing amusedly. she wondered what had been the outcome of that journey. had jim proved an easy victim to natalie's attractions? judging by the latter's behavior it looked like it. natalie seemed very happy and very sure of herself. it gave angela food for considerable reflection. if jim chose to fall in love with the woman, could she--angela--have any objection? their relationship all through had been that of master and chattel, and must remain so in the circumstances. she had let him see that she regarded herself merely as his purchased possession, by a contract wherein love had not entered--on her part. why should he not make love to another woman if he chose? why not, indeed? but it hurt nevertheless. in the evening, returning from a walk along the river, she met natalie gathering spring flowers in the woods beyond the house. the latter welcomed her excitedly and took her arm familiarly. "is it that you go to-morrow?" she asked. "if the food comes jim is anxious to get to dawson." natalie shot her a swift glance. "to see you on zee boat?" angela gasped and stood still. "i don't understand you. what boat?" natalie raised her eyebrows. "ees eet not so?" "no." "but he tell papa--yes. he say eet ees no place for you--ziss terr-ble climate. and you are so beautiful." angela felt as though a cold hand had suddenly gripped her heart. so it had come to that in less than two days! "you are mistaken," she said. "but zat is strange. but, ma cherie, would not you be glad to get away?" angela made no reply. she felt as though she was choking. they entered the house and found jim talking with devinne. later she had an opportunity of speaking to him in private. "are we leaving to-morrow?" she asked. "sure." "for dawson?" "yes." "and what then?" she saw his lips tighten, and the delay in replying told her that natalie was right. "i'm going to send you back to england," he said slowly. "no." "yes." "i won't go." "you must. angela, be reasonable. i'm broke, dead broke. i ought never to have brought you here, but i expected to be successful--and i ain't." "is that why you want me to go back?" "of course. you--you wanted your freedom, and i'm giving it to you." "i told you i could take nothing from you." "you've got to take this. angela, you must forget all about that--other matter." "how can i forget, when for a year you have constantly reminded me of it? if you put me on that steamer i'll get off at the first stopping-place and come back to you. you bought me and you've got to keep me until the debt is paid, no matter how--unhappy it may make you." he smiled as he reflected that she thought her presence could make him unhappy, when his whole soul craved for her. "maybe it is someone else's happiness i am thinking of," he said quietly. someone else! the little green god within her seized on the remark. she confronted him with blazing eyes. "i knew it!" she said. "but you might have been honest--you might have told me the truth. oh god! and i've suffered all that--all that----" the voice of natalie came, singing, up the passage. without another word angela went to her room, leaving jim bewildered by this strange outburst. it was late in the evening, and a full moon sailed in the clear sky. the night was remarkably warm, and devinne and natalie and jim were sitting on the veranda which skirted the south side of the house. jim sat in a brown study, pondering over angela's changed attitude. devinne, as if by some pre-arranged plan, silently vanished into the house. jim was suddenly brought to his senses by feeling natalie's soft hand on his. "you are verra--vat you call him--preoccupied, eh?" "i was thinking." "of what?" "oh, of many things." "the future?" "sure! it's that that's got me beat." her hand tightened on his. "why should you care for the future? ees not zee present--beautiful?" "aye--if it could be always the present," he muttered. "but zee future can be verra beautiful if one wishes so. eet ees for you and for me to make zat future jus lak heaven!" jim pulled himself up with a jerk. it was not the words that affected him so much as the blaze of quick passion in her eyes. "there's only one heaven for me, and i guess i've fallen out of it," he said. "let us go in." "no, no! the night is so wonderful--all, all is wonderful. everywhere zere ees love--in zee trees, in zee wind. do you not feel him?" if jim felt anything at all it was blue fear. he came to see the position as it was. she believed him a free man--even believed he might love her. the seemingly trivial actions of the afternoon became newly interpreted. before he could get his breath natalie rose to the occasion. "you vill come back to-morrow after zee boat has gone? it has been so beautiful, zese two days. say you vill come back!" "natalie!" he gasped. she flung her arms round his neck and pressed her face to his. "ees eet zat i am too bold for your eenglish ways? but i am not ashamed--no. i love you--oh, so much!----" with a gasp he unlinked her arms and stood up. "natalie, what are you saying?" "why should i not say zat i love you?" she retorted hotly. "you love me!" he muttered. "by god--i never dreamed----" "oh, jeem!" "stop!" he roared. "listen here, you'd better know the truth. i'm married!" "married?" she almost screamed. "jest that." she stood up, all her wonderful castles strewn before her. "mon dieu!" she groaned. "mon dieu!" there was a sound from behind, and a figure slipped from out of the gloom--angela. she stood facing them, her breast heaving under her emotions. jim, seizing the opportunity, vanished into the house sick at the thought that angela should have heard. angela approached natalie and placed her arm round the latter's waist. "natalie," she said, "i couldn't help hearing." "you--you heard?" "yes. and i had a right to hear." "no one had a right----" "yes, someone had--his wife." "you--his wife?" angela inclined her head. "but he say you are his sister--and you act like that." the problem became clearer to her. "ah, i see--he say that because he do not want to cause you embarrassment--because you do not love him." angela turned to her in righteous indignation. "you don't understand--he bought me, with money. i--i can't explain.... but i am sorry this has happened." natalie wiped away a tear, sniffed, and then composed herself. "i vill try to forget," she said. "i am verra glad eet ees you--for you are so beautiful.... but i vish it was me he bought," she added wistfully. chapter xxii gold the one desire, obsessing jim's mind, was to get away from devinne's place. natalie's unblushing overtures had scared him very considerably. women had always puzzled him--they puzzled him even more now. he certainly had no use for women who ran at one in that way. far better for them to be like angela, cold and unapproachable, alluring yet repellent. one knew where one was with angela, but never with natalie. and angela had heard, and perhaps seen, all that had taken place! he mopped his brow as he reflected upon her feelings in the matter. he was modest and foolish enough to think that jealousy was out of the question, but she would undoubtedly object to playing second fiddle to natalie. so much he knew of her. fearful of meeting natalie at breakfast, he rose early and made his way out, determined not to return until chips the half-breed arrived with his cargo. a little distance from the house he stopped, and returned for the shovel and pick and washing-pan, with a view to filling in his spare time and banishing from his mind the painful scene of last night. the red sun was just mounting the horizon as he strode off, and birds were singing gayly in the woods. half an hour's walk brought him out of the timber into comparatively bare country. aimlessly he wandered on, drinking in the fresh morning air and stopping to gaze at the brilliant landscape from time to time. below him, to the west, a small creek made a junction with the yukon, its red water foaming over broken boulders, and leaping ten perpendicular feet to join the parent stream. he sauntered down towards it, the washing-pan clanking against the shovel as he walked. few men would have dug for gold along that creek; the surface had all the characteristics of unadulterated muck. he stuck the pick into it for the mere fun of hitting something. though the sun shone warmly and rich the grass grew on either bank, the eternal ice was down under the surface. in one hour he managed to dig out a cubic yard of earth. having satisfied his hunger for exercise, he flung the shovel down and began to smoke. looking down the creek, he saw a clumsy flat-bottomed boat, piled high with cargo, swirling down the river, with a tousled-haired man in the stern keeping her from the bank by means of a pole. "chips," he murmured. "he must have started last night. so the food is here, and we can hike out to-day, thank god!" as he looked, the punt struck a submerged sandbank and beached on it. chips' little body bent on the pole, but except to swivel the punt on its axis it had no other result. jim stood up, and seizing his tools, made down the creek. he shouted to chips, and the latter looked at him imploringly. jim waded through the water and reached the craft. "you should have kept her out more in the center, my friend," he said. "current go swift there--no make the landing." "hm! perhaps you're right. here, take these aboard--i'll come back with you." he put the shovel and pick over the side of the boat and catching hold of the stern, pushed hard. chips gave a yell of joy as the punt slithered and then jolted into deep water. jim clambered aboard and took the pole. half an hour later they beached her at the landing-place. devinne and the other half-breed came running down the slope. the former looked at jim in surprise. "where did you go to? we waited breakfast for twenty minutes, and then discovered you were not in." "sorry," mumbled jim. "i was mad for a walk. i met chips up the river, stuck on a sandbank, so i came along. he ain't a good sailor." chips grinned, and he and his comrade commenced to pack the cargo up the hill. jim walked back with devinne; the latter regarded him in curious fashion. entering the house, he met angela, but natalie was pleasantly absent. angela surveyed his wet figure with a smile. "been swimming?" she queried. "no. i've bin hurrying along the stores. i met chips." she was obviously pleased with the news. "then we can leave to-day?" "sure--and the sooner the better," he responded emphatically. she was silent for a moment, then she said softly: "why weren't you in for breakfast?" "didn't feel like it." "was it because of last night?" he nodded gloomily. "i'm real scared of that woman," he murmured. "gee! i shan't be happy till we clear away." "then you didn't know--know she----" "know!" he ejaculated. "jumping rattlesnakes! it knocked me silly. angela, you don't think i--gave her reason to believe----" "i don't think you did. but, jim, you are an extraordinary man." "i don't get you." "not to know when a woman loves you." he puckered his lips and shook his head in perplexity. "how's a chap goin' to tell? it's a kind of disease that takes folks different ways. can't rely on the symptoms. i once thought----" she sunk her head. "don't talk of that--now. here comes devinne. let us get the packs ready and go, while the day is yet young." half an hour later they were ready for the thirty-mile journey to dawson. they said good-bye to devinne, and to natalie, who appeared at the last moment, exhibiting a gayety which was obviously superficial. she kissed angela, and clung for a moment to jim's hand to whisper: "i vish you every happiness. _bon voyage!_" they saw her waving her handkerchief as they entered the woods and headed for their destination. traveling was pleasant enough, though the packs were heavy. now that the following day would see them at dawson, the question of the future loomed larger than ever. broke, travel-stained, and tormented by the thought of parting, jim could find little conversation, though angela seemed cheerful enough. they came to the creek where jim had rested but an hour or two before, and waded across it at the shallowest part. traversing the opposite bank, angela stopped and stared at the newly excavated hole. "someone has been digging here!" she exclaimed. "me," said jim. "this morning." "to find what we always find--muck?" "i didn't wash it. chips turned up and was in trouble----" she stared at him in amazement. "you dug all that and didn't wash it?" "what's the use? it didn't look good to me." she shrugged her shoulders and slipped her pack down. "what's wrong?" he queried. "nothing. i'm going to wash it." "better not waste time----" "waste time! a few minutes won't make any difference, considering we've wasted a year already." he turned from her with a sigh. she called it wasted, but it hadn't been wasted to him. now that the end of the journey was nigh, he found a strange joy in looking back over the past. every little incident of their strange pilgrimage seemed to have garnered gold about it. compared to the lonely, forbidding future, the past was like a paradise, to live for ever in his heart and mind. he had missed much, but he had gained something--passionate, all-consuming love for a woman. though she gave little in return, it mattered not. the finest type of love does not make demands upon that which it worships. he could keep her still by the same means as he had retained her all along, but his mode of thought had changed somewhat. a deeper love had grown out of the old tempestuous, tyrannous thing. it were better to give than to receive. he watched her shaking the washing-pan in the water, her clear-cut face intent on the task at hand, and her hair glinting in the sunshine. she came splashing through the water with the pan in her hands. "look--something glitters there!" he took it from her and gave one glance at the contents--a small heap of black and yellow. then he laughed loudly. "then it isn't----" she commenced. he ceased to laugh as he probed the dust in the pan. the whole thing was so miraculous to him, he could scarcely find expression. "you've found it, angela," he said. "it's gold--real high-grade ore. you've dealt a straight flush at the last hand." "but it doesn't look like gold!" "that black stuff ain't gold, it's magnetic ore. gee, wash some more dirt. this looks like eldorado!" he flung down his pack and started shoveling out more gravel from the hole. in the meantime angela washed the pay-dirt and placed the residue in a handkerchief. excitement grew as the work went forward. lower down, the yield was enormous. the pile in the handkerchief grew to an enormous size. taking no heed of time, the work went on until the declining sun called them from their labors. jim poured a pound or so of mercury into a tub of water, and submerged the results of their toil in it. "you think it is gold?" she queried. "gold! tons of it. i'll show you later. come along and have some food." an hour or two later jim brought from the tub the amalgam formed by the combination of the pan gold-dust with the mercury. this was squeezed through a bearskin, the process segregating the gold and depositing the mercury back into the tub. what little mercury remained in the glittering mass was evaporated out in a shovel over the camp-fire. for the first time angela realized why the gold-miner, once successful, could never rid himself of the fever. all the bitter disappointments, pessimism, and misery vanished in the presence of that sizzling mass in the shovel. it was difficult to believe that here, dug from the frozen earth, was the thing for which men suffered, sinned, and died. jim seized the gold nugget with his leathern hands and tossed it into the air, caught it again, and dropped it into his hat. "angela, you're right. we're bursting with wealth! there ain't bin nothin' like this since that guy found bonanza creek. and now i've got to git to dawson." "dawson!" "yep. it ain't ours yet. i've got to stake claims--one for you and one for me." "then i'll come too." "nope. any prowling broiler might bunch in and take a fancy to this pitch. you jest sit tight. i'll be back to-morrow morning." "but you can't get to dawson and back in one night." "can't i? jest watch my smoke. i'll get the claims registered and yank a man up here from the syndicate. we'll sure sell out and save digging. we'll come down the river. you ain't skeered of stoppin' alone?" she laughed at his serious question, and watched him making ready for the journey. in a few minutes he had washed, shaved, and put on a pair of walking boots. he turned and nodded and went off with huge strides. she continued to sit by the fire, no longer wrestling with the future. in that unexpected moment of wonderful luck, she had seen the future clear-cut as it affected her. the pendulum swung the other way now--she meant to leave alaska with the least possible delay. chapter xxiii departure she arose in the morning from dreams that were strangely mixed, to find that the good fortune was no part of the dream, but a reality. singing she lighted a fire and prepared a more than usually appetizing breakfast to celebrate the occasion. she estimated that if jim found the registrar and the official of the mining syndicate early in the morning, he would arrive there about midday. she laughed amusedly as she thought of him and his inflexible will. she imagined him in dawson, yanking the official out of his office and hustling him down the river at enormous speed. the morning passed on leaden wings and no boat appeared on the river. impatiently she climbed the highest part of the bank and looked towards dawson, but only a couple of indian canoes came to view. it was an hour later when two riders came tearing down the hill. she recognized jim as the foremost of the two, and ran to meet him. he came thundering down upon her, leaned over, grasped her arms and hauled her up before him. the mount turned, reared high on its hind-legs until she shivered with fear, and then stood perfectly still. jim laughingly helped her down and waited for the second man. "came on hosses," he explained, "because i calculated we'd git back easier that way. i've got the mining man more'n interested, i guess." the latter arrived, perspiring freely. he shook hands with angela and sat down to get cool. "this husband, ma'am, of yours, beats the railroad," he ejaculated. the horses were put on to some grazing ground, and stevens, the mining engineer, went to examine the claims which jim had meanwhile staked. the examination proved to be a brief affair. stevens, despite his professional calm, which was a necessary asset to his business, was obviously astonished at the richness of the claims. "wal, now to business. what do you want for 'em, conlan?" jim nudged angela. "call it a round million." stevens put up his hands in horror. "my dear sir!" "wal, we'll sell elsewhere." "one moment. you must consider the fact that up-river claims involve great expenditure in working." "cut all that," retorted jim. "what do you offer?" "i should recommend my company to buy at half a million." "nothin' doin'," ejaculated jim. "sorry you had the journey for nix. anyway, we're glad to meet you." stevens gulped. he began to realize he was dealing with a "hard" man. "see here," said jim, "we're in a hurry, and will sacrifice a pile to git this deal fixed. but you gotta raise that offer." "very well, let us say $ , ." "no." "it's the best i can do." angela was about to advise jim to accept, but he stopped her in time. "you're going to pay $ , , or negotiations cease right now. and at that you'll make a mint of money. i ain't breathed a word about this yere creek yet. when i do you'll see dawson city turning out good and strong to stake claims. it's up to your people to stake the rest of it, if you pay up quick. better say the word before there's a howling stampede down here." that argument settled stevens. his own quick mind had been turning on the same point. "call it a bargain," he said. "better come right back now and get the transfer made." two hours later the party set off, angela seated behind jim on the big mare, and stevens riding ahead. jim was fortunate in getting two rooms at the best hotel. leaving angela there, he went off with stevens to clinch the deal. he came back later in the evening, looking a trifle downcast. "nothing wrong?" she queried. "nope. i got the money in american notes." he pulled a big pile of notes from his pocket and placed them on the table, staring at them for a few moments in silence. then he began to count them out. "better look after your own," he said. "guess you'll find that correct-- , dollars." angela took them, then she leaned over the table and looked at him queerly. "some time ago and many times since you made an offer?" his hands gripped the table. "eh?" "you must remember--you--you said i was for purchase to anyone who would pay the price." "i----" he commenced brokenly. "you are not going back on your word?" "o god! angela, don't force this on me!" "i mean to--i have found a buyer." no sound escaped him for a few minutes, then he gasped: "who is--he?" "myself." "what!" "yes. i want my freedom--and all that freedom means. fifty thousand pounds you said--plus ten per cent. here they are-- , dollars, with the exchange in your favor. take them!" she put the notes in the center of the table, but he made no attempt to touch them. they were still there an hour later when she came from her own room to fetch something she had left in his. he was still sitting there, staring at them. "jim, i'm going back to-morrow," she said. "the _topeka_ sails at eight o'clock. i shan't stay to breakfast. i thought i would let you know." he nodded, then as she was leaving: "maybe you wouldn't mind me seeing you off?" "i should be very glad," she said indifferently. when she had gone he put on his hat and went into the streets. he had set his mind on a "jag" of the worst description--to drink and forget. he entered a saloon and mixed with the noisy throng. he commenced to lavish drinks on all and sundry, flinging notes around as though they were dirt; but the drink tasted like poison. the whole attempt ended in utter failure. only a beast could get drunk while the memory of such a woman hung in his brain. he wandered back to the hotel, sick at heart and hating the fast-approaching morrow with its heartache.... he had found gold, but he had lost--lost completely in the larger battle. he made no attempt to undress, but sat on his bed and groaned. when the dawn came he made himself presentable and knocked at angela's door. he found her clad for the journey, and several bags ready for transit. he thought, too, she seemed delighted at the prospects--delighted when his heart was breaking! "i'll take these things," he said, and picked up the bags. they made their way to the jetty off which the _topeka_ lay, with a gangway connecting. it was near the time of departure, and nearly all the passengers were aboard. a crowd of men stood on the shore, passing remarks to those who were leaving. here and there a wet eye was in evidence, as some unfortunate devil saw his wife and child bound for the outer world--and himself left to the tender mercies of the klondyke. jim walked over the gangway and put down the luggage. when he turned to angela he saw no sign of regret. she seemed as calm and collected as she had been when first he met her. "so this is the end of the great adventure," she said, smiling. "yep." "and you--what do you intend doing?" jim gulped. "i guess the klondyke is good enough for me. see here, angela, i bin pretty rough with you--but--it wasn't that i meant it that way. you gotta make allowances for me. i lived among animals for years. maybe i kinder got like one, without quite knowing it." "perhaps you may make allowances for me, too. i was born in luxury, where hardship and suffering never entered, where flattery and gifts were the daily portion. i have never had a chance----" "cut that," he grunted. "you got grit and pluck and----" "all aboard!" yelled a stentorian voice. "they're off," said jim. "i---- good-bye, angela. maybe you'll remember--sometimes." his eyes suddenly swam and he turned his head away. "good-bye!" she murmured, and held his hand. "all aboard!" yelled the voice again. a man began to move the gangway. the hand in jim's suddenly clung on. "i gotta go," he moaned; "they're pulling in the plank." the steamer "honked" and began to move. he looked at her appealingly and she placed something into the palm of his hand. "it's something i forgot to give you," she said softly. he opened his hand and saw--a steamboat ticket. "but----" "i bought two," she said. "one for you and one for me; and most of your clothes are in those bags. didn't you miss them?" chapter xxiv conclusion it was past midnight, and they were sitting in the stern of the _topeka_ listening to the chopchop of the water under her flat bottom. save for an occasional guffaw and curse, evidence of some nocturnal card-party, silence reigned aboard. a full moon flooded the landscape, under which the lofty banks, and the great mountains beyond, shimmered in fantastic manner; wherein the river, mighty as it was, seemed dwarfed like unto a silver serpent, winding and turning down to the sea. since morning jim had lived in some wonderful paradise, which even now seemed unstable, fugitive, and dreamlike. "angela, tell me it isn't a dream." "it's no dream, dear." "ah!" he nestled closer to her and found the soft small hand beneath the rug spread over their knees. there was no attempt on her part to withdraw it. instead, she gripped the big muscular fingers caressingly. "i can't get it straight yet," he muttered. "it was only this morning i was in hell. you're sure this ain't some game that'll land me back in the mud?" she laughed merrily and pulled his arm round her waist. "you dear, doubting man! if it's me you want i'm here with you. i'm substantial enough to be felt, aren't i?" "but some things seem too good, and this is one of them. i had a hunch i'd never quite reach out over that pride of yours." "i've no pride now, jim, save pride of possession." her eyes shone in the moonlight. "back there in the wilderness i dreamed of this day, but it seemed so far away." he nodded his head slowly. "and yet you ran away?" "it was on that last occasion that i found myself. when i uttered that appalling, shameful lie, i thought i hated you for your tyranny. it was only when i had spent a night on the trail alone that i saw how mean and low i had fallen...." "no----" "yes. the tyranny was all imaginary--i saw that. i could think of no act on your part that wasn't kind, or for my good. i came back to find you ill, sick unto death. it seemed it was some punishment on my head.... oh, everything changed in those few days. if you had died i think i should have died too, though i didn't love you--then." he gave vent to a low hiss of incomparable joy. "and you do now?" he asked. her rapturous eyes were sufficient answer. "it beats me," he muttered. "it clean gets me wondering that you can love a chap like me. once i thought you could, but then i didn't know you as you are--say, you're sure about this, ain't you?" she gave him a hug. "i agree with natalie, no woman could help loving you--eventually." "oh, she said that, did she?" "yes." "wal, i guess love comes easy to a woman like that." "and you don't like the love that comes easy?" he made a grimace. "nothin' good ever comes easy. all the best things have to be fought for, won by long suffering and ordeal." they sat in silence for a time, the heart of each overburdened with intense happiness. a light breeze swept up the river, soughing through the thick woods on the nearer bank. "it was on such a night as this, back in england, that i first told you i loved you," he said. "you can speak of that now without regret?" "sure. it was the finest thing i ever did. i thought i was happy then, but now----" the unfinished sentence conveyed all he meant to convey. she turned her head until her full red lips came near his. "you kissed me then, jim. won't you kiss me now?" she felt his great heart throbbing against her bosom as he made haste to fulfill the invitation. if he had dallied in his love-making he lingered in his kissing. the whole world seemed to slide into oblivion in that first passionate love-kiss. she clung to him, wholly and eternally his, conscious of nothing but the close presence of the rough, strong man into whose adoring arms a kindly providence had thrown her. "by god, i'll never let you go again!" he hissed. "by god, i don't want to," she retorted, with a merry laugh. "over there's england," he cried, pointing away to the east. "and over here's america--colorado." "eh?" "are we not to have a honeymoon--we who were married but to-day?" his eyes opened wide. "you don't mean----?" "i do. i want to spend it in your country, among your people, in the places that you love and will never forget. to me it is all the same, wherever we go--paradise." he took her head and pressed his cheek against hers. "you glorious woman!" "you wonderful man!" smoke bellew contents the taste of the meat the meat the stampede to squaw creek shorty dreams the man on the other bank the race for number one the taste of the meat. i. in the beginning he was christopher bellew. by the time he was at college he had become chris bellew. later, in the bohemian crowd of san francisco, he was called kit bellew. and in the end he was known by no other name than smoke bellew. and this history of the evolution of his name is the history of his evolution. nor would it have happened had he not had a fond mother and an iron uncle, and had he not received a letter from gillet bellamy. "i have just seen a copy of the billow," gillet wrote from paris. "of course o'hara will succeed with it. but he's missing some plays." (here followed details in the improvement of the budding society weekly.) "go down and see him. let him think they're your own suggestions. don't let him know they're from me. if he does, he'll make me paris correspondent, which i can't afford, because i'm getting real money for my stuff from the big magazines. above all, don't forget to make him fire that dub who's doing the musical and art criticism. another thing, san francisco has always had a literature of her own. but she hasn't any now. tell him to kick around and get some gink to turn out a live serial, and to put into it the real romance and glamour and colour of san francisco." and down to the office of the billow went kit bellew faithfully to instruct. o'hara listened. o'hara debated. o'hara agreed. o'hara fired the dub who wrote criticism. further, o'hara had a way with him--the very way that was feared by gillet in distant paris. when o'hara wanted anything, no friend could deny him. he was sweetly and compellingly irresistible. before kit bellew could escape from the office he had become an associate editor, had agreed to write weekly columns of criticism till some decent pen was found, and had pledged himself to write a weekly instalment of ten thousand words on the san francisco serial--and all this without pay. the billow wasn't paying yet, o'hara explained; and just as convincingly had he exposited that there was only one man in san francisco capable of writing the serial, and that man kit bellew. "oh, lord, i'm the gink!" kit had groaned to himself afterwards on the narrow stairway. and thereat had begun his servitude to o'hara and the insatiable columns of the billow. week after week he held down an office chair, stood off creditors, wrangled with printers, and turned out twenty-five thousand words of all sorts weekly. nor did his labours lighten. the billow was ambitious. it went in for illustration. the processes were expensive. it never had any money to pay kit bellew, and by the same token it was unable to pay for any additions to the office staff. "this is what comes of being a good fellow," kit grumbled one day. "thank god for good fellows then," o'hara cried, with tears in his eyes as he gripped kit's hand. "you're all that's saved me, kit. but for you i'd have gone bust. just a little longer, old man, and things will be easier." "never," was kit's plaint. "i see my fate clearly. i shall be here always." a little later he thought he saw his way out. watching his chance, in o'hara's presence, he fell over a chair. a few minutes afterwards he bumped into the corner of the desk, and, with fumbling fingers, capsized a paste pot. "out late?" o'hara queried. kit brushed his eyes with his hands and peered about him anxiously before replying. "no, it's not that. it's my eyes. they seem to be going back on me, that's all." for several days he continued to fall over and bump into the office furniture. but o'hara's heart was not softened. "i tell you what, kit," he said one day, "you've got to see an oculist. there's doctor hassdapple. he's a crackerjack. and it won't cost you anything. we can get it for advertizing. i'll see him myself." and, true to his word, he dispatched kit to the oculist. "there's nothing the matter with your eyes," was the doctor's verdict, after a lengthy examination. "in fact, your eyes are magnificent--a pair in a million." "don't tell o'hara," kit pleaded. "and give me a pair of black glasses." the result of this was that o'hara sympathized and talked glowingly of the time when the billow would be on its feet. luckily for kit bellew, he had his own income. small it was, compared with some, yet it was large enough to enable him to belong to several clubs and maintain a studio in the latin quarter. in point of fact, since his associate editorship, his expenses had decreased prodigiously. he had no time to spend money. he never saw the studio any more, nor entertained the local bohemians with his famous chafing-dish suppers. yet he was always broke, for the billow, in perennial distress, absorbed his cash as well as his brains. there were the illustrators who periodically refused to illustrate, the printers who periodically refused to print, and the office boy who frequently refused to officiate. at such times o'hara looked at kit, and kit did the rest. when the steamship excelsior arrived from alaska, bringing the news of the klondike strike that set the country mad, kit made a purely frivolous proposition. "look here, o'hara," he said. "this gold rush is going to be big--the days of ' over again. suppose i cover it for the billow? i'll pay my own expenses." o'hara shook his head. "can't spare you from the office, kit. then there's that serial. besides, i saw jackson not an hour ago. he's starting for the klondike to-morrow, and he's agreed to send a weekly letter and photos. i wouldn't let him get away till he promised. and the beauty of it is, that it doesn't cost us anything." the next kit heard of the klondike was when he dropped into the club that afternoon, and, in an alcove off the library, encountered his uncle. "hello, avuncular relative," kit greeted, sliding into a leather chair and spreading out his legs. "won't you join me?" he ordered a cocktail, but the uncle contented himself with the thin native claret he invariably drank. he glanced with irritated disapproval at the cocktail, and on to his nephew's face. kit saw a lecture gathering. "i've only a minute," he announced hastily. "i've got to run and take in that keith exhibition at ellery's and do half a column on it." "what's the matter with you?" the other demanded. "you're pale. you're a wreck." kit's only answer was a groan. "i'll have the pleasure of burying you, i can see that." kit shook his head sadly. "no destroying worm, thank you. cremation for mine." john bellew came of the old hard and hardy stock that had crossed the plains by ox-team in the fifties, and in him was this same hardness and the hardness of a childhood spent in the conquering of a new land. "you're not living right, christopher. i'm ashamed of you." "primrose path, eh?" kit chuckled. the older man shrugged his shoulders. "shake not your gory locks at me, avuncular. i wish it were the primrose path. but that's all cut out. i have no time." "then what in-?" "overwork." john bellew laughed harshly and incredulously. "honest?" again came the laughter. "men are the products of their environment," kit proclaimed, pointing at the other's glass. "your mirth is thin and bitter as your drink." "overwork!" was the sneer. "you never earned a cent in your life." "you bet i have--only i never got it. i'm earning five hundred a week right now, and doing four men's work." "pictures that won't sell? or--er--fancy work of some sort? can you swim?" "i used to." "sit a horse?" "i have essayed that adventure." john bellew snorted his disgust. "i'm glad your father didn't live to see you in all the glory of your gracelessness," he said. "your father was a man, every inch of him. do you get it? a man. i think he'd have whaled all this musical and artistic tomfoolery out of you." "alas! these degenerate days," kit sighed. "i could understand it, and tolerate it," the other went on savagely, "if you succeeded at it. you've never earned a cent in your life, nor done a tap of man's work." "etchings, and pictures, and fans," kit contributed unsoothingly. "you're a dabbler and a failure. what pictures have you painted? dinky water-colours and nightmare posters. you've never had one exhibited, even here in san francisco-" "ah, you forget. there is one in the jinks room of this very club." "a gross cartoon. music? your dear fool of a mother spent hundreds on lessons. you've dabbled and failed. you've never even earned a five-dollar piece by accompanying some one at a concert. your songs?--rag-time rot that's never printed and that's sung only by a pack of fake bohemians." "i had a book published once--those sonnets, you remember," kit interposed meekly. "what did it cost you?" "only a couple of hundred." "any other achievements?" "i had a forest play acted at the summer jinks." "what did you get for it?" "glory." "and you used to swim, and you have essayed to sit a horse!" john bellew set his glass down with unnecessary violence. "what earthly good are you anyway? you were well put up, yet even at university you didn't play football. you didn't row. you didn't-" "i boxed and fenced--some." "when did you last box?" "not since; but i was considered an excellent judge of time and distance, only i was--er-" "go on." "considered desultory." "lazy, you mean." "i always imagined it was an euphemism." "my father, sir, your grandfather, old isaac bellew, killed a man with a blow of his fist when he was sixty-nine years old." "the man?" "no, your--you graceless scamp! but you'll never kill a mosquito at sixty-nine." "the times have changed, oh, my avuncular. they send men to state prisons for homicide now." "your father rode one hundred and eighty-five miles, without sleeping, and killed three horses." "had he lived to-day, he'd have snored over the course in a pullman." the older man was on the verge of choking with wrath, but swallowed it down and managed to articulate: "how old are you?" "i have reason to believe-" "i know. twenty-seven. you finished college at twenty-two. you've dabbled and played and frilled for five years. before god and man, of what use are you? when i was your age i had one suit of underclothes. i was riding with the cattle in colusa. i was hard as rocks, and i could sleep on a rock. i lived on jerked beef and bear-meat. i am a better man physically right now than you are. you weigh about one hundred and sixty-five. i can throw you right now, or thrash you with my fists." "it doesn't take a physical prodigy to mop up cocktails or pink tea," kit murmured deprecatingly. "don't you see, my avuncular, the times have changed. besides, i wasn't brought up right. my dear fool of a mother-" john bellew started angrily. "-as you described her, was too good to me; kept me in cotton wool and all the rest. now, if when i was a youngster i had taken some of those intensely masculine vacations you go in for--i wonder why you didn't invite me sometimes? you took hal and robbie all over the sierras and on that mexico trip." "i guess you were too lord fauntleroyish." "your fault, avuncular, and my dear--er--mother's. how was i to know the hard? i was only a chee-ild. what was there left but etchings and pictures and fans? was it my fault that i never had to sweat?" the older man looked at his nephew with unconcealed disgust. he had no patience with levity from the lips of softness. "well, i'm going to take another one of those what-you-call masculine vacations. suppose i asked you to come along?" "rather belated, i must say. where is it?" "hal and robert are going in to klondike, and i'm going to see them across the pass and down to the lakes, then return-" he got no further, for the young man had sprung forward and gripped his hand. "my preserver!" john bellew was immediately suspicious. he had not dreamed the invitation would be accepted. "you don't mean it," he said. "when do we start?" "it will be a hard trip. you'll be in the way." "no, i won't. i'll work. i've learned to work since i went on the billow." "each man has to take a year's supplies in with him. there'll be such a jam the indian packers won't be able to handle it. hal and robert will have to pack their outfits across themselves. that's what i'm going along for--to help them pack. it you come you'll have to do the same." "watch me." "you can't pack," was the objection. "when do we start?" "to-morrow." "you needn't take it to yourself that your lecture on the hard has done it," kit said, at parting. "i just had to get away, somewhere, anywhere, from o'hara." "who is o'hara? a jap?" "no; he's an irishman, and a slave-driver, and my best friend. he's the editor and proprietor and all-around big squeeze of the billow. what he says goes. he can make ghosts walk." that night kit bellew wrote a note to o'hara. "it's only a several weeks' vacation," he explained. "you'll have to get some gink to dope out instalments for that serial. sorry, old man, but my health demands it. i'll kick in twice as hard when i get back." ii. kit bellew landed through the madness of the dyea beach, congested with thousand-pound outfits of thousands of men. this immense mass of luggage and food, flung ashore in mountains by the steamers, was beginning slowly to dribble up the dyea valley and across chilcoot. it was a portage of twenty-eight miles, and could be accomplished only on the backs of men. despite the fact that the indian packers had jumped the freight from eight cents a pound to forty, they were swamped with the work, and it was plain that winter would catch the major portion of the outfits on the wrong side of the divide. tenderest of the tender-feet was kit. like many hundreds of others he carried a big revolver swung on a cartridge-belt. of this, his uncle, filled with memories of old lawless days, was likewise guilty. but kit bellew was romantic. he was fascinated by the froth and sparkle of the gold rush, and viewed its life and movement with an artist's eye. he did not take it seriously. as he said on the steamer, it was not his funeral. he was merely on a vacation, and intended to peep over the top of the pass for a 'look see' and then to return. leaving his party on the sand to wait for the putting ashore of the freight, he strolled up the beach toward the old trading post. he did not swagger, though he noticed that many of the be-revolvered individuals did. a strapping, six-foot indian passed him, carrying an unusually large pack. kit swung in behind, admiring the splendid calves of the man, and the grace and ease with which he moved along under his burden. the indian dropped his pack on the scales in front of the post, and kit joined the group of admiring gold-rushers who surrounded him. the pack weighed one hundred and twenty pounds, which fact was uttered back and forth in tones of awe. it was going some, kit decided, and he wondered if he could lift such a weight, much less walk off with it. "going to lake linderman with it, old man?" he asked. the indian, swelling with pride, grunted an affirmative. "how much you make that one pack?" "fifty dollar." here kit slid out of the conversation. a young woman, standing in the doorway, had caught his eye. unlike other women landing from the steamers, she was neither short-skirted nor bloomer-clad. she was dressed as any woman travelling anywhere would be dressed. what struck him was the justness of her being there, a feeling that somehow she belonged. moreover, she was young and pretty. the bright beauty and colour of her oval face held him, and he looked over-long--looked till she resented, and her own eyes, long-lashed and dark, met his in cool survey. from his face they travelled in evident amusement down to the big revolver at his thigh. then her eyes came back to his, and in them was amused contempt. it struck him like a blow. she turned to the man beside her and indicated kit. the man glanced him over with the same amused contempt. "chechaquo," the girl said. the man, who looked like a tramp in his cheap overalls and dilapidated woollen jacket, grinned dryly, and kit felt withered though he knew not why. but anyway she was an unusually pretty girl, he decided, as the two moved off. he noted the way of her walk, and recorded the judgment that he would recognize it after the lapse of a thousand years. "did you see that man with the girl?" kit's neighbour asked him excitedly. "know who he is?" kit shook his head. "cariboo charley. he was just pointed out to me. he struck it big on klondike. old timer. been on the yukon a dozen years. he's just come out." "what's chechaquo mean?" kit asked. "you're one; i'm one," was the answer. "maybe i am, but you've got to search me. what does it mean?" "tender-foot." on his way back to the beach kit turned the phrase over and over. it rankled to be called tender-foot by a slender chit of a woman. going into a corner among the heaps of freight, his mind still filled with the vision of the indian with the redoubtable pack, kit essayed to learn his own strength. he picked out a sack of flour which he knew weighed an even hundred pounds. he stepped astride of it, reached down, and strove to get it on his shoulder. his first conclusion was that one hundred pounds was the real heavy. his next was that his back was weak. his third was an oath, and it occurred at the end of five futile minutes, when he collapsed on top of the burden with which he was wrestling. he mopped his forehead, and across a heap of grub-sacks saw john bellew gazing at him, wintry amusement in his eyes. "god!" proclaimed that apostle of the hard. "out of our loins has come a race of weaklings. when i was sixteen i toyed with things like that." "you forget, avuncular," kit retorted, "that i wasn't raised on bear-meat." "and i'll toy with it when i'm sixty." "you've got to show me." john bellew did. he was forty-eight, but he bent over the sack, applied a tentative, shifting grip that balanced it, and, with a quick heave, stood erect, the somersaulted sack of flour on his shoulder. "knack, my boy, knack--and a spine." kit took off his hat reverently. "you're a wonder, avuncular, a shining wonder. d'ye think i can learn the knack?" john bellew shrugged his shoulders. "you'll be hitting the back trail before we get started." "never you fear," kit groaned. "there's o'hara, the roaring lion, down there. i'm not going back till i have to." iii. kit's first pack was a success. up to finnegan's crossing they had managed to get indians to carry the twenty-five hundred-pound outfit. from that point their own backs must do the work. they planned to move forward at the rate of a mile a day. it looked easy--on paper. since john bellew was to stay in camp and do the cooking, he would be unable to make more than an occasional pack; so, to each of the three young men fell the task of carrying eight hundred pounds one mile each day. if they made fifty-pound packs, it meant a daily walk of sixteen miles loaded and of fifteen miles light--"because we don't back-trip the last time," kit explained the pleasant discovery; eighty-pound packs meant nineteen miles travel each day; and hundred-pound packs meant only fifteen miles. "i don't like walking," said kit. "therefore i shall carry one hundred pounds." he caught the grin of incredulity on his uncle's face, and added hastily: "of course i shall work up to it. a fellow's got to learn the ropes and tricks. i'll start with fifty." he did, and ambled gaily along the trail. he dropped the sack at the next camp-site and ambled back. it was easier than he had thought. but two miles had rubbed off the velvet of his strength and exposed the underlying softness. his second pack was sixty-five pounds. it was more difficult, and he no longer ambled. several times, following the custom of all packers, he sat down on the ground, resting the pack behind him on a rock or stump. with the third pack he became bold. he fastened the straps to a ninety-five-pound sack of beans and started. at the end of a hundred yards he felt that he must collapse. he sat down and mopped his face. "short hauls and short rests," he muttered. "that's the trick." sometimes he did not make a hundred yards, and each time he struggled to his feet for another short haul the pack became undeniably heavier. he panted for breath, and the sweat streamed from him. before he had covered a quarter of a mile he stripped off his woollen shirt and hung it on a tree. a little later he discarded his hat. at the end of half a mile he decided he was finished. he had never exerted himself so in his life, and he knew that he was finished. as he sat and panted, his gaze fell upon the big revolver and the heavy cartridge-belt. "ten pounds of junk," he sneered, as he unbuckled it. he did not bother to hang it on a tree, but flung it into the underbush. and as the steady tide of packers flowed by him, up trail and down, he noted that the other tender-feet were beginning to shed their shooting irons. his short hauls decreased. at times a hundred feet was all he could stagger, and then the ominous pounding of his heart against his ear-drums and the sickening totteriness of his knees compelled him to rest. and his rests grew longer. but his mind was busy. it was a twenty-eight mile portage, which represented as many days, and this, by all accounts, was the easiest part of it. "wait till you get to chilcoot," others told him as they rested and talked, "where you climb with hands and feet." "they ain't going to be no chilcoot," was his answer. "not for me. long before that i'll be at peace in my little couch beneath the moss." a slip, and a violent wrenching effort at recovery, frightened him. he felt that everything inside him had been torn asunder. "if ever i fall down with this on my back i'm a goner," he told another packer. "that's nothing," came the answer. "wait till you hit the canyon. you'll have to cross a raging torrent on a sixty-foot pine tree. no guide ropes, nothing, and the water boiling at the sag of the log to your knees. if you fall with a pack on your back, there's no getting out of the straps. you just stay there and drown." "sounds good to me," he retorted; and out of the depths of his exhaustion he almost half meant it. "they drown three or four a day there," the man assured him. "i helped fish a german out there. he had four thousand in greenbacks on him." "cheerful, i must say," said kit, battling his way to his feet and tottering on. he and the sack of beans became a perambulating tragedy. it reminded him of the old man of the sea who sat on sinbad's neck. and this was one of those intensely masculine vacations, he meditated. compared with it, the servitude to o'hara was sweet. again and again he was nearly seduced by the thought of abandoning the sack of beans in the brush and of sneaking around the camp to the beach and catching a steamer for civilization. but he didn't. somewhere in him was the strain of the hard, and he repeated over and over to himself that what other men could do, he could. it became a nightmare chant, and he gibbered it to those that passed him on the trail. at other times, resting, he watched and envied the stolid, mule-footed indians that plodded by under heavier packs. they never seemed to rest, but went on and on with a steadiness and certitude that was to him appalling. he sat and cursed--he had no breath for it when under way--and fought the temptation to sneak back to san francisco. before the mile pack was ended he ceased cursing and took to crying. the tears were tears of exhaustion and of disgust with self. if ever a man was a wreck, he was. as the end of the pack came in sight, he strained himself in desperation, gained the camp-site, and pitched forward on his face, the beans on his back. it did not kill him, but he lay for fifteen minutes before he could summon sufficient shreds of strength to release himself from the straps. then he became deathly sick, and was so found by robbie, who had similar troubles of his own. it was this sickness of robbie that braced him up. "what other men can do, we can do," kit told him, though down in his heart he wondered whether or not he was bluffing. iv. "and i am twenty-seven years old and a man," he privately assured himself many times in the days that followed. there was need for it. at the end of a week, though he had succeeded in moving his eight hundred pounds forward a mile a day, he had lost fifteen pounds of his own weight. his face was lean and haggard. all resilience had gone out of his body and mind. he no longer walked, but plodded. and on the back-trips, travelling light, his feet dragged almost as much as when he was loaded. he had become a work animal. he fell asleep over his food, and his sleep was heavy and beastly, save when he was aroused, screaming with agony, by the cramps in his legs. every part of him ached. he tramped on raw blisters, yet this was even easier than the fearful bruising his feet received on the water-rounded rocks of the dyea flats, across which the trail led for two miles. these two miles represented thirty-eight miles of travelling. he washed his face once a day. his nails, torn and broken and afflicted with hangnails, were never cleaned. his shoulders and chest, galled by the pack-straps, made him think, and for the first time with understanding, of the horses he had seen on city streets. one ordeal that nearly destroyed him at first had been the food. the extraordinary amount of work demanded extraordinary stoking, and his stomach was unaccustomed to great quantities of bacon and of the coarse, highly poisonous brown beans. as a result, his stomach went back on him, and for several days the pain and irritation of it and of starvation nearly broke him down. and then came the day of joy when he could eat like a ravenous animal, and, wolf-eyed, ask for more. when they had moved the outfit across the foot-logs at the mouth of the canyon, they made a change in their plans. word had come across the pass that at lake linderman the last available trees for building boats were being cut. the two cousins, with tools, whipsaw, blankets, and grub on their backs, went on, leaving kit and his uncle to hustle along the outfit. john bellew now shared the cooking with kit, and both packed shoulder to shoulder. time was flying, and on the peaks the first snow was falling. to be caught on the wrong side of the pass meant a delay of nearly a year. the older man put his iron back under a hundred pounds. kit was shocked, but he gritted his teeth and fastened his own straps to a hundred pounds. it hurt, but he had learned the knack, and his body, purged of all softness and fat, was beginning to harden up with lean and bitter muscle. also, he observed and devised. he took note of the head-straps worn by the indians, and manufactured one for himself, which he used in addition to the shoulder-straps. it made things easier, so that he began the practice of piling any light, cumbersome piece of luggage on top. thus, he was soon able to bend along with a hundred pounds in the straps, fifteen or twenty more lying loosely on top the pack and against his neck, an axe or a pair of oars in one hand, and in the other the nested cooking-pails of the camp. but work as they would, the toil increased. the trail grew more rugged; their packs grew heavier; and each day saw the snow-line dropping down the mountains, while freight jumped to sixty cents. no word came from the cousins beyond, so they knew they must be at work chopping down the standing trees, and whipsawing them into boat-planks. john bellew grew anxious. capturing a bunch of indians back-tripping from lake linderman, he persuaded them to put their straps on the outfit. they charged thirty cents a pound to carry it to the summit of chilcoot, and it nearly broke him. as it was, some four hundred pounds of clothes-bags and camp outfit was not handled. he remained behind to move it along, dispatching kit with the indians. at the summit kit was to remain, slowly moving his ton until overtaken by the four hundred pounds with which his uncle guaranteed to catch him. v. kit plodded along the trail with his indian packers. in recognition of the fact that it was to be a long pack, straight to the top of chilcoot, his own load was only eighty pounds. the indians plodded under their loads, but it was a quicker gait than he had practised. yet he felt no apprehension, and by now had come to deem himself almost the equal of an indian. at the end of a quarter of a mile he desired to rest. but the indians kept on. he stayed with them, and kept his place in the line. at the half mile he was convinced that he was incapable of another step, yet he gritted his teeth, kept his place, and at the end of the mile was amazed that he was still alive. then, in some strange way, came the thing called second wind, and the next mile was almost easier than the first. the third mile nearly killed him, and, though half delirious with pain and fatigue, he never whimpered. and then, when he felt he must surely faint, came the rest. instead of sitting in the straps, as was the custom of the white packers, the indians slipped out of the shoulder- and head-straps and lay at ease, talking and smoking. a full half hour passed before they made another start. to kit's surprise he found himself a fresh man, and 'long hauls and long rests' became his newest motto. the pitch of chilcoot was all he had heard of it, and many were the occasions when he climbed with hands as well as feet. but when he reached the crest of the divide in the thick of a driving snow-squall, it was in the company of his indians, and his secret pride was that he had come through with them and never squealed and never lagged. to be almost as good as an indian was a new ambition to cherish. when he had paid off the indians and seen them depart, a stormy darkness was falling, and he was left alone, a thousand feet above timber line, on the back-bone of a mountain. wet to the waist, famished and exhausted, he would have given a year's income for a fire and a cup of coffee. instead, he ate half a dozen cold flap-jacks and crawled into the folds of the partly unrolled tent. as he dozed off he had time only for one fleeting thought, and he grinned with vicious pleasure at the picture of john bellew in the days to follow, masculinely back-tripping his four hundred pounds up chilcoot. as for himself, even though burdened with two thousand pounds, he was bound down the hill. in the morning, stiff from his labours and numb with the frost, he rolled out of the canvas, ate a couple of pounds of uncooked bacon, buckled the straps on a hundred pounds, and went down the rocky way. several hundred yards beneath, the trail led across a small glacier and down to crater lake. other men packed across the glacier. all that day he dropped his packs at the glacier's upper edge, and, by virtue of the shortness of the pack, he put his straps on one hundred and fifty pounds each load. his astonishment at being able to do it never abated. for two dollars he bought from an indian three leathery sea-biscuits, and out of these, and a huge quantity of raw bacon, made several meals. unwashed, unwarmed, his clothing wet with sweat, he slept another night in the canvas. in the early morning he spread a tarpaulin on the ice, loaded it with three-quarters of a ton, and started to pull. where the pitch of the glacier accelerated, his load likewise accelerated, overran him, scooped him in on top, and ran away with him. a hundred packers, bending under their loads, stopped to watch him. he yelled frantic warnings, and those in his path stumbled and staggered clear. below, on the lower edge of the glacier, was pitched a small tent, which seemed leaping toward him, so rapidly did it grow larger. he left the beaten track where the packers' trail swerved to the left, and struck a patch of fresh snow. this arose about him in frosty smoke, while it reduced his speed. he saw the tent the instant he struck it, carrying away the corner guys, bursting in the front flaps, and fetching up inside, still on top of the tarpaulin and in the midst of his grub-sacks. the tent rocked drunkenly, and in the frosty vapour he found himself face to face with a startled young woman who was sitting up in her blankets--the very one who had called him chechaquo at dyea. "did you see my smoke?" he queried cheerfully. she regarded him with disapproval. "talk about your magic carpets!" he went on. "do you mind removing that sack from my foot?" she said coldly. he looked, and lifted his weight quickly. "it wasn't a sack. it was my elbow. pardon me." the information did not perturb her, and her coolness was a challenge. "it was a mercy you did not overturn the stove," she said. he followed her glance and saw a sheet-iron stove and a coffee-pot, attended by a young squaw. he sniffed the coffee and looked back to the girl. "i'm a chechaquo," he said. her bored expression told him that he was stating the obvious. but he was unabashed. "i've shed my shooting-irons," he added. then she recognized him, and her eyes lighted. "i never thought you'd get this far," she informed him. again, and greedily, he sniffed the air. "as i live, coffee!" he turned and directly addressed her. "i'll give you my little finger--cut it right off now; i'll do anything; i'll be your slave for a year and a day or any other odd time, if you'll give me a cup out of that pot." and over the coffee he gave his name and learned hers--joy gastell. also, he learned that she was an old-timer in the country. she had been born in a trading post on the great slave, and as a child had crossed the rockies with her father and come down to the yukon. she was going in, she said, with her father, who had been delayed by business in seattle, and who had then been wrecked on the ill-fated chanter and carried back to puget sound by the rescuing steamer. in view of the fact that she was still in her blankets, he did not make it a long conversation, and, heroically declining a second cup of coffee, he removed himself and his quarter of a ton of baggage from her tent. further, he took several conclusions away with him: she had a fetching name and fetching eyes; could not be more than twenty, or twenty-one or -two; her father must be french; she had a will of her own and temperament to burn; and she had been educated elsewhere than on the frontier. vi. over the ice-scoured rocks, and above the timber-line, the trail ran around crater lake and gained the rocky defile that led toward happy camp and the first scrub pines. to pack his heavy outfit around would take days of heart-breaking toil. on the lake was a canvas boat employed in freighting. two trips with it, in two hours, would see him and his ton across. but he was broke, and the ferryman charged forty dollars a ton. "you've got a gold-mine, my friend, in that dinky boat," kit said to the ferryman. "do you want another gold-mine?" "show me," was the answer. "i'll sell it to you for the price of ferrying my outfit. it's an idea, not patented, and you can jump the deal as soon as i tell you it. are you game?" the ferryman said he was, and kit liked his looks. "very well. you see that glacier. take a pick-axe and wade into it. in a day you can have a decent groove from top to bottom. see the point? the chilcoot and crater lake consolidated chute corporation, limited. you can charge fifty cents a hundred, get a hundred tons a day, and have no work to do but collect the coin." two hours later, kit's ton was across the lake, and he had gained three days on himself. and when john bellew overtook him, he was well along toward deep lake, another volcanic pit filled with glacial water. vii. the last pack, from long lake to linderman, was three miles, and the trail, if trail it could be called, rose up over a thousand-foot hogback, dropped down a scramble of slippery rocks, and crossed a wide stretch of swamp. john bellew remonstrated when he saw kit arise with a hundred pounds in the straps and pick up a fifty-pound sack of flour and place it on top of the pack against the back of his neck. "come on, you chunk of the hard," kit retorted. "kick in on your bear-meat fodder and your one suit of underclothes." but john bellew shook his head. "i'm afraid i'm getting old, christopher." "you're only forty-eight. do you realize that my grandfather, sir, your father, old isaac bellew, killed a man with his fist when he was sixty-nine years old?" john bellew grinned and swallowed his medicine. "avuncular, i want to tell you something important. i was raised a lord fauntleroy, but i can outpack you, outwalk you, put you on your back, or lick you with my fists right now." john bellew thrust out his hand and spoke solemnly. "christopher, my boy, i believe you can do it. i believe you can do it with that pack on your back at the same time. you've made good, boy, though it's too unthinkable to believe." kit made the round trip of the last pack four times a day, which is to say that he daily covered twenty-four miles of mountain climbing, twelve miles of it under one hundred and fifty pounds. he was proud, hard, and tired, but in splendid physical condition. he ate and slept as he had never eaten and slept in his life, and as the end of the work came in sight, he was almost half sorry. one problem bothered him. he had learned that he could fall with a hundredweight on his back and survive; but he was confident, if he fell with that additional fifty pounds across the back of his neck, that it would break it clean. each trail through the swamp was quickly churned bottomless by the thousands of packers, who were compelled continually to make new trails. it was while pioneering such a new trail, that he solved the problem of the extra fifty. the soft, lush surface gave way under him; he floundered, and pitched forward on his face. the fifty pounds crushed his face in the mud and went clear without snapping his neck. with the remaining hundred pounds on his back, he arose on hands and knees. but he got no farther. one arm sank to the shoulder, pillowing his cheek in the slush. as he drew this arm clear, the other sank to the shoulder. in this position it was impossible to slip the straps, and the hundredweight on his back would not let him rise. on hands and knees, sinking first one arm and then the other, he made an effort to crawl to where the small sack of flour had fallen. but he exhausted himself without advancing, and so churned and broke the grass surface, that a tiny pool of water began to form in perilous proximity to his mouth and nose. he tried to throw himself on his back with the pack underneath, but this resulted in sinking both arms to the shoulders and gave him a foretaste of drowning. with exquisite patience, he slowly withdrew one sucking arm and then the other and rested them flat on the surface for the support of his chin. then he began to call for help. after a time he heard the sound of feet sucking through the mud as some one advanced from behind. "lend a hand, friend," he said. "throw out a life-line or something." it was a woman's voice that answered, and he recognized it. "if you'll unbuckle the straps i can get up." the hundred pounds rolled into the mud with a soggy noise, and he slowly gained his feet. "a pretty predicament," miss gastell laughed, at sight of his mud-covered face. "not at all," he replied airily. "my favourite physical exercise stunt. try it some time. it's great for the pectoral muscles and the spine." he wiped his face, flinging the slush from his hand with a snappy jerk. "oh!" she cried in recognition. "it's mr--ah--mr smoke bellew." "i thank you gravely for your timely rescue and for that name," he answered. "i have been doubly baptized. henceforth i shall insist always on being called smoke bellew. it is a strong name, and not without significance." he paused, and then voice and expression became suddenly fierce. "do you know what i'm going to do?" he demanded. "i'm going back to the states. i am going to get married. i am going to raise a large family of children. and then, as the evening shadows fall, i shall gather those children about me and relate the sufferings and hardships i endured on the chilcoot trail. and if they don't cry--i repeat, if they don't cry, i'll lambaste the stuffing out of them." viii. the arctic winter came down apace. snow that had come to stay lay six inches on the ground, and the ice was forming in quiet ponds, despite the fierce gales that blew. it was in the late afternoon, during a lull in such a gale, that kit and john bellew helped the cousins load the boat and watched it disappear down the lake in a snow-squall. "and now a night's sleep and an early start in the morning," said john bellew. "if we aren't storm-bound at the summit we'll make dyea to-morrow night, and if we have luck in catching a steamer we'll be in san francisco in a week." "enjoyed your vacation?" kit asked absently. their camp for that last night at linderman was a melancholy remnant. everything of use, including the tent, had been taken by the cousins. a tattered tarpaulin, stretched as a wind-break, partially sheltered them from the driving snow. supper they cooked on an open fire in a couple of battered and discarded camp utensils. all that was left them were their blankets, and food for several meals. from the moment of the departure of the boat, kit had become absent and restless. his uncle noticed his condition, and attributed it to the fact that the end of the hard toil had come. only once during supper did kit speak. "avuncular," he said, relevant of nothing, "after this, i wish you'd call me smoke. i've made some smoke on this trail, haven't i?" a few minutes later he wandered away in the direction of the village of tents that sheltered the gold-rushers who were still packing or building their boats. he was gone several hours, and when he returned and slipped into his blankets john bellew was asleep. in the darkness of a gale-driven morning, kit crawled out, built a fire in his stocking feet, by which he thawed out his frozen shoes, then boiled coffee and fried bacon. it was a chilly, miserable meal. as soon as finished, they strapped their blankets. as john bellew turned to lead the way toward the chilcoot trail, kit held out his hand. "good-bye, avuncular," he said. john bellew looked at him and swore in his surprise. "don't forget my name's smoke," kit chided. "but what are you going to do?" kit waved his hand in a general direction northward over the storm-lashed lake. "what's the good of turning back after getting this far?" he asked. "besides, i've got my taste of meat, and i like it. i'm going on." "you're broke," protested john bellew. "you have no outfit." "i've got a job. behold your nephew, christopher smoke bellew! he's got a job at a hundred and fifty per month and grub. he's going down to dawson with a couple of dudes and another gentleman's man--camp-cook, boatman, and general all-around hustler. and o'hara and the billow can go to hell. good-bye." but john bellew was dazed, and could only mutter: "i don't understand." "they say the baldface grizzlies are thick in the yukon basin," kit explained. "well, i've got only one suit of underclothes, and i'm going after the bear-meat, that's all." the meat. i. half the time the wind blew a gale, and smoke bellew staggered against it along the beach. in the gray of dawn a dozen boats were being loaded with the precious outfits packed across chilcoot. they were clumsy, home-made boats, put together by men who were not boat-builders, out of planks they had sawed by hand from green spruce trees. one boat, already loaded, was just starting, and kit paused to watch. the wind, which was fair down the lake, here blew in squarely on the beach, kicking up a nasty sea in the shallows. the men of the departing boat waded in high rubber boots as they shoved it out toward deeper water. twice they did this. clambering aboard and failing to row clear, the boat was swept back and grounded. kit noticed that the spray on the sides of the boat quickly turned to ice. the third attempt was a partial success. the last two men to climb in were wet to their waists, but the boat was afloat. they struggled awkwardly at the heavy oars, and slowly worked off shore. then they hoisted a sail made of blankets, had it carried away in a gust, and were swept a third time back on the freezing beach. kit grinned to himself and went on. this was what he must expect to encounter, for he, too, in his new role of gentleman's man, was to start from the beach in a similar boat that very day. everywhere men were at work, and at work desperately, for the closing down of winter was so imminent that it was a gamble whether or not they would get across the great chain of lakes before the freeze-up. yet, when kit arrived at the tent of messrs sprague and stine, he did not find them stirring. by a fire, under the shelter of a tarpaulin, squatted a short, thick man smoking a brown-paper cigarette. "hello," he said. "are you mister sprague's new man?" as kit nodded, he thought he had noted a shade of emphasis on the mister and the man, and he was sure of a hint of a twinkle in the corner of the eye. "well, i'm doc stine's man," the other went on. "i'm five feet two inches long, and my name's shorty, jack short for short, and sometimes known as johnny-on-the-spot." kit put out his hand and shook. "were you raised on bear-meat?" he queried. "sure," was the answer; "though my first feedin' was buffalo-milk as near as i can remember. sit down an' have some grub. the bosses ain't turned out yet." and despite the one breakfast, kit sat down under the tarpaulin and ate a second breakfast thrice as hearty. the heavy, purging toil of weeks had given him the stomach and appetite of a wolf. he could eat anything, in any quantity, and be unaware that he possessed a digestion. shorty he found voluble and pessimistic, and from him he received surprising tips concerning their bosses, and ominous forecasts of the expedition. thomas stanley sprague was a budding mining engineer and the son of a millionaire. doctor adolph stine was also the son of a wealthy father. and, through their fathers, both had been backed by an investing syndicate in the klondike adventure. "oh, they're sure made of money," shorty expounded. "when they hit the beach at dyea, freight was seventy cents, but no indians. there was a party from eastern oregon, real miners, that'd managed to get a team of indians together at seventy cents. indians had the straps on the outfit, three thousand pounds of it, when along comes sprague and stine. they offered eighty cents and ninety, and at a dollar a pound the indians jumped the contract and took off their straps. sprague and stine came through, though it cost them three thousand, and the oregon bunch is still on the beach. they won't get through till next year. "oh, they are real hummers, your boss and mine, when it comes to sheddin' the mazuma an' never mindin' other folks' feelin's. what did they do when they hit linderman? the carpenters was just putting in the last licks on a boat they'd contracted to a 'frisco bunch for six hundred. sprague and stine slipped 'em an even thousand, and they jumped their contract. it's a good-lookin' boat, but it's jiggered the other bunch. they've got their outfit right here, but no boat. and they're stuck for next year. "have another cup of coffee, and take it from me that i wouldn't travel with no such outfit if i didn't want to get to klondike so blamed bad. they ain't hearted right. they'd take the crape off the door of a house in mourning if they needed it in their business. did you sign a contract?" kit shook his head. "then i'm sorry for you, pardner. they ain't no grub in the country, and they'll drop you cold as soon as they hit dawson. men are going to starve there this winter." "they agreed--" kit began. "verbal," shorty snapped him short. "it's your say so against theirs, that's all. well, anyway--what's your name, pardner?" "call me smoke," said kit. "well, smoke, you'll have a run for your verbal contract just the same. this is a plain sample of what to expect. they can sure shed mazuma, but they can't work, or turn out of bed in the morning. we should have been loaded and started an hour ago. it's you an' me for the big work. pretty soon you'll hear 'em shoutin' for their coffee--in bed, mind you, and they grown men. what d'ye know about boatin' on the water? i'm a cowman and a prospector, but i'm sure tender-footed on water, an' they don't know punkins. what d'ye know?" "search me," kit answered, snuggling in closer under the tarpaulin as the snow whirled before a fiercer gust. "i haven't been on a small boat since a boy. but i guess we can learn." a corner of the tarpaulin tore loose, and shorty received a jet of driven snow down the back of his neck. "oh, we can learn all right," he muttered wrathfully. "sure we can. a child can learn. but it's dollars to doughnuts we don't even get started to-day." it was eight o'clock when the call for coffee came from the tent, and nearly nine before the two employers emerged. "hello," said sprague, a rosy-cheeked, well-fed young man of twenty-five. "time we made a start, shorty. you and--" here he glanced interrogatively at kit. "i didn't quite catch your name last evening." "smoke." "well, shorty, you and mr smoke had better begin loading the boat." "plain smoke--cut out the mister," kit suggested. sprague nodded curtly and strolled away among the tents, to be followed by doctor stine, a slender, pallid young man. shorty looked significantly at his companion. "over a ton and a half of outfit, and they won't lend a hand. you'll see." "i guess it's because we're paid to do the work," kit answered cheerfully, "and we might as well buck in." to move three thousand pounds on the shoulders a hundred yards was no slight task, and to do it in half a gale, slushing through the snow in heavy rubber boots, was exhausting. in addition, there was the taking down of the tent and the packing of small camp equipage. then came the loading. as the boat settled, it had to be shoved farther and farther out, increasing the distance they had to wade. by two o'clock it had all been accomplished, and kit, despite his two breakfasts, was weak with the faintness of hunger. his knees were shaking under him. shorty, in similar predicament, foraged through the pots and pans, and drew forth a big pot of cold boiled beans in which were imbedded large chunks of bacon. there was only one spoon, a long-handled one, and they dipped, turn and turn about, into the pot. kit was filled with an immense certitude that in all his life he had never tasted anything so good. "lord, man," he mumbled between chews, "i never knew what appetite was till i hit the trail." sprague and stine arrived in the midst of this pleasant occupation. "what's the delay?" sprague complained. "aren't we ever going to get started?" shorty dipped in turn, and passed the spoon to kit. nor did either speak till the pot was empty and the bottom scraped. "of course we ain't ben doin' nothing," shorty said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "we ain't ben doin' nothing at all. and of course you ain't had nothing to eat. it was sure careless of me." "yes, yes," stine said quickly. "we ate at one of the tents--friends of ours." "thought so," shorty grunted. "but now that you're finished, let us get started," sprague urged. "there's the boat," said shorty. "she's sure loaded. now, just how might you be goin' about to get started?" "by climbing aboard and shoving off. come on." they waded out, and the employers got on board, while kit and shorty shoved clear. when the waves lapped the tops of their boots they clambered in. the other two men were not prepared with the oars, and the boat swept back and grounded. half a dozen times, with a great expenditure of energy, this was repeated. shorty sat down disconsolately on the gunwale, took a chew of tobacco, and questioned the universe, while kit baled the boat and the other two exchanged unkind remarks. "if you'll take my orders, i'll get her off," sprague finally said. the attempt was well intended, but before he could clamber on board he was wet to the waist. "we've got to camp and build a fire," he said, as the boat grounded again. "i'm freezing." "don't be afraid of a wetting," stine sneered. "other men have gone off to-day wetter than you. now i'm going to take her out." this time it was he who got the wetting, and who announced with chattering teeth the need of a fire. "a little splash like that," sprague chattered spitefully. "we'll go on." "shorty, dig out my clothes-bag and make a fire," the other commanded. "you'll do nothing of the sort," sprague cried. shorty looked from one to the other, expectorated, but did not move. "he's working for me, and i guess he obeys my orders," stine retorted. "shorty, take that bag ashore." shorty obeyed, and sprague shivered in the boat. kit, having received no orders, remained inactive, glad of the rest. "a boat divided against itself won't float," he soliloquized. "what's that?" sprague snarled at him. "talking to myself--habit of mine," he answered. his employer favoured him with a hard look, and sulked several minutes longer. then he surrendered. "get out my bag, smoke," he ordered, "and lend a hand with that fire. we won't get off till the morning now." ii. next day the gale still blew. lake linderman was no more than a narrow mountain gorge filled with water. sweeping down from the mountains through this funnel, the wind was irregular, blowing great guns at times and at other times dwindling to a strong breeze. "if you give me a shot at it, i think i can get her off," kit said, when all was ready for the start. "what do you know about it?" stine snapped at him. "search me," kit answered, and subsided. it was the first time he had worked for wages in his life, but he was learning the discipline of it fast. obediently and cheerfully he joined in various vain efforts to get clear of the beach. "how would you go about it?" sprague finally half-panted, half-whined at him. "sit down and get a good rest till a lull comes in the wind, and then buck in for all we're worth." simple as the idea was, he had been the first to evolve it; the first time it was applied it worked, and they hoisted a blanket to the mast and sped down the lake. stine and sprague immediately became cheerful. shorty, despite his chronic pessimism, was always cheerful, and kit was too interested to be otherwise. sprague struggled with the steering sweep for a quarter of an hour, and then looked appealingly at kit, who relieved him. "my arms are fairly broken with the strain of it," sprague muttered apologetically. "you never ate bear-meat, did you?" kit asked sympathetically. "what the devil do you mean?" "oh, nothing; i was just wondering." but behind his employer's back kit caught the approving grin of shorty, who had already caught the whim of his simile. kit steered the length of linderman, displaying an aptitude that caused both young men of money and disinclination for work to name him boat-steerer. shorty was no less pleased, and volunteered to continue cooking and leave the boat work to the other. between linderman and lake bennet was a portage. the boat, lightly loaded, was lined down the small but violent connecting stream, and here kit learned a vast deal more about boats and water. but when it came to packing the outfit, stine and sprague disappeared, and their men spent two days of back-breaking toil in getting the outfit across. and this was the history of many miserable days of the trip--kit and shorty working to exhaustion, while their masters toiled not and demanded to be waited upon. but the iron-bound arctic winter continued to close down, and they were held back by numerous and avoidable delays. at windy arm, stine arbitrarily dispossessed kit of the steering-sweep and within the hour wrecked the boat on a wave-beaten lee shore. two days were lost here in making repairs, and the morning of the fresh start, as they came down to embark, on stern and bow, in large letters, was charcoaled 'the chechaquo.' kit grinned at the appropriateness of the invidious word. "huh!" said shorty, when accused by stine. "i can sure read and spell, an' i know that chechaquo means tenderfoot, but my education never went high enough to learn me to spell a jaw-breaker like that." both employers looked daggers at kit, for the insult rankled; nor did he mention that the night before, shorty had besought him for the spelling of that particular word. "that's 'most as bad as your bear-meat slam at 'em," shorty confided later. kit chuckled. along with the continuous discovery of his own powers had come an ever-increasing disapproval of the two masters. it was not so much irritation, which was always present, as disgust. he had got his taste of the meat, and liked it; but they were teaching him how not to eat it. privily, he thanked god that he was not made as they. he came to dislike them to a degree that bordered on hatred. their malingering bothered him less than their helpless inefficiency. somewhere in him, old isaac bellew and all the rest of the hardy bellews were making good. "shorty," he said one day, in the usual delay of getting started, "i could almost fetch them a rap over the head with an oar and bury them in the river." "same here," shorty agreed. "they're not meat-eaters. they're fish-eaters, and they sure stink." iii. they came to the rapids, first, the box canyon, and, several miles below, the white horse. the box canyon was adequately named. it was a box, a trap. once in it, the only way out was through. on either side arose perpendicular walls of rock. the river narrowed to a fraction of its width, and roared through this gloomy passage in a madness of motion that heaped the water in the centre into a ridge fully eight feet higher than at the rocky sides. this ridge, in turn, was crested with stiff, upstanding waves that curled over, yet remained each in its unvarying place. the canyon was well feared, for it had collected its toll of dead from the passing gold-rushers. tying to the bank above, where lay a score of other anxious boats, kit and his companions went ahead on foot to investigate. they crept to the brink and gazed down at the swirl of water. sprague drew back shuddering. "my god!" he exclaimed. "a swimmer hasn't a chance in that." shorty touched kit significantly with his elbow and said in an undertone: "cold feet. dollars to doughnuts they don't go through." kit scarcely heard. from the beginning of the boat trip he had been learning the stubbornness and inconceivable viciousness of the elements, and this glimpse of what was below him acted as a challenge. "we've got to ride that ridge," he said. "if we get off of it we'll hit the walls--" "and never know what hit us," was shorty's verdict. "can you swim, smoke?" "i'd wish i couldn't if anything went wrong in there." "that's what i say," a stranger, standing alongside and peering down into the canyon, said mournfully. "and i wish i were through it." "i wouldn't sell my chance to go through," kit answered. he spoke honestly, but it was with the idea of heartening the man. he turned to go back to the boat. "are you going to tackle it?" the man asked. kit nodded. "i wish i could get the courage to," the other confessed. "i've been here for hours. the longer i look, the more afraid i am. i am not a boatman, and i have only my nephew with me, who is a young boy, and my wife. if you get through safely, will you run my boat through?" kit looked at shorty, who delayed to answer. "he's got his wife with him," kit suggested. nor had he mistaken his man. "sure," shorty affirmed. "it was just that i was stopping to think about. i knew there was some reason i ought to do it." again they turned to go, but sprague and stine made no movement. "good luck, smoke," sprague called to him. "i'll--er--" he hesitated. "i'll just stay here and watch you." "we need three men in the boat, two at the oars and one at the steering sweep," kit said quietly. sprague looked at stine. "i'm damned if i do," said that gentleman. "if you're not afraid to stand here and look on, i'm not." "who's afraid?" sprague demanded hotly. stine retorted in kind, and their two men left them in the thick of a squabble. "we can do without them," kit said to shorty. "you take the bow with a paddle, and i'll handle the steering sweep. all you'll have to do is just to keep her straight. once we're started, you won't be able to hear me, so just keep on keeping straight." they cast off the boat and worked out to middle in the quickening current. from the canyon came an ever-growing roar. the river sucked in to the entrance with the smoothness of molten glass, and here, as the darkening walls received them, shorty took a chew of tobacco, and dipped his paddle. the boat leaped on the first crests of the ridge, and they were deafened by the uproar of wild water that reverberated from the narrow walls and multiplied itself. they were half-smothered with flying spray. at times kit could not see his comrade at the bow. it was only a matter of two minutes, in which time they rode the ridge three-quarters of a mile, and emerged in safety and tied to the bank in the eddy below. shorty emptied his mouth of tobacco juice--he had forgotten to spit--and spoke. "that was bear-meat," he exulted, "the real bear-meat. say, we want a few, didn't we, smoke, i don't mind tellin' you in confidence that before we started i was the gosh-dangdest scaredest man this side of the rocky-mountains. now i'm a bear-eater. come on an' we'll run that other boat through." midway back, on foot, they encountered their employers, who had watched the passage from above. "there comes the fish-eaters," said shorty. "keep to win'ward." iv. after running the strangers' boat through, whose name proved to be breck, kit and shorty met his wife, a slender, girlish woman whose blue eyes were moist with gratitude. breck himself tried to hand kit fifty dollars, and then attempted it on shorty. "stranger," was the latter's rejection, "i come into this country to make money outa the ground an' not outa my fellow critters." breck rummaged in his boat and produced a demijohn of whiskey. shorty's hand half went out to it and stopped abruptly. he shook his head. "there's that blamed white horse right below, an' they say it's worse than the box. i reckon i don't dast tackle any lightning." several miles below they ran in to the bank, and all four walked down to look at the bad water. the river, which was a succession of rapids, was here deflected toward the right bank by a rocky reef. the whole body of water, rushing crookedly into the narrow passage, accelerated its speed frightfully, and was upflung unto huge waves, white and wrathful. this was the dread mane of the white horse, and here an even heavier toll of dead had been exacted. on one side of the mane was a corkscrew curl-over and suck-under, and on the opposite side was the big whirlpool. to go through, the mane itself must be ridden. "this plum rips the strings outa the box," shorty concluded. as they watched, a boat took the head of the rapids above. it was a large boat, fully thirty feet long, laden with several tons of outfit and handled by six men. before it reached the mane it was plunging and leaping, at times almost hidden by the foam and spray. shorty shot a slow, sidelong glance at kit, and said: "she's fair smoking, and she hasn't hit the worst. they've hauled the oars in. there she takes it now. god! she's gone! no; there she is!" big as the boat was, it had been buried from sight in the flying smother between crests. the next moment, in the thick of the mane, the boat leaped up a crest and into view. to kit's amazement he saw the whole long bottom clearly outlined. the boat, for the fraction of an instant, was in the air, the men sitting idly in their places, all save one in the stern who stood at the steering sweep. then came the downward plunge into the trough and a second disappearance. three times the boat leaped and buried itself, then those on the bank saw its nose take the whirlpool as it slipped off the mane. the steersman, vainly opposing with his full weight on the steering-gear, surrendered to the whirlpool and helped the boat to take the circle. three times it went around, each time so close to the rocks on which kit and shorty stood, that either could have leaped on board. the steersman, a man with a reddish beard of recent growth, waved his hand to them. the only way out of the whirlpool was by the mane, and on the round the boat entered the mane obliquely at its upper end. possibly out of fear of the draw of the whirlpool, the steersman did not attempt to straighten out quickly enough. when he did, it was too late. alternately in the air and buried, the boat angled the mane and sucked into and down through the stiff wall of the corkscrew on the opposite side of the river. a hundred feet below, boxes and bales began to float up. then appeared the bottom of the boat and the scattered heads of six men. two managed to make the bank in the eddy below. the others were drawn under, and the general flotsam was lost to view, borne on by the swift current around the bend. there was a long minute of silence. shorty was the first to speak. "come on," he said. "we might as well tackle it. my feet'll get cold if i stay here any longer." "we'll smoke some," kit grinned at him. "and you'll sure earn your name," was the rejoinder. shorty turned to their employers. "comin'?" he queried. perhaps the roar of the water prevented them from hearing the invitation. shorty and kit tramped back through a foot of snow to the head of the rapids and cast off the boat. kit was divided between two impressions: one, of the caliber of his comrade, which served as a spur to him; the other, likewise a spur, was the knowledge that old isaac bellew, and all the other bellews, had done things like this in their westward march of empire. what they had done, he could do. it was the meat, the strong meat, and he knew, as never before, that it required strong men to eat such meat. "you've sure got to keep the top of the ridge," shorty shouted at him, the plug tobacco lifting to his mouth, as the boat quickened in the quickening current and took the head of the rapids. kit nodded, swayed his strength and weight tentatively on the steering oar, and headed the boat for the plunge. several minutes later, half-swamped and lying against the bank in the eddy below the white horse, shorty spat out a mouthful of tobacco juice and shook kit's hand. "meat! meat!" shorty chanted. "we eat it raw! we eat it alive!" at the top of the bank they met breck. his wife stood at a little distance. kit shook his hand. "i'm afraid your boat can't make it," he said. "it is smaller than ours and a bit cranky." the man pulled out a row of bills. "i'll give you each a hundred if you run it through." kit looked out and up the tossing mane of the white horse. a long, gray twilight was falling, it was turning colder, and the landscape seemed taking on a savage bleakness. "it ain't that," shorty was saying. "we don't want your money. wouldn't touch it nohow. but my pardner is the real meat with boats, and when he says yourn ain't safe i reckon he knows what he's talkin' about." kit nodded affirmation, and chanced to glance at mrs breck. her eyes were fixed upon him, and he knew that if ever he had seen prayer in a woman's eyes he was seeing it then. shorty followed his gaze and saw what he saw. they looked at each other in confusion and did not speak. moved by the common impulse, they nodded to each other and turned to the trail that led to the head of the rapids. they had not gone a hundred yards when they met stine and sprague coming down. "where are you going?" the latter demanded. "to fetch that other boat through," shorty answered. "no you're not. it's getting dark. you two are going to pitch camp." so huge was kit's disgust that he forebore to speak. "he's got his wife with him," shorty said. "that's his lookout," stine contributed. "and smoke's and mine," was shorty's retort. "i forbid you," sprague said harshly. "smoke, if you go another step i'll discharge you." "and you, too, shorty," stine added. "and a hell of a pickle you'll be in with us fired," shorty replied. "how'll you get your blamed boat to dawson? who'll serve you coffee in your blankets and manicure your finger-nails? come on, smoke. they don't dast fire us. besides, we've got agreements. it they fire us they've got to divvy up grub to last us through the winter." barely had they shoved breck's boat out from the bank and caught the first rough water, when the waves began to lap aboard. they were small waves, but it was an earnest of what was to come. shorty cast back a quizzical glance as he gnawed at his inevitable plug, and kit felt a strange rush of warmth at his heart for this man who couldn't swim and who couldn't back out. the rapids grew stiffer, and the spray began to fly. in the gathering darkness, kit glimpsed the mane and the crooked fling of the current into it. he worked into this crooked current, and felt a glow of satisfaction as the boat hit the head of the mane squarely in the middle. after that, in the smother, leaping and burying and swamping, he had no clear impression of anything save that he swung his weight on the steering oar and wished his uncle were there to see. they emerged, breathless, wet through, and filled with water almost to the gunwale. lighter pieces of baggage and outfit were floating inside the boat. a few careful strokes on shorty's part worked the boat into the draw of the eddy, and the eddy did the rest till the boat softly touched against the bank. looking down from above was mrs breck. her prayer had been answered, and the tears were streaming down her cheeks. "you boys have simply got to take the money," breck called down to them. shorty stood up, slipped, and sat down in the water, while the boat dipped one gunwale under and righted again. "damn the money," said shorty. "fetch out that whiskey. now that it's over i'm getting cold feet, an' i'm sure likely to have a chill." v. in the morning, as usual, they were among the last of the boats to start. breck, despite his boating inefficiency, and with only his wife and nephew for crew, had broken camp, loaded his boat, and pulled out at the first streak of day. but there was no hurry in stine and sprague, who seemed incapable of realizing that the freeze-up might come at any time. they malingered, got in the way, delayed, and doubted the work of kit and shorty. "i'm sure losing my respect for god, seein' as he must a-made them two mistakes in human form," was the latter's blasphemous way of expressing his disgust. "well, you're the real goods at any rate," kit grinned back at him. "it makes me respect god the more just to look at you." "he was sure goin' some, eh?" was shorty's fashion of overcoming the embarrassment of the compliment. the trail by water crossed lake le barge. here was no fast current, but a tideless stretch of forty miles which must be rowed unless a fair wind blew. but the time for fair wind was past, and an icy gale blew in their teeth out of the north. this made a rough sea, against which it was almost impossible to pull the boat. added to their troubles was driving snow; also, the freezing of the water on their oar-blades kept one man occupied in chopping it off with a hatchet. compelled to take their turn at the oars, sprague and stine patently loafed. kit had learned how to throw his weight on an oar, but he noted that his employers made a seeming of throwing their weights and that they dipped their oars at a cheating angle. at the end of three hours, sprague pulled his oar in and said they would run back into the mouth of the river for shelter. stine seconded him, and the several hard-won miles were lost. a second day, and a third, the same fruitless attempt was made. in the river mouth, the continually arriving boats from white horse made a flotilla of over two hundred. each day forty or fifty arrived, and only two or three won to the north-west short of the lake and did not come back. ice was now forming in the eddies, and connecting from eddy to eddy in thin lines around the points. the freeze-up was very imminent. "we could make it if they had the souls of clams," kit told shorty, as they dried their moccasins by the fire on the evening of the third day. "we could have made it to-day if they hadn't turned back. another hour's work would have fetched that west shore. they're--they're babes in the woods." "sure," shorty agreed. he turned his moccasin to the flame and debated a moment. "look here, smoke. it's hundreds of miles to dawson. if we don't want to freeze in here, we've got to do something. what d'ye say?" kit looked at him, and waited. "we've got the immortal cinch on them two babes," shorty expounded. "they can give orders an' shed mazuma, but, as you say, they're plum babes. if we're goin' to dawson, we got to take charge of this here outfit." they looked at each other. "it's a go," said kit, as his hand went out in ratification. in the morning, long before daylight, shorty issued his call. "come on!" he roared. "tumble out, you sleepers! here's your coffee! kick in to it! we're goin' to make a start!" grumbling and complaining, stine and sprague were forced to get under way two hours earlier than ever before. if anything, the gale was stiffer, and in a short time every man's face was iced up, while the oars were heavy with ice. three hours they struggled, and four, one man steering, one chopping ice, two toiling at the oars, and each taking his various turns. the north-west shore loomed nearer and nearer. the gale blew even harder, and at last sprague pulled in his oar in token of surrender. shorty sprang to it, though his relief had only begun. "chop ice," he said, handing sprague the hatchet. "but what's the use?" the other whined. "we can't make it. we're going to turn back." "we're going on," said shorty. "chop ice. an' when you feel better you can spell me." it was heart-breaking toil, but they gained the shore, only to find it composed of surge-beaten rocks and cliffs, with no place to land. "i told you so," sprague whimpered. "you never peeped," shorty answered. "we're going back." nobody spoke, and kit held the boat into the seas as they skirted the forbidding shore. sometimes they gained no more than a foot to the stroke, and there were times when two or three strokes no more than enabled them to hold their own. he did his best to hearten the two weaklings. he pointed out that the boats which had won to this shore had never come back. perforce, he argued, they had found a shelter somewhere ahead. another hour they laboured, and a second. "if you fellows put into your oars some of that coffee you swig in your blankets, we'd make it," was shorty's encouragement. "you're just goin' through the motions an' not pullin' a pound." a few minutes later sprague drew in his oar. "i'm finished," he said, and there were tears in his voice. "so are the rest of us," kit answered, himself ready to cry or to commit murder, so great was his exhaustion. "but we're going on just the same." "we're going back. turn the boat around." "shorty, if he won't pull, take that oar yourself," kit commanded. "sure," was the answer. "he can chop ice." but sprague refused to give over the oar; stine had ceased rowing, and the boat was drifting backward. "turn around, smoke," sprague ordered. and kit, who never in his life had cursed any man, astonished himself. "i'll see you in hell, first," he replied. "take hold of that oar and pull." it is in moments of exhaustion that men lose all their reserves of civilization, and such a moment had come. each man had reached the breaking-point. sprague jerked off a mitten, drew his revolver, and turned it on his steersman. this was a new experience to kit. he had never had a gun presented at him in his life. and now, to his surprise, it seemed to mean nothing at all. it was the most natural thing in the world. "if you don't put that gun up," he said, "i'll take it away and rap you over the knuckles with it." "if you don't turn the boat around i'll shoot you," sprague threatened. then shorty took a hand. he ceased chopping ice and stood up behind sprague. "go on an' shoot," said shorty, wiggling the hatchet. "i'm just aching for a chance to brain you. go on an' start the festivities." "this is mutiny," stine broke in. "you were engaged to obey orders." shorty turned on him. "oh, you'll get yours as soon as i finish with your pardner, you little hog-wallopin' snooper, you." "sprague," kit said, "i'll give you just thirty seconds to put away that gun and get that oar out." sprague hesitated, gave a short hysterical laugh, put the revolver away and bent his back to the work. for two hours more, inch by inch, they fought their way along the edge of the foaming rocks, until kit feared he had made a mistake. and then, when on the verge of himself turning back, they came abreast of a narrow opening, not twenty feet wide, which led into a land-locked inclosure where the fiercest gusts scarcely flawed the surface. it was the haven gained by the boats of previous days. they landed on a shelving beach, and the two employers lay in collapse in the boat, while kit and shorty pitched the tent, built a fire, and started the cooking. "what's a hog-walloping snooper, shorty?" kit asked. "blamed if i know," was the answer; "but he's one just the same." the gale, which had been dying quickly, ceased at nightfall, and it came on clear and cold. a cup of coffee, set aside to cool and forgotten, a few minutes later was found coated with half an inch of ice. at eight o'clock, when sprague and stine, already rolled in their blankets, were sleeping the sleep of exhaustion, kit came back from a look at the boat. "it's the freeze-up, shorty," he announced. "there's a skin of ice over the whole pond already." "what are you going to do?" "there's only one thing. the lake of course freezes first. the rapid current of the river may keep it open for days. this time to-morrow any boat caught in lake le barge remains there until next year." "you mean we got to get out to-night? now?" kit nodded. "tumble out, you sleepers!" was shorty's answer, couched in a roar, as he began casting off the guy-ropes of the tent. the other two awoke, groaning with the pain of stiffened muscles and the pain of rousing from exhausted sleep. "what time is it?" stine asked. "half-past eight." "it's dark yet," was the objection. shorty jerked out a couple of guy-ropes, and the tent began to sag. "it's not morning," he said. "it's evening. come on. the lake's freezin'. we got to get acrost." stine sat up, his face bitter and wrathful. "let it freeze. we're not going to stir." "all right," said shorty. "we're goin' on with the boat." "you were engaged--" "to take you to dawson," shorty caught him up. "well, we're takin' you, ain't we?" he punctuated his query by bringing half the tent down on top of them. they broke their way through the thin ice in the little harbour, and came out on the lake, where the water, heavy and glassy, froze on their oars with every stroke. the water soon became like mush, clogging the stroke of the oars and freezing in the air even as it dripped. later the surface began to form a skin, and the boat proceeded slower and slower. often, afterwards, when kit tried to remember that night and failed to bring up aught but nightmare recollections, he wondered what must have been the sufferings of stine and sprague. his one impression of himself was that he struggled through biting frost and intolerable exertion for a thousand years more or less. morning found them stationary. stine complained of frosted fingers, and sprague of his nose, while the pain in kit's cheeks and nose told him that he, too, had been touched. with each accretion of daylight they could see farther, and far as they could see was icy surface. the water of the lake was gone. a hundred yards away was the shore of the north end. shorty insisted that it was the opening of the river and that he could see water. he and kit alone were able to work, and with their oars they broke the ice and forced the boat along. and at the last gasp of their strength they made the suck of the rapid river. one look back showed them several boats which had fought through the night and were hopelessly frozen in; then they whirled around a bend in a current running six miles an hour. vi. day by day they floated down the swift river, and day by day the shore-ice extended farther out. when they made camp at nightfall, they chopped a space in the ice in which to lay the boat, and carried the camp outfit hundreds of feet to shore. in the morning, they chopped the boat out through the new ice and caught the current. shorty set up the sheet-iron stove in the boat, and over this stine and sprague hung through the long, drifting hours. they had surrendered, no longer gave orders, and their one desire was to gain dawson. shorty, pessimistic, indefatigable, and joyous, at frequent intervals roared out the three lines of the first four-line stanza of a song he had forgotten. the colder it got the oftener he sang: "like argus of the ancient times, we leave this modern greece; tum-tum, tum-tum; tum-tum, tum-tum, to shear the golden fleece." as they passed the mouths of the hootalinqua and the big and little salmon, they found these streams throwing mush-ice into the main yukon. this gathered about the boat and attached itself, and at night they found themselves compelled to chop the boat out of the current. in the morning they chopped the boat back into the current. the last night ashore was spent between the mouths of the white river and the stewart. at daylight they found the yukon, half a mile wide, running white from ice-rimmed bank to ice-rimmed bank. shorty cursed the universe with less geniality than usual, and looked at kit. "we'll be the last boat this year to make dawson," kit said. "but they ain't no water, smoke." "then we'll ride the ice down. come on." futilely protesting, sprague and stine were bundled on board. for half an hour, with axes, kit and shorty struggled to cut a way into the swift but solid stream. when they did succeed in clearing the shore-ice, the floating ice forced the boat along the edge for a hundred yards, tearing away half of one gunwale and making a partial wreck of it. then they caught the current at the lower end of the bend that flung off-shore. they proceeded to work farther toward the middle. the stream was no longer composed of mush-ice but of hard cakes. in between the cakes only was mush-ice, that froze solidly as they looked at it. shoving with the oars against the cakes, sometimes climbing out on the cakes in order to force the boat along, after an hour they gained the middle. five minutes after they ceased their exertions, the boat was frozen in. the whole river was coagulating as it ran. cake froze to cake, until at last the boat was the centre of a cake seventy-five feet in diameter. sometimes they floated sidewise, sometimes stern-first, while gravity tore asunder the forming fetters in the moving mass, only to be manacled by faster-forming ones. while the hours passed, shorty stoked the stove, cooked meals, and chanted his war song. night came, and after many efforts, they gave up the attempt to force the boat to shore, and through the darkness they swept helplessly onward. "what if we pass dawson?" shorty queried. "we'll walk back," kit answered, "if we're not crushed in a jam." the sky was clear, and in the light of the cold leaping stars they caught occasional glimpses of the loom of mountains on either hand. at eleven o'clock, from below, came a dull, grinding roar. their speed began to diminish, and cakes of ice to up-end and crash and smash about them. the river was jamming. one cake, forced upward, slid across their cake and carried one side of the boat away. it did not sink, for its own cake still upbore it, but in a whirl they saw dark water show for an instant within a foot of them. then all movement ceased. at the end of half an hour the whole river picked itself up and began to move. this continued for an hour, when again it was brought to rest by a jam. once again it started, running swiftly and savagely, with a great grinding. then they saw lights ashore, and, when abreast, gravity and the yukon surrendered, and the river ceased for six months. on the shore at dawson, curious ones gathered to watch the river freeze, heard from out of the darkness the war-song of shorty: "like argus of the ancient times, we leave this modern greece; tum-tum, tum-tum; tum-tum, tum-tum, to shear the golden fleece." vii. for three days kit and shorty laboured, carrying the ton and a half of outfit from the middle of the river to the log-cabin stine and sprague had bought on the hill overlooking dawson. this work finished, in the warm cabin, as twilight was falling, sprague motioned kit to him. outside the thermometer registered sixty-five below zero. "your full month isn't up, smoke," sprague said. "but here it is in full. i wish you luck." "how about the agreement?" kit asked. "you know there's a famine here. a man can't get work in the mines even, unless he has his own grub. you agreed--" "i know of no agreement," sprague interrupted. "do you, stine? we engaged you by the month. there's your pay. will you sign the receipt?" kit's hands clenched, and for the moment he saw red. both men shrank away from him. he had never struck a man in anger in his life, and he felt so certain of his ability to thrash sprague that he could not bring himself to do it. shorty saw his trouble and interposed. "look here, smoke, i ain't travelin' no more with a ornery outfit like this. right here's where i sure jump it. you an' me stick together. savve? now, you take your blankets an' hike down to the elkhorn. wait for me. i'll settle up, collect what's comin', an' give them what's comin'. i ain't no good on the water, but my feet's on terry-fermy now an' i'm sure goin' to make smoke." . . . . . half an hour afterwards shorty appeared at the elkhorn. from his bleeding knuckles and the skin off one cheek, it was evident that he had given stine and sprague what was coming. "you ought to see that cabin," he chuckled, as they stood at the bar. "rough-house ain't no name for it. dollars to doughnuts nary one of 'em shows up on the street for a week. an' now it's all figgered out for you an' me. grub's a dollar an' a half a pound. they ain't no work for wages without you have your own grub. moose-meat's sellin' for two dollars a pound an' they ain't none. we got enough money for a month's grub an' ammunition, an' we hike up the klondike to the back country. if they ain't no moose, we go an' live with the indians. but if we ain't got five thousand pounds of meat six weeks from now, i'll--i'll sure go back an' apologize to our bosses. is it a go?" kit's hand went out and they shook. then he faltered. "i don't know anything about hunting," he said. shorty lifted his glass. "but you're a sure meat-eater, an' i'll learn you." the stampede to squaw creek. i. two months after smoke bellew and shorty went after moose for a grubstake, they were back in the elkhorn saloon at dawson. the hunting was done, the meat hauled in and sold for two dollars and a half a pound, and between them they possessed three thousand dollars in gold dust and a good team of dogs. they had played in luck. despite the fact that the gold rush had driven the game a hundred miles or more into the mountains, they had, within half that distance, bagged four moose in a narrow canyon. the mystery of the strayed animals was no greater than the luck of their killers, for within the day four famished indian families reporting no game in three days' journey back, camped beside them. meat was traded for starving dogs, and after a week of feeding, smoke and shorty harnessed the animals and began freighting the meat to the eager dawson market. the problem of the two men now, was to turn their gold-dust into food. the current price for flour and beans was a dollar and a half a pound, but the difficulty was to find a seller. dawson was in the throes of famine. hundreds of men, with money but no food, had been compelled to leave the country. many had gone down the river on the last water, and many more with barely enough food to last, had walked the six hundred miles over the ice to dyea. smoke met shorty in the warm saloon, and found the latter jubilant. "life ain't no punkins without whiskey an' sweetenin'," was shorty's greeting, as he pulled lumps of ice from his thawing moustache and flung them rattling on the floor. "an' i sure just got eighteen pounds of that same sweetenin'. the geezer only charged three dollars a pound for it. what luck did you have?" "i, too, have not been idle," smoke answered with pride. "i bought fifty pounds of flour. and there's a man up on adam creek says he'll let me have fifty pounds more to-morrow." "great! we'll sure live till the river opens. say, smoke, them dogs of ourn is the goods. a dog-buyer offered me two hundred apiece for the five of them. i told him nothin' doin'. they sure took on class when they got meat to get outside of; but it goes against the grain feedin' dog-critters on grub that's worth two and a half a pound. come on an' have a drink. i just got to celebrate them eighteen pounds of sweetenin'." several minutes later, as he weighed in on the gold-scales for the drinks, he gave a start of recollection. "i plum forgot that man i was to meet in the tivoli. he's got some spoiled bacon he'll sell for a dollar an' a half a pound. we can feed it to the dogs an' save a dollar a day on each's board bill. so long." "so long," said smoke. "i'm goin' to the cabin an' turn in." hardly had shorty left the place, when a fur-clad man entered through the double storm-doors. his face lighted at sight of smoke, who recognized him as breck, the man whose boat he had run through the box canyon and white horse rapids. "i heard you were in town," breck said hurriedly, as they shook hands. "been looking for you for half an hour. come outside, i want to talk with you." smoke looked regretfully at the roaring, red-hot stove. "won't this do?" "no; it's important. come outside." as they emerged, smoke drew off one mitten, lighted a match, and glanced at the thermometer that hung beside the door. he re-mittened his naked hand hastily as if the frost had burnt him. overhead arched the flaming aurora borealis, while from all dawson arose the mournful howling of thousands of wolf-dogs. "what did it say?" breck asked. "sixty below." kit spat experimentally, and the spittle crackled in the air. "and the thermometer is certainly working. it's falling all the time. an hour ago it was only fifty-two. don't tell me it's a stampede." "it is," breck whispered back cautiously, casting anxious eyes about in fear of some other listener. "you know squaw creek?--empties in on the other side the yukon thirty miles up?" "nothing doing there," was smoke's judgment. "it was prospected years ago." "so were all the other rich creeks. listen! it's big. only eight to twenty feet to bedrock. there won't be a claim that don't run to half a million. it's a dead secret. two or three of my close friends let me in on it. i told my wife right away that i was going to find you before i started. now, so long. my pack's hidden down the bank. in fact, when they told me, they made me promise not to pull out until dawson was asleep. you know what it means if you're seen with a stampeding outfit. get your partner and follow. you ought to stake fourth or fifth claim from discovery. don't forget--squaw creek. it's the third after you pass swede creek." ii. when smoke entered the little cabin on the hillside back of dawson, he heard a heavy familiar breathing. "aw, go to bed," shorty mumbled, as smoke shook his shoulder. "i'm not on the night shift," was his next remark, as the rousing hand became more vigorous. "tell your troubles to the bar-keeper." "kick into your clothes," smoke said. "we've got to stake a couple of claims." shorty sat up and started to explode, but smoke's hand covered his mouth. "ssh!" smoke warned. "it's a big strike. don't wake the neighbourhood. dawson's asleep." "huh! you got to show me. nobody tells anybody about a strike, of course not. but ain't it plum amazin' the way everybody hits the trail just the same?" "squaw creek," smoke whispered. "it's right. breck gave me the tip. shallow bedrock. gold from the grass-roots down. come on. we'll sling a couple of light packs together and pull out." shorty's eyes closed as he lapsed back into sleep. the next moment his blankets were swept off him. "if you don't want them, i do," smoke explained. shorty followed the blankets and began to dress. "goin' to take the dogs?" he asked. "no. the trail up the creek is sure to be unbroken, and we can make better time without them." "then i'll throw 'em a meal, which'll have to last 'em till we get back. be sure you take some birch-bark and a candle." shorty opened the door, felt the bite of the cold, and shrank back to pull down his ear-flaps and mitten his hands. five minutes later he returned, sharply rubbing his nose. "smoke, i'm sure opposed to makin' this stampede. it's colder than the hinges of hell a thousand years before the first fire was lighted. besides, it's friday the thirteenth, an' we're goin' to trouble as the sparks fly upward." with small stampeding packs on their backs, they closed the door behind them and started down the hill. the display of the aurora borealis had ceased, and only the stars leaped in the great cold, and by their uncertain light made traps for the feet. shorty floundered off a turn of the trail into deep snow, and raised his voice in blessing of the date of the week and month and year. "can't you keep still?" smoke chided. "leave the almanac alone. you'll have all dawson awake and after us." "huh! see the light in that cabin? and in that one over there? an' hear that door slam? oh, sure dawson's asleep. them lights? just buryin' their dead. they ain't stampedin', betcher life they ain't." by the time they reached the foot of the hill and were fairly in dawson, lights were springing up in the cabins, doors were slamming, and from behind came the sound of many moccasins on the hard-packed snow. again shorty delivered himself. "but it beats hell the amount of mourners there is." they passed a man who stood by the path and was calling anxiously in a low voice: "oh, charley; get a move on." "see that pack on his back, smoke? the graveyard's sure a long ways off when the mourners got to pack their blankets." by the time they reached the main street a hundred men were in line behind them, and while they sought in the deceptive starlight for the trail that dipped down the bank to the river, more men could be heard arriving. shorty slipped and shot down the thirty-foot chute into the soft snow. smoke followed, knocking him over as he was rising to his feet. "i found it first," he gurgled, taking off his mittens to shake the snow out of the gauntlets. the next moment they were scrambling wildly out of the way of the hurtling bodies of those that followed. at the time of the freeze-up, a jam had occurred at this point, and cakes of ice were up-ended in snow-covered confusion. after several hard falls, smoke drew out his candle and lighted it. those in the rear hailed it with acclaim. in the windless air it burned easily, and he led the way more quickly. "it's a sure stampede," shorty decided. "or might all them be sleep-walkers?" "we're at the head of the procession at any rate," was smoke's answer. "oh, i don't know. mebbe that's a firefly ahead there. mebbe they're all fireflies--that one, an' that one. look at 'em. believe me, they is whole strings of processions ahead." it was a mile across the jams to the west bank of the yukon, and candles flickered the full length of the twisting trail. behind them, clear to the top of the bank they had descended, were more candles. "say, smoke, this ain't no stampede. it's a exode-us. they must be a thousand men ahead of us an' ten thousand behind. now, you listen to your uncle. my medicine's good. when i get a hunch it's sure right. an' we're in wrong on this stampede. let's turn back an' hit the sleep." "you'd better save your breath if you intend to keep up," smoke retorted gruffly. "huh! my legs is short, but i slog along slack at the knees an' don't worry my muscles none, an' i can sure walk every piker here off the ice." and smoke knew he was right, for he had long since learned his comrade's phenomenal walking powers. "i've been holding back to give you a chance," smoke jeered. "an' i'm plum troddin' on your heels. if you can't do better, let me go ahead and set pace." smoke quickened, and was soon at the rear of the nearest bunch of stampeders. "hike along, you, smoke," the other urged. "walk over them unburied dead. this ain't no funeral. hit the frost like you was goin' somewheres." smoke counted eight men and two women in this party, and before the way across the jam-ice was won, he and shorty had passed another party twenty strong. within a few feet of the west bank, the trail swerved to the south, emerging from the jam upon smooth ice. the ice, however, was buried under several feet of fine snow. through this the sled-trail ran, a narrow ribbon of packed footing barely two feet in width. on either side one sank to his knees and deeper in the snow. the stampeders they overtook were reluctant to give way, and often smoke and shorty had to plunge into the deep snow, and by supreme efforts flounder past. shorty was irrepressible and pessimistic. when the stampeders resented being passed, he retorted in kind. "what's your hurry?" one of them asked. "what's yours?" he answered. "a stampede come down from indian river yesterday afternoon an' beat you to it. they ain't no claims left." "that being so, i repeat, what's your hurry?" "who? me? i ain't no stampeder. i'm workin' for the government. i'm on official business. i'm just traipsin' along to take the census of squaw creek." to another, who hailed him with: "where away, little one? do you really expect to stake a claim?" shorty answered: "me? i'm the discoverer of squaw creek. i'm just comin' back from recordin' so as to see no blamed chechaquo jumps my claim." the average pace of the stampeders on the smooth going was three miles and a half an hour. smoke and shorty were doing four and a half, though sometimes they broke into short runs and went faster. "i'm going to travel your feet clean off, shorty," smoke challenged. "huh! i can hike along on the stumps an' wear the heels off your moccasins. though it ain't no use. i've ben figgerin'. creek claims is five hundred feet. call 'em ten to the mile. they's a thousand stampeders ahead of us, an' that creek ain't no hundred miles long. somebody's goin' to get left, an' it makes a noise like you an' me." before replying, smoke let out an unexpected link that threw shorty half a dozen feet in the rear. "if you saved your breath and kept up, we'd cut down a few of that thousand," he chided. "who? me? if you's get outa the way i'd show you a pace what is." smoke laughed, and let out another link. the whole aspect of the adventure had changed. through his brain was running a phrase of the mad philosopher--"the transvaluation of values." in truth, he was less interested in staking a fortune than in beating shorty. after all, he concluded, it wasn't the reward of the game but the playing of it that counted. mind, and muscle, and stamina, and soul, were challenged in a contest with this shorty, a man who had never opened the books, and who did not know grand opera from rag-time, nor an epic from a chilblain. "shorty, i've got you skinned to death. i've reconstructed every cell in my body since i hit the beach at dyea. my flesh is as stringy as whipcords, and as bitter and mean as the bite of a rattlesnake. a few months ago i'd have patted myself on the back to write such words, but i couldn't have written them. i had to live them first, and now that i'm living them there's no need to write them. i'm the real, bitter, stinging goods, and no scrub of a mountaineer can put anything over on me without getting it back compound. now, you go ahead and set pace for half an hour. do your worst, and when you're all in i'll go ahead and give you half an hour of the real worst." "huh!" shorty sneered genially. "an' him not dry behind the ears yet. get outa the way an' let your father show you some goin'." half-hour by half-hour they alternated in setting pace. nor did they talk much. their exertions kept them warm, though their breath froze on their faces from lips to chin. so intense was the cold that they almost continually rubbed their noses and cheeks with their mittens. a few minutes cessation from this allowed the flesh to grow numb, and then most vigorous rubbing was required to produce the burning prickle of returning circulation. often they thought they had reached the lead, but always they overtook more stampeders who had started before them. occasionally, groups of men attempted to swing in behind to their pace, but invariably they were discouraged after a mile or two, and disappeared in the darkness to the rear. "we've been out on trail all winter," was shorty's comment. "an' them geezers, soft from laying around their cabins, has the nerve to think they can keep our stride. now, if they was real sour-doughs it'd be different. if there's one thing a sour-dough can do it's sure walk." once, smoke lighted a match and glanced at his watch. he never repeated it, for so quick was the bite of the frost on his bared hands, that half an hour passed before they were again comfortable. "four o'clock," he said, as he pulled on his mittens, "and we've already passed three hundred." "three hundred and thirty-eight," shorty corrected. "i ben keepin' count. get outa the way, stranger. let somebody stampede that knows how to stampede." the latter was addressed to a man, evidently exhausted, who could no more than stumble along, and who blocked the trail. this, and one other, were the only played-out men they encountered, for they were very near to the head of the stampede. nor did they learn till afterwards the horrors of that night. exhausted men sat down to rest by the way, and failed to get up. seven were frozen to death, while scores of amputations of toes, feet, and fingers were performed in the dawson hospitals on the survivors. for of all nights for a stampede, the one to squaw creek occurred on the coldest night of the year. before morning, the spirit thermometers at dawson registered seventy degrees below zero. the men composing the stampede, with few exceptions, were new-comers in the country who did not know the way of the cold. the other played-out man they found a few minutes later, revealed by a streamer of aurora borealis that shot like a searchlight from horizon to zenith. he was sitting on a piece of ice beside the trail. "hop along, sister mary," shorty gaily greeted him. "keep movin'. if you sit there you'll freeze stiff." the man made no response, and they stopped to investigate. "stiff as a poker," was shorty's verdict. "if you tumbled him over he'd break." "see if he's breathing," smoke said, as, with bared hands, he sought through furs and woollens for the man's heart. shorty lifted one ear-flap and bent to the iced lips. "nary breathe," he reported. "nor heart-beat," said smoke. he mittened his hand and beat it violently for a minute before exposing it to the frost to strike a match. it was an old man, incontestably dead. in the moment of illumination, they saw a long grey beard, massed with ice to the nose, cheeks that were white with frost, and closed eyes with frost-rimmed lashes frozen together. then the match went out. "come on," shorty said, rubbing his ear. "we can't do nothing for the old geezer. an' i've sure frosted my ear. now all the blamed skin'll peel off and it'll be sore for a week." a few minutes later, when a flaming ribbon spilled pulsating fire over the heavens, they saw on the ice a quarter of a mile ahead two forms. beyond, for a mile, nothing moved. "they're leading the procession," smoke said, as darkness fell again. "come on, let's get them." at the end of half an hour, not yet having overtaken the two in front, shorty broke into a run. "if we catch 'em we'll never pass 'em," he panted. "lord, what a pace they're hittin'. dollars to doughnuts they're no chechaquos. they're the real sour-dough variety, you can stack on that." smoke was leading when they finally caught up, and he was glad to ease to a walk at their heels. almost immediately he got the impression that the one nearer him was a woman. how this impression came, he could not tell. hooded and furred, the dark form was as any form; yet there was a haunting sense of familiarity about it. he waited for the next flame of the aurora, and by its light saw the smallness of the moccasined feet. but he saw more--the walk; and knew it for the unmistakable walk he had once resolved never to forget. "she's a sure goer," shorty confided hoarsely. "i'll bet it's an indian." "how do you do, miss gastell," smoke addressed. "how do you do," she answered, with a turn of the head and a quick glance. "it's too dark to see. who are you?" "smoke," she laughed in the frost, and he was certain it was the prettiest laughter he had ever heard. "and have you married and raised all those children you were telling me about?" before he could retort, she went on. "how many chechaquos are there behind?" "several thousand, i imagine. we passed over three hundred. and they weren't wasting any time." "it's the old story," she said bitterly. "the new-comers get in on the rich creeks, and the old-timers who dared and suffered and made this country, get nothing. old-timers made this discovery on squaw creek--how it leaked out is the mystery--and they sent word up to all the old-timers on sea lion. but it's ten miles farther than dawson, and when they arrive they'll find the creek staked to the skyline by the dawson chechaquos. it isn't right, it isn't fair, such perversity of luck." "it is too bad," smoke sympathized. "but i'm hanged if i know what you're going to do about it. first come, first served, you know." "i wish i could do something," she flashed back at him. "i'd like to see them all freeze on the trail, or have everything terrible happen to them, so long as the sea lion stampede arrived first." "you've certainly got it in for us, hard," he laughed. "it isn't that," she said quickly. "man by man, i know the crowd from sea lion, and they are men. they starved in this country in the old days, and they worked like giants to develop it. i went through the hard times on the koyokuk with them when i was a little girl. and i was with them in the birch creek famine, and in the forty mile famine. they are heroes, and they deserve some reward, and yet here are thousands of green softlings who haven't earned the right to stake anything, miles and miles ahead of them. and now, if you'll forgive my tirade, i'll save my breath, for i don't know when you and all the rest may try to pass dad and me." no further talk passed between joy and smoke for an hour or so, though he noticed that for a time she and her father talked in low tones. "i know'm now," shorty told smoke. "he's old louis gastell, an' the real goods. that must be his kid. he come into this country so long ago they ain't nobody can recollect, an' he brought the girl with him, she only a baby. him an' beetles was tradin' partners an' they ran the first dinkey little steamboat up the koyokuk." "i don't think we'll try to pass them," smoke said. "we're at the head of the stampede, and there are only four of us." shorty agreed, and another hour of silence followed, during which they swung steadily along. at seven o'clock, the blackness was broken by a last display of the aurora borealis, which showed to the west a broad opening between snow-clad mountains. "squaw creek!" joy exclaimed. "goin' some," shorty exulted. "we oughtn't to ben there for another half hour to the least, accordin' to my reckonin'. i must a' ben spreadin' my legs." it was at this point that the dyea trail, baffled by ice-jams, swerved abruptly across the yukon to the east bank. and here they must leave the hard-packed, main-travelled trail, mount the jams, and follow a dim trail, but slightly packed, that hovered the west bank. louis gastell, leading, slipped in the darkness on the rough ice, and sat up, holding his ankle in both his hands. he struggled to his feet and went on, but at a slower pace and with a perceptible limp. after a few minutes he abruptly halted. "it's no use," he said to his daughter. "i've sprained a tendon. you go ahead and stake for me as well as yourself." "can't we do something?" smoke asked. louis gastell shook his head. "she can stake two claims as well as one. i'll crawl over to the bank, start a fire, and bandage my ankle. i'll be all right. go on, joy. stake ours above the discovery claim; it's richer higher up." "here's some birch bark," smoke said, dividing his supply equally. "we'll take care of your daughter." louis gastell laughed harshly. "thank you just the same," he said. "but she can take care of herself. follow her and watch her." "do you mind if i lead?" she asked smoke, as she headed on. "i know this country better than you." "lead on," smoke answered gallantly, "though i agree with you it's a darned shame all us chechaquos are going to beat that sea lion bunch to it. isn't there some way to shake them?" she shook her head. "we can't hide our trail, and they'll follow it like sheep." after a quarter of a mile, she turned sharply to the west. smoke noticed that they were going through unpacked snow, but neither he nor shorty observed that the dim trail they had been on still led south. had they witnessed the subsequent procedure of louis gastell, the history of the klondike would have been written differently; for they would have seen that old-timer, no longer limping, running with his nose to the trail like a hound, following them. also, they would have seen him trample and widen the turn they had made to the west. and, finally, they would have seen him keep on the old dim trail that still led south. a trail did run up the creek, but so slight was it that they continually lost it in the darkness. after a quarter of an hour, joy gastell was willing to drop into the rear and let the two men take turns in breaking a way through the snow. this slowness of the leaders enabled the whole stampede to catch up, and when daylight came, at nine o'clock, as far back as they could see was an unbroken line of men. joy's dark eyes sparkled at the sight. "how long since we started up the creek?" she asked. "fully two hours," smoke answered. "and two hours back makes four," she laughed. "the stampede from sea lion is saved." a faint suspicion crossed smoke's mind, and he stopped and confronted her. "i don't understand," he said. "you don't. then i'll tell you. this is norway creek. squaw creek is the next to the south." smoke was for the moment, speechless. "you did it on purpose?" shorty demanded. "i did it to give the old-timers a chance." she laughed mockingly. the men grinned at each other and finally joined her. "i'd lay you across my knee an' give you a wallopin', if womenfolk wasn't so scarce in this country," shorty assured her. "your father didn't sprain a tendon, but waited till we were out of sight and then went on?" smoke asked. she nodded. "and you were the decoy." again she nodded, and this time smoke's laughter rang out clear and true. it was the spontaneous laughter of a frankly beaten man. "why don't you get angry with me?" she queried ruefully. "or--or wallop me?" "well, we might as well be starting back," shorty urged. "my feet's gettin' cold standin' here." smoke shook his head. "that would mean four hours lost. we must be eight miles up this creek now, and from the look ahead norway is making a long swing south. we'll follow it, then cross over the divide somehow, and tap squaw creek somewhere above discovery." he looked at joy. "won't you come along with us? i told your father we'd look after you." "i--" she hesitated. "i think i shall, if you don't mind." she was looking straight at him, and her face was no longer defiant and mocking. "really, mr smoke, you make me almost sorry for what i have done. but somebody had to save the old-timers." "it strikes me that stampeding is at best a sporting proposition." "and it strikes me you two are very game about it," she went on, then added with the shadow of a sigh: "what a pity you are not old-timers." for two hours more they kept to the frozen creek-bed of norway, then turned into a narrow and rugged tributary that flowed from the south. at midday they began the ascent of the divide itself. behind them, looking down and back, they could see the long line of stampeders breaking up. here and there, in scores of places, thin smoke-columns advertised the making of camps. as for themselves, the going was hard. they wallowed through snow to their waists, and were compelled to stop every few yards to breathe. shorty was the first to call a halt. "we ben hittin' the trail for over twelve hours," he said. "smoke, i'm plum willin' to say i'm good an' tired. an' so are you. an' i'm free to shout that i can sure hang on to this here pascar like a starvin' indian to a hunk of bear-meat. but this poor girl here can't keep her legs no time if she don't get something in her stomach. here's where we build a fire. what d'ye say?" so quickly, so deftly and methodically, did they go about making a temporary camp, that joy, watching with jealous eyes, admitted to herself that the old-timers could not do it better. spruce boughs, with a spread blanket on top, gave a foundation for rest and cooking operations. but they kept away from the heat of the fire until noses and cheeks had been rubbed cruelly. smoke spat in the air, and the resultant crackle was so immediate and loud that he shook his head. "i give it up," he said. "i've never seen cold like this." "one winter on the koyokuk it went to eighty-six below," joy answered. "it's at least seventy or seventy-five right now, and i know i've frosted my cheeks. they're burning like fire." on the steep slope of the divide there was no ice, while snow, as fine and hard and crystalline as granulated sugar, was poured into the gold-pan by the bushel until enough water was melted for the coffee. smoke fried bacon and thawed biscuits. shorty kept the fuel supplied and tended the fire, and joy set the simple table composed of two plates, two cups, two spoons, a tin of mixed salt and pepper, and a tin of sugar. when it came to eating, she and smoke shared one set between them. they ate out of the same plate and drank from the same cup. it was nearly two in the afternoon when they cleared the crest of the divide and began dropping down a feeder of squaw creek. earlier in the winter some moose-hunter had made a trail up the canyon--that is, in going up and down he had stepped always in his previous tracks. as a result, in the midst of soft snow, and veiled under later snow falls, was a line of irregular hummocks. if one's foot missed a hummock, he plunged down through unpacked snow and usually to a fall. also, the moose-hunter had been an exceptionally long-legged individual. joy, who was eager now that the two men should stake, and fearing that they were slackening pace on account of her evident weariness, insisted on taking the lead. the speed and manner in which she negotiated the precarious footing, called out shorty's unqualified approval. "look at her!" he cried. "she's the real goods an' the red meat. look at them moccasins swing along. no high-heels there. she uses the legs god gave her. she's the right squaw for any bear-hunter." she flashed back a smile of acknowledgment that included smoke. he caught a feeling of chumminess, though at the same time he was bitingly aware that it was very much of a woman who embraced him in that comradely smile. looking back, as they came to the bank of squaw creek, they could see the stampede, strung out irregularly, struggling along the descent of the divide. they slipped down the bank to the creek bed. the stream, frozen solidly to bottom, was from twenty to thirty feet wide and ran between six- and eight-foot earth banks of alluvial wash. no recent feet had disturbed the snow that lay upon its ice, and they knew they were above the discovery claim and the last stakes of the sea lion stampeders. "look out for springs," joy warned, as smoke led the way down the creek. "at seventy below you'll lose your feet if you break through." these springs, common to most klondike streams, never ceased at the lowest temperatures. the water flowed out from the banks and lay in pools which were cuddled from the cold by later surface-freezings and snow falls. thus, a man, stepping on dry snow, might break through half an inch of ice-skin and find himself up to the knees in water. in five minutes, unless able to remove the wet gear, the loss of one's foot was the penalty. though only three in the afternoon, the long grey twilight of the arctic had settled down. they watched for a blazed tree on either bank, which would show the centre-stake of the last claim located. joy, impulsively eager, was the first to find it. she darted ahead of smoke, crying: "somebody's been here! see the snow! look for the blaze! there it is! see that spruce!" she sank suddenly to her waist in the snow. "now i've done it," she said woefully. then she cried: "don't come near me! i'll wade out." step by step, each time breaking through the thin skin of ice concealed under the dry snow, she forced her way to solid footing. smoke did not wait, but sprang to the bank, where dry and seasoned twigs and sticks, lodged amongst the brush by spring freshets, waited the match. by the time she reached his side, the first flames and flickers of an assured fire were rising. "sit down!" he commanded. she obediently sat down in the snow. he slipped his pack from his back, and spread a blanket for her feet. from above came the voices of the stampeders who followed them. "let shorty stake," she urged "go on, shorty," smoke said, as he attacked her moccasins, already stiff with ice. "pace off a thousand feet and place the two centre-stakes. we can fix the corner-stakes afterwards." with his knife smoke cut away the lacings and leather of the moccasins. so stiff were they with ice that they snapped and crackled under the hacking and sawing. the siwash socks and heavy woollen stockings were sheaths of ice. it was as if her feet and calves were encased in corrugated iron. "how are your feet?" he asked, as he worked. "pretty numb. i can't move nor feel my toes. but it will be all right. the fire is burning beautifully. watch out you don't freeze your own hands. they must be numb now from the way you're fumbling." he slipped his mittens on, and for nearly a minute smashed the open hands savagely against his sides. when he felt the blood-prickles, he pulled off the mittens and ripped and tore and sawed and hacked at the frozen garments. the white skin of one foot appeared, then that of the other, to be exposed to the bite of seventy below zero, which is the equivalent of one hundred and two below freezing. then came the rubbing with snow, carried on with an intensity of cruel fierceness, till she squirmed and shrank and moved her toes, and joyously complained of the hurt. he half-dragged her, and she half-lifted herself, nearer to the fire. he placed her feet on the blanket close to the flesh-saving flames. "you'll have to take care of them for a while," he said. she could now safely remove her mittens and manipulate her own feet, with the wisdom of the initiated, being watchful that the heat of the fire was absorbed slowly. while she did this, he attacked his hands. the snow did not melt nor moisten. its light crystals were like so much sand. slowly the stings and pangs of circulation came back into the chilled flesh. then he tended the fire, unstrapped the light pack from her back, and got out a complete change of foot-gear. shorty returned along the creek-bed and climbed the bank to them. "i sure staked a full thousan' feet," he proclaimed. "number twenty-seven and number twenty-eight, though i'd only got the upper stake of twenty-seven, when i met the first geezer of the bunch behind. he just straight declared i wasn't goin' to stake twenty-eight. an' i told him . . . ." "yes, yes," joy cried. "what did you tell him?" "well, i told him straight that if he didn't back up plum five hundred feet i'd sure punch his frozen nose into ice-cream an' chocolate eclaires. he backed up, an' i've got in the centre-stakes of two full an' honest five-hundred-foot claims. he staked next, and i guess by now the bunch has squaw creek located to head-waters an' down the other side. ourn is safe. it's too dark to see now, but we can put out the corner-stakes in the mornin'." iii. when they awoke, they found a change had taken place during the night. so warm was it, that shorty and smoke, still in their mutual blankets, estimated the temperature at no more than twenty below. the cold snap had broken. on top their blankets lay six inches of frost crystals. "good morning! how's your feet?" was smoke's greeting across the ashes of the fire to where joy gastell, carefully shaking aside the snow, was sitting up in her sleeping furs. shorty built the fire and quarried ice from the creek, while smoke cooked breakfast. daylight came on as they finished the meal. "you go an' fix them corner-stakes, smoke," shorty said. "there's a gravel under where i chopped ice for the coffee, an' i'm goin' to melt water and wash a pan of that same gravel for luck." smoke departed, axe in hand, to blaze the stakes. starting from the down-stream centre-stake of 'twenty-seven,' he headed at right angles across the narrow valley towards its rim. he proceeded methodically, almost automatically, for his mind was alive with recollections of the night before. he felt, somehow, that he had won to empery over the delicate lines and firm muscles of those feet and ankles he had rubbed with snow, and this empery seemed to extend to all women. in dim and fiery ways a feeling of possession mastered him. it seemed that all that was necessary was for him to walk up to this joy gastell, take her hand in his, and say "come." it was in this mood that he discovered something that made him forget empery over the white feet of woman. at the valley rim he blazed no corner-stake. he did not reach the valley rim, but, instead, he found himself confronted by another stream. he lined up with his eye a blasted willow tree and a big and recognizable spruce. he returned to the stream where were the centre stakes. he followed the bed of the creek around a wide horseshoe bend through the flat, and found that the two creeks were the same creek. next, he floundered twice through the snow from valley rim to valley rim, running the first line from the lower stake of 'twenty-seven,' the second from the upper stake of 'twenty-eight,' and he found that the upper stake of the latter was lower than the lower stake of the former. in the gray twilight and half-darkness shorty had located their two claims on the horseshoe. smoke plodded back to the little camp. shorty, at the end of washing a pan of gravel, exploded at sight of him. "we got it!" shorty cried, holding out the pan. "look at it! a nasty mess of gold. two hundred right there if it's a cent. she runs rich from the top of the wash-gravel. i've churned around placers some, but i never got butter like what's in this pan." smoke cast an incurious glance at the coarse gold, poured himself a cup of coffee at the fire, and sat down. joy sensed something wrong and looked at him with eagerly solicitous eyes. shorty, however, was disgruntled by his partner's lack of delight in the discovery. "why don't you kick in an' get excited?" he demanded. "we got our pile right here, unless you're stickin' up your nose at two-hundred-dollar pans." smoke took a swallow of coffee before replying. "shorty, why are our two claims here like the panama canal?" "what's the answer?" "well, the eastern entrance of the panama canal is west of the western entrance, that's all." "go on," shorty said. "i ain't seen the joke yet." "in short, shorty, you staked our two claims on a big horseshoe bend." shorty set the gold pan down in the snow and stood up. "go on," he repeated. "the upper stake of twenty-eight is ten feet below the lower stake of twenty-seven." "you mean we ain't got nothin', smoke?" "worse than that; we've got ten feet less than nothing." shorty departed down the bank on the run. five minutes later he returned. in response to joy's look, he nodded. without speech, he went over to a log and sat down to gaze steadily at the snow in front of his moccasins. "we might as well break camp and start back for dawson," smoke said, beginning to fold the blankets. "i am sorry, smoke," joy said. "it's all my fault." "it's all right," he answered. "all in the day's work, you know." "but it's my fault, wholly mine," she persisted. "dad's staked for me down near discovery, i know. i'll give you my claim." he shook his head. "shorty," she pleaded. shorty shook his head and began to laugh. it was a colossal laugh. chuckles and muffled explosions yielded to hearty roars. "it ain't hysterics," he explained, "i sure get powerful amused at times, an' this is one of them." his gaze chanced to fall on the gold pan. he walked over and gravely kicked it, scattering the gold over the landscape. "it ain't ourn," he said. "it belongs to the geezer i backed up five hundred feet last night. an' what gets me is four hundred an' ninety of them feet was to the good . . . his good. come on, smoke. let's start the hike to dawson. though if you're hankerin' to kill me i won't lift a finger to prevent." shorty dreams. i. "funny you don't gamble none," shorty said to smoke one night in the elkhorn. "ain't it in your blood?" "it is," smoke answered. "but the statistics are in my head. i like an even break for my money." all about them, in the huge bar-room, arose the click and rattle and rumble of a dozen games, at which fur-clad, moccasined men tried their luck. smoke waved his hand to include them all. "look at them," he said. "it's cold mathematics that they will lose more than they win to-night, that the big proportion is losing right now." "you're sure strong on figgers," shorty murmured admiringly. "an' in the main you're right. but they's such a thing as facts. an' one fact is streaks of luck. they's times when every geezer playin' wins, as i know, for i've sat in in such games an' saw more'n one bank busted. the only way to win at gamblin' is wait for a hunch that you've got a lucky streak comin' and then to play it to the roof." "it sounds simple," smoke criticized. "so simple i can't see how men can lose." "the trouble is," shorty admitted, "that most men gets fooled on their hunches. on occasion i sure get fooled on mine. the thing is to try, an' find out." smoke shook his head. "that's a statistic, too, shorty. most men prove wrong on their hunches." "but don't you ever get one of them streaky feelin's that all you got to do is put your money down an' pick a winner?" smoke laughed. "i'm too scared of the percentage against me. but i'll tell you what, shorty. i'll throw a dollar on the 'high card' right now and see if it will buy us a drink." smoke was edging his way in to the faro table, when shorty caught his arm. "hold on. i'm gettin' one of them hunches now. you put that dollar on roulette." they went over to a roulette table near the bar. "wait till i give the word," shorty counselled. "what number?" smoke asked. "pick it yourself. but wait till i say let her go." "you don't mean to say i've got an even chance on that table?" smoke argued. "as good as the next geezers." "but not as good as the bank's." "wait and see," shorty urged. "now! let her go!" the game-keeper had just sent the little ivory ball whirling around the smooth rim above the revolving, many-slotted wheel. smoke, at the lower end of the table, reached over a player, and blindly tossed the dollar. it slid along the smooth, green cloth and stopped fairly in the centre of ' .' the ball came to rest, and the game-keeper announced, "thirty-four wins!" he swept the table, and alongside of smoke's dollar, stacked thirty-five dollars. smoke drew the money in, and shorty slapped him on the shoulder. "now, that was the real goods of a hunch, smoke! how'd i know it? there's no tellin'. i just knew you'd win. why, if that dollar of yourn'd fell on any other number it'd won just the same. when the hunch is right, you just can't help winnin'." "suppose it had come 'double nought'?" smoke queried, as they made their way to the bar. "then your dollar'd ben on 'double nought,'" was shorty's answer. "they's no gettin' away from it. a hunch is a hunch. here's how. come on back to the table. i got a hunch, after pickin' you for a winner, that i can pick some few numbers myself." "are you playing a system?" smoke asked, at the end of ten minutes, when his partner had dropped a hundred dollars. shorty shook his head indignantly, as he spread his chips out in the vicinities of ' ,' ' ,' and ' ,' and tossed a spare chip on the 'green.' "hell is sure cluttered with geezers that played systems," he exposited, as the keeper raked the table. from idly watching, smoke became fascinated, following closely every detail of the game from the whirling of the ball to the making and the paying of the bets. he made no plays, however, merely contenting himself with looking on. yet so interested was he, that shorty, announcing that he had had enough, with difficulty drew smoke away from the table. the game-keeper returned shorty the gold sack he had deposited as a credential for playing, and with it went a slip of paper on which was scribbled, "out . . . dollars." shorty carried the sack and the paper across the room and handed them to the weigher, who sat behind a large pair of gold-scales. out of shorty's sack he weighed dollars, which he poured into the coffer of the house. "that hunch of yours was another one of those statistics," smoke jeered. "i had to play it, didn't i, in order to find out?" shorty retorted. "i reckon i was crowdin' some just on account of tryin' to convince you they's such a thing as hunches." "never mind, shorty," smoke laughed. "i've got a hunch right now--" shorty's eyes sparkled as he cried eagerly: "what is it? kick in an' play it pronto." "it's not that kind, shorty. now, what i've got is a hunch that some day i'll work out a system that will beat the spots off that table." "system!" shorty groaned, then surveyed his partner with a vast pity. "smoke, listen to your side-kicker an' leave system alone. systems is sure losers. they ain't no hunches in systems." "that's why i like them," smoke answered. "a system is statistical. when you get the right system you can't lose, and that's the difference between it and a hunch. you never know when the right hunch is going wrong." "but i know a lot of systems that went wrong, an' i never seen a system win." shorty paused and sighed. "look here, smoke, if you're gettin' cracked on systems this ain't no place for you, an' it's about time we hit the trail again." ii. during the several following weeks, the two partners played at cross purposes. smoke was bent on spending his time watching the roulette game in the elkhorn, while shorty was equally bent on travelling trail. at last smoke put his foot down when a stampede was proposed for two hundred miles down the yukon. "look here, shorty," he said, "i'm not going. that trip will take ten days, and before that time i hope to have my system in proper working order. i could almost win with it now. what are you dragging me around the country this way for anyway?" "smoke, i got to take care of you," was shorty's reply. "you're getting nutty. i'd drag you stampedin' to jericho or the north pole if i could keep you away from that table." "it's all right, shorty. but just remember i've reached full man-grown, meat-eating size. the only dragging you'll do, will be dragging home the dust i'm going to win with that system of mine, and you'll most likely have to do it with a dog-team." shorty's response was a groan. "and i don't want you to be bucking any games on your own," smoke went on. "we're going to divide the winnings, and i'll need all our money to get started. that system's young yet, and it's liable to trip me for a few falls before i get it lined up." iii. at last, after long hours and days spent at watching the table, the night came when smoke proclaimed he was ready, and shorty, glum and pessimistic, with all the seeming of one attending a funeral, accompanied his partner to the elkhorn. smoke bought a stack of chips and stationed himself at the game-keeper's end of the table. again and again the ball was whirled and the other players won or lost, but smoke did not venture a chip. shorty waxed impatient. "buck in, buck in," he urged. "let's get this funeral over. what's the matter? got cold feet?" smoke shook his head and waited. a dozen plays went by, and then, suddenly, he placed ten one-dollar chips on ' .' the number won, and the keeper paid smoke three hundred and fifty dollars. a dozen plays went by, twenty plays, and thirty, when smoke placed ten dollars on ' .' again he received three hundred and fifty dollars. "it's a hunch." shorty whispered vociferously in his ear. "ride it! ride it!" half an hour went by, during which smoke was inactive, then he placed ten dollars on ' ' and won. "a hunch!" shorty whispered. "nothing of the sort," smoke whispered back. "it's the system. isn't she a dandy?" "you can't tell me," shorty contended. "hunches comes in mighty funny ways. you might think it's a system, but it ain't. systems is impossible. they can't happen. it's a sure hunch you're playin'." smoke now altered his play. he bet more frequently, with single chips, scattered here and there, and he lost more often than he won. "quit it," shorty advised. "cash in. you've rung the bull's eye three times, an' you're ahead a thousand. you can't keep it up." at this moment the ball started whirling, and smoke dropped ten chips on ' .' the ball fell into the slot of ' ,' and the keeper again paid him three hundred and fifty dollars. "if you're plum crazy an' got the immortal cinch, bet'm the limit," shorty said. "put down twenty-five next time." a quarter of an hour passed, during which smoke won and lost on small scattering bets. then, with the abruptness that characterized his big betting, he placed twenty-five dollars on the 'double nought,' and the keeper paid him eight hundred and seventy-five dollars. "wake me up, smoke, i'm dreamin'," shorty moaned. smoke smiled, consulted his note-book, and became absorbed in calculation. he continually drew the note-book from his pocket, and from time to time jotted down figures. a crowd had packed densely around the table, while the players themselves were attempting to cover the same numbers he covered. it was then that a change came over his play. ten times in succession he placed ten dollars on ' ' and lost. at this stage he was deserted by the hardiest. he changed his number and won another three hundred and fifty dollars. immediately the players were back with him, deserting again after a series of losing bets. "quit it, smoke, quit it," shorty advised. "the longest string of hunches is only so long, an' your string's finished. no more bull's-eyes for you." "i'm going to ring her once again before i cash in," smoke answered. for a few minutes, with varying luck, he played scattering chips over the table, and then dropped twenty-five dollars on the 'double nought.' "i'll take my slip now," he said to the dealer, as he won. "oh, you don't need to show it to me," shorty said, as they walked to the weigher. "i ben keepin' track. you're something like thirty-six hundred to the good. how near am i?" "thirty-six-thirty," smoke replied. "and now you've got to pack the dust home. that was the agreement." iv. "don't crowd your luck," shorty pleaded with smoke, the next night, in the cabin, as he evidenced preparations to return to the elkhorn. "you played a mighty long string of hunches, but you played it out. if you go back you'll sure drop all your winnings." "but i tell you it isn't hunches, shorty. it's statistics. it's a system. it can't lose." "system be damned. they ain't no such a thing as system. i made seventeen straight passes at a crap table once. was it system? nope. it was fool luck, only i had cold feet an' didn't dast let it ride. it it'd rid, instead of me drawin' down after the third pass, i'd a won over thirty thousan' on the original two-bit piece." "just the same, shorty, this is a real system." "huh! you got to show me." "i did show you. come on with me now and i'll show you again." when they entered the elkhorn, all eyes centred on smoke, and those about the table made way for him as he took up his old place at the keeper's end. his play was quite unlike that of the previous night. in the course of an hour and a half he made only four bets, but each bet was for twenty-five dollars, and each bet won. he cashed in thirty-five hundred dollars, and shorty carried the dust home to the cabin. "now's the time to jump the game," shorty advised, as he sat on the edge of his bunk and took off his moccasins. "you're seven thousan' ahead. a man's a fool that'd crowd his luck harder." "shorty, a man would be a blithering lunatic if he didn't keep on backing a winning system like mine." "smoke, you're a sure bright boy. you're college-learnt. you know more'n a minute than i could know in forty thousan' years. but just the same you're dead wrong when you call your luck a system. i've ben around some, an' seen a few, an' i tell you straight an' confidential an' all-assurin', a system to beat a bankin' game ain't possible." "but i'm showing you this one. it's a pipe." "no, you're not, smoke. it's a pipe-dream. i'm asleep. bime by i'll wake up, an' build the fire, an' start breakfast." "well, my unbelieving friend, there's the dust. heft it." so saying, smoke tossed the bulging gold-sack upon his partner's knees. it weighed thirty-five pounds, and shorty was fully aware of the crush of its impact on his flesh. "it's real," smoke hammered his point home. "huh! i've saw some mighty real dreams in my time. in a dream all things is possible. in real life a system ain't possible. now, i ain't never ben to college, but i'm plum justified in sizin' up this gamblin' orgy of ourn as a sure enough dream." "hamilton's 'law of parsimony,'" smoke laughed. "i ain't never heard of the geezer, but his dope's sure right. i'm dreamin', smoke, an' you're just snoopin' around in my dream an' tormentin' me with system. if you love me, if you sure do love me, you'll just yell, 'shorty! wake up!' an' i'll wake up an' start breakfast." v. the third night of play, as smoke laid his first bet, the game-keeper shoved fifteen dollars back to him. "ten's all you can play," he said. "the limit's come down." "gettin' picayune," shorty sneered. "no one has to play at this table that don't want to," the keeper retorted. "and i'm willing to say straight out in meeting that we'd sooner your pardner didn't play at our table." "scared of his system, eh?" shorty challenged, as the keeper paid over three hundred and fifty dollars. "i ain't saying i believe in system, because i don't. there never was a system that'd beat roulette or any percentage game. but just the same i've seen some queer strings of luck, and i ain't going to let this bank go bust if i can help it." "cold feet." "gambling is just as much business, my friend, as any other business. we ain't philanthropists." night by night, smoke continued to win. his method of play varied. expert after expert, in the jam about the table, scribbled down his bets and numbers in vain attempts to work out his system. they complained of their inability to get a clew to start with, and swore that it was pure luck, though the most colossal streak of it they had ever seen. it was smoke's varied play that obfuscated them. sometimes, consulting his note-book or engaging in long calculations, an hour elapsed without his staking a chip. at other times he would win three limit-bets and clean up a thousand dollars and odd in five or ten minutes. at still other times, his tactics would be to scatter single chips prodigally and amazingly over the table. this would continue for from ten to thirty minutes of play, when, abruptly, as the ball whirled through the last few of its circles, he would play the limit on column, colour, and number, and win all three. once, to complete confusion in the minds of those that strove to divine his secret, he lost forty straight bets, each at the limit. but each night, play no matter how diversely, shorty carried home thirty-five hundred dollars for him. "it ain't no system," shorty expounded at one of their bed-going discussions. "i follow you, an' follow you, but they ain't no figgerin' it out. you never play twice the same. all you do is pick winners when you want to, an' when you don't want to, you just on purpose don't." "maybe you're nearer right than you think, shorty. i've just got to pick losers sometimes. it's part of the system." "system--hell! i've talked with every gambler in town, an' the last one is agreed they ain't no such thing as system." "yet i'm showing them one all the time." "look here, smoke." shorty paused over the candle, in the act of blowing it out. "i'm real irritated. maybe you think this is a candle. it ain't. an' this ain't me neither. i'm out on trail somewheres, in my blankets, lyin' on my back with my mouth open, an' dreamin' all this. that ain't you talkin', any more than this candle is a candle." "it's funny, how i happen to be dreaming along with you then," smoke persisted. "no, it ain't. you're part of my dream, that's all. i've hearn many a man talk in my dreams. i want to tell you one thing, smoke. i'm gettin' mangy an' mad. if this here dream keeps up much more i'm goin' to bite my veins an' howl." vi. on the sixth night of play at the elkhorn, the limit was reduced to five dollars. "it's all right," smoke assured the game-keeper. "i want thirty-five hundred to-night, as usual, and you only compel me to play longer. i've got to pick twice as many winners, that's all." "why don't you buck somebody else's table?" the keeper demanded wrathfully. "because i like this one." smoke glanced over to the roaring stove only a few feet away. "besides, there are no draughts here, and it is warm and comfortable." on the ninth night, when shorty had carried the dust home, he had a fit. "i quit, smoke, i quit," he began. "i know when i got enough. i ain't dreamin'. i'm wide awake. a system can't be, but you got one just the same. there's nothin' in the rule o' three. the almanac's clean out. the world's gone smash. there's nothin' regular an' uniform no more. the multiplication table's gone loco. two is eight, nine is eleven, and two-times-six is eight hundred an' forty-six--an'--an' a half. anything is everything, an' nothing's all, an' twice all is cold cream, milk-shakes, an' calico horses. you've got a system. figgers beat the figgerin'. what ain't is, an' what isn't has to be. the sun rises in the west, the moon's a paystreak, the stars is canned corn-beef, scurvy's the blessin' of god, him that dies kicks again, rocks floats, water's gas, i ain't me, you're somebody else, an' mebbe we're twins if we ain't hashed-brown potatoes fried in verdigris. wake me up! somebody! oh! wake me up!" vii. the next morning a visitor came to the cabin. smoke knew him, harvey moran, the owner of all the games in the tivoli. there was a note of appeal in his deep gruff voice as he plunged into his business. "it's like this, smoke," he began. "you've got us all guessing. i'm representing nine other game-owners and myself from all the saloons in town. we don't understand. we know that no system ever worked against roulette. all the mathematic sharps in the colleges have told us gamblers the same thing. they say that roulette itself is the system, the one and only system, and, therefore, that no system can beat it, for that would mean arithmetic has gone bug-house." shorty nodded his head violently. "if a system can beat a system, then there's no such thing as system," the gambler went on. "in such a case anything could be possible--a thing could be in two different places at once, or two things could be in the same place that's only large enough for one at the same time." "well, you've seen me play," smoke answered defiantly; "and if you think it's only a string of luck on my part, why worry?" "that's the trouble. we can't help worrying. it's a system you've got, and all the time we know it can't be. i've watched you five nights now, and all i can make out is that you favour certain numbers and keep on winning. now the ten of us game-owners have got together, and we want to make a friendly proposition. we'll put a roulette table in a back room of the elkhorn, pool the bank against you, and have you buck us. it will be all quiet and private. just you and shorty and us. what do you say?" "i think it's the other way around," smoke answered. "it's up to you to come and see me. i'll be playing in the bar-room of the elkhorn to-night. you can watch me there just as well." viii. that night, when smoke took up his customary place at the table, the keeper shut down the game. "the game's closed," he said. "boss's orders." but the assembled game-owners were not to be balked. in a few minutes they arranged a pool, each putting in a thousand, and took over the table. "come on and buck us," harvey moran challenged, as the keeper sent the ball on its first whirl around. "give me the twenty-five limit," smoke suggested. "sure; go to it." smoke immediately placed twenty-five chips on the 'double nought,' and won. moran wiped the sweat from his forehead. "go on," he said. "we got ten thousand in this bank." at the end of an hour and a half, the ten thousand was smoke's. "the bank's bust," the keeper announced. "got enough?" smoke asked. the game-owners looked at one another. they were awed. they, the fatted proteges of the laws of chance, were undone. they were up against one who had more intimate access to those laws, or who had invoked higher and undreamed laws. "we quit," moran said. "ain't that right, burke?" big burke, who owned the games in the m. and g. saloon, nodded. "the impossible has happened," he said. "this smoke here has got a system all right. if we let him go on we'll all bust. all i can see, if we're goin' to keep our tables running, is to cut down the limit to a dollar, or to ten cents, or a cent. he won't win much in a night with such stakes." all looked at smoke. he shrugged his shoulders. "in that case, gentlemen, i'll have to hire a gang of men to play at all your tables. i can pay them ten dollars for a four-hour shift and make money." "then we'll shut down our tables," big burke replied. "unless--" he hesitated and ran his eye over his fellows to see that they were with him. "unless you're willing to talk business. what will you sell the system for?" "thirty thousand dollars," smoke answered. "that's a tax of three thousand apiece." they debated and nodded. "and you'll tell us your system?" "surely." "and you'll promise not to play roulette in dawson ever again?" "no, sir," smoke said positively. "i'll promise not to play this system again." "my god!" moran exploded. "you haven't got other systems, have you?" "hold on!" shorty cried. "i want to talk to my pardner. come over here, smoke, on the side." smoke followed into a quiet corner of the room, while hundreds of curious eyes centred on him and shorty. "look here, smoke," shorty whispered hoarsely. "mebbe it ain't a dream. in which case you're sellin' out almighty cheap. you've sure got the world by the slack of its pants. they's millions in it. shake it! shake it hard!" "but if it's a dream?" smoke queried softly. "then, for the sake of the dream an' the love of mike, stick them gamblers up good and plenty. what's the good of dreamin' if you can't dream to the real right, dead sure, eternal finish?" "fortunately, this isn't a dream, shorty." "then if you sell out for thirty thousan', i'll never forgive you." "when i sell out for thirty thousand, you'll fall on my neck an' wake up to find out that you haven't been dreaming at all. this is no dream, shorty. in about two minutes you'll see you have been wide awake all the time. let me tell you that when i sell out it's because i've got to sell out." back at the table, smoke informed the game-owners that his offer still held. they proffered him their paper to the extent of three thousand each. "hold out for the dust," shorty cautioned. "i was about to intimate that i'd take the money weighed out," smoke said. the owner of the elkhorn cashed their paper, and shorty took possession of the gold-dust. "now, i don't want to wake up," he chortled, as he hefted the various sacks. "toted up, it's a seventy thousan' dream. it's be too blamed expensive to open my eyes, roll out of the blankets, an' start breakfast." "what's your system?" big burke demanded. "we've paid for it, and we want it." smoke led the way to the table. "now, gentlemen, bear with me a moment. this isn't an ordinary system. it can scarcely be called legitimate, but its one great virtue is that it works. i've got my suspicious, but i'm not saying anything. you watch. mr keeper, be ready with the ball. wait, i am going to pick ' .' consider i've bet on it. be ready, mr keeper--now!" the ball whirled around. "you observe," smoke went on, "that ' ' was directly opposite." the ball finished in ' .' big burke swore deep in his chest, and all waited. "for 'double nought' to win, ' ' must be opposite. try it yourself and see." "but the system?" moran demanded impatiently. "we know you can pick winning numbers, and we know what those numbers are; but how do you do it?" "by observed sequences. by accident i chanced twice to notice the ball whirled when ' ' was opposite. both times ' ' won. after that i saw it happen again. then i looked for other sequences, and found them. 'double nought' opposite fetches ' ,' and ' ' fetches 'double nought.' it doesn't always happen, but it usually happens. you notice, i say 'usually.' as i said before, i have my suspicions, but i'm not saying anything." big burke, with a sudden dawn of comprehension reached over, stopped the wheel, and examined it carefully. the heads of the nine other game-owners bent over and joined in the examination. big burke straightened up and cast a glance at the near-by stove. "hell," he said. "it wasn't any system at all. the table stood close to the fire, and the blamed wheel's warped. and we've been worked to a frazzle. no wonder he liked this table. he couldn't have bucked for sour apples at any other table." harvey moran gave a great sigh of relief and wiped his forehead. "well, anyway," he said, "it's cheap at the price just to find out that it wasn't a system." his face began to work, and then he broke into laughter and slapped smoke on the shoulder. "smoke, you had us going for a while, and we patting ourselves on the back because you were letting our tables alone! say, i've got some real fizz i'll open if all you'll come over to the tivoli with me." later, back in the cabin, shorty silently overhauled and hefted the various bulging gold-sacks. he finally piled them on the table, sat down on the edge of his bunk, and began taking off his moccasins. "seventy thousan'," he calculated. "it weighs three hundred and fifty pounds. and all out of a warped wheel an' a quick eye. smoke, you eat'm raw, you eat'm alive, you work under water, you've given me the jim-jams; but just the same i know it's a dream. it's only in dreams that the good things comes true. i'm almighty unanxious to wake up. i hope i never wake up." "cheer up," smoke answered. "you won't. there are a lot of philosophy sharps that think men are sleep-walkers. you're in good company." shorty got up, went to the table, selected the heaviest sack, and cuddled it in his arms as if it were a baby. "i may be sleep-walkin'," he said, "but as you say, i'm sure in mighty good company." the man on the other bank. i. it was before smoke bellew staked the farcical town-site of tra-lee, made the historic corner of eggs that nearly broke swiftwater bill's bank account, or won the dog-team race down the yukon for an even million dollars, that he and shorty parted company on the upper klondike. shorty's task was to return down the klondike to dawson to record some claims they had staked. smoke, with the dog-team, turned south. his quest was surprise lake and the mythical two cabins. his traverse was to cut the headwaters of the indian river and cross the unknown region over the mountains to the stewart river. here, somewhere, rumour persisted, was surprise lake, surrounded by jagged mountains and glaciers, its bottom paved with raw gold. old-timers, it was said, whose very names were forgotten in the forests of earlier years, had dived in the ice-waters of surprise lake and fetched lump-gold to the surface in both hands. at different times, parties of old-timers had penetrated the forbidding fastness and sampled the lake's golden bottom. but the water was too cold. some died in the water, being pulled up dead. others died of consumption. and one who had gone down never did come up. all survivors had planned to return and drain the lake, yet none had ever gone back. disaster always happened. one man fell into an air-hole below forty mile; another was killed and eaten by his dogs; a third was crushed by a falling tree. and so the tale ran. surprise lake was a hoodoo; its location was unremembered; and the gold still paved its undrained bottom. two cabins, no less mythical, was more definitely located. 'five sleeps,' up the mcquestion river from the stewart, stood two ancient cabins. so ancient were they that they must have been built before ever the first known gold-hunter had entered the yukon basin. wandering moose-hunters, whom even smoke had met and talked with, claimed to have found the two cabins in the old days, but to have sought vainly for the mine which those early adventurers must have worked. "i wish you was goin' with me," shorty said wistfully, at parting. "just because you got the indian bug ain't no reason for to go pokin' into trouble. they's no gettin' away from it, that's loco country you're bound for. the hoodoo's sure on it, from the first flip to the last call, judgin' from all you an' me has hearn tell about it." "it's all right, shorty. i'll make the round trip and be back in dawson in six weeks. the yukon trail is packed, and the first hundred miles or so of the stewart ought to be packed. old-timers from henderson have told me a number of outfits went up last fall after the freeze-up. when i strike their trail i ought to hit her up forty or fifty miles a day. i'm likely to be back inside a month, once i get across." "yes, once you get acrost. but it's the gettin' acrost that worries me. well, so long, smoke. keep your eyes open for that hoodoo, that's all. an' don't be ashamed to turn back if you don't kill any meat." ii. a week later, smoke found himself among the jumbled ranges south of indian river. on the divide from the klondike he had abandoned the sled and packed his wolf-dogs. the six big huskies each carried fifty pounds, and on his own back was an equal burden. through the soft snow he led the way, packing it down under his snow-shoes, and behind, in single file, toiled the dogs. he loved the life, the deep arctic winter, the silent wilderness, the unending snow-surface unpressed by the foot of any man. about him towered icy peaks unnamed and uncharted. no hunter's camp-smoke, rising in the still air of the valleys, ever caught his eye. he, alone, moved through the brooding quiet of the untravelled wastes; nor was he oppressed by the solitude. he loved it all, the day's toil, the bickering wolf-dogs, the making of the camp in the long twilight, the leaping stars overhead and the flaming pageant of the aurora borealis. especially he loved his camp at the end of the day, and in it he saw a picture which he ever yearned to paint and which he knew he would never forget--a beaten place in the snow, where burned his fire; his bed, a couple of rabbit-skin robes spread on fresh-chopped spruce-boughs; his shelter, a stretched strip of canvas that caught and threw back the heat of the fire; the blackened coffee-pot and pail resting on a length of log, the moccasins propped on sticks to dry, the snow-shoes up-ended in the snow; and across the fire the wolf-dogs snuggling to it for the warmth, wistful and eager, furry and frost-rimed, with bushy tails curled protectingly over their feet; and all about, pressed backward but a space, the wall of encircling darkness. at such times san francisco, the billow, and o'hara seemed very far away, lost in a remote past, shadows of dreams that had never happened. he found it hard to believe that he had known any other life than this of the wild, and harder still was it for him to reconcile himself to the fact that he had once dabbled and dawdled in the bohemian drift of city life. alone, with no one to talk to, he thought much, and deeply, and simply. he was appalled by the wastage of his city years, by the cheapness, now, of the philosophies of the schools and books, of the clever cynicism of the studio and editorial room, of the cant of the business men in their clubs. they knew neither food nor sleep, nor health; nor could they ever possibly know the sting of real appetite, the goodly ache of fatigue, nor the rush of mad strong blood that bit like wine through all one's body as work was done. and all the time this fine, wise, spartan north land had been here, and he had never known. what puzzled him was, that, with such intrinsic fitness, he had never heard the slightest calling whisper, had not himself gone forth to seek. but this, too, he solved in time. "look here, yellow-face, i've got it clear!" the dog addressed lifted first one fore-foot and then the other with quick, appeasing movements, curled his bush of a tail about them again, and laughed across the fire. "herbert spencer was nearly forty before he caught the vision of his greatest efficiency and desire. i'm none so slow. i didn't have to wait till i was thirty to catch mine. right here is my efficiency and desire. almost, yellow face, do i wish i had been born a wolf-boy and been brother all my days to you and yours." for days he wandered through a chaos of canyons and divides which did not yield themselves to any rational topographical plan. it was as if they had been flung there by some cosmic joker. in vain he sought for a creek or feeder that flowed truly south toward the mcquestion and the stewart. then came a mountain storm that blew a blizzard across the riff-raff of high and shallow divides. above timber-line, fireless, for two days, he struggled blindly to find lower levels. on the second day he came out upon the rim of an enormous palisade. so thickly drove the snow that he could not see the base of the wall, nor dared he attempt the descent. he rolled himself in his robes and huddled the dogs about him in the depths of a snow-drift, but did not permit himself to sleep. in the morning, the storm spent, he crawled out to investigate. a quarter of a mile beneath him, beyond all mistake, lay a frozen, snow-covered lake. about it, on every side, rose jagged peaks. it answered the description. blindly, he had found surprise lake. "well-named," he muttered, an hour later, as he came out upon its margin. a clump of aged spruce was the only woods. on his way to it, he stumbled upon three graves, snow-buried, but marked by hand-hewn head-posts and undecipherable writing. on the edge of the woods was a small ramshackle cabin. he pulled the latch and entered. in a corner, on what had once been a bed of spruce-boughs, still wrapped in mangy furs, that had rotted to fragments, lay a skeleton. the last visitor to surprise lake, was smoke's conclusion, as he picked up a lump of gold as large as his doubled fist. beside the lump was a pepper-can filled with nuggets of the size of walnuts, rough-surfaced, showing no signs of wash. so true had the tale run, that smoke accepted without question that the source of the gold was the lake's bottom. under many feet of ice and inaccessible, there was nothing to be done, and at mid-day, from the rim of the palisade, he took a farewell look back and down at his find. "it's all right, mr lake," he said. "you just keep right on staying there. i'm coming back to drain you--if that hoodoo doesn't catch me. i don't know how i got here, but i'll know by the way i go out." iii. in a little valley, beside a frozen stream and under beneficent spruce trees, he built a fire four days later. somewhere in that white anarchy he left behind him, was surprise lake--somewhere, he knew not where; for a hundred hours of driftage and struggle through blinding driving snow, had concealed his course from him, and he knew not in what direction lay behind. it was as if he had just emerged from a nightmare. he was not sure that four days or a week had passed. he had slept with the dogs, fought across a forgotten number of shallow divides, followed the windings of weird canyons that ended in pockets, and twice had managed to make a fire and thaw out frozen moose-meat. and here he was, well-fed and well-camped. the storm had passed, and it had turned clear and cold. the lay of the land had again become rational. the creek he was on was natural in appearance, and trended as it should toward the southwest. but surprise lake was as lost to him as it had been to all its seekers in the past. half a day's journey down the creek brought him to the valley of a larger stream which he decided was the mcquestion. here he shot a moose, and once again each wolf-dog carried a full fifty-pound pack of meat. as he turned down the mcquestion, he came upon a sled-trail. the late snows had drifted over, but underneath, it was well-packed by travel. his conclusion was that two camps had been established on the mcquestion, and that this was the connecting trail. evidently, two cabins had been found and it was the lower camp, so he headed down the stream. it was forty below zero when he camped that night, and he fell asleep wondering who were the men who had rediscovered the two cabins, and if he would fetch it next day. at the first hint of dawn he was under way, easily following the half-obliterated trail and packing the recent snow with his webbed shoes so that the dogs should not wallow. and then it came, the unexpected, leaping out upon him on a bend of the river. it seemed to him that he heard and felt simultaneously. the crack of the rifle came from the right, and the bullet, tearing through and across the shoulders of his drill parka and woollen coat, pivoted him half around with the shock of its impact. he staggered on his twisted snow-shoes to recover balance, and heard a second crack of the rifle. this time it was a clean miss. he did not wait for more, but plunged across the snow for the sheltering trees of the bank a hundred feet away. again and again the rifle cracked, and he was unpleasantly aware of a trickle of warm moisture down his back. he climbed the bank, the dogs floundering behind, and dodged in among the trees and brush. slipping out of his snow-shoes, he wallowed forward at full length and peered cautiously out. nothing was to be seen. whoever had shot at him was lying quiet among the trees of the opposite bank. "if something doesn't happen pretty soon," he muttered at the end of half an hour, "i'll have to sneak away and build a fire or freeze my feet. yellow face, what'd you do, lying in the frost with circulation getting slack and a man trying to plug you?" he crawled back a few yards, packed down the snow, danced a jig that sent the blood back into his feet, and managed to endure another half hour. then, from down the river, he heard the unmistakable jingle of dog-bells. peering out, he saw a sled round the bend. only one man was with it, straining at the gee-pole and urging the dogs along. the effect on smoke was one of shock, for it was the first human he had seen since he parted from shorty three weeks before. his next thought was of the potential murderer concealed on the opposite bank. without exposing himself, smoke whistled warningly. the man did not hear, and came on rapidly. again, and more sharply, smoke whistled. the man whoa'd his dogs, stopped, and had turned and faced smoke when the rifle cracked. the instant afterwards, smoke fired into the wood in the direction of the sound. the man on the river had been struck by the first shot. the shock of the high velocity bullet staggered him. he stumbled awkwardly to the sled, half-falling, and pulled a rifle out from under the lashings. as he strove to raise it to his shoulder, he crumpled at the waist and sank down slowly to a sitting posture on the sled. then, abruptly, as the gun went off aimlessly, he pitched backward and across a corner of the sled-load, so that smoke could see only his legs and stomach. from below came more jingling bells. the man did not move. around the bend swung three sleds, accompanied by half a dozen men. smoke cried warningly, but they had seen the condition of the first sled, and they dashed on to it. no shots came from the other bank, and smoke, calling his dogs to follow, emerged into the open. there were exclamations from the men, and two of them, flinging off the mittens of their right hands, levelled their rifles at him. "come on, you red-handed murderer, you," one of them, a black-bearded man, commanded, "an' jest pitch that gun of yourn in the snow." smoke hesitated, then dropped his rifle and came up to them. "go through him, louis, an' take his weapons," the black-bearded man ordered. louis, a french-canadian voyageur, smoke decided, as were four of the others, obeyed. his search revealed only smoke's hunting knife, which was appropriated. "now, what have you got to say for yourself, stranger, before i shoot you dead?" the black-bearded man demanded. "that you're making a mistake if you think i killed that man," smoke answered. a cry came from one of the voyageurs. he had quested along the trail and found smoke's tracks where he had left it to take refuge on the bank. the man explained the nature of his find. "what'd you kill joe kinade for?" he of the black beard asked. "i tell you i didn't--" smoke began. "aw, what's the good of talkin'. we got you red-handed. right up there's where you left the trail when you heard him comin'. you laid among the trees an' bushwhacked him. a short shot. you couldn't a-missed. pierre, go an' get that gun he dropped." "you might let me tell what happened," smoke objected. "you shut up," the man snarled at him. "i reckon your gun'll tell the story." all the men examined smoke's rifle, ejecting and counting the cartridges, and examining the barrel at muzzle and breech. "one shot," blackbeard concluded. pierre, with nostrils that quivered and distended like a deer's, sniffed at the breech. "him one fresh shot," he said. "the bullet entered his back," smoke said. "he was facing me when he was shot. you see, it came from the other bank." blackbeard considered this proposition for a scant second, and shook his head. "nope. it won't do. turn him around to face the other bank--that's how you whopped him in the back. some of you boys run up an' down the trail and see if you can see any tracks making for the other bank." their report was, that on that side the snow was unbroken. not even a snow-shoe rabbit had crossed it. blackbeard, bending over the dead man, straightened up, with a woolly, furry wad in his hand. shredding this, he found imbedded in the centre the bullet which had perforated the body. its nose was spread to the size of a half-dollar, its butt-end, steel-jacketed, was undamaged. he compared it with a cartridge from smoke's belt. "that's plain enough evidence, stranger, to satisfy a blind man. it's soft-nosed an' steel-jacketed; yourn is soft-nosed and steel-jacketed. it's thirty-thirty; yourn is thirty-thirty. it's manufactured by the j. and t. arms company; yourn is manufactured by the j. and t. arms company. now you come along an' we'll go over to the bank an' see jest how you done it." "i was bushwhacked myself," smoke said. "look at the hole in my parka." while blackbeard examined it, one of the voyageurs threw open the breech of the dead man's gun. it was patent to all that it had been fired once. the empty cartridge was still in the chamber. "a damn shame poor joe didn't get you," blackbeard said bitterly. "but he did pretty well with a hole like that in him. come on, you." "search the other bank first," smoke urged. "you shut up an' come on, an' let the facts do the talkin'." they left the trail at the same spot he had, and followed it on up the bank and in among the trees. "him dance that place keep him feet warm," louis pointed out. "that place him crawl on belly. that place him put one elbow w'en him shoot--" "and by god there's the empty cartridge he had done it with!" was blackbeard's discovery. "boys, there's only one thing to do--" "you might ask me how i came to fire that shot," smoke interrupted. "an' i might knock your teeth into your gullet if you butt in again. you can answer them questions later on. now, boys, we're decent an' law-abidin', an' we got to handle this right an' regular. how far do you reckon we've come, pierre?" "twenty mile i t'ink for sure." "all right. we'll cache the outfit an' run him an' poor joe back to two cabins. i reckon we've seen an' can testify to what'll stretch his neck." iv. it was three hours after dark when the dead man, smoke, and his captors arrived at two cabins. by the starlight, smoke could make out a dozen or more recently built cabins snuggling about a larger and older cabin on a flat by the river bank. thrust inside this older cabin, he found it tenanted by a young giant of a man, his wife, and an old blind man. the woman, whom her husband called 'lucy,' was herself a strapping creature of the frontier type. the old man, as smoke learned afterwards, had been a trapper on the stewart for years, and had gone finally blind the winter before. the camp of two cabins, he was also to learn, had been made the previous fall by a dozen men who arrived in half as many poling-boats loaded with provisions. here they had found the blind trapper, on the site of two cabins, and about his cabin they had built their own. later arrivals, mushing up the ice with dog-teams, had tripled the population. there was plenty of meat in camp, and good low-pay dirt had been discovered and was being worked. in five minutes, all the men of two cabins were jammed into the room. smoke, shoved off into a corner, ignored and scowled at, his hands and feet tied with thongs of moosehide, looked on. thirty-eight men he counted, a wild and husky crew, all frontiersmen of the states or voyageurs from upper canada. his captors told the tale over and over, each the centre of an excited and wrathful group. there were mutterings of "lynch him now--why wait?" and, once, a big irishman was restrained only by force from rushing upon the helpless prisoner and giving him a beating. it was while counting the men that smoke caught sight of a familiar face. it was breck, the man whose boat smoke had run through the rapids. he wondered why the other did not come and speak to him, but himself gave no sign of recognition. later, when with shielded face breck passed him a significant wink, smoke understood. blackbeard, whom smoke heard called eli harding, ended the discussion as to whether or not the prisoner should be immediately lynched. "hold on," harding roared. "keep your shirts on. that man belongs to me. i caught him an' i brought him here. d'ye think i brought him all the way here to be lynched? not on your life. i could a-done that myself when i found him. i brought him here for a fair an' impartial trial, an' by god, a fair an' impartial trial he's goin' to get. he's tied up safe an' sound. chuck him in a bunk till morning, an' we'll hold the trial right here." v. smoke woke up. a draught, that possessed all the rigidity of an icicle, was boring into the front of his shoulder as he lay on his side facing the wall. when he had been tied into the bunk there had been no such draught, and now the outside air, driving into the heated atmosphere of the cabin with the pressure of fifty below zero, was sufficient advertizement that some one from without had pulled away the moss-chinking between the logs. he squirmed as far as his bonds would permit, then craned his neck forward until his lips just managed to reach the crack. "who is it?" he whispered. "breck," came the answer. "be careful you don't make a noise. i'm going to pass a knife in to you." "no good," smoke said. "i couldn't use it. my hands are tied behind me and made fast to the leg of the bunk. besides, you couldn't get a knife through that crack. but something must be done. those fellows are of a temper to hang me, and, of course, you know i didn't kill that man." "it wasn't necessary to mention it, smoke. and if you did you had your reasons. which isn't the point at all. i want to get you out of this. it's a tough bunch of men here. you've seen them. they're shut off from the world, and they make and enforce their own law--by miner's meeting, you know. they handled two men already--both grub-thieves. one they hiked from camp without an ounce of grub and no matches. he made about forty miles and lasted a couple of days before he froze stiff. two weeks ago they hiked the second man. they gave him his choice: no grub, or ten lashes for each day's ration. he stood for forty lashes before he fainted. and now they've got you, and every last one is convinced you killed kinade." "the man who killed kinade, shot at me, too. his bullet broke the skin on my shoulder. get them to delay the trial till some one goes up and searches the bank where the murderer hid." "no use. they take the evidence of harding and the five frenchmen with him. besides, they haven't had a hanging yet, and they're keen for it. you see, things have been pretty monotonous. they haven't located anything big, and they got tired of hunting for surprise lake. they did some stampeding the first part of the winter, but they've got over that now. scurvy is beginning to show up amongst them, too, and they're just ripe for excitement." "and it looks like i'll furnish it," was smoke's comment. "say, breck, how did you ever fall in with such a god-forsaken bunch?" "after i got the claims at squaw creek opened up and some men to working, i came up here by way of the stewart, hunting for two cabins. they'd beaten me to it, so i've been higher up the stewart. just got back yesterday out of grub." "find anything?" "nothing much. but i think i've got a hydraulic proposition that'll work big when the country's opened up. it's that, or a gold-dredger." "hold on," smoke interrupted. "wait a minute. let me think." he was very much aware of the snores of the sleepers as he pursued the idea that had flashed into his mind. "say, breck, have they opened up the meat-packs my dogs carried?" "a couple. i was watching. they put them in harding's cache." "did they find anything?" "meat." "good. you've got to get into the brown canvas pack that's patched with moosehide. you'll find a few pounds of lumpy gold. you've never seen gold like it in the country, nor has anybody else. here's what you've got to do. listen." a quarter of an hour later, fully instructed and complaining that his toes were freezing, breck went away. smoke, his own nose and one cheek frosted by proximity to the chink, rubbed them against the blankets for half an hour before the blaze and bite of the returning blood assured him of the safety of his flesh. vi. "my mind's made up right now. there ain't no doubt but what he killed kinade. we heard the whole thing last night. what's the good of goin' over it again? i vote guilty." in such fashion, smoke's trial began. the speaker, a loose-jointed, hard-rock man from colorado, manifested irritation and disgust when harding set his suggestion aside, demanded the proceedings should be regular, and nominated one, shunk wilson, for judge and chairman of the meeting. the population of two cabins constituted the jury, though, after some discussion, the woman, lucy, was denied the right to vote on smoke's guilt or innocence. while this was going on, smoke, jammed into a corner on a bunk, overheard a whispered conversation between breck and a miner. "you haven't fifty pounds of flour you'll sell?" breck queried. "you ain't got the dust to pay the price i'm askin'," was the reply. "i'll give you two hundred." the man shook his head. "three hundred. three-fifty." at four hundred, the man nodded, and said: "come on over to my cabin an' weigh out the dust." the two squeezed their way to the door, and slipped out. after a few minutes breck returned alone. harding was testifying, when smoke saw the door shoved open slightly, and in the crack appear the face of the man who had sold the flour. he was grimacing and beckoning emphatically to one inside, who arose from near the stove and started to work toward the door. "where are you goin', sam?" shunk wilson demanded. "i'll be back in a jiffy," sam explained. "i jes' got to go." smoke was permitted to question the witnesses, and he was in the middle of the cross-examination of harding, when from without came the whining of dogs in harness, and the grind and churn of sled-runners. somebody near the door peeped out. "it's sam an' his pardner an' a dog-team hell-bent down the trail for stewart river," the man reported. nobody spoke for a long half-minute, but men glanced significantly at one another, and a general restlessness pervaded the packed room. out of the corner of his eye, smoke caught a glimpse of breck, lucy, and her husband whispering together. "come on, you," shunk wilson said gruffly to smoke. "cut this questionin' short. we know what you're tryin' to prove--that the other bank wasn't searched. the witness admits it. we admit it. it wasn't necessary. no tracks led to that bank. the snow wasn't broke." "there was a man on the other bank just the same," smoke insisted. "that's too thin for skatin', young man. there ain't many of us on the mcquestion, an' we got every man accounted for." "who was the man you hiked out of camp two weeks ago?" smoke asked. "alonzo miramar. he was a mexican. what's that grub-thief got to do with it?" "nothing, except that you haven't accounted for him, mr judge." "he went down the river, not up." "how do you know where he went?" "saw him start." "and that's all you know of what became of him?" "no, it ain't, young man. i know, we all know, he had four day's grub an' no gun to shoot meat with. if he didn't make the settlement on the yukon he'd croaked long before this." "i suppose you've got all the guns in this part of the country accounted for, too," smoke observed pointedly. shunk wilson was angry. "you'd think i was the prisoner the way you slam questions into me. come on with the next witness. where's french louis?" while french louis was shoving forward, lucy opened the door. "where you goin'?" shunk wilson shouted. "i reckon i don't have to stay," she answered defiantly. "i ain't got no vote, an' besides my cabin's so jammed up i can't breathe." in a few minutes her husband followed. the closing of the door was the first warning the judge received of it. "who was that?" he interrupted pierre's narrative to ask. "bill peabody," somebody spoke up. "said he wanted to ask his wife something and was coming right back." instead of bill, it was lucy who re-entered, took off her furs, and resumed her place by the stove. "i reckon we don't need to hear the rest of the witnesses," was shunk wilson's decision, when pierre had finished. "we know they only can testify to the same facts we've already heard. say, sorensen, you go an' bring bill peabody back. we'll be votin' a verdict pretty short. now, stranger, you can get up an' say your say concernin' what happened. in the meantime we'll just be savin' delay by passin' around the two rifles, the ammunition, an' the bullets that done the killin'." midway in his story of how he had arrived in that part of the country, and at the point in his narrative where he described his own ambush and how he had fled to the bank, smoke was interrupted by the indignant shunk wilson. "young man, what sense is there in you testifyin' that way? you're just takin' up valuable time. of course you got the right to lie to save your neck, but we ain't goin' to stand for such foolishness. the rifle, the ammunition, the bullet that killed joe kinade is against you--what's that? open the door, somebody!" the frost rushed in, taking form and substance in the heat of the room, while through the open door came the whining of dogs that decreased rapidly with distance. "it's sorensen an' peabody," some one cried, "a-throwin' the whip into the dawgs an' headin' down river!" "now, what the hell--!" shunk wilson paused, with dropped jaw, and glared at lucy. "i reckon you can explain, mrs peabody." she tossed her head and compressed her lips, and shunk wilson's wrathful and suspicious gaze passed on and rested on breck. "an' i reckon that new-comer you've ben chinning with could explain if he had a mind to." breck, now very uncomfortable, found all eyes centred on him. "sam was chewing the rag with him, too, before he hit out," some one said. "look here, mr breck," shunk wilson continued. "you've ben interruptin' proceedings, and you got to explain the meanin' of it. what was you chinnin' about?" breck cleared his throat timidly and replied. "i was just trying to buy some grub." "what with?" "dust, of course." "where'd you get it?" breck did not answer. "he's ben snoopin' around up the stewart," a man volunteered. "i run across his camp a week ago when i was huntin'. an' i want to tell you he was almighty secretious about it." "the dust didn't come from there," breck said. "that's only a low-grade hydraulic proposition." "bring your poke here an' let's see your dust," wilson commanded. "i tell you it didn't come from there." "let's see it just the same." breck made as if to refuse, but all about him were menacing faces. reluctantly, he fumbled in his coat pocket. in the act of drawing forth a pepper can, it rattled against what was evidently a hard object. "fetch it all out!" shunk wilson thundered. and out came the big nugget, first-size, yellow as no gold any onlooker had ever seen. shunk wilson gasped. half a dozen, catching one glimpse, made a break for the door. they reached it at the same moment, and, with cursing and scuffling, jammed and pivoted through. the judge emptied the contents of the pepper can on the table, and the sight of the rough lump-gold sent half a dozen more toward the door. "where are you goin'?" eli harding asked, as shunk started to follow. "for my dogs, of course." "ain't you goin' to hang him?" "it'd take too much time right now. he'll keep till we get back, so i reckon this court is adjourned. this ain't no place for lingerin'." harding hesitated. he glanced savagely at smoke, saw pierre beckoning to louis from the doorway, took one last look at the lump-gold on the table, and decided. "no use you tryin' to get away," he flung back over his shoulder. "besides, i'm goin' to borrow your dogs." "what is it--another one of them blamed stampedes?" the old blind trapper asked in a queer and petulant falsetto, as the cries of men and dogs and the grind of the sleds swept the silence of the room. "it sure is," lucy answered. "an' i never seen gold like it. feel that, old man." she put the big nugget in his hand. he was but slightly interested. "it was a good fur-country," he complained, "before them danged miners come in an' scared back the game." the door opened, and breck entered. "well," he said, "we four are all that are left in camp. it's forty miles to the stewart by the cut-off i broke, and the fastest of them can't make the round trip in less than five or six days. but it's time you pulled out, smoke, just the same." breck drew his hunting knife across the other's bonds, and glanced at the woman. "i hope you don't object?" he said, with significant politeness. "if there's goin' to be any shootin'," the blind man broke out, "i wish somebody'd take me to another cabin first." "go on, an' don't mind me," lucy answered. "if i ain't good enough to hang a man, i ain't good enough to hold him." smoke stood up, rubbing his wrists where the thongs had impeded the circulation. "i've got a pack all ready for you," breck said. "ten days' grub, blankets, matches, tobacco, an axe, and a rifle." "go to it," lucy encouraged. "hit the high places, stranger. beat it as fast as god'll let you." "i'm going to have a square meal before i start," smoke said. "and when i start it will be up the mcquestion, not down. i want you to go along with me, breck. we're going to search that other bank for the man that really did the killing." "if you'll listen to me, you'll head down for the stewart and the yukon," breck objected. "when this gang gets back from my low-grade hydraulic proposition, it will be seeing red." smoke laughed and shook his head. "i can't jump this country, breck. i've got interests here. i've got to stay and make good. i don't care whether you believe me or not, but i've found surprise lake. that's where that gold came from. besides, they took my dogs, and i've got to wait to get them back. also, i know what i'm about. there was a man hidden on that bank. he came pretty close to emptying his magazine at me." half an hour afterward, with a big plate of moose-steak before him and a big mug of coffee at his lips, smoke half-started up from his seat. he had heard the sounds first. lucy threw open the door. "hello, spike; hello, methody," she greeted the two frost-rimed men who were bending over the burden on their sled. "we just come down from upper camp," one said, as the pair staggered into the room with a fur-wrapped object which they handled with exceeding gentleness. "an' this is what we found by the way. he's all in, i guess." "put him in the near bunk there," lucy said. she bent over and pulled back the furs, disclosing a face composed principally of large, staring, black eyes, and of skin, dark and scabbed by repeated frost-bite, tightly stretched across the bones. "if it ain't alonzo!" she cried. "you pore, starved devil!" "that's the man on the other bank," smoke said in an undertone to breck. "we found it raidin' a cache that harding must a-made," one of the men was explaining. "he was eatin' raw flour an' frozen bacon, an' when we got 'm he was cryin' an' squealin' like a hawk. look at him! he's all starved, an' most of him frozen. he'll kick at any moment." . . . . . half an hour later, when the furs had been drawn over the face of the still form in the bunk, smoke turned to lucy. "if you don't mind, mrs peabody, i'll have another whack at that steak. make it thick and not so well done." the race for number one. i. "huh! get on to the glad rags!" shorty surveyed his partner with simulated disapproval, and smoke, vainly attempting to rub the wrinkles out of the pair of trousers he had just put on, was irritated. "they sure fit you close for a second-hand buy," shorty went on. "what was the tax?" "one hundred and fifty for the suit," smoke answered. "the man was nearly my own size. i thought it was remarkable reasonable. what are you kicking about?" "who? me? oh, nothin'. i was just thinkin' it was goin' some for a meat-eater that hit dawson in an ice-jam, with no grub, one suit of underclothes, a pair of mangy moccasins, an' overalls that looked like they'd ben through the wreck of the hesperus. pretty gay front, pardner. pretty gay front. say--?" "what do you want now?" smoke demanded testily. "what's her name?" "there isn't any her, my friend. i'm to have dinner at colonel bowie's, if you want to know. the trouble with you, shorty, is you're envious because i'm going into high society and you're not invited." "ain't you some late?" shorty queried with concern. "what do you mean?" "for dinner. they'll be eatin' supper when you get there." smoke was about to explain with elaborate sarcasm when he caught the twinkle in the others' eyes. he went on dressing, with fingers that had lost their deftness, tying a windsor tie in a bow-knot at the throat of the soft cotton shirt. "wish i hadn't sent all my starched shirts to the laundry," shorty murmured sympathetically. "i might a-fitted you out." by this time smoke was straining at a pair of shoes. the thick woollen socks were too thick to go into them. he looked appealingly at shorty, who shook his head. "nope. if i had thin ones i wouldn't lend 'em to you. back to the moccasins, pardner. you'd sure freeze your toes in skimpy-fangled gear like that." "i paid fifteen dollars for them, second-hand," smoke lamented. "i reckon they won't be a man not in moccasins." "but there are to be women, shorty. i'm going to sit down and eat with real live women--mrs bowie, and several others, so the colonel told me." "well, moccasins won't spoil their appetite none," was shorty's comment. "wonder what the colonel wants with you?" "i don't know, unless he's heard about my finding surprise lake. it will take a fortune to drain it, and the guggenheims are out for investment." "reckon that's it. that's right, stick to the moccasins. gee! that coat is sure wrinkled, an' it fits you a mite too swift. just peck around at your vittles. if you eat hearty you'll bust through. and if them women-folks gets to droppin' handkerchiefs, just let 'em lay. don't do any pickin' up. whatever you do, don't." ii. as became a high-salaried expert and the representative of the great house of guggenheim, colonel bowie lived in one of the most magnificent cabins in dawson. of squared logs, hand-hewn, it was two stories high, and of such extravagant proportions that it boasted a big living room that was used for a living room and for nothing else. here were big bear-skins on the rough board floor, and on the walls horns of moose and caribou. here roared an open fireplace and a big wood-burning stove. and here smoke met the social elect of dawson--not the mere pick-handle millionaires, but the ultra-cream of a mining city whose population had been recruited from all the world--men like warburton jones, the explorer and writer, captain consadine of the mounted police, haskell, gold commissioner of the north-west territory, and baron von schroeder, an emperor's favourite with an international duelling reputation. and here, dazzling in evening gown, he met joy gastell, whom hitherto he had encountered only on trail, befurred and moccasined. at dinner he found himself beside her. "i feel like a fish out of water," he confessed. "all you folks are so real grand you know. besides i never dreamed such oriental luxury existed in the klondike. look at von schroeder there. he's actually got a dinner jacket, and consadine's got a starched shirt. i noticed he wore moccasins just the same. how do you like my outfit?" he moved his shoulders about as if preening himself for joy's approval. "it looks as if you'd grown stout since you came over the pass," she laughed. "wrong. guess again." "it's somebody else's." "you win. i bought it for a price from one of the clerks at the a. c. company." "it's a shame clerks are so narrow-shouldered," she sympathized. "and you haven't told me what you think of my outfit." "i can't," he said. "i'm out of breath. i've been living on trail too long. this sort of thing comes to me with a shock, you know. i'd quite forgotten that women have arms and shoulders. to-morrow morning, like my friend shorty, i'll wake up and know it's all a dream. now, the last time i saw you on squaw creek--" "i was just a squaw," she broke in. "i hadn't intended to say that. i was remembering that it was on squaw creek that i discovered you had feet." "and i can never forget that you saved them for me," she said. "i've been wanting to see you ever since to thank you--" (he shrugged his shoulders deprecatingly). "and that's why you are here to-night--" "you asked the colonel to invite me?" "no! mrs bowie. and i asked her to let me have you at table. and here's my chance. everybody's talking. listen, and don't interrupt. you know mono creek?" "yes." "it has turned out rich--dreadfully rich. they estimate the claims as worth a million and more apiece. it was only located the other day." "i remember the stampede." "well, the whole creek was staked to the sky-line, and all the feeders, too. and yet, right now, on the main creek, number three below discovery is unrecorded. the creek was so far away from dawson that the commissioner allowed sixty days for recording after location. every claim was recorded except number three below. it was staked by cyrus johnson. and that was all. cyrus johnson has disappeared. whether he died, whether he went down river or up, nobody knows. anyway, in six days, the time for recording will be up. then the man who stakes it, and reaches dawson first and records it, gets it." "a million dollars," smoke murmured. "gilchrist, who has the next claim below, has got six hundred dollars in a single pan off bedrock. he's burned one hole down. and the claim on the other side is even richer. i know." "but why doesn't everybody know?" smoke queried skeptically. "they're beginning to know. they kept it secret for a long time, and it is only now that it's coming out. good dog-teams will be at a premium in another twenty-four hours. now, you've got to get away as decently as you can as soon as dinner is over. i've arranged it. an indian will come with a message for you. you read it, let on that you're very much put out, make your excuses, and get away." "i--er--i fail to follow." "ninny!" she exclaimed in a half-whisper. "what you must do is to get out to-night and hustle dog-teams. i know of two. there's hanson's team, seven big hudson bay dogs--he's holding them at four hundred each. that's top price to-night, but it won't be to-morrow. and sitka charley has eight malemutes he's asking thirty-five hundred for. to-morrow he'll laugh at an offer of five thousand. then you've got your own team of dogs. and you'll have to buy several more teams. that's your work to-night. get the best. it's dogs as well as men that will win this race. it's a hundred and ten miles, and you'll have to relay as frequently as you can." "oh, i see, you want me to go in for it," smoke drawled. "if you haven't the money for the dogs, i'll--" she faltered, but before she could continue, smoke was speaking. "i can buy the dogs. but--er--aren't you afraid this is gambling?" "after your exploits at roulette in the elkhorn," she retorted, "i'm not afraid that you're afraid. it's a sporting proposition, if that's what you mean. a race for a million, and with some of the stiffest dog-mushers and travellers in the country entered against you. they haven't entered yet, but by this time to-morrow they will, and dogs will be worth what the richest man can afford to pay. big olaf is in town. he came up from circle city last month. he is one of the most terrible dog-mushers in the country, and if he enters he will be your most dangerous man. arizona bill is another. he's been a professional freighter and mail-carrier for years. it he goes in, interest will be centred on him and big olaf." "and you intend me to come along as a sort of dark horse." "exactly. and it will have its advantages. you will not be supposed to stand a show. after all, you know, you are still classed as a chechaquo. you haven't seen the four seasons go around. nobody will take notice of you until you come into the home stretch in the lead." "it's on the home stretch the dark horse is to show up its classy form, eh?" she nodded, and continued earnestly. "remember, i shall never forgive myself for the trick i played on the squaw creek stampede until you win this mono claim. and if any man can win this race against the old-timers, it's you." it was the way she said it. he felt warm all over, and in his heart and head. he gave her a quick, searching look, involuntary and serious, and for the moment that her eyes met his steadily, ere they fell, it seemed to him that he read something of vaster import than the claim cyrus johnson had failed to record. "i'll do it," he said. "i'll win it." the glad light in her eyes seemed to promise a greater need than all the gold in the mono claim. he was aware of a movement of her hand in her lap next to his. under the screen of the tablecloth he thrust his own hand across and met a firm grip of woman's fingers that sent another wave of warmth through him. "what will shorty say?" was the thought that flashed whimsically through his mind as he withdrew his hand. he glanced almost jealously at the faces of von schroeder and jones, and wondered if they had not divined the remarkableness and deliciousness of this woman who sat beside him. he was aroused by her voice, and realized that she had been speaking some moments. "so you see, arizona bill is a white indian," she was saying. "and big olaf is--a bear wrestler, a king of the snows, a mighty savage. he can out-travel and out-endure an indian, and he's never known any other life but that of the wild and the frost." "who's that?" captain consadine broke in from across the table. "big olaf," she answered. "i was just telling mr bellew what a traveller he is." "you're right," the captain's voice boomed. "big olaf is the greatest traveller in the yukon. i'd back him against old nick himself for snow-bucking and ice-travel. he brought in the government dispatches in , and he did it after two couriers were frozen on chilcoot and the third drowned in the open water of thirty mile." iii. smoke had travelled in a leisurely fashion up to mono creek, fearing to tire his dogs before the big race. also, he had familiarized himself with every mile of the trail and located his relay camps. so many men had entered the race, that the hundred and ten miles of its course was almost a continuous village. relay camps were everywhere along the trail. von schroeder, who had gone in purely for the sport, had no less than eleven dog teams--a fresh one for every ten miles. arizona bill had been forced to content himself with eight teams. big olaf had seven, which was the complement of smoke. in addition, over two-score of other men were in the running. not every day, even in the golden north, was a million dollars the prize for a dog race. the country had been swept of dogs. no animal of speed and endurance escaped the fine-tooth comb that had raked the creeks and camps, and the prices of dogs had doubled and quadrupled in the course of the frantic speculation. number three below discovery was ten miles up mono creek from its mouth. the remaining hundred miles was to be run on the frozen breast of the yukon. on number three itself were fifty tents and over three hundred dogs. the old stakes, blazed and scrawled sixty days before by cyrus johnson, still stood, and every man had gone over the boundaries of the claim again and again, for the race with dogs was to be preceded by a foot and obstacle race. each man had to re-locate the claim for himself, and this meant that he must place two centre-stakes and four corner-stakes and cross the creek twice, before he could start for dawson with his dogs. furthermore, there were to be no 'sooners.' not until the stroke of midnight of friday night was the claim open for re-location, and not until the stroke of midnight could a man plant a stake. this was the ruling of the gold commissioner at dawson, and captain consadine had sent up a squad of mounted police to enforce it. discussion had arisen about the difference between sun-time and police-time, but consadine had sent forth his fiat that police time went, and, further, that it was the watch of lieutenant pollock that went. the mono trail ran along the level creek-bed, and, less than two feet in width, was like a groove, walled on either side by the snow-fall of months. the problem of how forty-odd sleds and three hundred dogs were to start in so narrow a course was in everybody's mind. "huh!" said shorty. "it's goin' to be the gosh-dangdest mix-up that ever was. i can't see no way out, smoke, except main strength an' sweat an' to plow through. if the whole creek was glare-ice they ain't room for a dozen teams abreast. i got a hunch right now they's goin' to be a heap of scrappin' before they get strung out. an' if any of it comes our way you got to let me do the punchin'." smoke squared his shoulders and laughed non-committally. "no you don't!" his partner cried in alarm. "no matter what happens, you don't dast hit. you can't handle dogs a hundred miles with a busted knuckle, an' that's what'll happen if you land on somebody's jaw." smoke nodded his head. "you're right, shorty. i couldn't risk the chance." "an' just remember," shorty went on, "that i got to do all the shovin' for them first ten miles an' you got to take it easy as you can. i'll sure jerk you through to the yukon. after that it's up to you an' the dogs. say--what d'ye think schroeder's scheme is? he's got his first team a quarter of a mile down the creek an' he'll know it by a green lantern. but we got him skinned. me for the red flare every time." iv. the day had been clear and cold, but a blanket of cloud formed across the face of the sky and the night came on warm and dark, with the hint of snow impending. the thermometer registered fifteen below zero, and in the klondike-winter fifteen below is esteemed very warm. at a few minutes before midnight, leaving shorty with the dogs five hundred yards down the creek, smoke joined the racers on number three. there were forty-five of them waiting the start for the thousand-thousand dollars cyrus johnson had left lying in the frozen gravel. each man carried six stakes and a heavy wooden mallet, and was clad in a smock-like parka of heavy cotton drill. lieutenant pollock, in a big bearskin coat, looked at his watch by the light of a fire. it lacked a minute of midnight. "make ready," he said, as he raised a revolver in his right hand and watched the second hand tick around. forty-five hoods were thrown back from the parkas. forty-five pairs of hands unmittened, and forty-five pairs of moccasins pressed tensely into the packed snow. also, forty-five stakes were thrust into the snow, and the same number of mallets lifted in the air. the shots rang out, and the mallets fell. cyrus johnson's right to the million had expired. to prevent confusion, lieutenant pollock had insisted that the lower centre-stake be driven first, next the south-eastern; and so on around the four sides, including the upper centre-stake on the way. smoke drove in his stake and was away with the leading dozen. fires had been lighted at the corners, and by each fire stood a policeman, list in hand, checking off the names of the runners. a man was supposed to call out his name and show his face. there was to be no staking by proxy while the real racer was off and away down the creek. at the first corner, beside smoke's stake, von schroeder placed his. the mallets struck at the same instant. as they hammered, more arrived from behind and with such impetuosity as to get in one another's way and cause jostling and shoving. squirming through the press and calling his name to the policeman, smoke saw the baron, struck in collision by one of the rushers, hurled clean off his feet into the snow. but smoke did not wait. others were still ahead of him. by the light of the vanishing fire he was certain that he saw the back, hugely looming, of big olaf, and at the south-western corner big olaf and he drove their stakes side by side. it was no light work, this preliminary obstacle race. the boundaries of the claim totalled nearly a mile, and most of it was over the uneven surface of a snow-covered, niggerhead flat. all about smoke men tripped and fell, and several times he pitched forward himself, jarringly, on hands and knees. once, big olaf fell so immediately in front of him as to bring him down on top. the upper centre-stake was driven by the edge of the bank, and down the bank the racers plunged, across the frozen creek-bed, and up the other side. here, as smoke clambered, a hand gripped his ankle and jerked him back. in the flickering light of a distant fire, it was impossible to see who had played the trick. but arizona bill, who had been treated similarly, rose to his feet and drove his fist with a crunch into the offender's face. smoke saw and heard as he was scrambling to his feet, but before he could make another lunge for the bank a fist dropped him half-stunned into the snow. he staggered up, located the man, half-swung a hook for his jaw, then remembered shorty's warning and refrained. the next moment, struck below the knees by a hurtling body, he went down again. it was a foretaste of what would happen when the men reached their sleds. men were pouring over the other bank and piling into the jam. they swarmed up the bank in bunches, and in bunches were dragged back by their impatient fellows. more blows were struck, curses rose from the panting chests of those who still had wind to spare, and smoke, curiously visioning the face of joy gastell, hoped that the mallets would not be brought into play. overthrown, trod upon, groping in the snow for his lost stakes, he at last crawled out of the crush and attacked the bank farther along. others were doing this, and it was his luck to have many men in advance of him in the race for the northwestern corner. down to the fourth corner, he tripped midway and in the long sprawling fall lost his remaining stake. for five minutes he groped in the darkness before he found it, and all the time the panting runners were passing him. from the last corner to the creek he began overtaking men for whom the mile-run had been too much. in the creek itself bedlam had broken loose. a dozen sleds were piled up and overturned, and nearly a hundred dogs were locked in combat. among them men struggled, tearing the tangled animals apart, or beating them apart with clubs. in the fleeting glimpse he caught of it, smoke wondered if he had ever seen a dore grotesquery to compare. leaping down the bank beyond the glutted passage, he gained the hard-footing of the sled-trail and made better time. here, in packed harbours beside the narrow trail, sleds and men waited for runners that were still behind. from the rear came the whine and rush of dogs, and smoke had barely time to leap aside into the deep snow. a sled tore past, and he made out the man, kneeling and shouting madly. scarcely was it by when it stopped with a crash of battle. the excited dogs of a harboured sled, resenting the passing animals, had got out of hand and sprung upon them. smoke plunged around and by. he could see the green lantern of von schroeder, and, just below it, the red flare that marked his own team. two men were guarding schroeder's dogs, with short clubs interposed between them and the trail. "come on, you smoke! come on, you smoke!" he could hear shorty calling anxiously. "coming!" he gasped. by the red flare he could see the snow torn up and trampled, and from the way his partner breathed he knew a battle had been fought. he staggered to the sled, and, in a moment he was falling on it, shorty's whip snapped as he yelled: "mush! you devils! mush!" the dogs sprang into the breast-bands, and the sled jerked abruptly ahead. they were big animals--hanson's prize team of hudson bays--and smoke had selected them for the first stage, which included the ten miles of mono, the heavy-going of the cut-off across the flat at the mouth, and the first ten miles of the yukon stretch. "how many are ahead?" he asked. "you shut up an' save your wind," shorty answered. "hi! you brutes! hit her up! hit her up!" he was running behind the sled, towing on a short rope. smoke could not see him; nor could he see the sled on which he lay at full length. the fires had been left in the rear, and they were tearing through a wall of blackness as fast as the dogs could spring into it. this blackness was almost sticky, so nearly did it take on the seeming of substance. smoke felt the sled heel up on one runner as it rounded an invisible curve, and from ahead came the snarls of beasts and the oaths of men. this was known afterward as the barnes-slocum jam. it was the teams of these two men which first collided, and into it, at full career, piled smoke's seven big fighters. scarcely more than semi-domesticated wolves, the excitement of that night on mono creek had sent every dog fighting-mad. the klondike dogs, driven without reins, cannot be stopped except by voice, so that there was no stopping this glut of struggle that heaped itself between the narrow rims of the creek. from behind, sled after sled hurled into the turmoil. men who had their teams nearly extricated were overwhelmed by fresh avalanches of dogs--each animal well-fed, well-rested, and ripe for battle. "it's knock down an' drag out an' plow through!" shorty yelled in his partner's ear. "an' watch out for your knuckles! you drag out an' let me do the punchin'!" what happened in the next half hour smoke never distinctly remembered. at the end he emerged exhausted, sobbing for breath, his jaw sore from a first-blow, his shoulder aching from the bruise of a club, the blood running warmly down one leg from the rip of a dog's fangs, and both sleeves of his parka torn to shreds. as in a dream, while the battle still raged behind, he helped shorty reharness the dogs. one, dying, they cut from the traces, and in the darkness they felt their way to the repair of the disrupted harnesses. "now you lie down an' get your wind back," shorty commanded. and through the darkness the dogs sped, with unabated strength, down mono creek, across the long cut-off, and to the yukon. here, at the junction with the main river-trail, somebody had lighted a fire, and here shorty said good bye. by the light of the fire, as the sled leaped behind the flying dogs, smoke caught another of the unforgettable pictures of the north land. it was of shorty, swaying and sinking down limply in the snow, yelling his parting encouragement, one eye blackened and closed, knuckles bruised and broken, and one arm, ripped and fang-torn, gushing forth a steady stream of blood. v. "how many ahead?" smoke asked, as he dropped his tired hudson bays and sprang on the waiting sled at the first relay station. "i counted eleven," the man called after him, for he was already away behind the leaping dogs. fifteen miles they were to carry him on the next stage, which would fetch him to the mouth of white river. there were nine of them, but they composed his weakest team. the twenty-five miles between white river and sixty mile he had broken into two stages because of ice-jams, and here two of his heaviest, toughest teams were stationed. he lay on the sled at full length, face-down, holding on with both hands. whenever the dogs slacked from topmost speed he rose to his knees, and, yelling and urging, clinging precariously with one hand, threw his whip into them. poor team that it was, he passed two sleds before white river was reached. here, at the freeze-up, a jam had piled a barrier allowing the open water, that formed for half a mile below, to freeze smoothly. this smooth stretch enabled the racers to make flying exchanges of sleds, and down all the course they had placed their relays below the jams. over the jam and out on to the smooth, smoke tore along, calling loudly, "billy! billy!" billy heard and answered, and by the light of the many fires on the ice, smoke saw a sled swing in from the side and come abreast. its dogs were fresh and overhauled his. as the sleds swerved toward each other he leaped across and billy promptly rolled off. "where's big olaf?" smoke cried. "leading!" billy's voice answered; and the fires were left behind and smoke was again flying through the wall of blackness. in the jams of that relay, where the way led across a chaos of up-ended ice-cakes, and where smoke slipped off the forward end of the sled and with a haul-rope toiled behind the wheel-dog, he passed three sleds. accidents had happened, and he could hear the men cutting out dogs and mending harnesses. among the jams of the next short relay into sixty mile, he passed two more teams. and that he might know adequately what had happened to them, one of his own dogs wrenched a shoulder, was unable to keep up, and was dragged in the harness. its team-mates, angered, fell upon it with their fangs, and smoke was forced to club them off with the heavy butt of his whip. as he cut the injured animal out, he heard the whining cries of dogs behind him and the voice of a man that was familiar. it was von schroeder. smoke called a warning to prevent a rear-end collision, and the baron, hawing his animals and swinging on the gee-pole, went by a dozen feet to the side. yet so impenetrable was the blackness that smoke heard him pass but never saw him. on the smooth stretch of ice beside the trading post at sixty mile, smoke overtook two more sleds. all had just changed teams, and for five minutes they ran abreast, each man on his knees and pouring whip and voice into the maddened dogs. but smoke had studied out that portion of the trail, and now marked the tall pine on the bank that showed faintly in the light of the many fires. below that pine was not merely darkness, but an abrupt cessation of the smooth stretch. there the trail, he knew, narrowed to a single sled-width. leaning out ahead, he caught the haul-rope and drew his leaping sled up to the wheel-dog. he caught the animal by the hind-legs and threw it. with a snarl of rage it tried to slash him with its fangs, but was dragged on by the rest of the team. its body proved an efficient brake, and the two other teams, still abreast, dashed ahead into the darkness for the narrow way. smoke heard the crash and uproar of their collision, released his wheeler, sprang to the gee-pole, and urged his team to the right into the soft snow where the straining animals wallowed to their necks. it was exhausting work, but he won by the tangled teams and gained the hard-packed trail beyond. vi. on the relay out of sixty mile, smoke had next to his poorest team, and though the going was good, he had set it a short fifteen miles. two more teams would bring him in to dawson and to the gold-recorder's office, and smoke had selected his best animals for the last two stretches. sitka charley himself waited with the eight malemutes that would jerk smoke along for twenty miles, and for the finish, with a fifteen-mile run, was his own team--the team he had had all winter and which had been with him in the search for surprise lake. the two men he had left entangled at sixty mile failed to overtake him, and, on the other hand, his team failed to overtake any of the three that still led. his animals were willing, though they lacked stamina and speed, and little urging was needed to keep them jumping into it at their best. there was nothing for smoke to do but to lie face-downward and hold on. now and again he would plunge out of the darkness into the circle of light about a blazing fire, catch a glimpse of furred men standing by harnessed and waiting dogs, and plunge into the darkness again. mile after mile, with only the grind and jar of the runners in his ears, he sped on. almost automatically he kept his place as the sled bumped ahead or half-lifted and heeled on the swings and swerves of the bends. first one, and then another, without apparent rhyme or reason, three faces limned themselves on his consciousness: joy gastell's, laughing and audacious; shorty's, battered and exhausted by the struggle down mono creek; and john bellew's, seamed and rigid, as if cast in iron, so unrelenting was its severity. and sometimes smoke wanted to shout aloud, to chant a paean of savage exultation, as he remembered the office of the billow and the serial story of san francisco which he had left unfinished, along with the other fripperies of those empty days. the grey twilight of morning was breaking as he exchanged his weary dogs for the eight fresh malemutes. lighter animals than hudson bays, they were capable of greater speed, and they ran with the supple tirelessness of true wolves. sitka charley called out the order of the teams ahead. big olaf led, arizona bill was second, and von schroeder third. these were the three best men in the country. in fact, ere smoke had left dawson, the popular betting had placed them in that order. while they were racing for a million, at least half a million had been staked by others on the outcome of the race. no one had bet on smoke, who, despite his several known exploits, was still accounted a chechaquo with much to learn. as daylight strengthened, smoke caught sight of a sled ahead, and, in half an hour, his own lead-dog was leaping at its tail. not until the man turned his head to exchange greetings, did smoke recognize him as arizona bill. von schroeder had evidently passed him. the trail, hard-packed, ran too narrowly through the soft snow, and for another half-hour smoke was forced to stay in the rear. then they topped an ice-jam and struck a smooth stretch below, where were a number of relay camps and where the snow was packed widely. on his knees, swinging his whip and yelling, smoke drew abreast. he noted that arizona bill's right arm hung dead at his side, and that he was compelled to pour leather with his left hand. awkward as it was, he had no hand left with which to hold on, and frequently he had to cease from the whip and clutch to save himself from falling off. smoke remembered the scrimmage in the creek bed at three below discovery, and understood. shorty's advice had been sound. "what's happened?" smoke asked, as he began to pull ahead. "i don't know," arizona bill answered. "i think i threw my shoulder out in the scrapping." he dropped behind very slowly, though when the last relay station was in sight he was fully half a mile in the rear. ahead, bunched together, smoke could see big olaf and von schroeder. again smoke arose to his knees, and he lifted his jaded dogs into a burst of speed such as a man only can who has the proper instinct for dog-driving. he drew up close to the tail of von schroeder's sled, and in this order the three sleds dashed out on the smooth going, below a jam, where many men and many dogs waited. dawson was fifteen miles away. von schroeder, with his ten-mile relays, had changed five miles back, and would change five miles ahead. so he held on, keeping his dogs at full leap. big olaf and smoke made flying changes, and their fresh teams immediately regained what had been lost to the baron. big olaf led past, and smoke followed into the narrow trail beyond. "still good, but not so good," smoke paraphrased spencer to himself. of von schroeder, now behind, he had no fear; but ahead was the greatest dog-driver in the country. to pass him seemed impossible. again and again, many times, smoke forced his leader to the other's sled-trail, and each time big olaf let out another link and drew away. smoke contented himself with taking the pace, and hung on grimly. the race was not lost until one or the other won, and in fifteen miles many things could happen. three miles from dawson something did happen. to smoke's surprise, big olaf rose up and with oaths and leather proceeded to fetch out the last ounce of effort in his animals. it was a spurt that should have been reserved for the last hundred yards instead of being begun three miles from the finish. sheer dog-killing that it was, smoke followed. his own team was superb. no dogs on the yukon had had harder work or were in better condition. besides, smoke had toiled with them, and eaten and bedded with them, and he knew each dog as an individual, and how best to win in to the animal's intelligence and extract its last least shred of willingness. they topped a small jam and struck the smooth-going below. big olaf was barely fifty feet ahead. a sled shot out from the side and drew in toward him, and smoke understood big olaf's terrific spurt. he had tried to gain a lead for the change. this fresh team that waited to jerk him down the home stretch had been a private surprise of his. even the men who had backed him to win had had no knowledge of it. smoke strove desperately to pass during the exchange of sleds. lifting his dogs to the effort, he ate up the intervening fifty feet. with urging and pouring of leather, he went to the side and on until his lead-dog was jumping abreast of big olaf's wheeler. on the other side, abreast, was the relay sled. at the speed they were going, big olaf did not dare the flying leap. if he missed and fell off, smoke would be in the lead and the race would be lost. big olaf tried to spurt ahead, and he lifted his dogs magnificently, but smoke's leader still continued to jump beside big olaf's wheeler. for half a mile the three sleds tore and bounced along side by side. the smooth stretch was nearing its end when big olaf took the chance. as the flying sleds swerved toward each other, he leaped, and the instant he struck he was on his knees, with whip and voice spurting the fresh team. the smooth pinched out into the narrow trail, and he jumped his dogs ahead and into it with a lead of barely a yard. a man was not beaten until he was beaten, was smoke's conclusion, and drive no matter how, big olaf failed to shake him off. no team smoke had driven that night could have stood such a killing pace and kept up with fresh dogs--no team save this one. nevertheless, the pace was killing it, and as they began to round the bluff at klondike city, he could feel the pitch of strength going out of his animals. almost imperceptibly they lagged, and foot by foot big olaf drew away until he led by a score of yards. a great cheer went up from the population of klondike city assembled on the ice. here the klondike entered the yukon, and half a mile away, across the klondike, on the north bank, stood dawson. an outburst of madder cheering arose, and smoke caught a glimpse of a sled shooting out to him. he recognized the splendid animals that drew it. they were joy gastell's. and joy gastell drove them. the hood of her squirrel-skin parka was tossed back, revealing the cameo-like oval of her face outlined against her heavily-massed hair. mittens had been discarded, and with bare hands she clung to whip and sled. "jump!" she cried, as her leader snarled at smoke's. smoke struck the sled behind her. it rocked violently from the impact of his body, but she was full up on her knees and swinging the whip. "hi! you! mush on! chook! chook!" she was crying, and the dogs whined and yelped in eagerness of desire and effort to overtake big olaf. and then, as the lead-dog caught the tail of big olaf's sled, and yard by yard drew up abreast, the great crowd on the dawson bank went mad. it was a great crowd, for the men had dropped their tools on all the creeks and come down to see the outcome of the race, and a dead heat at the end of a hundred and ten miles justified any madness. "when you're in the lead i'm going to drop off!" joy cried out over her shoulder. smoke tried to protest. "and watch out for the dip curve half way up the bank," she warned. dog by dog, separated by half a dozen feet, the two teams were running abreast. big olaf, with whip and voice, held his own for a minute. then, slowly, an inch at a time, joy's leader began to forge past. "get ready!" she cried to smoke. "i'm going to leave you in a minute. get the whip." and as he shifted his hand to clutch the whip, they heard big olaf roar a warning, but too late. his lead-dog, incensed at being passed, swerved in to the attack. his fangs struck joy's leader on the flank. the rival teams flew at one another's throats. the sleds overran the fighting brutes and capsized. smoke struggled to his feet and tried to lift joy up. but she thrust him from her, crying: "go!" on foot, already fifty feet in advance, was big olaf, still intent on finishing the race. smoke obeyed, and when the two men reached the foot of the dawson bank, he was at the others heels. but up the bank big olaf lifted his body hugely, regaining a dozen feet. five blocks down the main street was the gold recorder's office. the street was packed as for the witnessing of a parade. not so easily this time did smoke gain to his giant rival, and when he did he was unable to pass. side by side they ran along the narrow aisle between the solid walls of fur-clad, cheering men. now one, now the other, with great convulsive jerks, gained an inch or so only to lose it immediately after. if the pace had been a killing one for their dogs, the one they now set themselves was no less so. but they were racing for a million dollars and great honour in yukon country. the only outside impression that came to smoke on that last mad stretch was one of astonishment that there should be so many people in the klondike. he had never seen them all at once before. he felt himself involuntarily lag, and big olaf sprang a full stride in the lead. to smoke it seemed that his heart would burst, while he had lost all consciousness of his legs. he knew they were flying under him, but he did not know how he continued to make them fly, nor how he put even greater pressure of will upon them and compelled them again to carry him to his giant competitor's side. the open door of the recorder's office appeared ahead of them. both men made a final, futile spurt. neither could draw away from the other, and side by side they hit the doorway, collided violently, and fell headlong on the office floor. they sat up, but were too exhausted to rise. big olaf, the sweat pouring from him, breathing with tremendous, painful gasps, pawed the air and vainly tried to speak. then he reached out his hand with unmistakable meaning; smoke extended his, and they shook. "it's a dead heat," smoke could hear the recorder saying, but it was as if in a dream, and the voice was very thin and very far away. "and all i can say is that you both win. you'll have to divide the claim between you. you're partners." their two arms pumped up and down as they ratified the decision. big olaf nodded his head with great emphasis, and spluttered. at last he got it out. "you damn chechaquo," was what he said, but in the saying of it was admiration. "i don't know how you done it, but you did." outside the great crowd was noisily massed, while the office was packing and jamming. smoke and big olaf essayed to rise, and each helped the other to his feet. smoke found his legs weak under him, and staggered drunkenly. big olaf tottered toward him. "i'm sorry my dogs jumped yours." "it couldn't be helped," smoke panted back. "i heard you yell." "say," big olaf went on with shining eyes. "that girl--one damn fine girl, eh?" "one damn fine girl," smoke agreed. a girl of the klondike by victoria cross "_quid non mortalia pectora cogis auri sacra fames?_" new york the macaulay company _a girl of the klondike is now issued in america for the first time by arrangement with the author._ contents page chapter i a night in town chapter ii at the west gulch chapter iii katrine's neighbours chapter iv god's gift chapter v gold-plated chapter vi mammon's pay l'envoi chapter i a night in town night had fallen over alaska--black, uncompromising night; a veil of impenetrable darkness had dropped upon the snow wastes and the ice-fields and the fettered yukon, sleeping under its ice-chains, and upon the cruel passes where the trails had been made by tracks of blood. day by day, as long as the light of day--god's glorious gift to man--had lasted, these trails across the passes, between the snowy peaks, the peaks themselves, had been the theatre of hideous scenes of human cruelty, of human lust and greed, of human egoism. day by day a slow terrible stream of humanity had wound like a dark and sluggish river through these passes, bringing with it sweat and toil and agony, torture and suffering and death. as long as the brilliant sun in the placid azure of the summer heavens above had guided them, bands of men had laboured and fought and struggled over these passes, deaf to all pity or mercy or justice, deaf to all but the clamour of greed within them that was driving them on, trampling down the weak and the old, crushing the fallen, each man clutching and grasping his own, hoarding his strength and even refusing a hand to his neighbour, starving the patient beasts of burden they had brought with them, friends who were willing to share their toil without sharing their reward, driving on the poor staggering strengthless brutes with open knives, and clubbing them to death when they fell beneath their loads with piteous eyes, or leaving them to freeze slowly where they lay, pressing forward, hurrying, fighting, slaughtering, so the men went into the gold camps all the summer, and the passes were the silent witnesses of the horror of it all and of the innocent blood shed. then nature herself intervened, and winter came down like a black curtain on the world, and the passes closed up behind the men and were filled with drifts of snow that covered the bones and the blood and the deep miry slides, marked with slipping tracks where struggling, gasping lives had gone out, and the river closed up behind the men and the ice thickened there daily, and the men were in the camps and there was no way out. and now, in the darkness of the winter night, in the coldness in which no man could live, there was peace. there was no sound, for the snow on the tall pines never melted and never fell, the water in the creeks was solid as the rocks and made no murmur, there was no footfall of bird nor beast, no leaf to rustle, no twig to fall. but beyond the silent peaks and the desolate passes, beyond the rigid pines, low down in the darkness, there was a reddish glow in the air, a strange, yellowish, quivering mist of light that hovered and moved restlessly, and yet kept its place where it hung suspended between white earth and black sky. all around was majestic peace and calm and stillness, nature wrapped in silence, but the flickering, wavering mist of light jumped feverishly in the darkness and spoke of man. it was the cloud of restless light that hung over the city of dawson. within the front parlour of the "pistol shot," the favourite and most successful, besides being the most appropriately named saloon in dawson, the cold had been pretty well fought down; a huge stove stood at each end of the room, crammed as full as it would hold with fuel, all windows were tightly closed, and lamps flared merrily against the white-washed walls. at this hour the room was full, and the single door, facing the bar, was pushed open every half minute to admit one or two or more figures to join the steaming, drinking, noisy crowd within. it was snowing outside. as the door swung open one could see the white sheet of falling flakes in the darkness; the air was full of snow--that cruel, light, dry snow, fine and sharp like powdered ice, borne down on a north wind. the figures that entered brought it in with them, the light frosty powder resting on their furs and lying deep in the upturned rims of their seal caps. there had been a successful strike made that afternoon, and the men were all excited and eager about it. every one pressed to the "pistol shot" to hear the latest details, to discuss and gossip over it. there was as much talk as digging done in dawson. men who had no chance and no means to win success, who owned no claims and never saw gold except in another man's hands, loved to talk work and talk claims and talk gold with the rest. it was exhilarating and exciting, and there was only that one topic in the world for them. they were like invalids in a small community afflicted by a common disease who never meet without discussing their symptoms. they were all invalids in reality, all suffering from the same horrible plague and fever, the gold fever that was eating into their brains. at one end of the bar counter, between it and the back wall, a girl was standing idly surveying with indifferent eyes the animated crowd that moved and swayed round her, the men jostling each other in their efforts to push up to the thickly surrounded counter. she was tall rather than short, and her figure well made, showing good lines even in the rough dress she was wearing; long rubber boots came to her knees, where they met her short buckskin skirt, and above this, in place of bodice, she wore merely a rough straight jacket drawn into the waist by a broad leather belt, in which was stuck, not ostentatiously but still sufficiently conspicuously a brace of revolvers. her hair was cut short, and only a few dark silky rings showed themselves beneath the edge of her sealskin cap, pushed down close to her dark eyebrows. the dark eyes beneath looked out upon the scene before her with a half-disdainful, half-wearied expression which deepened into scorn now and then as she watched the bar-tender rake over the counter double and three times the price of a drink in the generous pinch of gold dust laid there by some miner almost too drunk to stagger to the bar. she had a very attractive face, to which one's eyes would wander again and again trying to reconcile the peculiar resolution, even hardness of the expression with the soft, well-moulded features and the sweet youthful lips full of freshness and colour. the miners took very little notice of her, and she certainly made no effort to attract it, leaning listlessly against the bar with one elbow on the counter, a silent and motionless spectator of all this excited eager humanity. there was no thought in their mind, no word on their lips just then but gold. gold! gold! the thought possessed them with a grip on their brains like the grip of fever on the body, and the word sounded pleasant as the sweetest music to their ears. gold! the syllable went round and passed from mouth to mouth, till the very air seemed to be getting a yellow tint above the grey fumes of tobacco. amongst the last batch of incomers was a slim young fellow of twenty odd years, and when he had worked his way with difficulty up to the crowded counter, he found himself near the girl's corner. she looked at him, letting her dark eyes wander critically over his face. he formed a strong contrast to the figures around him, being slight and delicate in build, with a pale good-looking face that had a tender sympathetic expression like a woman's. feeling the girl's gaze upon him, he glanced her way, and then having looked once, looked again. after a series of glances between drinks from his glass, the furtive looks began to amuse the girl, and the next time their eyes met she laughed openly, and they both spoke simultaneously. "you're a new comer, aren't you?" she said. "i haven't seen you here before," was his remark. "you might have done, i should think," answered the girl carelessly; "but i don't come here very often, although my father is running this place." "are you poniatovsky's daughter?" he asked in surprise, unable to connect this splendid young creature with the ugly little pole he knew as the proprietor of the saloon. the girl nodded. "yes, katrine poniatovsky is my name--what's yours?" "stephen wood," he answered meekly. "what have you come here for--mining?" she asked next. although her queries were direct there was nothing rude in the fresh young voice making them. the young fellow coloured deeply, the rush of blood passed over his face up to his light smooth hair and deep down into his neck till it was lost beneath his coat collar. "no--yes--that is--well, i mean--i do mine now," he stammered after a minute. the girl said nothing, and when stephen glanced around at her he saw she was regarding him with astonished eyes under elevated eyebrows. this expression made the pretty oval face fairly beautiful, and the young man's heart opened to her. "i came with the intention of doing some good here amongst the people--in a missionary, religious way i mean, but"--and he stopped again in painful embarrassment. katrine laughed. "for the present you've laid religion aside and you're going to do a little mining and make a fortune, and then the religion can be taken up again," she said. the young fellow only flushed deeper and turned his glass around nervously on the counter. "that's all right," the girl said soothingly, after a second. "this place is a corner of the world where we all are different from what we are anywhere else. as soon as men come here they get changed. they forget everything else and just go in for gold. it's a sort of madness that's in the air. you'd be able to missionise somewhere else all right, but here you are obliged just to dig like the rest, you can't help it. got a claim?" the young man's face paled again. "yes," he answered in a low tone. "it was the claim that tempted me. it's one of the best, i believe, over in the west gulch, only about ten miles from here." there was a pressing movement round them as some fresh miners came pushing their way through to the bar, and stephen and katrine moved away, to make room for them, towards the wall of the room; they put their backs against it and looked over the mass of moving heads towards the door. "look at this fellow coming in now," stephen said to his companion suddenly, as the door swung open, to a mist of whirling whiteness, and two or three men entered: "henry talbot. he has the claim next mine in the gulch. he has just struck a fresh lot of gold, and he'll soon be one of the richest men here." the girl craned her neck to get a good view between the intervening heads, and though she had not been told which of the incoming figures to look at, she fixed her eyes as if by instinct on the right one. a man of rather tall, slight figure, pale face, and marked features. he made his way towards the bar, and then catching stephen's signals to him, he smiled and came their way. "what are you doing down here?" he said, speaking to stephen but looking at katrine, who in her turn was scanning his face closely. "why, enjoying miss poniatovsky's society," answered stephen, with a bow. his friend bowed too, and then they all three laughed and felt instinctively they were friends. there is nothing truer than the saying, "good looks are perpetual letters of introduction." these three carried their letters of introduction on their faces, and they were all mutually satisfied. "i know your father quite well," remarked talbot to her. "this 'pistol shot' has been an institution longer than i have been here, but i never knew he had a daughter." "no," said katrine, tranquilly, "i daresay not. father and i quarrelled a little while ago, and since then i have been living by myself in one of those little cabins in good luck row. do you know it?" "no," answered talbot. "i come into town very seldom, only when i want fresh supplies. i stay up at the claim nearly all the time. do you live all by yourself then?" he added, wondering to himself as he looked at her, for her beauty was quite striking, and she was certainly not over twenty, yet there was something in the strong, noble outlines of her figure, in the tranquil calm of her manner, the self-reliance of her whole bearing, and the business-like way those pistols were thrust in her belt, that modified the wonder a little. "quite," she said, with a laugh. "oh, i've always been accustomed to take care of myself." "but don't you feel very dull and lonely?" "sometimes," answered the girl; "but then i would much rather live alone than with some one i can't agree with." both the men knew the drunken habits of old poniatovsky, so that they silently sympathised with her, and there was a pause as they watched other miners coming in. "well," said katrine after a few seconds, straightening herself from her leaning attitude, "i think i will go home now; this place is getting so full, we shan't be able to breathe soon." the men looked at each other, and then spoke simultaneously: "may we see you as far as your cabin?" katrine smiled, such a pretty arch smile, that dimpled the velvet cheeks and illumined the whole face. "why yes, do, i shall be delighted." they all three went out together: the cold outside seemed so deadly that talbot drew his collar up over his mouth and nose, unable to face it; the girl, however, did not seem to notice it, but laughed and chatted gaily in the teeth of the wind, as they made their way down the street. it was still snowing--a peculiar fine powdery snow, light and almost imperceptible, filled the whole air. katrine walked fast with springing steps down the side-walk, and the two men plunged along beside her. such a side-walk it was: in the summer a mere mass of mud and melted snow and accumulated rubbish--for in dawson the inhabitants will not take the trouble to convey their refuse to any definite spot, but simply throw it out from their cabins a few yards from their own door, with a vague notion that they may have moved elsewhere before it rots badly,--now frozen solid but horribly uneven, and worn into deep holes. on the top of this had been laid some narrow planks, covered now by a thick glaze of ice, which rendered them things to be avoided and a line of danger down the middle of the path. katrine made nothing of these slight inconveniences of the ground, but went swinging on in her large rubber boots, and talking and jesting all the way. at the bottom of the street, at the corner, there was a large wooden building, a double log-cabin turned into a saloon. lights were fixed outside in tin shades, and the word "dancing" was painted in white letters on the lintel. katrine stopped suddenly. "let's go in and have a dance," she said, and turned towards talbot, as if she felt instinctively he was the more likely to assent. "if you like," he answered from behind his collar. "but can you dance in those boots?" "oh, i can dance in anything," said katrine, laughing. "oh, don't go in, come on," remonstrated stephen, trying to push on past the saloon. "why not?" said katrine; "it's too early to go to bed. come in, i'll pay," and before either of them could answer she had pushed open the door, and was holding it for them with one hand, while with the other she laid down three quarters on a small trestle inside, where an old man was sitting as doorkeeper. it was a large oblong room, with a partition running half-way down the middle, dividing it into the front part, where they were standing and where the bar was, and the back part, which was strictly the dancing portion. stephen sat down on a bench that faced the inner portion, with the determination of a man who was not to be moved from his seat. at the other side of the room was a low raised platform, where some very seedy-looking musicians were sawing out a jerky tune from their feeble violins. the room was fairly full, and a more heterogeneous collection of human beings stephen thought he had never seen. there were miners in the roughest and thickest clothing, labourers, packers, a few indians, some youths in extraordinary attempts at evening dress, some negro minstrels with real dress shirts on and diamond studs, girls with old velvet skirts and odd bodices that didn't match; and here and there, idling against the wall, looking on with absent eyes, one could find a different figure--that of student, or artist, or newspaper correspondent, or gentleman miner; one need not despair of finding almost any type of humanity in that room. talbot looked at the girl's bright sparkling face as they entered, and then without a word slipped his arm round her waist and they started over the rough wooden floor. "you dance fine," observed katrine, after a long silence, in which they had both given themselves up to the pleasure of mere motion. "i guess you have had lots of practice before you came out here." talbot smiled down into her admiring eyes. "yes," he said, thinking of the foreign embassies, the english ball-rooms, the many polished floors his feet had known, "in england." "my! i expect you're a great swell!" remarked the saloon-keeper's daughter. "all the same," he answered, laughing, "i have never had a partner that danced so perfectly as you do." "now that's real kind of you," answered katrine, with a flush of pleasure, and then they gave themselves up to silent enjoyment again. at the end of the dance they came back to stephen, and found him in the same corner, watching the room with a doleful sadness on his face. katrine, flushed and with sparkling eyes, sat down on the corner of the step beside him. "you look so miserable," she said. "come and have a dance with me to cheer you up." "i can't dance," said stephen, shortly. "i'll teach you," volunteered katrine, leaning her chin on her hands and looking up at him. stephen flushed angrily. "it's not that--my conscience won't allow me to." "i'll make you forget your conscience," with a very winning smile on her sweet scarlet lips. stephen turned towards her and looked at her with a sudden horror in his eyes. the girl looked back at him quite undisconcerted and unmoved. she saw nothing in what she had said. to her, conscience was a tiresome possession, that might, she knew, trouble you suddenly at any time, and if any one could succeed in making you forget you had one, he was surely entitled to your gratitude. words failed stephen, he only looked at her with that silent horror and fear growing in his eyes. katrine waited what she considered a reasonable time for him to reply or to accept her offer, and then she rose and turned to talbot, who had been standing looking down upon them both with amusement. "i'm very thirsty, let's go and have a drink," she said, and they both strolled across the room, and then down into the farther end where the bar was. they elbowed their way to the counter and stood there waiting to be served. most of the men seemed to know katrine and made way for her, and she had a word of chaff, or a nod, or a smile or laugh or friendly greeting, for nearly all of them. talbot noted this, and noted also that though the men seemed familiar, none of them were rude, and though rough enough, there was apparently no disrespect for her. talbot wondered whether this was due to her morals or her pistols. "who's your friend?" asked two or three voices at her side while they stood waiting. "mr. talbot--one of the lucky ones!" replied katrine promptly. "he has a claim up the gulch that's bringing him in millions--or going to," she added mischievously. the men looked talbot up and down curiously. even in his rough miner's clothes, he looked a totally different figure from themselves. slim and tall and trim, with his well-cut head and figure, with his long neck and refined quiet face, he was a type common enough in bond street, london, or on broadway, new york, but not so common in the klondike. "well, if that's so, pardner," slowly observed a thick-set, crop-haired man, edging close up to him, "you won't mind standing a drink for us?" "delighted," returned talbot, with a pleasant smile. "give it a name." the result of taking votes on this motion was the ordering of ten hot whiskies and two hot rums, the latter for himself and katrine. talbot never drank spirits at all, and the terrible concoctions of the cheap saloons were an abomination to him. he took his glass, however, to show his friendliness, had it filled nearly to the brim with water, and then could hardly drink it. the fluid seared his throat like red-hot knife-blades. katrine took hers straight as it was handed across the counter and tossed it down her throat at one gulp, seeming to enjoy it. "well, jim," she said to the young miner next her, "what luck have you had lately?" "none," he replied gloomily. "since i left the old place, i've lost all along in the 'sally white.'" talbot thought they were speaking of claims and that the man was referring to his work, and the next minute when katrine turned her head to him and said rapidly, "the 'sally white' is the third in the next street," he was rather mystified. he came so little into town, and mixed so little with the uncongenial life and company it offered, that he was ignorant of its prevailing fashion, pastime, and vice--gambling. fortunes were made and lost across the trestle tables of the saloons quicker and easier than up on the claims. he did not now take much notice of what she had said, nor ask her for an explanation. the girl was handsome and a beautiful dancer, but the company at the bar he did not appreciate at all, and his only idea was to withdraw her from it. "are you not ready for another dance?" he said, as the violin began to squeak out another tune. katrine nodded, and they had already turned away, when a voice said over her shoulder, "you won't quite forget me this evening, will you?" katrine, without turning her head, answered, "you shall have the next, if you come for it." then they started, and for the next ten minutes talbot tried to forget, to be oblivious of the sordid common scene around him, to get a glimpse back into his old life, which seemed so far away now, as one tries to re-dream a last night's dream. stephen, sitting in his corner, whence he had never stirred, watched her sullenly. she was not dancing with talbot now. stephen could see that he, too, was watching her from the other side of the room, standing with his back to the wall. she was waltzing with a man stephen had not seen before, evidently a stranger in every way to the place and the surroundings. he was a young fellow, sufficiently good-looking, and danced with as much ease as if he were in a new york ball-room. his left hand clasped katrine's and drew it high up close to his neck and shoulder, his right arm enclosed her waist and drew her to him so firmly that the two figures seemed fused into one as they glided together over the imperfect floor. katrine was giving herself up wholly to the pleasure of the dance. stephen saw, as her face turned towards him, that her eyes were half closed, and a little smile of deep satisfaction rested on her lips. the young fellow's face showed he was equally absorbed and lost to his surroundings, and there was something in its expression, coupled with the peculiar ease and sway of the two blent forms, which raised a savage and jealous anger in stephen's breast. to an absolutely unprejudiced eye, and one that saw only the extreme grace of the movement, which neither their rough clothes, the uneven floor, nor the wretched music could spoil, those two figures made a harmonious and fascinating picture; to stephen's view, naturally narrow and now darkened by the approaching blindness of a nascent passion, it was a sinful and abhorrent sight. when they floated silently close by him the second time, still lost in their dream of pleasure, and the girl's eyes fell upon him beneath their drooping lids, obviously without seeing him, he started up as if to plant himself in their way, then checked himself, and when they had passed went across the room to where talbot was standing. "you see her dancing?" he said excitedly, without any preface. talbot nodded. "did you notice how they are dancing? that's what i mean." talbot laughed slightly. "that's not dancing, that's--" stephen flushed a dull red. "it's disgraceful; i'm going to stop her," he muttered. "my dear fellow, remember you only met her this evening." "i don't care; she ought not to dance like that." "i don't like it myself," answered talbot, "but _you_ can't interfere." "i'm going to." "you'd much better not make an ass of yourself," returned talbot, putting his hand on the other's arm. "leave me alone," said stephen, roughly shaking it off, as the two delinquents, still in the same manner, came moving up towards them. stephen waited till they were just opposite him, then he stepped forward and seized the girl's arm and dragged it down from the level of the young fellow's neck where he had drawn it. both the dancers stopped abruptly, and the man faced stephen with an angry flush and kindling eyes. "what the devil do you mean, sir?" he said angrily, advancing close to stephen, who had his eyes fixed on katrine's face, all warm tints and smiling, as a child's roused from a happy dream. he ignored the man and addressed her. "you are not going to dance any more to-night," he said with sombre emphasis. the young man's face went from red to purple. he put his hand to his hip with an oath, and had half drawn his pistol, when katrine sprang forward and seized his wrist. "now don't be silly; i'm tired anyway, dick. i'll dance with you to-morrow night. this is mr. stephen wood. mr. wood--mr. peters. now let's go and have some drinks. i'm not going to have any fighting over me." she put herself, smiling, between the two men, who stood glaring at each other in silence. she was annoyed at the dance being broken off, but she saw in stephen's interference the great tribute paid to her own attraction, and therefore forgave him. at the same time she had no wish to have her vanity further gratified by bloodshed. there was a certain hardness but no cruelty in her nature. she turned from the men and strolled very slowly in the direction of the bar, and they followed her as if her moving feet were shod with magnets and theirs with steel. talbot went too, and in a few minutes the four were standing at the counter with glasses in their hands. peters kept close beside katrine, and he and stephen did not exchange a word. katrine kept up the chatter between herself and the two other men. "may i see you home?" peters said abruptly to her, interrupting the general talk. "no," returned katrine, lightly; "to-morrow night, not to-night. i have my escort," and she smiled at stephen and talbot. "i will say good-night then," and peters, after a slight bow to talbot, withdrew, taking no notice of stephen, who since the girl's surrender of the dance had looked very self-contented and happy, and was now standing glass in hand, his eyes fixed upon her face. "i think i really will go home now," she said. "we've had a jolly time. i only wish you'd have joined us. are you always so very good?" she said innocently to stephen. he flushed angrily and said nothing. a few seconds later they were on the way to good luck row. one of the neatest-looking cabins in it had a light behind its yellow blind, and here katrine stopped and thanked them for their escort. they would both have liked to see the interior, but she did not suggest their coming in. she wished them good-night very sweetly, and before they had realised it had disappeared inside. they walked on down the row slowly, side by side. the next thing to do was to find a lodging for the night, and they both felt about ready to appreciate a bed and some hours' rest. "there's bill winters," said stephen, after a moment's silence. "he said he'd always put us up when we came down town; let's go and try him." "do you know where his cabin is?" "i think so. turn down here; now it is the next street, where those little black cabins are." they walked on quickly, following stephen's directions, and made for a block of cabins that had been pitched over and shone black and glossy in the brilliant moonlight. when they got up to them the men were puzzled, each was so like its neighbour, and stephen declared he had forgotten the number, though bill had given it to him. "well, try any one," said talbot, impatiently, as stephen stopped bewildered. they were standing on the side-walk, now a slippery arch of ice, between two rows of the low black cabins. there was no light in any of them; it was two o'clock; the moon alone shone up and down the street. talbot felt his moustache freezing to his face, and his left eye being rapidly closed by the lashes freezing together, and that's enough to make a man impatient. stephen did not move, and talbot went up himself to the nearest cabin and knocked at the door. they waited a long time, but at last a hand fumbled with the catch inside, and the door was opened a little way; through the crack came out a stream of warm air, the fumes of tobacco and wood smoke; within was darkness. "is this bill winters'?" talbot asked, and the door opened wider. "i guess it is," said a voice in reply. "why, it's mr. talbot and mr. wood--come in, sirs." talbot and wood stepped over the threshold into the thick darkness, and the door closed behind them. there was a shuffling sound for an instant as mr. winters groped for a light, then he struck a match and lighted up a little tin lamp on the wall. the light revealed a good-sized cabin with a large stove in the centre, round which, with their feet towards it, four or five men rolled up in skins or blankets were lying asleep. "you want a bed for the night, i expect," winters went on; "we've all turned in already, but i guess there's room for two more." wood and talbot both expressed their sense of contrition at disturbing him, but winters would not listen. "oh, stow all that," he said, as he set about dragging forward two trestles and covering them with blankets. "you two fellows are so damned polite, you don't seem suited to this town, you don't seem natural here, that's a fact." he was stepping over and about amongst the prostrate forms, and sometimes on them, but none of them roused themselves sufficiently to do more than utter a sleepy ejaculation and turn into a fresh position. wood and talbot stood waiting close against the door. it was half-an-hour before bill had prepared their beds just as he wanted them, extinguished the lamp again, and retreated to his own corner. then darkness and stillness reigned again over the smoky interior. the low trestles on which the men lay were hard and unyielding, and a doubled-up blanket makes a poor mattress; the air of the cabin was thick and heavy, and the stove, which was close to talbot's head, having been stuffed to its utmost capacity with damp wood that it might burn through the night, let out thin spirals of acrid smoke from all its cracks. stephen did not close his eyes long after they had lain down, and there was utter silence in the place except for heavy breathings. he lay with open eyes staring into the thick darkness, a thousand painful wearying thoughts stinging his brain. talbot, tired and worn out with bodily fatigue, but with that mental calm that comes from an absolute singleness of aim and hope and purpose, fell into a deep and tranquil sleep the moment his head touched the pillow. he lived now but to work; the night had come when he could not work, therefore he slept that he might work again on the morrow. when the faint grey light of morning came creeping into the low and narrow room, which was not very early, as the nights now were far longer than the days, talbot was the first of the sleepers to awake. he refilled the stove, which had burned down in the long night hours, and then let himself out. when he returned bill and the other men were all stirring, and stephen sitting up on his trestle rubbing his red and weary-looking eyes. "well, pardner, what are you going to do to-day?" he asked a few minutes later, when they had the cabin to themselves for a moment. "going to do?" replied talbot in astonishment, looking up from turning the coffee into the coffee-pot, according to bill's orders. "why, if we collect together all the stores we want, and get back to the diggings this afternoon, we shall have about enough to do." "oh, i meant about the girl." "what girl?" queried talbot, now standing still and staring stephen in the face. "the girl you danced with last night--the saloon-keeper's daughter, katrine poniatovsky--do you want any more identification?" returned stephen, sarcastically, opening his heavy lids a little wider. "well, _what_ about her?" returned talbot, looking at him expectantly. "oh, well, i didn't know; i thought perhaps we wouldn't go back to-day, that's all," answered stephen, rather sheepishly. to his sympathetic, impulsive nature, open to every new impression, easily distracted like the butterfly which may be caught by the tint of any chance flower in its path, the incident of last night was much. to talbot, self-concentrated, determined, and absorbed, it was nothing. he looked at his friend now with something like contempt. "she's so handsome, and dances so well," stephen went on hurriedly, feeling foolish and uncomfortable before the other's gaze. "i did not come here to dance with girls," remarked talbot shortly, going over to the stove, and the entry of the other men at that moment stopped the conversation. they had breakfast together at the rough wood table in the centre of the room. the coffee was the redeeming feature of the meal: from that bright brown stream of boiling liquid the men seemed to gain new life; they watched it lovingly, expectantly, eagerly, as bill poured it out into their thick cups. the moment the meal was over talbot crushed his hat on to his eyes, but before he left the cabin he glanced at stephen, who was standing irresolutely by the stove. "i shall get all i want," he said, "and be back here by two at the latest. if you're here then, we can start up together; if not, i shall go ahead;" and he went out. stephen lingered by the stove, then he and bill drifted into a discussion over some of the latest discoveries of gold in colorado, and they both fell to wondering how much more had been found since their last news, seven months old; and they had a pipe together, and then bill thought he'd drop down to the "pistol shot," and stephen crushed on his fur cap as determinedly as talbot had done and went out--to katrine's number in good luck row. chapter ii at the west gulch talbot made his start back to the cabin later than he intended; he had knocked at winters' cabin before leaving the town, but all the occupants were out, and there had been no response. it was afternoon, and already the uncompromising cold of evening had entered into the air; the sky was grey everywhere, and dark, almost black, in front of him; it seemed to hang low, frowning and ominous, over the desolate snowy waste that stretched before him: there was no snow falling yet, only the threat of it written in the black and dreary sky that faced him. his cheeks and chin felt stiff and frozen already, as if a thin mask of ice were drawn over them, and his eyes were sore and tired from the continuous glare of the snow. the little pony beside him plodded along the path patiently, and his master at intervals drew a hand from a comfortable pocket to lay it encouragingly on his neck, at which familiar caress the pony would throw up his head and step out faster for some paces. talbot felt sorry for the little beast toiling along under his heavy though carefully packed burden of stores, cans of oil, loaves, and every sort of miscellaneous provisions, and would have spoken cheeringly to it, but his lips felt too stiff and painful to form the words, and so man and brute toiled along in silence over the trail under the angry sky. as he walked, talbot's thoughts went back involuntarily to the picture of stephen sitting smoking by the stove in the snug interior of bill winters' cabin; he felt instinctively, as surely as if he had seen it, that he would so sit through the afternoon, and by evening he would be finding his way down to the nearest saloon and pass the hours there with katrine; and he compared him vaguely with himself, tired with tramping through the town from store to store, half frozen while he stood to pack the pony, and now labouring up alone to his cabin in the gulch. he wondered dimly whether it would turn out that he should ever realise a reward for his toil, whether he should live to get out of this icy corner of the world, or whether he should die and rot here, caught in this great snow-trap, in this open grave, where the living were buried. he wondered a little, but his mind was not one inclined to abstract thought. he spent very little time in retrospection, reflection, and contemplation, very little time in thinking of any sort, and on this account possessed so great a stock of energy for acting. each human being has only a certain amount of energy supplied him with which to do the work of his life. thinking, speaking, and acting are all portions of this work, and whatever of his energy he consumes in any one, so much the less has he for the others. thinking, the formation of ideas, is hard work; speaking, the expression of ideas, is hard work; and acting, the carrying out of ideas, is hard work. it is false to suppose that the first two are natural, instinctive, involuntary movements of the brain, and that only the last requires effort. talbot thought very little and spoke very little. his ideas came to him in simple form; they were not elaborated in his mind nor in his speech, they turned into actions immediately or died quietly without giving him any trouble or wasting his time. a decision once made he carried out. he never thought about it afterwards, or frittered away his strength in hours of torturing doubt as to whether it was a good one to have made, or whether some other might not have been better. once made, he kept to it, good or bad, leaving it to chance whether he died or succeeded in his attempt to carry it out. and this conservation of energy in all other mental processes resulted in a splendid strength for action and a limitless endurance in the carrying out of his decisions. and as he walked now he thought very little, except in a resigned way, of the physical discomfort he was enduring, and of the time when he should reach his cabin. dusk had already fallen before he came to the gulch, and he had to strain his eyes to find the narrow trail which descended the side of the gorge. his log cabin, carefully and solidly constructed, stood half-way down the northern slope of the gulch, on a sort of natural platform formed by the vagaries of the now narrowed stream in its younger and wilder days. beneath the cabin stretched his claims, feet of dry soil on the slope of the hill, feet this side of the stream and fairly in the creek, and feet on the farther side, a stretch of feet in all, and of a quality that made it at that time the richest claim for fifty miles round. shafts, reaching down to bed rock, were sunk all over it, and great mounds of frozen gravel beside them showed how untiringly they had been worked. in addition to these, the man's native energy had prompted him to drive a tunnel horizontally for some distance into the side of the hill that rose steeply behind the cabin. the tunnel pierced the hill for feet, and at the end a shaft had been sunk to bed rock, and it was from here at present that the highest grade ore was coming. moved by an instinct to protect what he intuitively felt would be his richest possession, talbot had built his tunnel in one solid block with the cabin, and closed its outer end with a huge door, well provided with bars and bolts. so long as this door was successfully held, no claim-jumper could penetrate into the tunnel or reach the shaft at the end. by this means, too, a double protection was afforded the living cabin, though of this he thought comparatively little, for the face of the cabin presented nothing but its one small window and this huge solid door. upon opening this you found yourself in the tunnel; if you kept straight on you reached the shaft; if you entered the small door upon your left hand you found yourself in the interior of the living cabin. the gulch ran east and west, and at sunset at some times in the year a red light from the dying sun would fall into it, like a tongue of flame, and the whole gulch would seem on fire. at such moments talbot would cease his work and stand looking up the gorge, with the red light falling on his face and banishing its careworn pallor. no one knew what he was thinking of in those moments, whether he was recalling italian or egyptian skies that had been as fair, or whether for a moment some vanished face seemed to look at him from out those brilliant hues, or if merely the great sheets of gold that spread above the gulch brought visions of that wealth he was giving his best years to attain. no one who met him knew much about him, except that he was an englishman, had travelled much and experienced many different forms of life, and finally come to the klondike,--but why this last? he was believed to have been rich before he came: was it merely to increase his wealth, or was there some other reason? was there any one awaiting his return? there were several portraits in his cabin of soft and lovely faces, but then the number was confusing, and the most curious of the men who worked under him could not come to any satisfying conclusion. all they knew was that he worked harder than any common miner, that his reserve was unbroken, and his life one continual self-denial. there were thirty men in all who worked for him, and by them all he was respected and feared rather than liked. there was a chilling reserve wrapped about him, an utter absence of ingenuousness and frankness of character, that prevented any affection growing up amongst the men for their master, and his attitude towards them was summed up in the answer he gave to an acquaintance who once asked him how he got on with his men, if he had any friends amongst them. talbot had raised his dark, marked eyebrows and merely said coldly, "i don't make friends of miners." stephen wood's cabin was a little higher up the gulch by several yards, and the claims of the two men had been staked out side by side. a great friendship had grown up between the two, such a friendship as common danger, common privations, common aims, and nature's awful loneliness drives any two human beings in each other's proximity into. but besides this friendship there was a quiet liking on talbot's part for this weak, impulsive, boyish character, so unlike his own, and on stephen's side a warm admiration for all talbot's qualities that he could not and yet wished to emulate. he, as others, was completely excluded from the elder man's confidence, and knew nothing of his past or what was likely to be his future; but then stephen was one of those people always so deeply absorbed in himself, his own aims and views, that he really never noticed that his manifold confidences were never returned in the smallest degree. he would come over to talbot's cabin in the evening, seat himself on the opposite side of the fire, and talk incessantly. talbot would allow him to do so until he felt too much bored, when he would rise and quietly tell him to go. stephen would hastily apologise and retire, to return the following night quite unabashed, with more views and aims to impart. in the first week of their acquaintance talbot had heard all about his home life--about the little english village, and the red brick, ivy-covered school-house, where he had been master since he was eighteen; of the village schoolmistress he had loved, because she was so good, and had abandoned, presumably for the same reason; of his doubts, fears, hopes, wishes, and intentions,--and after ten months he knew no more of talbot than he did the day of their first meeting. the cabins of the men employed by both stephen and talbot were dotted over the gulch, some higher and some lower than their own; while a number of the men lived some distance off, a few of them even having lodgings in the town. when at last talbot reached his cabin door this evening darkness had completely fallen; there was no light from within to guide him, but with his half-frozen fingers he managed to unlock the outer door, and he and his tired beast went in together. the first thing he thought of when he had closed the great door behind him and lighted up the passage, was to unpack the animal and put him up in the stable which he had built opposite his own cabin door; and it was fully an hour before, having seen the beast comfortably installed, he turned into his own room and struck a light. here there was only one living thing to greet him, and that was a shabby little black cat that leaped off the bed in the corner and came purring to meet him. one morning he had found this cat lying on his claim with a broken leg and carried it back to his cabin, where he had set the leg and nursed the miserable little creature into recovery. denbigh, his foreman, who had seen talbot sitting up for two whole nights to watch the helpless animal, had carried away the impression that the cold, quiet, hard and selfish man, as he appeared to the miners, had another side to his character that they never saw. it was this other side that the kitten was familiar with, and she came mewing and purring with delight towards him. talbot, who was ready to sink to the floor with exhaustion, stooped and stroked the animal, which followed his steps everywhere as he set about lighting up his stove. it was very quiet, there was absolute silence all round him, and every step of his heavy boots on the wooden floor, every crackle of the igniting wood in the stove, seemed a loud and important sound in the stillness. it was always very quiet at the gulch, nature's own solemn quiet, except in the summer time, when she filled it with the laughing voices of a thousand streams and rills. that evening, when his domestic arrangements were all put into working order, his fire blazing, his coffee boiling on the hob, and his table laid, he sank back in his chair with a weary sigh, his hand idly stroking the cat, which had jumped purring on his knee. it seemed lonely without stephen, and he foresaw that probably many evenings would pass now without his society. the next morning, when it was yet barely light, and the gulch was holding still all its damp black shadows of the night, talbot was out tramping over the claims, showing his men where to start new fires, and carefully scanning the fresh gravel as it was thawed and dug out. all his men had a pleasant salutation for him as he passed by, except one, who merely leaned over his work and threw out his spadeful of gravel savagely, as talbot stopped by the fire. he took no notice apparently of the man, and after a second's survey passed on to the next fire. the man looked after him a moment sulkily and returned to his work. he was a huge fellow, some six feet four, and with a massive frame and head to suit his height. he had been working for many months with talbot now, and was a valuable labourer on account of his great strength and capacity for work. at first he had been rather a favorite with talbot, and there hung now in his cabin a first-class six-shooter, the gift of his master when he first came up to the gulch. dick marley had had a devoted admiration for talbot until the last few months, when it had turned into a bitter, sullen resentment over a matter with which in reality talbot had absolutely nothing to do. dick, being a hard and constant worker, had managed to save out of his liberal wages quite a considerable sum, and this he had entrusted to a man on his way to seattle to invest for him in securities. after a time the man disappeared, and dick discovered his securities had never been bought, and that he was in fact robbed and cheated. in his first rage and disappointment he cast about unconsciously in his mind for some one besides himself to lay the blame upon, and finding no one he grew daily more and more morose. hour after hour, as he worked upon the claims, his thoughts would revolve sullenly round his loss, and the offender being beyond his reach, his anger burned against any and every man near him, and apparently chiefly against his employer. a week passed before stephen reappeared at the gulch, then one evening after dark, when talbot was sitting back in his chair, dozing after the cold and fatigue of the day's work, a loud banging came on his outer door, and when he opened it, stephen, looking very flushed and animated, came into the quiet little room, laden with packages and with a general air of city life about him. "well, old man, how are you? hello, kitty!" this as he stumbled over the little black cat at his feet. "well, i've had such a glorious time! i wish you'd stayed down there too: that girl is just the finest creature i've ever seen. have you anything for a fellow to eat?--i'm perfectly famished. look here, i've brought you up some cans of things and a bottle of rye, the very best. i say, you look dreadfully blue--what's the matter?" "life in the west gulch in the winter isn't particularly exhilarating," answered talbot, quietly, as he went about his preparations for stephen's supper. "how have the men been--all right?" questioned stephen, as he took off his coat and settled himself in the best chair. "they have been working pretty steadily, but i notice a difference in them since that fellow marley has been here. he has been stirring them up, doing a lot of mischief, i think." "you must assert your authority, i suppose," remarked stephen pompously, stretching his feet out comfortably in the cheerful blaze. "perhaps he doesn't know who's master here." "he will very soon find out then," returned talbot, so grimly that stephen looked at him sharply. "well, what's all your news?" asked talbot, as if desirous to get away from the question of his men. "i don't know that there is much, except i've been having a good time. you've looked after my ground and seen to the workings, haven't you? thanks, i knew you would, and so i felt i could stay down town a little: you're a better hand at managing men than i am, any way,--women too, for that matter; do you know that you impressed katrine awfully? she has talked about you to me--you are so good-looking, so distinguished, she wants to know whether you are a count or a prince in disguise, and all sorts of things." talbot smiled. "it is extremely kind of her," he said quietly. "oh, i know she's not the kind of girl you admire," said stephen, in rather a nettled tone. "you wouldn't look at a saloon-keeper's daughter simply because she _is_ a saloon-keeper's daughter; you like a girl in your own rank, all grace and dignity and good manners, and awfully clever and intellectual, and gifted and educated, and all that." talbot merely laughed and remained silent, a habit he had which successfully baffled questions, innuendoes, and suppositions alike. "and any way your passions are engaged somehow, somewhere." "how do you know that?" asked talbot, with a hardening of his mouth. "know it! why, otherwise you could not lead this dog's life as you do, and you could not be indifferent to a beautiful girl like katrine,--for she is beautiful, she's not 'pretty' or 'nice,' but she's downright beautiful," returned stephen, emphasising his remarks by striking the table. talbot said nothing, but put more wood in the stove in silence. "your supper is ready now; if you are famished, as you said, you'd better have it, and discuss miss poniatovsky afterwards," he remarked. stephen turned to the table. "won't you have something too?" he said. talbot shook his head. "no, thanks; i'm not hungry." "you ascetic creature, you never are," replied stephen, as he began to carve into the cold bacon. "well, you know how i detest her surroundings," he began again after a few minutes, "and drinking, and saloons, and almost everything she does, but then i can't help liking her. she's so different from any girl i've ever seen. she attracts me, she holds my thoughts so, and if i could get her to give up all that, if i could alter her views--" "you would be doing away with that difference from others that is the basis of your attraction," put in talbot, dryly. "well," returned stephen after a minute, in a sulky tone, "we are all like that,--a man falls in love with a girl, because she _is_ a girl, and then immediately wants to turn her into a married woman." talbot laughed. "good!" he said. "you are quite right." "it's the altering process we like, and we want to do the alteration ourselves. i showed her my pocket greek testament yesterday," he continued. "and was she interested?" inquired talbot, dryly. "not so much as she was in the shooting gallery," admitted stephen. "i told her how a bible at a man's heart had often saved his life, and she said a pistol had done that too, and she'd rather trust the pistol." talbot laughed. "you say you like altering. i should think in katrine you've a splendid field. if you want to get her down to the schoolmistress pattern, you've employment for a lifetime!" stephen flushed, as he always did at any allusion to the girl he had loved as the type of all virtues, and yet had tired of. good people are always more or less interested in and attracted by the wicked, while the wicked are not generally the least interested in nor attracted by the good. stephen was drawn towards this reckless daughter of the saloons partly through the sense of her general badness, it formed unconsciously a sort of charm for him, whereas his goodness did not act at all in the same way upon her. to her eyes it was his one great drawback, an overwhelming disadvantage. he finished his supper in silence, and the two men drew in close to the fire to smoke. that is to say, stephen did the smoking, as he did the talking. he consumed talbot's tobacco, and filled talbot's cabin with its fumes. talbot himself did not smoke. stephen's return to his own claim freed talbot from the double share of work he had been doing for the last week, and he remained on his own claims all day, tramping from one end to the other, directing where a new shaft should be made, overseeing closely all the work that went on, and doing a good deal of it himself; and in those days he became more clearly conscious than ever of the difference that was growing up in his men's manner towards him. there was a veiled insolence in their replies to his questions, a certain want of promptness in obeying his orders, which caused a curious gleam to come into the quiet grey eyes as, apparently without noticing it, he passed on. he did not speak of it, not even to his foreman, denbigh, the man whom he liked and trusted most. he was accustomed to manage his own affairs, and rarely took counsel with any one. he was one of those men who are born with the gift of governing others. he was an organiser, an administrator, by nature. had he been born to a throne, his kingdom would have been well ruled from end to end, and rarely if ever embroiled with other nations; and the same spirit that would have ruled a kingdom showed itself here in the ruling and management of his seven hundred feet of ground. he never bullied, never swore, no one had ever seen him in a passion. he gave his orders in a pleasant friendly voice, his manner was quiet, even to gentleness, but he had a way of getting those orders invariably carried out that was hard to analyse. if he said a thing was to be done, it was done, and no one knew of an instance where it was not. he never countermanded an order, and never receded from a position once taken, even if in his own heart he recognised later it was an unwise one. but the forethought and caution, the deliberation in decision that were his by nature, made the occasions on which he regretted an order very seldom, and if such there were, no matter, the order stood. he himself looked upon his word as irrevocable, whether given in promise or command, and instinctively all who came in contact with him looked upon it in the same light. the men, when they made engagements with him and stipulated certain terms for certain work, and other details, never asked for paper, and even refused it when offered. whatever came from those silent, resolute lips they knew unalterable, unanswerable, final, and absolute; they all trusted his word completely, and it passed amongst them as other men's bond. everything on the claims was well organised, all was kept in smooth working order. the men had exact hours of work, exact time for changing off, each his specified work and place on the ground, each his tools, for which he was accountable as long as he worked there. talbot's forethought even went far enough to provide for the happy-go-lucky and mostly ungrateful creatures who had no idea of providing for themselves. he established a sick fund, and to this each of the men who worked for him was obliged to subscribe a trifle out of his weekly wages. then in their not infrequent sickness there was alleviation and comfort waiting for them. if the miners were not his friends they were his dependents, and as such he cared for them and looked after them. he was always friendly in manner to them, always ready to help and assist them, to attend to their wants, to listen to their complaints, and settle the frequent disputes amongst themselves, which they invariably brought to him for decision. if he had not instilled affection into them, they felt an unlimited faith and confidence in his absolute justice. "he's hard, real hard," they said amongst themselves, "but he'll never go back on you;" and that was the received opinion amongst them. although he was conscious now of the feeling growing up amongst his men, he appeared to ignore it entirely. as long as his instructions and commands were carried out, he affected to be in ignorance whether it was with a smiling or a scowling face. he felt certain that the disaffection owed its origin to the man marley, and he expected every day that some matter would bring this man and himself into a personal conflict, in which he meant to conquer, and he preferred to wait for this to happen than to, in any way, take an initiative step in bringing the covert hostility to light. it was his method. on the same principle, when one of his debtors, having completely lost his head in blind rage against a quiet order that he should pay what was due, shook his fist in the other's face and threatened to wipe the floor with him, talbot did not knock the man down, as some might have done. he simply remarked in his dryest tone, "you'd better try it," and for some reason or other the man did not. shortly after the money was paid. so now he simply stood his own ground, saw that his work was properly done, and waited until the man courted his own punishment. in the meantime, the men mistook his forbearance, his quietness, his smoothness of tones and manner for weakness, and marley, a bully by nature, and quite incapable of understanding his employer, grew elated and triumphant. stephen had been back at the gulch a fortnight or more, when talbot found late one afternoon some of his tools broken, and this, combined with other work he had to do in town, decided him to go down that afternoon and return the following day before daylight failed. he got ready, locked up his house, and called upon stephen to say he was going. stephen looked quite surprised, talbot went to town so seldom, and then began to chaff him upon his motives and intentions. "as it happens, i'm going about some mending of spades," talbot returned. "are you sure it's not the breaking of hearts?" stephen laughed back from the fire by which he was sitting. "well, you'll see katrine any way. tell her--" "my dear fellow," interrupted talbot, impatiently, "i'm not going to see her. i shall have as much as i can do to be back here before mid-day to-morrow," and he went out before the amazed stephen could say another word. "going down town and not going to see katrine! why, he must be mad," ejaculated stephen mentally; "wonder what his own girl's like anyway." then he tossed himself back on the rug and looked at a little postage-stamp photograph katrine had given him of herself, which he had stuck on the fly-leaf of his greek testament. the following morning, before it was fully light, found talbot toiling up to the west gulch on foot. he had made an early start, as he wanted to be back before the men began work, and the air hung round one and against one's cheek like a sodden blanket in the dusky dawn. it took him over three hours to make the distance, and when he reached his cabin he felt chilled through. all his muscles were stiff and numb from the long climb. he felt a longing to sit down and rest and get a little warmth kindled in his half-frozen limbs. the first thing that encountered him at the main door, which led into the block composed of his own cabin and the tunnel, was a sheet of smooth ice, only an inch deep perhaps, but glazing over the ground from where he stood to his own door. he saw at once what had happened: the waste water from the workings had been diverted from its proper outlet, and had simply run freely at its own will over the level ground. talbot's face darkened as his eyes rested on it. it was marley's business to see that the egress for the water was kept free and unblocked with ice, and only yesterday he had given him orders to attend to it. it was the second or third time he had returned to find the entrance to his own house almost impassable. crossing over with difficulty the frozen stream, he looked into his cabin. there was about a foot of muddy water and ice covering the floor and floating his slippers and some pairs of socks he had left by the hearth. the fire was out, and the lower part of the stove filled with mud and water. the bed was completely soddened, the blankets and quilt dabbling in the water. he did not go beyond the threshold. after a minute's survey he turned and walked down the tunnel leading to the shaft where he knew the men were working. "marley!" he called down the shaft. "what is it?" came up from below in a surly tone. "you have allowed the waste to run into the tunnel again, and my cabin is flooded." "well, clean it out then!" "i think that is your business," answered the dry cutting tones from above. "come up at once, and see to it." "i'm not going to swab out your blasted, dirty old cabin," shouted marley hoarsely from the bottom of the shaft. "do it yourself." a strange look came over talbot's quiet face. it whitened and set in the darkness. he knew his men were gathered about marley, listening to what passed, and this open defiance of his authority, this public insult before them, angered him excessively. he made his answer very quietly, however, only his voice was peculiarly hard, and the words seemed to drop like ice on the men standing listening below. "i allow no one to speak to me like that here," he said. "this is the last day that you work on the claim." "i'll work here as long as it suits me," retorted marley, with an oath. "you can't turn me out." "we will see about that," returned talbot, in the same even, frigid tone, and he turned away from the pit and walked back to his flooded cabin. he found denbigh had arrived there. it was close to the luncheon hour by this time, and he was doing what he could to get rid of the water. he looked up, and saw at once from the other's face there had been some unusual incident. "what's up?" he inquired, standing still, with his mop in his hand. "that fellow marley is making all the trouble he can," returned talbot. "i have just told him he has got to get out, that's all." denbigh's face fell. "i think it's a bad job," he remarked after a minute. "you know what a desperate devil he is; he would kill you, i believe, if he had to give up his work." "well, he has been trying to boss this business for some time now," returned talbot, "and i am tired of it. to-day he finished with a gross insult before a lot of the men, and it's time, i think, to show him and them who is boss here." "couldn't you overlook it?" replied denbigh, tentatively, with a scared look on his thin face. "i have no wish to," replied talbot, coldly. "there is bound to be trouble some time. it may just as well come now as later." denbigh opened his mouth to make a further protest, but talbot stopped him. "don't let us discuss it any further, please," he said curtly, and denbigh closed his mouth and dropped back on his knees to his floor-mopping. talbot drew out his pistol, glanced over it, and buckled it round his waist. when the room was reduced to some appearance of dry comfort again, the two men sat down to their luncheon in silence. talbot was too excited to swallow a mouthful of the food. although so calm outwardly, and with such absolute command over his passion, anger was with him, like a flame at white heat, rushing through his veins. as they sat they heard the miners tramping by the cabin door, and saw their heads pass the window as they went out to get their mid-day food. denbigh himself, as soon as he had finished, made an excuse and departed. he was eager to join his companions before they came back to work and hear some more delectable details of the row than he could get from talbot. when all his men had filed out from the tunnel, talbot went into the passage and walked up to the heavy wooden door and shut it, barring it with a steady hand. this was the main entrance to the shaft, and at the present time the only one. the door was never, under ordinary circumstances, closed, but stood open all day for the men to pass in and out to their work. when he had fastened it he walked back, turned into his own cabin, and took up his place at the window. from here he could see the men as they came back. they began to return earlier than was their wont, knowing that trouble was in the air, and each one was anxious to be on the spot for the crisis. all through the lunch hour talbot's words and the possibility of dick marley being obliged to "quit" was the sole topic of conversation. dick talked largely, and with a great many of the miners his oaths, and the imputations of cowardice he heaped on his employer, carried the day. some of the others, quieter men with keener perceptions, merely listened in silence, and shook their heads when appealed to for an opinion. "i dunno. he's got grit," remarked one between mouthfuls of bread and bacon, in response to a sanguinary burst of dick's. "he's a slip," answered dick, contemptuously. "but a dead sure shot." "he'd funk it," said dick, his face paling a little. "he'd never stand up to me. he's got no fight in him. why, he's managed that claim there now for two years and he's never so much as fired a shot over it. now that fellow robinson wot's got the claim a mile farther up the creek, he's the boy for me. why, he hadn't been there two days before there was trouble, and at the end of the week we was reckoning up he had made five corpses over it." he looked round the circle, and there was a murmur of admiring assent. the old miner nodded his head slowly as he munched his beans. "yes, that's talbot's way; he's just as smooth as butter as long as you know he's the boss and act accordin', but jest as soon as you begin to try and boss him, you'll know you have your hands full." dick took another pull at the tin whisky bottle, and tightened his belt. as the men returned to their work they were surprised to see their employer leaning idly against his window, and still more surprised when they passed round to the main entrance to find the great door shut. talbot came himself and let each man in, in turn as they came up, shutting the door afterwards. their curiosity at this unusual state of things was great, but there was a look on the pale, stern face they encountered on the threshold that froze all open question or comment, and each man went by silently to his work. when they got down towards the shaft and out of hearing, however, their tongues were loosened again. "'e's waiting for dick to come back, that's what he is," volunteered one of the miners; "and somehow or other i don't feel jest dying to be in dick's shoes when he do come." there was no dissent openly offered to this guarded opinion. most of the men hung about in the tunnel, and seemed unwilling to quit the scene of the coming contest. at last, among the final batch of men, marley came sauntering past the window. talbot's eyes flashed as the tiger's when the brush crackles. he walked out to the great door and flung it wide open. dick fell back a step, and the little crowd of miners who accompanied him closed in round the two, open mouthed and eyed, to see the battle. "you can't come in," and the sentence had an accent of inflexibility that made it seem like a drawn sword across the entrance. "to hell i can't!" returned dick, a dull red flush coming over his face. "no, you can't," talbot replied in the same calm, incisive way, that contrasted strongly with the coarse, whisky-thickened tone of the other. "oh well, i guess i'm coming in any way," answered marley, and he made a step forward. a slight motion of talbot's right hand to his belt was his only answer. marley stopped, put his own hand, half involuntarily, to his hip, remembered he had no revolver with him, and turned pale and red in confusion. by this time the loud voices and talking at the door had brought the remainder of the men upon the scene. those who had already passed into the shaft left their work and came up behind talbot in the tunnel; those in front pressed a little nearer. talbot stood now completely surrounded by the crowd of rough working men. marley's adherents were in full force. he was quite alone. he did not glance round them. he did not think of himself, nor of his own danger should two or three of them back up their fellow and commence to hustle him. he felt nothing but a cool though intensely savage determination to subdue this burly brute, to defend his position and title, though it cost him his life. "there can be only one boss here," he said coldly, as marley hesitated before him. "if you are not satisfied who it is, go to your cabin and get your six-shooter, and we will settle it here on the dump." there was a movement and a murmur of satisfaction amongst the men. now this was coming down to business and giving them something they could understand. here was a man willing to defend his rights in a good, square stand-up fight on the spot, and they one and all agreed in their own minds that he was the right sort. they glanced at dick expectantly, and some said to themselves he weakened. they were not going to take sides with either party. one of the men was their friend and fellow-worker, the other was their employer. the two had a difference, and they could settle it between themselves. they had no business to interfere. all they had to do was to stand round and see a square fight and "with'old their judgment," as they said afterwards, talking it over in the bar of the "pistol shot." they waited, and dick hesitated. he felt his opponent's eyes upon him; he glanced round the men, they were watching him. "fetch your six-shooter," commanded talbot again, with increasing sternness, and dick, feeling he must do something, nodded sullenly and turned away towards his cabin. he strode up the incline in the direction of the miners' dwellings, and talbot, whose brain seemed to himself half splitting with nervous, angry excitement, began to pace up and down a short length before the door, waiting for him to come back. he did not order his men away, and they stayed in their places. the excitement was intense amongst them as they waited; not one of them shifted his place on the log or bank where he had sat down; they hardly seemed to draw their breath. all their eyes were fixed upon talbot. he walked up and down in front of the door, his arms folded, his revolver still in its case on his hip. the men watched him curiously. his face was very white and exceedingly determined. the afternoon was placid and lovely. the temperature was not within many degrees of zero, but the gold of the sunshine was bright, and the air dazzlingly clear. it was absolutely still, not a leaf rustled, not a breath stirred. nature was in her calmest, gentlest mood; nowhere could there have been a more tranquil arena to witness the passions of men. there was perfect silence, except for the crack of the ice sometimes as it split beneath the firm, resolute steps of the man pacing up and down. his face was set as a stone mask, as immovable and as calm, but the passion of anger increased within him as he waited; a mad impatience for his adversary to return grew at each step that he walked to and fro, with the insult of the morning echoing in his ears. at last he stopped in his walk and fixed his gaze on the road which led to the miners' cabins. all the men's eyes followed his, and they saw the figure of their fellow-worker coming slowly down towards them. a huge, hulking form, contrasting strongly with the slim one of the man waiting for him. some of the miners glanced up at talbot, wondering silently if he "funked it," but there was something in that attitude and that iron countenance that reassured them and stirred a dull admiration in their hearts. talbot ceased to walk up and down. he planted himself directly in front of the wide open door and waited there. passion and excitement had dilated his pupils until the usually calm light grey eyes looked black; his nostrils quivered slightly as he watched his enemy coming up. as marley drew nearer, the miners noted with satisfaction his enormous six-shooter swinging in his belt; the sunlight caught the steel at every other step forward he made. their hearts beat fast with keen anticipation. there would soon be some fine shooting, and one dead man perhaps, or two, for marley meant business; and as for the other, he looked like the devil himself as he stood there. and he was a fine shot, there was no mistake about that. denbigh stared hard at him with round fixed eyes. he was thinking of the nights when he had watched talbot teaching dick to shoot straight--teaching the very man he had sent off now to get his pistol to shoot himself with! he remembered how talbot had stood with marley at this very tunnel's mouth and showed him how to snuff a candle at thirty yards! and denbigh stared and glowed with admiration. marley drew nearer down the path, his heavy crunching steps echoing through the serene and frosty air. a few minutes more and he was close upon the eager, expectant, silent circle; the men watched him with their breath suspended. on he came, sullenly, filled with a sort of dogged, brutal animosity against the man he had wronged and insulted. he stepped between the men, who made a short line, and then into the clear open space, facing talbot. for the first time he looked him full in the face, with a fugitive, fleeting glance, and his eyes shifted away. his pace slackened, but he did not stop; his feet dragged loosely over the rough snow and gravel, his huge form seemed to shrink together, to lessen; while to the fascinated eyes of the men watching the two, that slight figure at the doorway, motionless as a statue, seemed to dominate the scene. marley felt a peculiar, sick paralysis stealing over him, a curious tugging back of his muscles when he tried to get his hand to his hip, a strangling feeling in his throat: that glance seemed petrifying him. the absolute fearlessness, the indomitable will that filled it, seemed to overcome him. the very fact, perhaps, that talbot had not even yet drawn his pistol, the extreme coolness that relied upon the swiftness of his wrist to draw it at a second's notice, staggered and scared him. he remembered the skill that had long been his admiration, and that he had at last learned to imitate, the sureness of aim and eye, the dexterity and quickness of that hand, and his tongue fairly cleaved to the roof of his dry mouth. he struggled to draw his revolver, but his arm refused to obey his will. yet it was not wholly cowardice that swept over him in a sickly tide. as he had met those scornful, indignant eyes, there had rushed back to his mind a thousand small benefits conferred upon him by this man, a thousand instances of friendliness, the memory of the first days they had worked together, how he had slept under his roof, fed at his table, how, more than all, he had been given by him and instructed in the use of this very weapon that now would be turned to the giver's own breast. a horror of killing this man, of wounding him, firing upon him, combined with his terror of being killed, swept over him, and between these he felt cowed and beaten, unable to stand up and face him, unable to do anything but drag one trembling foot behind the other and go by, keeping watch from the side of his eye that that deadly pistol was not drawn upon him. but talbot never moved, simply stood and watched him too, with fixed eyes; and marley, overwhelmed by some power he did not understand, as if dragged forward against his will, without another look at his opponent, passed by them all and went on slowly down the road leading to the town. not a word was spoken, not a breath was drawn, no one moved. they watched his retreating figure, some half hoping, half expecting, some half fearing, he would turn and shoot from a distance,--all wondering greatly, and a little overawed. then, as he neither turned nor looked back, but kept steadily ahead, his large figure well outlined against the stretches of white snow, his six-shooter glistening in the sun, his head hanging down, till at last by a turn in the road he was lost to view, there was a long-drawn breath of surprise and wonder, a general turning of the eyes to talbot. it was a victory, though a bloodless one, and they felt it. each one felt that the conqueror was before them. talbot said nothing. he simply stood aside from the door, to let the miners who were outside enter. the men took it as a signification that they were to recommence work, and hastened to obey. they did not dare to speak to him, not even to congratulate him. they were awed into submissive silence before him. not a sound was uttered. the men filed silently into the tunnel like cowed sheep into their pen, leaving their master standing motionless in the sunshine. chapter iii katrine's neighbours good luck row was a little row of small, insignificant cabins towards the back of the city, and at right angles to the direction of the main street. dawson faces the yukon, and its main thoroughfare lies parallel with the river. in the summer, when the yukon and the klondike, that joins it just above, are free, the waters of the two rivers united come rolling by in jubilant majesty, tossing loose blocks of ice, the remnants of their winter chains, on their swelling tide. they form a little eddy in front of the city, and their waters roll outward and swirl back again to their course, as if the great stream made a bow to the city front as it swept past. here in the summer, with the steamboats ploughing through the rocking green water, and the sun streaming down upon the banks crowded with active human beings, glinting on the gay signs of the saloons and the white and green painted doors of the warehouses, with the brilliant azure sky stretched above, and far off the tall green larches piercing it with their slender tops,--in the summer this main street is a pleasant, cheerful sight; but now, with the river solid and silent, the banks black and frozen, and the bleak, bitter sky above, it looked more desolate than the inner streets of the town, more uninviting than good luck row, which had little cabins on each side, and where the inhabitants overlooked their opposite neighbours' firelit interior instead of the frozen river. the side-walks of the row were like the other side-walks of the city, a wealth of soft mud and slush and dirt through the warm weather, and now frozen hard into uneven lumps, big depressions, and rough hummocks. the cabins were uniform in size, small, with one fair-sized window in the front, beside the door, which opened straight into the main room, where the front window was. at the back there was another smaller room with a tiny window, looking out over a black barren ice-field, for good luck row was on the edge of the town. katrine lived at no. . this cabin had been the last to be occupied on account of its unlucky number, but katrine only laughed at it, and painted it very large in white paint upon the door. here katrine lived alone, though her father, the little stunted pole who kept the "pistol shot," was one of the richest men in the city. and because she lived alone some of her neighbours declared she was not respectable. as a matter of fact, she was more respectable than many of the married women living in the row, and katrine knew many a story with which she could have startled an unsuspecting husband when he came into town after a week or two's absence prospecting or at work on the claims; but she did not trouble about other people's affairs; she gave her friendship to those who sought it, and heeded not at all those who condemned her. on an afternoon about three weeks after her first meeting with stephen, katrine stood in front of her little glass in the corner of her cabin, smoothing her short glossy hair; when this was flattened with mathematical exactness to her well-shaped head--for katrine was always trim and neat in her appearance--she turned to the table and wrote on a slip of paper, "i'm next door;" this she pinned to the outside of her door, and then locking it went into the next cabin in the row. she had grown quite accustomed to stephen's visits now, and generally left a note on her door when she went out, in case he should come unexpectedly in her absence. the cabin she entered presented a different appearance from her own. there was the same large stove opposite the door, the same rough table in the centre and wooden chairs round, but the floor was dirty and gritty, quite unlike katrine's, which always maintained a white and floury look from her constant attentions, and the stove looked rusty and uncleaned. the small square panes of the window, too, hardly let in any light, they were so obscured by dust inside and snow frozen on to them without. by the stove sat a young woman, in whose face ill-health and beauty struggled together for predominance. her hair, twisted into a loose knot at the back of her head, was of the lightest gold colour, like a young child's, and her face brought to one's mind the idea of milk and violets, the skin was so white and smooth and the eyes so blue. this was the beauty which no disease could kill, but ill-health triumphed in the livid circles round the eyes, the drawn lines round the faded lips. katrine entered with her brightest smile. "well, annie, are you better to-day?" she asked. the woman rose with an unsteady movement from the chair, and before she could answer burst suddenly into a rain of tears. "better? oh, katie, i shall never be any better! but i wish i could go home to die!" katrine advanced and put her arms round her, drawing the frail attenuated form close against her own warm vigorous frame. "what nonsense!" she said gently. "you are not going to die at home or anywhere yet. why, will is going to make a big strike, and take you home to live in style all the rest of your life." "no," sobbed the girl,--for she was no more than a girl in age,--falling back in her chair again. "no, it won't come in time for me." "where is will?" asked katrine, looking round. "he's just got a job up at the west gulch on mr. stephen wood's claim," returned the other. "oh, i am that thankful he's found some one to employ him at last." "yes, it's delightful," returned katrine, absently, as she sat down on the other side of the rusty stove and looked round the dirty, cheerless room. it was due to her urgent pleading with stephen that will had obtained the place on the claim, but his wife did not seem to know, and katrine did not tell her. "but then it don't lead to nothing," continued annie, despairingly. "he can't look out for himself if he's working another man's ground." "well, he only does a few hours' work, i believe, and has the rest of the day to look round for himself," returned katrine. "it don't amount to much, anyway; this time of the year there ain't no day to speak of," replied the other, gazing plaintively through the dim glass of the window. "and then if he do see a bit of land he fancies, why, he can't buy it, he's got no money." "i think mr. wood will advance him enough to buy any ground he thinks well of," replied katrine, gently. "mr. wood!" repeated annie, opening her sunken eyes wide with the first display of interest she had shown. "why should he help my man along?" "i don't know," returned katrine, evasively, with heightened colour; "but he told me he would do so, and i know he will. how is tim to-day?" she added suddenly, to divert the conversation. the mother looked round. "tim!" she called; "where is that child? katie, you go and look if you can see him in the wood-shed." katrine crossed the room to the lean-to attached to the cabin and looked in. on the floor of the wood-shed, with the happy indifference to the cold usually displayed by klondike infants, little tim sat on the floor with a pile of chips beside him. great icicles hung from the rafters above him, and his tiny hands were blue with cold, but he was contentedly and silently piling up the wood on the frozen ground. katrine picked him up and carried him into the next room, and put him by the fire at his mother's feet. he did not cry nor offer any resistance, but when put in his new location looked round for a few minutes, and then calmly leaned towards the stove and began to play with the cinders in place of his vanished wood chips. "what a good little fellow he is!" said katrine, leaning over him. "yes; he's his mother's darling, that's what he is!" returned the other, stooping to smooth the curly head that was only a shade lighter than her own. "will you have some coffee?" asked annie presently, looking helplessly towards the dirty stove, where a feeble fire was burning sulkily amongst the old wood ash. "no," returned katrine, cheerfully; "you must be getting tired of coffee. i brought you some tea for a change," and she extracted a neat little packet from one of her pockets. "may i do up the fire and make some for you?" "why, it will make you so dirty; that stove is in an awful state," replied annie, looking over the other's neat dress and figure dubiously. "i don't mind that. pick up the baby," katrine answered, rolling up her sleeves and displaying two rounded muscular arms white as the snow outside. "you'd better move farther out of the dust," she added, going down on her knees before the stove. annie picked up the child and retreated to a chair by the window, from where she watched the other with a sort of helpless envy. "lord! i've grown that weak lately i can't do nothing," she said after a minute. "you know how nice i used to keep the place for will when we first came." katrine nodded in silence, and two bright tears fell amongst the wood ash she was taking from the stove. she did remember the bright, active young wife, the united little family moving into the cabin next her only a year ago; she remembered the interior that had always been so neat and clean and cheerful to receive will when he came home, the unceasing devotion of his wife, and the mutual love and hope that had buoyed them up and made them face all hardships smilingly. then she had watched sorrowfully the gradual deterioration of the man under the constant disappointment; she had met him more and more frequently in the saloons, less and less at his home. she had seen day by day the rapid decline of the bright, beautiful young creature he had brought with him into this poor faded wraith dragging herself about in the neglected, cheerless cabin. "you'll get stronger again in the warm weather," she said after a minute, when her voice was steady. "you wouldn't say that if you'd seen what i saw on the snow this morning when i'd been coughing there back of the wood-shed," returned annie, drearily leaning her tired head against the dingy pane. "what do you mean?" asked katrine, looking up apprehensively. "blood?" the other nodded in silence, and there was quiet in the cabin except for the crooning of the child. then katrine rose from the hearth impulsively with a flushed, lovely face and the ash dust on her hair and dress. she went over to annie and drew her head on to her strong, warm bosom. "oh, you poor, poor thing! what can we do?" she said desperately. "nothing," murmured annie, closing her eyes in the girl's soothing embrace, "unless you could persuade will to take me home, and nobody could do that now, he's so set upon the gold. that's the second bleeding from the chest that i've had this month; now the third'll do for me." she shivered as if from cold, and katrine kissed her and hastened back to her work at the fire. it is not a pleasant nor an easy thing to do to clean out a stove that has been left to itself for a week or more and fresh fires kindled on the old ashes every day, but in a few minutes katrine had the work completed and the fresh wood crackling and filling the stove with red flame. then she made the tea rapidly, and neither of them spoke again till annie held a great tin mug of it to her white lips. katrine pulled her chair close to the stove again, and took tim on her own lap, where he found a new toy in her cartridge belt. annie sipped from her mug and gazed absently into the flames. "lord, we were so happy," she said musingly, a little colour coming into her face under the influence of the hot tea and the warmth from the re-invigorated fire. "we had the nicest little home down in brixham. i daresay you don't know where that is?" katrine shook her head. "it's just the prettiest, sweetest village in the world, down in devonshire; and we had a cottage there, quite in the country, with pink roses all over the front,--i can smell those roses now. oh, it was lovely; and will had regular work all the time, and he was the best husband woman ever had. he used to bring his wages in saturdays, and say to me, 'annie, old girl, ain't there enough there to get you a new ribbon for sunday or a fresh sash for the baby?' he never spent a penny for drink nor tobacco. and sunday we'd go out on the downs and stand looking at the sea; it do come in so splendid there, and the wind from it seems to put new life in yer. we was as happy and as well as could be, all of us; and then them newspapers got to printing all those tales of the gold in the klondike, and will he just got mad like, and nothing would do but he must sell the house and come out here. he thought he'd come back so rich; well, so he may, but he won't have no wife to go back with." she lay back in her chair, and katrine, gazing at her white face and transparent hands, said nothing. "i'm glad i stuck to will, though," the woman went on softly after a minute, "and didn't let him come out here alone. a wife's place is by her husband wherever he goes, and i'd rather die with him than be separated. but there, i do hate the name of gold. it broke up our home, it's broke up our lives, and it's just killed me, that's what it's done. and what's the good of it? why, as i said to will before we came, 'we can't be no more than happy, and we're that now.'" katrine said nothing. she was one of those women who in society would have gained the name of a good conversationalist, for she always listened attentively and spoke hardly at all. it grew rapidly darker outside and began to snow a little, the peculiar sharp, small snow of alaska. the two women could hardly see each other's faces in the gloom, when katrine rose and offered to light the lamp. "there ain't no oil left," returned annie, drearily. "i just sit in the dark most of the time; i don't mind as long as i have a bit of fire. it do seem more lonesome though when you've no light," she added with a sigh. "haven't you any money to buy it with?" annie shook her head. "not till will comes back." "well, here's enough to keep you in oil for the next three months," said katrine, taking a little object from her belt which looked like a well-filled tobacco pouch and putting it on the shelf above her head. "what's that? dust?" said annie. "where-ever do you get so much money?" she added, staring at her. "i won that last night," returned katrine, lightly. "i do have such luck. i wish you could come, annie, and see the fun we have down town of a night, instead of moping up here; and i do have such luck," she repeated again with a half sigh. "i don't know what i'd do if it should change. i'd have to be bar-keep for a living, i suppose. think i'd make a good bar-keep?" she said, getting up and stretching her arms above her head. all her full lissom figure was revealed to advantage by the attitude, and the firelight fell softly on the gay, bewitching face, slanted over to one shoulder as she put the question. "i do that," replied annie, with emphasis. "your bar would always be crammed by all the chaps in the place, my dear." katrine laughed. "i'm glad you think so. i'll bring you some of my oil to burn for to-night, and then i must be off earning my living." she went into her own cabin and brought back a can of oil with her, trimmed and cleaned and lit annie's lamp, and then with a kiss bade her good-bye till next day, and took her way down to the main street. she had only a little dust in her belt, just enough to start playing with, and if luck should go against her she would have to return empty handed; but then she always trusted to luck, and it had never forsaken her. her mode of life, precarious and uncertain, dangerous and unsatisfactory as it might seem to an onlooker, never troubled her. she was in that state of glorious physical health and strength which lends an unlimited confidence to the mind, a sense of being able to cope with any difficulty which might suddenly present itself, when every present or possible trouble looks small, and when mere life itself, the mere sensation of the blood being warm in one's veins, is a joy. she loved the excitement, even the uncertainty of her life, and she had more friends in the town than she could count, who would be glad to lend her all she needed if her luck failed. that night, when katrine lay fast asleep in her small inner room, her curly head tucked down comfortably under the rugs, she dreamed she heard a knocking on her door. the sound seemed faint at first, but grew louder, and after a minute she woke up, lifted her head, and listened. yes, there was a tapping on her door, she heard it quite distinctly. she got up immediately, slipped into her fur coat and boots, and taking one of her pistols in her hand, went to the door. that there was danger in answering such a summons at such an hour she knew quite well, but that did not hinder her. she was accustomed to live with her life in her hand, and she felt instinctively confident of being able so to hold it, and meant to keep a tight grip on it. when she opened the door it was to a vivid moonlight, clear and brighter than day; the whole white world was shining under it. "annie!" she exclaimed as her eyes fell on the slight, feeble figure muffled in a blanket that stood on her steps. "what is the matter? come in," and she put the door wide open and stood back for her to pass. "oh, katie," she said, seizing the other's hands when they stood inside the room, "forgive me for waking you, but i want will. i feel i'm going to die to-night, and i can't without him--i can't," and she burst into a flood of tears broken by short sobbing coughs. she had slipped to her knees and was holding katrine's hands in a feverish clutch. the blanket had fallen from her head and shoulders, and showed to katrine that she was still in her day dress; it did not seem as if she had been to bed at all. there was a dark, half-dried stain upon the front of her bodice. "i'm dying! oh, katie, it's so dreadful all alone there. will you go and bring will to me? oh, do." katrine looked down upon her as she tried to raise her to her feet. the fire was still burning brightly and filled the room with light. many people older than katrine would have laughed at the woman's statement in face of her ability to come to them and make it, but katrine's keen perceptions read much, too much, in the bright glazed eyes that looked up at her, in the hoarse grating tones that came from the sunken chest, and the feverish grasp of those burning fingers. she stooped down and put her arms round the kneeling figure and drew her up. "why, of course i will. i will bring him to you. but you are only ill, dear; you're not dying." "oh, i may not, i know; but if i should, and he not here! katie, can you go now?--it's so late, and so cold, and so far. i don't see how you can." "he's working up on mr. wood's claim at the west gulch. i suppose if i go to mr. wood's cabin he can tell me where to find will." "oh, yes, yes," returned annie, eagerly, a crimson flush now lighting up each cheek; "go straight to mr. wood and ask him for will. one of will's ponies is down here, back of our house; you can take him and ride up. oh, it may kill you to go; i ought not to ask it. oh, what shall i do?" katrine laughed. "kill me!" she said. "it would take more to kill me than that, i think. i shall be up there and will down here before you know where you are. now you've just got to drink this brandy while i go and get some things on. you're just fretting for will, that's what is the matter with you. i believe you will feel all right when you see him again." she put the trembling woman into a chair, and went back to her room to put her clothes on. she noticed that her boots, which had been damp the night before, had frozen to the ground, and she had to break them from it by force. "i shall be lucky if i get back with my feet unfrozen," she thought to herself, looking regretfully at the warm bed she had left; but it never once, even remotely, occurred to her to refuse the unwelcome mission. she put on all her thickest garments, buckled her pistols on her hip, and went back to annie, who was crouching over the fire in the next room. "i had better take the pony," she said; "he'll get me there and back quicker than i can walk, if you think the little animal is up to it." annie nodded. "he's well fed," she said, "and has had nothing to do since will's been gone." katrine shut the stove up, and the two women went out together. it was a still dead cold without, the sort of night on which your limbs might freeze beyond recovery, and without your knowing it, so insidious and so little aggressive was the cold. "you go in and keep warm," said katrine; "i'll find the pony and manage him," and she pushed annie gently within her own door, and went round to the shed at the back of the cabin where the pony was. her hands in that short time had grown so stiff with cold she could hardly put the saddle on and fasten the girth and straps. the pony knew her, and pricked his ears and snorted while she was getting him ready; he had been idle in his stable two days, and by this time was willing to welcome any change in the monotony of life. when she had adjusted everything carefully by the light of the strong moon falling through the little window, she threw herself cross leg upon his back and rode him out of the shed. annie had her face pressed eagerly against the back window of her cabin, watching for her to appear. katrine smiled at her, lifted her fur cap above her head for an instant as a man would do, and then the next moment was cantering away over the snowy waste that stretched behind good luck row. she went at a good pace, urged on by that last glimpse of the pale face, with the terrible look of haunted fear on it, pressed to the window. the temperature was very low, but the absence of wind and dampness in the air made the cold bearable. katrine, haunted by the fear of frostbite, kept pinching her nose and pulling her ears and banging her feet against the pony's side to keep the blood stirring in them. inside the first half-hour she was away some distance from the lights of dawson, and nothing but great snowy stretches lay around her. that night up at the west gulch it happened that neither stephen nor talbot had gone to bed. there is little to choose between night and day there, since half of the day hours are dark as the blackest night, and a man can sleep in them as profitably or more so than in the moonlit hours of the night. three o'clock in the morning had come, and the two men were still sitting talking on each side of the stove, with an opened whisky bottle on the table between them, in stephen's cabin, when the dull sound of a horse's footfall broke the blank silence of the gulch. both sprang to their feet on the instant, and talbot drew his pistol from his belt and stood listening with it in his hand. "i always said we oughtn't to keep our gold up here," said stephen, and his face whitened. talbot held up his hand to enjoin silence, and they waited while the sound of hoofs moving slowly over the treacherous and uneven soil came nearer. then there was a pause, which seemed to the men inside endless. then two distinct taps at the door. talbot, who was nearer it, made a forward movement, but stephen caught his arm. "what are you going to do?" he whispered. "open it and fire," returned talbot, laconically, and he pushed back the latch and raised his revolver as he opened the door. stephen was close behind him, and talbot almost stepped upon him as he drew back with astonishment the next instant. katrine jumped from the pony's back and stepped over the threshold without invitation. "how lucky i am to find you up!" she exclaimed, and then seeing talbot's hastily lowered revolver in his right hand she burst out laughing. "so you were going to shoot, were you?" she said, drawing out her own. "well, i was quite ready; i have been all the ride. i am sorry i frightened you." "frightened us!" repeated the two men in a breath, with an indignant glance. "oh no, of course i didn't mean that," rejoined katrine, laughing. "disturbed you, i should say. oh, stephen, give me some of that whisky; i am almost dead with cold." her face did indeed look frozen white with cold under her fur cap, and her dark eyes shone in it with a liquid splendour that made stephen's heart beat tumultuously against his side. he poured out some of the spirit for her and pushed her gently into a chair, commencing to pull off her thick gloves for her. "i want will johnson," she said, with her customary directness. "stephen, i've come up to fetch him. he's one of your men. tell me where i can find him." "what do you want with him at this time of night?" questioned stephen, while talbot silently extracted a plate of bread and bacon from the cupboard and put it on the table at her elbow. "i don't want him for myself," she answered mischievously. "his wife has sent me up to find him; she thinks she is dying, and wants to see him to-night. where can i find him?" "his cabin is a little higher up the gulch, but you mustn't go there; i will go after him," said stephen hastily. "i don't know," replied katrine; "i'd better ride up there and then take him on home with me, hadn't i?" "ride back again to-night!" exclaimed stephen. "what madness! it was bad enough to make the ride once. she mustn't think of it, must she, talbot?" and he turned to his friend for corroboration. "certainly not, i should say," returned talbot, in his quiet but final way. "i will ride up to johnson's place and send him down home, and you can make katrine comfortable here." the girl sprang to her feet. "why, what an idea!" she said, with a flush on her pale cheeks. "i only came to you to find will. of course i can't stay here all night." "your mission will be accomplished, won't it, if will goes to his wife?" returned talbot quietly. "there is no need to risk your life again. there is no good in it; besides, it will save time if you let will have the pony at once to take him back. you can have one of ours in the morning." she looked up at him. she admired talbot exceedingly. his voice was so invariably gentle and quiet, so different from all the voices that she heard round her daily. stephen's, though his resembled it, had not the same curious accent of refinement. his manner, too, had the same extreme gentleness; and yet beneath this apparent softness she knew there existed a courage that equalled any in the whole camp. he looked very handsome too, she thought, at this moment, as she met a soft smile in his eyes, and her tones were more hesitating as she repeated-- "i think i ought to return." "well, i'm going to despatch will for you," replied talbot, turning away. "i leave it to you, stephen, to persuade her to stay," and he walked out. a second later they heard the pony's hoofs going up the narrow trail past the cabin. "you can have my room; i'll sleep here on the floor," remarked stephen. the girl got up. "no," she said in her most decided tone. "i'll stay if you let me sleep here on the floor, or i'll go home. turn you out of your own comfortable bed i will not." "go home you can't," said stephen in an equally decided tone, "so i'll make you up a bed here just in front of the stove." he went into the next room, and katrine, left alone, drank up her whisky and gazed round the cabin. it was not at all an interesting interior, and had not the faint suggestions of artistic taste that redeemed talbot's. a few prints were on the walls, seemingly cut from illustrated papers and principally consisting of views of cathedrals and school buildings, which katrine's eyes wandered over without interest. at the farthest end from her there were some stout shelves nailed against the wall, and on these rested a row of flat tin pans; between the pans were pushed one or two books, and she recognised amongst them his greek testament. she rose and strolled over to the shelf, and standing on tiptoe looked into the pans. as she thought, they contained thin layers of gold dust. she was standing there looking into them when stephen returned and came up behind her. "they look fine, don't they?" he said. "that's a thirty dollar pan." katrine turned, and looking up was startled by the eager light in his face and the greed written in every line of it. for herself, reckless, happy-go-lucky gambler that she was by nature, gold had little value for her except to toss by the handful on the tables to buy half-an-hour's excitement. with a sudden movement she seized the fullest pan by the rim in one hand and the greek testament beside it in the other, and danced away from him to the other side of the room. stephen turned with an involuntary cry, and followed her with anxious eyes. "now which would you rather lose?" she said, laughing. his eyes were fixed upon the pan, which was heavy and as much as she could support with one hand. he dreaded each minute to see it tip up and its golden treasure pour out on the floor. "oh, i don't know. don't be foolish," he said in a vexed tone. katrine sidled up to the window. "answer, or i'll--" stephen turned white. he felt she was capable of doing any mad thing when he met those mocking, sparkling eyes. "oh--i--i--would rather lose the book," he stammered, in an agony to see the gold safely put back. "i could replace that, you know." katrine advanced to him, balancing the pan as if weighing it. "stephen, this is very heavy," she said, looking him straight in the eyes. "let me take it from you," he said, eagerly stretching out his hands. "do you know what makes it so?" she said, still balancing it and still looking at him. "your soul is in it!" and she gave it back to him. stephen reddened angrily, and took both the book and the gold from her and replaced them sulkily on the shelf. katrine had turned her back and walked over to the fire, humming. "what a royal couch you've made me!" she remarked, breaking the awkward silence that followed, and looking down on the pile of red blankets he had spread in front of the stove. he had, in fact, stripped his own bed and collected blankets from every corner to make a comfortable resting-place for her. before stephen could answer he was summoned to the door. talbot looked in upon them, but would not come inside. "i've sent will off," he said; "he swore like anything, but he is gone. no, thanks, steve, i won't come in. i'm tired, and going to my own cabin now. see you at breakfast. good-night," and before katrine could thank him he was gone. the two thus left entirely alone in the deep quiet of the gulch to pass the night together looked at each other for a moment with a shade of silent embarrassment. but the girl, accustomed as she was to take care of herself in all sorts of situations and surroundings, and endued with a certain fierce chastity of nature, recovered herself instantly and spoke quite naturally. "i feel tired too, and would like to go to sleep now, if i may." "certainly," said stephen. "you have this room to yourself. the stove will burn till daylight, and you have the whisky if you feel cold in the night. good-night." his tone was very formal, for he would so much have liked it to be otherwise, and without looking at her he took a match from his pocket and went into the other room, shutting the door after him. the girl waited a moment, then she shut the door of the stove and threw herself down on the soft pile of blankets, and drawing one of them over her to her ears, drew a deep, contented sigh, and was peacefully asleep in a few seconds. the next morning stephen rose stiff and cramped from his denuded bed. when he was completely dressed he silently opened his door and crept noiselessly into the adjoining room. the girl was not yet awake, and he stole softly over to the bed on the hearth and looked down at her. she lay warm and sleeping comfortably amongst the blankets. she was fully dressed, just as she had been the previous evening, except that two or three buttons were unfastened at the collar of her dress, and allowed the solid white neck to show beneath the rounded chin. the little head, with its mass of dark silky curls, lay inclined towards the stove, and the curled rosy lips had a softer smile than they generally wore in the daytime. stephen leaned over her, entranced and breathless. as his eyes followed the dark arch of the eyebrows, the sweet delicate contour of the cheek, he forgot the horror he felt of her sometimes in her waking moments, forgot the hideous background of the saloons, forgot all the evil there might be in her, and bowed before that supreme power that human beauty has over us; he worshipped her as he had never worshipped his god. for a few seconds it was enough for him to gaze on her, then came an overwhelming impulse to stoop and kiss the soft youthful lips, to touch them even if ever so lightly. if he could without awakening her! but no, she was his guest, under his roof and protection. all that was best in his nature rose and held him motionless like a hand of iron. after a few seconds katrine stirred, and stephen, feeling she was about to awake, would have moved away, but his eyes seemed fixed and as impossible to remove from her face as one's hands are from an electric battery. the next minute her lids were lifted, and her eyes, two wells of living light, flashed up at him. "good-morning," she said, sitting up. "how dreadfully pale you look, stephen! what is the matter?" "do i?" he answered, with a forced laugh, feeling the blood, which had seemed to rest suspended in his veins for those few seconds, rush to his heart again in great waves. "you do indeed," she said, getting up. "i expect you want your breakfast. tell me what i can do to make myself useful." she shook her hair straight, fastened the collar of her bodice, and, was dressed. she needed no toilet apparently, but looked as clean and fresh as a rose waking up in its garden. "nothing," returned stephen hastily. "go over and tell talbot to come in to breakfast, if you like; i'll have it ready when you come back." katrine looked round regretfully, as if she would have liked to stay and help him; then concluding she had better do as she was told, she took up her fur cap and went out. the west gulch looks magnificent in the first early light, with all degrees of shadows, some black, some dusky, some the clearest grey, lingering in its snowy recesses, and the first glimpse of gold falling down it from the east. katrine stopped and gazed up at the impressive beauty above and around her: trees in the gulch, now covered with a thick snowy mantle, stood assuming all sorts of grotesque forms, and extending their arms as if calling the spectator to their cold embrace. it was beautiful, but to katrine it seemed so silent, so overawing, and so death-like, that she shivered as she looked up and down from the flat plateau where she stood, and hurried on the few necessary yards to talbot's cabin. when they came back together they found stephen had all in readiness, the fire blazing on the hearth and the breakfast waiting on the table. he made katrine sit at the head and pour out the coffee for them, which she did with pleased, smiling eyes. talbot said good-bye to her and went out to his claim immediately it was over, and katrine and stephen were left alone. he said he would go and get a pony for her and katrine rose, but then stephen hesitated and did not go after all. he turned to her instead, and came back from the door to where she was standing. "will you listen to something i want to say to you?" he said, his heart beating wildly. "why, certainly i will," the girl answered simply, and she sat down in the chair behind her and folded her hands. then she looked up inquiringly, waiting for him to begin, but stephen's voice was dried up in his throat. he stood in front of her, one damp hand nervously clasping the back of a chair, unable to articulate a word. confusion and excitement overwhelmed him, and he stood turning paler and paler, staring at the proud, handsome face framed in the living yellow sunshine before him. at last he felt he could not even stand, and he turned away with a groan and sank down on the nearest chair with his face in his hands. katrine, who had been watching him anxiously for the last few seconds, sprang up and went over to him. "what is the matter?" she said, laying her hand on his shoulder. "are you ill?" "no, oh no," said stephen, catching the little hand in both of his. "no, i want to tell you i love you. do you care for me? will you marry me right away, and come up and live here with me?" his voice had come back to him all right now, and he turned and gazed eagerly up at her. katrine did not answer immediately, but she did not withdraw her hand that he was pressing hotly between his own, and a faint smile that came over her face showed she was not displeased; and here stephen missed his cue--he should have taken the hesitating figure into his arms and kissed the undecided lips. in the sudden awakening of womanly feeling, in the momentary excitement, in the glimpse into passion, katrine would have consented, welcoming as her nature did any new emotion; but stephen was embarrassed and afraid. fear and uncertainty held him back, the kiss burned ungiven on his own lips, and katrine uninfluenced by passion could think clearly. what! come up here and live in this deathly quiet, away from even such amusement as the camp offered? submit to all his tiresome religious conversations, and, above all, give up those feverish nights of excitement? the hazard and the stimulus of the long tables and the little heaps of gold dust? and her free life, her incomings and outgoings, with no one to question her? no, it was an impossibility. the next thing stephen knew was that she was smiling and looking down into his eyes, shaking her head. "no, stephen, i can't do that. i like you awfully, and should like you to come and see me; but i wouldn't do for your wife at all, and if you knew all about me you wouldn't want it either." stephen clung fast to her hand. "what is it that i don't know?" he said desperately, putting, as people always do, the worst construction he could upon her words, and at the same time feeling he would forgive her everything, and in a sort of background in his brain contemplating the figure of the forgiven magdalen at the feet of christ. katrine dragged her hand away suddenly. she was not going to tell him she was a gambler and devoted to the excitement of the tables. she knew that if she did their pleasant talks in the evenings would be at an end. he could never come to see her without thinking it his duty to try to reform her; and as she knew she was not going to reform, what would be the good of it? "what does it matter to you? i am not your wife, and am not going to be; i am an acquaintance. if you like me as i am, very good; if you don't, no one cares." stephen got up and faced her. he was as white as the snow outside. "you make me think the worst by refusing to confide in me." katrine laughed contemptuously. "i don't care a curse what you think! haven't i just told you so? great heavens," she added, with a burst of conviction, "it would never do for us to marry! never! your one idea is to curtail a person's liberty." "no," answered stephen quietly, "not liberty in a general way; only the liberty to sin and do evil, the liberty to be ignorant and do things which have terrible consequences that you don't know." he looked very well at this moment, his pale ascetic face and sympathetic eyes lighted up with enthusiasm. katrine looked at him and then smiled with her quick, impulsive smile. "stephen, you are a good man, and perfectly charming at times; but i am not a good woman, and don't want to be, and we should never get on. so don't let's bother any more about this question at all." an exceedingly pained expression came over stephen's face, and katrine was quick enough to feel that from her words he judged her errors to be other than they were. in a few words she might have cleared his mind from the idea of her actual immorality, but she was too proud to stand upon her own defence before him; besides, if her faults were not of that class, he would want to know what they were, and in his eyes a girl that gambled and drank and swore, and preferred the dance halls and variety shows to the mission church any day, was quite bad enough; so she concluded in her thoughts, "it doesn't matter if he is mixed." stephen at the moment was afraid to press her further, and did not know quite how to treat her; but he was not wholly discouraged, and he thought it best to retain the ground he already had. "well, i shall be in town in a few days," he said, "and i shall come to see you as usual, mayn't i?" "of course," returned katrine, and they did not speak again till they were outside and she was mounted at the head of the trail. what a morning it was! the crisp air was like a bath of sparkling sunlight; the untrodden snow glittered everywhere. far above the trail a ridge of dark green pine broke against the pale azure of the sky. stephen leaned against the pony's side and gazed into the warm, lustrous eyes. "good-bye, my darling--my own darling perhaps some day." "i don't think so," she answered, with a mischievous smile, and set the pony at a trot down the trail. she had to pass talbot's cabin on her way back, and as she approached she saw him a little way up the creek surrounded by his men. she reined in her horse to a walk as she passed, and contemplated him. his figure always pleased and arrested her eyes--it had a certain height and strength and grace that marked it out distinctly from others; and then what an advantage it was, she thought, he had no religion and believed in none of those things, and, in short, was quite as bad or worse than she herself was. she walked her horse on slowly, thinking. somehow it seemed to her that life in his cabin would be far more piquant and amusing than in stephen's. yet he neither drank nor gambled, and as for the dance halls and theatre,--well, he had told her he liked dancing; and what a waltz that had been they had had together! but life with stephen! he would be too good for her, and too stupid. she had a vague sense that what she lived for, excitement, he condemned in all its forms. just what she cared for in drink, in play, in the dance, the electric pleasure of them, was just what he shrank from as a wile of the evil one. even the religious services of the high church he condemned for the same reason. no, it would never do; life with him would be as cold as the snow around her. she was glad that her answer had been as it had. there was a level place in the trail here, and she put the horse to a gallop, and so came into town with her cheeks stung into rich crimson by the keen air, and her spirits exhilarated and ready for any mischief going. she went at once to no. in the row, and found will sitting by his wife's bedside like a model husband. the girl was lying down, her weak white hand clasped in and nearly hidden by the swollen, rough red hand of the miner. she gave a little cry as katrine entered, and buried her head under the blanket. "you are not angry with me for sending you up when it wasn't really necessary?" came a smothered voice. katrine flung herself on her knees beside the bed and put her arms impetuously round the thin form under the coverlet. "angry with you for not dying!" she said, between laughing and crying. "why, i think you're the best girl in the world, and will's a pretty good doctor, too!" she added, glancing up at him. will coloured and looked a little uneasy, remembering his oaths of last night when he was roused to a ten-mile ride; but katrine couldn't or wouldn't notice anything amiss. she said sweet things to both of them, and then, unwilling to rob annie of any part of will's company, she withdrew to her own cabin. two or three weeks passed, and dreary weeks they were. the temperature fell below the zero mark and stayed there, the sun hardly ever shone, the whole sky being blotted out as behind a thick grey curtain. the few hours of daylight that each twenty-four hours brought round was little more than a dismal twilight. times were dreary, too, provisions ran scarce and very high, and the cheerless cold and darkness seemed to paralyse the energies of the strongest and lay a grip upon the whole town. many months of the winter had already gone by, and strength and spirits were beginning to flag; health and courage had worn thin, and men who had faced the bitterness of the cold with a joke when it had first set in felt it keenly now like the rest. in good luck row matters were worse than anywhere else in the town; the occupants were mostly very poor, and the pressure of the high prices was sharpest upon them. in addition to all else they had to suffer, typhoid broke out amongst them, and another horrible fear was added to the terror of the cold. in the universal gloom that hung over the city, under the mantle of darkness, want and starvation and fear and disease wrangled together, while death walked silently and continually about the darkened streets. during all this time katrine was about the only one who kept up her spirits and courage. she was the light and comfort of the row, there was not a cabin in it that had not been brightened and cheered by her smiles and benefited by her gifts. she was absolutely without fear herself. the quality seemed to have been left out of her composition, or perhaps it was only that her great physical health and strength made her feel unconsciously that it was impossible for any harm to come to her. she went in and out of the fever-stricken cabins all day, doing what she could for each one of the inmates, and always with her brilliant smile, which was a tonic in itself, and half the night she would sit gambling in the saloons, winning the money to spend upon her sick patients the following day. as soon as stephen learned that typhoid had broken out in the row, he came down to her and urged her to marry him and come away to the west gulch, if only as an asylum. but katrine simply laughed and joked, and would not listen to him. then he begged her to look upon herself merely as his tenant; he and talbot would share the same cabin, and she could occupy his in perfect peace and security, and be safely away from the depressing influences of the town and its disease-laden atmosphere. then she grew very grave, and said simply in a sweet tone that echoed through all the chambers of his heart-- "dear stephen, you are very good to be so anxious for me, but i'm not a bit anxious for myself. i should feel like a coward if i went away from the row now. these people are so dependent upon me, and i can do so many little things for them. i feel it's a duty to stay here, and i'd rather do it;" and stephen had kissed her hand passionately and gone back to the gulch, more in love with her than ever. she saw very little of him, and was too busy to think about him or note whether he came or not, having so many anxieties on her mind just then, of which the heaviest was the girl-wife annie in the next cabin. since the semi-crisis in her illness, over which katrine had helped her, there seemed to be little change in her condition from day to day. that is, the change did not show itself externally; within the delicate structure, the disease, aided by the cold, the foul damp air of the town, and hopeless spirits, crept steadily and quickly on, but gave little or no outward sign, and katrine hoped against hope that she could possibly tide her over the time till will perhaps made a strike and could take her away. she knew how the sick woman clung to this idea. for months now she had been shut off from all communication with the outer world, she never saw a paper or a book, she could not move from her cabin, her whole sphere was bounded now by its four rough walls, and so the one idea that was left to her starved brain and heart was that will should make a strike. and as a weed runs over a bare and neglected garden, so will one single idea completely absorb and fill a neglected brain, and grow and grow to gigantic strength. this was annie's one idea; she brooded over it, pondered over it, nursed it, slept with it, and talked to katrine of it with burning eyes, till the latter felt if it could only be fulfilled the joy of it would almost cure her. and it might be fulfilled, she knew, any day. it was early days in the klondike then, and plenty of good ground lay around waiting to be discovered. she heard from stephen that will was steady and energetic, had given up drink, and was set upon the idea of prospecting for land of his own. katrine's heart beat hard with pure sympathy as she heard, and she begged stephen as the one thing he could do for herself to facilitate will's efforts in every way and aid him for her sake. meanwhile, her own care was to keep the fragile creature who was living upon hope still on this side of the great divide. and to this end she worked night and day. she kept her cabin clean and well lighted and well warmed. she bought and made soup, and gave fabulous prices for meat and wine, and sat with her long hours cheering her with stories heard in the saloons and picked up in the streets, and scraps of news from the gulch and farther points. the disease seemed so quiescent that katrine began to hope more and more that she should be rewarded, and one morning a hurried note scribbled in pencil was brought in to annie while katrine was scrubbing the cabin floor, telling her in a few ill-spelt words that will thought he might get in to town that night. a bright flame of colour leaped over the woman's pale face, and then the next moment faded as her hands with the note in them fell listlessly to her lap. "he ain't made no strike yet," katrine heard her mutter to herself. "you don't know," rejoined katrine, looking up flushed and warm from her hard work. "he may have some good news to tell you any way." annie merely shook her head and gazed out of the window. "he'd have told me," she murmured, and that was all. katrine had a long and heavy round of visits to make that day, and for two long hours she sat motionless by a dying woman's bedside, fearing to withdraw her hand, to which the poor terrified enterer into the valley of the shadow was clinging. in her arms, and with her tired head on katrine's young bosom, the woman drew her last breath; and katrine, feeling her own soul wrenched asunder and her body aching with strain and shock, came round in the afternoon to annie. she would not say a word to her of the death-bed from which she had come. with an effort she talked of cheerful things, of the spring-time that was on its way to them, of the pleasure of seeing will again, and so on, till her head ached. she did a few domestic offices for the girl, and then feeling she must break down herself if she stayed longer, she said she needed sleep, and if annie could take care of herself for a time she would go and lie down. annie noticed how heavy the lids were over her eyes and begged her to go at once, though a strange fear, like a child's of the dark, came over her. "will will be soon with you now--the best company," katrine said, with a tired smile; "and if you want me, a knock on the wall here will bring me to you," and annie was left alone. as the afternoon closed in her cough seemed to grow more and more troublesome; the pain in her chest, too, had never been so bad; she had to keep her hand there all the time as she laboured round the room putting everything to rights, making sure that the cabin was neat and tidy against will's return. at last she sat down in the circle of hot light round the fire, and little tim crawled into her lap. she put her arms round him and held him absently. she was thinking over katrine's words. the spring! were they really near it? "so near," she had said, "it was almost here." her eyes looking upwards to the darkening windows caught the old and smoke-hued almanac pinned up to the wall beside it. she set the child down, and getting up walked slowly over to it and ran one trembling finger down the dates. each one from december, when they had first hung it up, had a heavy black line against it, where she had scratched it out with eager fingers; only the last days had no mark against them. she had been too weary, too heart sick, to note them any longer. what did it matter to her when the spring came? the almanac for her would have come to an end before that. but now a fresh gleam of hope seemed to have entered her heart, and with a feverish movement she drew the old stump of pencil from her pocket and scratched off the unmarked days, and then stood gazing at the date of that day; they were still far, far from the spring--too far. oh, to go back in the spring, to escape from this prison of darkness, this country of horror and starvation and misery, to be back once more in her home in the spring! her mind fled away from the dreary interior of the darkening cabin. she stood once more in the rich grassy meadow with the golden sunlight of an evening summer sky warm around her, the song of the birds in her ears, the hot scent of the meadow-sweet in her nostrils, before her the little narrow path leading to the cottage that seemed to bask sleepily in the yellow glow. she made a step forward with dilated eyes, then the cough seized her, the vision dissolved and fled. again the cabin with its blackened rafters enclosed her. she turned from the calendar. what was the spring's coming? it might come, but they would not go back. what right had she to think of it? they had made no strike, and had not will sworn he would never go back without the gold? this accursed gold! if they could but have found it as others had! she put her hands to her head to drive away the thoughts, they were familiar and so useless. she had thought them over and over again so often. as she went back to the fire she noticed one of will's woollen shirts lying on a chair. why, that was the one she had meant to wash that morning! how could she have forgotten it? and now perhaps she would not get it done before he returned. her heart began to beat, her limbs trembled. how weak and queer she felt this afternoon! still, she would do it somehow. there was hot water on the fire that katrine had put there. she lifted with an effort the great iron kettle from the fire, and with that in one hand and the shirt in the other she went into the adjoining sloping roofed compartment that served as scullery, wood-shed, pantry, and wash-house. it was many degrees colder here, and the long iron nails that kept the boards together overhead had sparkling icicles on them that glittered as the firelight from the inner room touched them, and she could hardly draw her breath. nevertheless she walked over to the wash-tub and poured in the water, and set to work with shaking hands. "had ever shirt seemed so large?" she wondered vaguely, and her thin arms moved slowly, lifting it up and down with difficulty. it seemed getting so dark, too. she should have lighted the candles, it wouldn't look so cheery for will if he came back to find the cabin dark. but was this only the twilight falling? no, it was in her eyes. she leaned heavily on the edge of the wooden tub, trembling, the floor unsteady beneath her, a strangling suffocation in her throat, a swimming darkness before her eyes. a sense of terrible loneliness pressed in upon her, and then suddenly she knew that in the chill of that dark twilight she was alone with death. he had come for her at last. oh, to have had will's strong arms round her, a human breast to lay her head down upon, and so die! a nameless terror possessed her, overwhelmed her; she started from the wash trestle. there was a sudden cry, "will! will!" and she fell forward on the damp flooring, a little eager scarlet stream of blood pouring out from the nerveless lips to stain the soap-suds under the trestle. the child sitting playing in the ring of warm firelight in the adjoining room heard that last cry, and startled, dropped his toys, looking with round eyes to the blackness beyond the open door. he listened with one tiny finger in his mouth for many minutes, but no further sound came to disturb him from the wash-house, and he went on playing. an hour passed perhaps before will set foot in good luck row, and he tramped up it with a sounding pace. there was fire in his eyes, the blood ran hard in all his veins, his rubber boots had elastic springs in their soles. yet he carried an extra weight with him. there was something in his pocket in a buckskin bag that burned his hand as if it had been red-hot iron when he touched it. as he came to no. and saw the windows dark he merely hurried his pace, and hardly stayed to lift the door latch, but just burst through the half-opened door and brought his huge burly frame over the threshold. "well, annie, my girl, we've struck it at last," he shouted at the top of his voice, "and you shall come home right away. where are you, annie? didn't i say wait a bit for me?" he had entered by the wash-house, but the darkness was thick, almost palpable, before his face and revealed nothing. he went forward to the open door, beyond which the burned-down fire gave only a faint red light, and his foot kicked something heavy on the floor. with a curious feeling gripping his heart, he stopped dead short where he stood and fumbled for a match. then he struck it, and in its sickly glare looked down. "annie, my dear!" he called in a shaking voice, and bent down holding the match close to the upturned face. the light played for an instant upon it and went out. "annie!" he called again, and the word broke in his throat. a thin wail went up from little tim in the dusk of the inner room. where the man stood was silence and darkness. his strike had come too late. his wife was dead. * * * * * half-an-hour later a man burst into the "pistol shot." it was between hours, and the bar-tender was just going round lighting the lamps; the place was nearly empty, only a few miners were standing at the end of the counter, talking together. the new customer staggered across the floor as if already under the influence of drink, kicking up the fresh sawdust on the ground; then he reached the counter and demanded drink after drink. he tossed the whiskies handed to him down his throat, and then retreated to a bench that stood against the wall and sat down staring stupidly in front of him. the little group of men looked at him once or twice curiously, and then one said-- "why, it's bill johnson, who's just made a strike. come up, boys, let's congratulate him." the men moved up to the motionless, staring figure, and one of them slapped him on the shoulder. "say, bill, old man, you're in luck, and we'll all drink your health. got any gold to show us?" the sitting figure seemed galvanised suddenly out of its stupor. will raised his head with a jerk, and the men involuntarily drew back from the glare of his bloodshot eyes. he put his hand to his pocket and drew out a small dirty buckskin bag. he dashed it suddenly on the ground with all his force, so that the sawdust flew up in a little cloud. "curse the gold!" he said, and got up and tramped heavily out of the saloon. chapter iv god's gift they buried mrs. johnson very soon. as one of the neighbours sensibly, if rather crudely, remarked, "their cabins were too small for them to keep corpses knocking around in them." and so the second day after her death, in a flood of thin, sweet sunshine, they buried her who had so loved the light and the sun, and had longed so wearily for them through so many days. katrine and talbot stood side by side at the open grave. he had been in the town that day and met katrine on the street, learned from her where she was going, and accompanied her. he knew something of all she had done for the dead woman, and he watched her now with interest and surprise at her composure. katrine's face was unmoved, and her eyes were dry through it all. "another that gold has killed," she said to him as they turned away, and her face looked grave and grey in the flood of the cold sunlight. will was not present. he was down at the "pistol shot." he had been on a big drunk for the past two days, not even returning to his cabin at night, and the body of his wife would have lain unguarded had not katrine brought her fur bag and slept beside it each night on the deserted hearth. little tim had been taken in by a neighbour, all the mothers round seeming anxious for the honour after it was known that will had "made his strike." they walked in absolute silence for some time up the incline. talbot was going back to the west gulch, and katrine said she would walk a little of the way in that direction too. the afternoon was bright and clear, and the air singularly still, so still that the intense cold was hardly realised. the rays of sunshine struck warmly across the snow banks piled on each side of the narrow path they were treading. the sky was pale blue, and the points of the straight larches on the summit of the ridges cut darkly into it like the points of lances. there was something in the atmosphere that recalled a day in late autumn in england. they were nearing the top of the ridge, and both had their gaze bent on the narrow ascending path before them, when suddenly a tiny object darted into the middle of it and ran up the opposite bank. on the instant katrine drew one of the pistols from her belt and fired. the little dark form rolled down the bank, dropped back into their path, and lay there motionless. it was a fine shot, for the tiny moving thing was fully thirty yards from them and looked hardly the size of a dollar. talbot glanced at her with startled admiration. he himself never shot except for food or other necessity, and wanton killing rather annoyed him than otherwise, but here the skill and the correctness of wrist and eye were so obvious that they compelled him to an involuntary admiration. "you are a good shot!" he exclaimed, looking at the bright, clear-cut face beside him, warmed into its warmest tints by the keen air and the continuous mounting of their steps. "but not a good woman," she answered shortly, quickly reading the thoughts that accompanied his words. she did not look at him, but straight ahead. "you might be both," he said, with a sudden impulse of interest and regret. katrine laughed. "i don't know," she said lightly. "good women are not usually good shots. you don't generally find them combined. but any way, what have i to do with goodness? i don't need it in my business." he did not answer, and they walked on in silence till they came up to the little dark lump in the road. it was a small marmot. katrine glanced at it and passed on. talbot stooped and picked up the scrap of blood-stained fur. "what did you do it for?" he asked curiously. "practice, that's all," she answered. "don't you feel sorry to kill merely for the sake of practice?" "no. i should have been sorry if i had wounded it; but it's a good thing to be dead, i think. i wouldn't have shot unless i had been almost entirely sure i should kill it." there was another silence, and then she said suddenly, "one must keep up one's practice here, going about as i do in all sorts of places and making my living as i do. these," and she tapped her pistols, "are my great protection. only last night a great brute leaned over me and wanted to kiss me--would have done, only he saw i should shoot him if he did." "would you shoot a man for kissing you?" replied talbot in an astonished tone, elevating his eyebrows. "yes. why, i'd rather be shot than kissed!" exclaimed the girl fiercely, with an angry flush on her smooth cheek. talbot looked at the contemptuous, curling lips, at the whole beautiful hard face beside him, and walked on in silence, wondering. her momentary anger was gone directly, and they were good comrades all the rest of the way. at the point where she stopped to say good-bye to him, she held out her hand: "thank you for coming to the burial with me, it was good of you," and she pressed his hand with a grateful smile. it was about a fortnight later on, one of those dreary grey afternoons of late winter, nearly dark already, though still early by the clock, and the mercury in the thermometers had gone out of sight and stayed there. katrine came tripping along a side street on her way back to the row, warm in her skin coat, and her face all aglow and abloom under her fur cap. she had turned into the "swan and goose" saloon on her way up, had put in half-an-hour over a game, and won a fat little canvas bag stuffed with gold dust; had thinned it out somewhat in hot drinks across the bar, and now, warmed through with rum, and light-hearted, she was returning with the bag still well lined in her waist-belt. she had recovered from the great shock of annie's death. her nature, though essentially kind, was not of that soft, tender stamp that receives deep and painful impressions from other's sufferings. she would exert herself strenuously for another, as she had done for annie, but it was not in her nature to sorrow long or deeply for the irrevocable. there was a certain hardness and philosophy in her temperament that her life and surroundings and all her experience had tended to develop. and in annie's death there was nothing striking or unusually sad in this corner of the world, so crowded with scenes of suffering, so filled with pathos of every form. there were women hoping and waiting, and longing and starving, in every street of the town, she knew; sickness and sorrow and death looked her in the eyes from some poor face at every corner. annie had been but one poor little unit in the crowd of sufferers, but one example of the misery of the town, the plague-stricken town, the town stricken with a curse--the curse of the greed of gold. matters had brightened very much in dawson lately, a new feeling of hope and fresh life had gone through the town. the weather was less severe, the days were lengthening, the skies were brighter, the sickness had died out, and people went about their work looking cheerful again; and katrine, freed from her anxieties and nursing, felt her elastic spirits bound upwards in response to the general brightness of the camp. she came along humming behind her closed lips, and then suddenly turning a corner, stopped dead short with a horrified stare in her eyes. she had come round by one of the lowest dens in the city. katrine knew it both inside and out, for there was no place from hut to hut in dawson that she was afraid to enter. the door was standing open. it opened inwards, and there was a group of men, some inside and some outside, and amongst them they were forcing into the street a drunken woman. the entry to the place was beneath the level of the ground, and reached by a few uneven, miry steps, and up these the unfortunate was blindly stumbling under a rain of blows, pushes, and curses. she was old, and her hair streamed in ragged streaks across her bloodshot eyes, her tawdry skirt was long, and got under her unsteady feet. just as she had managed to totter to the topmost step, a young man in the group behind her struck her a heavy blow between the shoulders. she tripped in the long skirt and trod on it, tearing it with a ripping sound from the waist, and fell forward, striking her face on the uneven frozen ground. katrine sprang forward, but before she could reach her the woman had staggered to her feet and turned to face her tormentors, the blood streaming now from her cut lips, her trembling hands vaguely grasping at her torn skirt and trying to keep it to her waist. a roar of laughter burst from the men at the pitiful sight, and then died suddenly as they recognised katrine. she stepped in front of the old woman, and faced them with a scorn in her eyes beyond all words. then she turned in silence, put her arm round the helpless creature's waist, and supported her frail, tottering steps over the slippery, uneven ground. for an instant the men stood abashed and ashamed, then when the spell of those great fearless, scornful eyes was removed, their natures reasserted themselves, and a general laugh went round. "birds of a feather!" shouted one, mockingly, as the two retreating figures disappeared in the gathering darkness. katrine heard it, and winced; but she did not relax the hold of her supporting arm, and by gentle and repeated questioning managed to elicit from the helpless old being where she lived. katrine turned her steps in the given direction, and drawing out her handkerchief wiped the blood from the old woman's face, and smoothed her straggling grey hair back behind her ears. when they reached her cabin at last, katrine saw that the stove was black and empty. there was no light of any sort in the place, and the freezing darkness of the interior chilled her through. she would not leave the old woman until she had lighted a fire and candle for her and got her to bed; then, without waiting to listen to the mumbled and incoherent thanks showered upon her, she went out gently and on to her own place. she felt in a very serious mood as she made her cup of coffee and cooked herself a plate of bacon, and then sat down in the red glow of her well-tended hearth to her solitary meal. "birds of a feather!" that hateful sentence echoed round her, until the silent walls themselves seemed taunting her. was she not, after all, really akin to that old woman, and might she not some day end like her? what was all her own drinking and card-playing and knocking about in the saloons to end in? she shivered, and threw a frightened glance round her. this girl, who would have laughed all sermons, advice, and admonitions scornfully aside, was almost startled now into a sudden reformation by the chance object-lesson of this afternoon. she could not forget it, and in the silence the whole scene rose up vividly before her. she began to long for stephen to come and break the silence, and glanced impatiently at the clock many times. he was coming in to town that night, she knew. it was a relief such as she had never experienced when at last he arrived, and she had not her own company only any longer. she was unusually silent all the evening. stephen did not try to force her into conversation; he was content to sit on the opposite side of the hearth and let his eyes rest upon her in silence. she was paler, he thought, as he watched the orange light from the flames play over the oval face and throw up its regular lines. she was sitting sideways to him, gazing absently into the heart of the glowing coals, and her shadow, formed by the lamp between her and stephen, fell strongly and clearly outlined upon the opposite wall. stephen sat in his corner and gazed at it through half-closed eyes. he had been working hard all day, and in the keen, biting air; the warmth and the rest were grateful to him. the silence in the room had lasted so long that he began to feel drowsy under the influence of this quiet warmth. he watched the shadow sleepily, and dreamy fancies floated across his brain. the clean-cut, delicate profile was magnified to colossal proportions on the blank wall. so it seemed to stephen that beautiful presence would dominate his life, fill in completely the blank of his colourless existence, as the large shadow filled the wall. then, as his gaze followed its outlines, he saw what his eyes had not found before: a huge upright line of shade, formed by her chair back, ran up beside and mingling with the other lines. it seemed to curve over towards her shoulder, and then a few seconds more, and to stephen's drowsy gaze, the harsh line expanded into a hideous grotesque figure. out of those few shades upon the wall there leaped a picture to his eyes: the girl, and at her side, bending over her, a hideous devil, a strange vampire, hovering nearer or farther, in blacker or lighter shades, as the flames in the fire rose and fell. stephen watched in a fascinated stupor, and then suddenly, as the light died down in the grate and the shade leaped out nearer and blacker, he started to his feet with a sudden exclamation. the girl started too, and looked up. "what is it?" she asked. stephen pointed to the wall. katrine turned, the blaze sprang up on the hearth, the shadows were gone, the illusion vanished. "what is it?" she said again, wonderingly. "oh, nothing--a hideous shape on the wall," stammered stephen. "i was watching your shadow, and another seemed to come up and threaten it. imagination, i suppose--perhaps i had fallen into a dream," he added hurriedly, fearing she would laugh at him. but katrine did not laugh: she looked at him gravely and in silence. in her mind she was pondering a question, hesitating, half fearing to speak to him, half impelled to, and half held back, and the equal opposite forces acting on her mind kept her silent. stephen, unused to her present mood, felt perhaps she was annoyed or wearied, and drew out his watch. it was past ten. "i will say good-night," he said, rising. katrine got up too. her face paled yet more, her bosom rose and fell quickly. "take me away from here," she said abruptly and suddenly. she had been thinking all the evening how she would approach the subject with him, and then at last his leave-taking had startled away all her circuitous phrases and left her only the crudest words at her command to express her meaning. stephen was startled and confused, but his voice was very tender as he took her hand in his and said, "i don't understand, dear; what do you mean?" he felt her hand tremble in his. she looked up at him appealingly. her eyes seemed frightened and uncertain. she was more womanly at this moment than she had ever been. to stephen she was infinitely more fascinating than she had ever been. accustomed to her bright, fearless independence, admire that as he might, in this weakness, whatever its cause, she was irresistible. "well, i mean," she said, speaking nervously, but with an effort to control her excitement, "the other day you spoke of our being married, and i said i couldn't stand a quiet life. stephen, i will marry you now, and go anywhere with you. i will be content with any life, any monotony--only take me from here at once! i loathe this place, this life." she stopped suddenly, and a wave of crimson blood swept over the white face. "i want to be taken away," she repeated. stephen looked at her a moment in silence, with a sense of apprehension and alarm. he could not do as she asked; he was not free--his claim held him. "i don't know quite what you mean," he said, a little stiffly, though he felt he did know. "it would be quite impossible for me to go away now; my whole heart's in the work, and i've sunk all i had in it." "yes; and your soul too," said katrine suddenly, looking at him with shining eyes and a calm face. "you're a slave now to your gold, the same as we all are here--a community of slaves," and she laughed. stephen grew red, and looked confused, alarmed, and angry, all at the same time. "nobody would go now," he said, remonstratingly, "and leave ground like that. it would be insanity. ask talbot, ask anybody if they would." "talbot!" repeated katrine, scornfully; "he's the worst slave of all; but then he never preached about his soul, and wanting to reform people." "no one can reform you if you won't reform yourself," replied stephen, coldly; and there he spoke the truth. "who was it who has put in our prayer, 'lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil'? here i live in temptation: i am always thrown into evil. if i were not--" her voice was very quiet, and had a strange pathetic note in it. it ceased, and then there was silence. stephen felt as if a hand were laid on his lips and crushed down the voice that kept struggling from his heart. a second more, and then the girl laughed suddenly. "oh, i was stupid! i did not know what i was saying, did not mean it anyway. it's quite right for you to stick to your claim and the idea you started with, and so on. you will make a great success if you do, and that is all you want!" her tone was jesting and cynical as ever now--the usual hardness had come back to her face. the moment of submission, of confidence, of repentance, had passed--a moment when she could have been moved and won to any life he wished, and he had lost it. he felt it. yet how could he have done otherwise? "forget what i said--quite," she added; "and go now. it's getting late, and i want to get down to the saloons." a thrill of horror went through stephen, as she knew it would. he gazed at her blankly with a horrible feeling, as if he were murdering somebody, clutching at his heart. "what are you waiting for?" she said, impatiently. "why don't you hurry back to your claim?" "katrine ... i--" he stammered, staring at her, but even as he looked a great wall of gold seemed to rise between them and shut her from him. "forgive me," he muttered brokenly; "i can't give it up now." "good-night," said katrine, and he turned and fumbled for the door handle and went out. when he was gone katrine turned to her small square of looking-glass that hung beneath the lamp on the wall. "what a fool i was to-night!" she said, looking at the sweet reflection and smiling lips. a few minutes after stephen had gone, a slight figure, muffled up to the eyes, slipped out of no. and hurried with quick steps down the uneven footway of good luck row. that night stephen climbed to his cabin with his head on fire and a singing in his ears. a terrific struggle was going on in his breast. he felt the path of duty was clear to him now, and equally that he did not want to follow it. he had tried to shut his eyes to it; tried to believe that it was not clear, that he did not know what was right or necessary to do, and therefore that he might be excused if he did not do it, but he could close his eyes no longer. they had been dragged open to-night, and he could not wilfully close them again. as he strode up the narrow little snow path leading to his cabin he felt that he knew his duty, and he groaned out aloud in the silent icy night. to leave now meant to endanger, perhaps to sacrifice, the million dollars that he felt in a month or two he could take out of his claim; and to stay meant to endanger, perhaps to sacrifice, a human soul! a million dollars, a human soul! these two ideas possessed him. a million dollars, a human soul! the two thoughts rang alternately through his brain until it seemed as if voices were crying them out upon the soundless air. according to his religion, spirits combated for the soul of man, and it seemed to stephen that night as he mounted the solitary path under the far-seeing eyes of the frosty stars above him, that spirits really fought around him, good and evil, for the victory. "a million dollars!" shouted the evil ones, "do not throw them away." "a human soul!" wailed the others, "do not let it fall into evil." his sensitive, excitable mind trembled before the crisis. his own soul shuddered and sickened, for he seemed to see the hosts of greed of gold, and they were stronger than the hosts of light. and stephen himself now was badly equipped for the conflict. he felt and recognised with dismay he had not the strength and the fervour now that had brought him through former battles. he was as a warrior that has fallen asleep and awakened to find his arms grown rusty while he has been sleeping. gradually for the last six months the lust for gold had been eating into his spirituality and destroying it. you cannot serve god and mammon: had he not entered into the services of mammon, and been held there by the rich rewards? he thought of the rich pans he had been getting out. there was no claim like his in the camp. there was no man more envied nor considered more lucky than he. yes, mammon had paid him well in the six months he had served it, showered upon him more than god had done in six-and-twenty years; and here was god's gift, a human soul, a sweet human life, he could save and make his own--and stephen groaned again, for he felt that the gold was dearer to him. how could he have so changed, he wondered. a year ago he would have laughed at the idea of a million dollars being a bribe for him to sin. he looked into his heart now and found there was nothing there but a passion for gold, gold! it was a yellow rust that had eaten into his christian's sword. then his thoughts strayed to the girl he had just left, and her bright fresh face seemed to sway before him as he walked. his excited fancy painted it upon the snow banks at his side. she was so young, she seemed so fresh and lovely, it was impossible to think of her as tainted already with vice and sin. it was only if she were kept in this snow-bound prison, this mournful land of darkness and suffering, where, as she said, she had no place nor aim, that she would fall as those bright meteors were falling now far in the distant darkness. he could be her deliverer, her saviour, if--if he could. in the icy cold of that arctic night, great drops of sweat broke out hotly on stephen's forehead as his brain was wrenched to and fro in the struggle. he tried to bribe even himself, tried to let his thoughts dwell on his passion for the girl, tried to think of the mere human sweetness that would go hand in hand with his victory over evil. if he won that bright clean soul for god, would he not also win that loved human form for himself? but even the voice of passion was drowned in the clamour of the greater greed. the next morning, as soon as it was light, stephen went out to his claims. none of his men had come up to work yet. stephen stood and looked over the stretch of ground beneath which he believed his fortunes lay. a light covering of snow had fallen on it during the night and lay about a foot deep in one unbroken sheet, not even the mark of a bird's foot disturbed its blank evenness: the claims looked very cold and drear in the dull dusky grey light of the dawn under that leaden sky. but stephen's heart beat quickly as he gazed upon them. what did it matter that cold, dreary, surface, when the gold lay glowing underneath! stephen felt as only a man of his sensitive conscience could feel his defeat of the previous night. his heart, all his better nature was crushed under a sickening load of mortification, and he sought desperately to find relief and justification for himself in contemplating the treasure for whose sake he had accepted it. as in other circumstances a man would solace himself for all sacrifices by gazing on the face of a mistress for whom he had relinquished worldly ambitions, and find excuses for himself in her beauty, telling himself a hundred times she was worth it all; so stephen now gazed upon his claims, for which he had given up his scruples, his principles, his conscience, and his god, and tried to hug to himself the comfort that they were worth it. after a few seconds he tramped across the frozen snow to the line marked out by the banks of gravel where they had been at work the previous day. that evening he could not stay in his cabin, he felt restless and ill at ease. a nervous sense of anxiety hung over him. he seemed to himself to be expecting some misfortune. his nerves, weakened by the lonely life he had been living for the past months, and exhausted by the sleepless hours of the previous night, kept presenting picture after picture of possible ills. he looked over both his revolvers, to make sure they were in good order for defence if he were attacked that night. then he drew his fur cap tightly down on his forehead and went out. the stillness of his own cabin and the clamour of his own thoughts were unbearable. the night was still and starlit, the air keen and thin as a knife-blade. stephen strode along the narrow frosty path, and took the road down into the town. on his way he passed talbot's cabin. it was lighted up. the little window made a square of yellow light in the darkness; the blind over it was drawn only half-way down. stephen stepped up over the bank of frosted snow and looked in. the great fire lighted up the whole of the small interior, and threw its red light up to the cross logs in the roof. in the centre of the room, at a table. talbot sat working. there were some sheets of paper before him, and he held a pen in his hand with which he was checking off some figures. his face was turned to the window; it looked pale and tired, but there was a curious expression of extreme tranquillity upon it--a settled, serene patience that struck the onlooker. he sat there working on steadily, motionless, calm as a figure in stone; and poor stephen, torn in the struggle of his desires, slipping into the cold slough of self-condemnation, and burnt with the fever of greed, groaned aloud as he stood outside. then he turned from the window and plunged back through the snow to the path that led to the town. he wanted to see katrine, and yet he hated the thought of facing her after their parting of last night. what must she think of him? with her quick mental perceptions she would have seen through and through his miserable mind; seen that the gold had got hold of him, held him now, and that his boasted religion had no power against it. no, he thought, he could not face her--he was still some distance from the town; then as he drew nearer, the unappeasable desire to see her and hear her fresh bright voice came over him. when he reached good luck row he went straight to no. . he might have saved himself the trouble of his decisions. katrine had decided for him whether he should see her that night or not. the window was dark; he tried the door, it was fastened; she was evidently not there. a chill ran over stephen from head to foot, and then he recognized how much he had really wanted to see her. he stood outside the door a long time; the row was quiet, there were few passers. he waited, hoping to see her come up each minute--perhaps she had only gone out on some errand; but the minutes passed and he grew cold standing there, still she did not come. at last stephen moved away from the door and wandered disconsolately down the row. he went on mechanically, not heeding where his footsteps took him, and found suddenly that he had reached the main street down by the river. there was no darkness nor quiet here, all the stores had their windows wide open, and the light from them poured out upon the black slippery mass of ice and melted snow that lay over the frozen ground. the saloons were in full blast, brilliantly lighted and filled with noisy crowds of miners. the dance halls, of which there were some dozen along the street, seemed doing a good business. a shooting gallery that had been fixed up in a tent was not only filled inside, but a crowd of men and some women were gathered round the tent entrance, pushing and pressing each other in their efforts to get in; the glare from the flaming lights inside fell on their faces, and stephen glanced eagerly over them to see if katrine was amongst them. he passed on, disappointed. there was another tent a little farther on, where a cheap band was playing, and a board outside announced in pen-and-ink characters the attraction of a "catherine wheel dance." the crowd here was even larger, and lights were fixed outside flaring merrily in the frosty air. stephen walked on, past the stores and warehouses, past the noisy crowded saloons, past the brilliant dance halls and the variety show tents. it was to him all a hideous, tawdry, glaring mockery of merriment; and on the other side of him was the sullen blackness of the frozen river. he walked on until he had outwalked the town front, outwalked the straggling tents, till he had left the noise, and light, and laughter behind him. when he glanced round he saw he had nothing but the river and a waste of darkness beside him. there was an old log in his path; he sat down upon it and looked back to the mist of light that hung over the town, then his gaze wandered back disconsolately and rested on the ice-bound river. katrine had passed that day wretchedly too. she had been down idling in one of the saloons through the afternoon, but the old resorts seemed to have lost their charm. the old pleasure had gone, and the stimulus would not come back. the cards looked greasy and dirty and revolted her, and the drink seemed to turn to carbolic acid in her mouth. she left at last, and went home to her lonely cabin and flung herself down in the dark in the chimney corner and tried to sleep, but horrible faces danced before her, and women with grey hair and wrinkles, with her own face, stared at her from the walls. she was still lying face downwards on the skins, half dozing now after that long conflict with horrible visions, when a light and very timid tap came on the door outside. she got up and went straight to it; her face was flushed and tear-stained, and her hair ruffled and in disorder, but she never thought to go first to the little square mirror that hung in the corner to improve her appearance before admitting visitors. as she threw open the door, the stream of hot light showed stephen upon the threshold white as a spectre, chilled almost to death by his vigil at the river, with a strained smile on his lips and a great hunger in his eyes. his conscience reproached him: he knew he had not come bravely with his hands full of the sacrifice, having conquered himself, and ready to lay down all for her sake; but like a coward, still in the thrall of his money-lust and yet longing to attain her too, unable to give her up. he knew all this, and stood timidly as the friendless dogs will gaze through an open hut-door, wistfully, expecting to be driven away with blows; but katrine met him with neither harsh words nor looks, she just simply put out both her warm hands and drew him in over the threshold. the welcome, the smile, the warm touch overcame him. "katrine," he muttered suddenly, as she closed the door and barred it, "if i--if--i gave--up," and then the words died, strangled in his throat. katrine held up her hand. "don't begin to talk about anything like that," she said, gently pushing him down on the chair by the hearth, "till you are warm again. where have you been freezing yourself like this?" she was busy lighting the lamp and setting her little old blackened coffee-pot over the flames. stephen told her of his long lonely tramp by the river, and watched her with keen eager eyes as she made the coffee and poured him out a cup. "now drink it all quick," she said imperatively, handing him the boiling mixture, from which the steam came furiously. "it's like the ordeal by fire," answered stephen, meekly taking the cup. with a heroic effort he swallowed three parts of it, and colour began to come back to his face. katrine observed this, and sat down contentedly on the floor in front of the ambitious fire, that seemed trying to leap up the chimney through the roof. "stephen," she said very slowly and gently after a minute, "it was selfish of me to ask you to leave your claims. i've been thinking of it all day. i won't do it, and i will come and help you work them." stephen felt the room whirl round him as he heard. was he not in some rich, warm dream that would dissolve and leave him suddenly? his claims, those golden claims! and katrine too--he seemed to see her dressed in gold, framed in gold, gold in her eyes and hair. her movement, as she turned to look at him, brought him back to realities. "do you mean it?" he said, stooping over her and catching her hands almost roughly in his. she met his feverish eyes with a bright, tranquil smile. he looked at her keenly for an instant, and involuntarily an exclamation broke from his lips: "katrine! it's too much happiness for any man!" perhaps the gods above, who eye jealously the lives of mortals, here made a note of this remark in their pocket-books. katrine knitted her brows angrily. "i don't think so," she said. "you had better hear what sort of girl i am." stephen turned pale, and leaned down over her as she sat on the hearth, her head against his knees. the cabin was full of the warm red firelight, that leaped over the walls and up to the rough blackened rafters above them. it glistened on the silky dark hair beneath his hand, and fell ruddily over the smooth oval face turned up to him. stephen looked down at her and felt content. "no, no," he said hastily; "never mind anything in the past; we will efface it all; we make a fresh start from to-night." he would have stooped and silenced her with a kiss, but an arrogant look came over her pale face, and she pushed him back with her hand. "no, i don't like that idea. we must have things cleared up and tidy before we marry. you must know the truth from me, and then you will know how to meet any one who comes to you with talk about me afterwards; and they may come, for i'm known in all the saloons of dawson." stephen shuddered. "if they keep to the truth about me, you must just accept it; if they tell lies, you'll just shoot them." again a cold thrill passed through her lover. to talk of shooting--taking a human life--murder--as though it were no more than a snapping of the fingers! his mind flew on a sudden bound of remembrance back to the little school teacher in the village of arden, who could not bear the sight of a rabbit's blood on the trap, and whose quiet days were spent between the village schoolroom and the village church; yet he knew he had never loved that little teacher as he loved katrine, that she could never rouse him as this woman did whom he believed to be an epitome of evil, who, as she lay now in the firelight by his feet, reminded him of the emblem of sin that crept into man's eden. yet it was a pleasure--what pleasure to be near her, to touch that smooth skin! but what was this pleasure?--was it also evil? what was this passion? his thoughts flew onward feverishly, and then katrine's voice struck across them and brought him back to outer consciousness again. "listen," she was saying, "while i tell you all, and _then_ we can start afresh, as you say." stephen put his hand over his eyes, and waited in silence. he dreaded unspeakably what he thought he was going to hear, and with a man's moral cowardice would have deferred her confession, slurred over and tried to forget her wrong-doing, rather than hear and forgive it. they had changed places since he had asked her that morning in his cabin to confide in him. "well, to begin with," went on her clear, soft voice, "i drink--i like drinking. you think it wrong to drink anything but water; i like wine and spirits, anything that excites me, and i can drink with any man in town. but i have never been drunk, stephen, you understand that. then i like all kinds of gaiety, and like to spend all my time dancing and laughing, and what your friend talbot calls 'fooling.' and i gamble," katrine paused a second before she said the decisive words, and then went on rapidly, "oh, stephen, you don't know, i haven't told you, but i love the tables. i can sit up all night and play with the boys; i love excitement, i love the winning and raking in the gold dust. i spend all my nights playing; it's what i live for in this awful place." there was silence, then katrine's voice broke it again-- "now you think that so wicked, i bet you don't want to marry me now." there was a half laugh with a sad ring in it as she looked up to his covered face. now stephen heard, but the words fell on his ears dully; he was waiting in strained painful tension for what was to come. it was true he loathed gambling as a hated vice, and but for the apprehension that gripped his mind her confession so far would have been horrible to him. still it was as a christian that he abhorred these things. what he expected to hear he would have abhorred as a man and a lover; and the former abhorrence is considerably milder than the latter. "go on," he said at last, in a stifled voice. "there is nothing more," returned katrine, dejectedly. she thought she was being condemned and despised, and to none is that a cheering feeling. stephen sat up suddenly, and then bent over, clasping his hands round her waist, lithe and supple even in her rough clothing, and drew her up to him. "is there nothing?" he whispered eagerly in her ear. "have you nothing more to confess to me?" katrine gave herself up to his embrace, a delicious sense of peace and protection and warm comfort stealing over her such as she had never known. "nothing," she murmured, with her soft lips close to his ear and her silky curls touching his neck. she felt stephen grasp her close to him, and a tremor ran through his whole frame. "have you never lain like this in a man's arms before? never felt a kiss on your lips?" he persisted, holding her to him with a fierce intensity of growing passion. "never, never," katrine answered, opening her calm dark eyes and looking straight up to his. stephen met their gaze for one long second, a proud, tranquil, fearless look that sunk deep into his soul and poured balm into every wound she had ever made there. the next moment she felt a torrent of hot kisses on her face, a pressure that almost stifled her on her breast, a murmur of "darling, my darling," and knew nothing very clearly any more except that she was loved and very happy. chapter v gold-plated the next afternoon, when stephen returned to the west gulch and talbot heard his news, he said he was glad, and meant it. life at the gulch was very desolate and dreary, and such a bright glad presence as the girl's would alleviate the monotony and disperse the gloom. for the following week both men were busy preparing stephen's cabin for her reception and trying to impart to it a bridal appearance. the hands were left to do the work on the claims, and talbot and stephen were too busy indoors to even oversee them. the cabin was large and well built. it stood looking across the gulch, and half-way down it, over the tops of the dark green pines and facing towards the western horizon, where the pink lights played and the little sundogs gambolled in the fall of the short grey snowy afternoons. stephen was down in town once in the week, and came back with his pony laden with mysterious packages, and when talbot came in in the evening he found stephen on his knees, tacking down strips of carpet by the bed in the inner room. narrow curtains had also been nailed up beside the window, and altogether the cabin presented a luxurious appearance. "this is quite magnificent," remarked talbot, strolling about with an admiring air. "d'ye think so?" replied stephen in a pleased tone, lifting a flushed face from his tacks and sitting back on his boot heels. "she's awfully handsome, isn't she? say, it's strange to come to a hole like this and meet the handsomest girl you've ever seen!" "she is very handsome," assented talbot, sitting down by the stove and stretching out his frozen feet before it. he was in the other room, but close to the open door leading into the bedroom, and facing stephen as he sat on the floor with the screw of tacks by his side that had been paid for in gold. "and good, too, eh? good at heart, don't you think? only not exactly religious, of course," he continued. "no, she's not very religious," returned talbot, with the dry, hard tone in his voice that his subordinates knew and hated. "but it's not every one who says, 'lord, lord, that shall enter the kingdom of heaven,'" quoted stephen; "you remember, christ said that," he pursued in an anxious tone, peering up at the other for encouragement. talbot gave his slight, quiet laugh. "you've got the handsomest girl in the place," he said, "and a very nice, charming one, too. i don't see what more you want." to his strong, determined character this perpetual straining after a religion that was cast to the winds first at the temptation of gold, and then at a saloon-keeper's daughter's smile, was rather contemptible. "and 'there's more joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth,' etc.," stephen continued, anxious to persuade himself into a comfortable frame of mind. "has miss poniatovsky repented?" asked talbot, still more dryly. "why, yes; i told you all she said. she won't gamble any more." talbot was silent; through his mind was running a line of latin to the effect that wool once dyed scarlet can never recover its former tint, but he said nothing. it did not take katrine long to prepare for her wedding. there was no such thing as buying a trousseau in dawson. she gathered together her coarse woollen underclothes, her stout short dresses, and thick boots, and packed them in two flat cases, such as can be strapped to a burro's side, and these were to be all she would take up to the cabin in the gulch besides her wealth of natural beauty. she did go to many of the stores around, buying trifles such as might happen to find themselves there and suit her: a small looking-glass here, a ribbon or a piece of lace there, and as she leaned across the rough trestle counter she generally remarked to the storekeeper, "i'm going to be married." she said it in the shyest, happiest tone imaginable, and a little blush stole over her smooth cheeks. in this way the news got round to katrine's old friends and associates. she would have liked to have told them herself, but the old hunting grounds were forbidden to her now, and stephen's wishes made a barrier between her and the entrance of all the saloons. he had tried to make her give him a solemn promise never to enter one again, but this katrine would not do. "i can't be tied like that," she had said. "something might occur to make it necessary for me to go into one of those places; and if i had promised you in this way, i could not. you have said you don't wish me to go; i have said i won't. isn't that enough?" and stephen had looked into the clear dark eyes and had said "quite." the day of stephen's marriage, the day when katrine was to arrive as a bride at the west gulch, was calm and still. there was no wind and no snow falling. the sky stretched black and gloomy above the plains of snow; it was a day of the alaskan winter, but still a good day for that. stephen had gone down the previous day, and slept the night in dawson. talbot was waiting at the cabin to receive them on their return. as he stood at the little window that overlooked the trail, waiting for the first glimpse of them, and staring across the dismal waste that ran into grey and dreary mist in the distance, a great revolt stirred in his usually calm and philosophic breast--a sudden longing swept over him for the blue skies and warm air of the lands he was accustomed to, and a wilder longing still for a glimpse of the sunlight held in two eyes that were fairer than any sky. he shut his teeth hard, and his hand closed tightly on the window frame. "only a little longer," he muttered to himself, and then far in the distance came a soft silvery tinkle of bells. recalled to himself, he relaxed his face in a pleasant smile, and went to the door and opened it. in a second or two they came in sight, riding single file up the narrow trail, the girl first and stephen following. she wore a large skin coat of some shaggy fur which concealed her figure, though not its splendid upright pose, and on her head was a small fur cap of some light colour, white fox or rabbit. beneath showed her dark glossy hair curling upwards over the brim, and her glowing face rich and fresh as a damascus rose. talbot was greatly struck. the realisation of her beauty came home to him very forcibly in this cold, envious light of open day. "stephen's not such a fool, after all," was his inward comment as he went forward to meet them. as he lifted her from her pony and bade her welcome to the cabins and the west gulch, she smiled down upon him. what a mysterious, magic thing human beauty is, and the human smile! it seems to light the dreariest sky, people the loneliest landscape. where there is a human smile to reflect one's own, not even a desert seems desolate, not even a prison cell seems cold. talbot felt this very strongly in that moment. as the warm, bright, laughing, youthful face looked into his, the sun seemed to have suddenly burst out upon that dreary snowy plain, and as the two men escorted her over the threshold it seemed to both that they were throwing open the door not only to her concrete self but to the abstracts, warmth and light, and gaiety and laughter, and that these all flowed in with her into the simple rough interior, transforming and illumining it. katrine was delighted with her new home; she walked about examining every detail and showing her joy and pleasure in each little trifle that had been prepared for her. she had a very soft voice and manner when she chose,--she was too young yet for her gambling, drinking, and rough associates to have spoiled,--and stephen stood in the centre of the room, flushed and silent with the fulness of his pleasure, following her eagerly with his eyes. after all, in this world of ours, everything stands in such close relation to its surrounding objects and circumstances that there is no absoluteness left. or you may consider it the other way, that the feelings are absolute and always the same. a millionaire bridegroom could not receive more pleasure from the pleasure of his bride when viewing the mansion he had prepared for her, than stephen did now from katrine's approval of his log hut, and her thanks and smiles were as sweet over a little wooden shelf tacked against the wall, as if a two thousand dollar chandelier had called them forth. then stephen took her arm and drew her into the next room, and here she was so shy and nervous she could not look about at all. stephen took off her cloak and all her outer wraps, and then made her come and see her reflection in a little square looking-glass that he had obtained for her at quite a high price; but katrine could not face the mirror, and hid her blushing cheeks and downcast eyes on his shoulder instead. stephen put his arm round her. "you don't regret what you have done?" he asked in alarm, pressing her close to him. "no, oh no, dear steve, only it's all so strange; let's go back to the other room." they returned, as she wished, and found that talbot had laid the dinner for them,--a dinner he had spent all the morning in preparing,--and they sat down to it with a gaiety that made up for the shortness of supplies. after dinner they drew close round the fire and prolonged the roasting and eating of chestnuts and drinking whisky throughout the afternoon,--for whisky was there, strongly as stephen objected to see her drink it; still it was their wedding day, and he let it pass. as darkness came down a whirling snow-storm swept through the gulch; they could see the thin sharp flakes fly past the window on the cutting wind, and hear the whistling roar of the storm as it struck and beat upon the cabin. they only flung more logs into the stove, and gave a backward glance over their shoulders from time to time towards the window. by nine in the evening, when talbot was leaving them to go to his own cabin, it had calmed down a little, though the wind still moaned in the hollows of the gulch. stephen and katrine stood at the window a second after he had gone, looking out into the curious misty whiteness and blackness commingled of the night. "i am sorry there should be such a storm the first day you are here, darling," said stephen softly, putting his arm round her waist. "why, what does that matter? i do not mind, i have you to protect me. you will always now, steve, won't you, from everything? i don't want ever to go back to that gambling life again." he drew her into his arms. "of course, of course i will," he said, kissing her. "i will always take care of you." her arms were interlaced about his neck, they looked into each other's eyes, and neither knew any more whether it was a storm or a calm in the night outside. for the first few weeks after their marriage katrine was more than happy, and it seemed to those lonely beings, sheltered from the savage siege of nature only by those frail little cabins built by their own hands on the edge of the snow-filled gulch, that a new life had blossomed for them suddenly--a perfect spring in winter. the girl's wonderful health and unfailing spirits were in themselves a delight, and she was possessed of such a sweet and even temper, that it seemed to smooth out and round off the hard edges of their rough, comfortless existence. nothing seemed to have the power to disturb her, the most irritating and annoying incident never even brought a frown to her face; it filled her with consternation for the men, and an immediate desire to smooth it over for them, if possible to prevent their being ruffled by it. for herself, she seemed above the reach of any circumstance to disconcert. one morning the men had an instance of this. they were all three living together in stephen's cabin now. that is to say, talbot took all his meals there, and used it as his own home in every way, except that he still went back to his cabin to sleep. it had seemed cheerless to both katrine and stephen for talbot to be eating alone a few yards from them, and though it gave the girl more work, and for that reason talbot was slow to accept the arrangement, she herself coaxed him into it. they came in late from the claims to lunch, and found her bending over the fire, with flushed cheeks and happy eyes. she was stirring a great saucepan of inviting looking and smelling stew, that she had spent the whole morning in preparing. the large handle of the pan projected from the stove some distance, and as stephen threw off his overcoat he managed in some way to tip up the saucepan with a sudden jerk that sent the contents half into the fire, half over the girl's bare arm, from which her sleeve was rolled to the elbow. she did not utter a sound as the scalding liquid ran burning over her flesh, but talbot saw her face grow deadly pale with the sickening pain. after a second of agony, when she found her voice, and stephen was remorsefully spreading fat over the blistered, cracking flesh, the first thing she said, with her eyes full of disappointed tears, was, "oh dear! how unlucky! now you won't get anything hot for lunch." and as soon as a bandage was twisted round her scalded arm, she was over at the cupboard collecting all the best of her cold supplies and laying them out on the table. there was not a word of anger or reproof to stephen for his carelessness, not a word of her own pain. the great sorrow that she was anxious to smooth over and atone for to them was that they would have to put up with a cold luncheon! her one idea, the sole thought that occupied her, was to make these two men happy, at any cost to herself. all day she studied how she could make their life, so hard and rough smoother for them, how she could alleviate the labour and monotony of it. she rose in the morning long before either was awake, and had the fires blazing, wood brought in, water melted out, and the coffee made by the time they came into the sitting-room, looking white and sleepy in the flare of the common candles. all the house work they had formerly found hard, when counted in addition to their outside labour, she took entirely upon herself, and insensibly they both felt the relief very great. there was no coming home now, worn out and frozen, to a cheerless cabin, and being obliged to chop wood and light fires and split ice before they could get warm and rested. a glowing hearth, a laid table, a smiling face, always awaited them. often coming up from the dump at the lower end of the claim, they could see the square patch of red light flung out from the window on the snow, bidding them hurry in to the welcome warmth and light inside. the daylight only lasted them now from ten to two, and for these hours the men worked out of doors. during their absence the girl went out on shooting expeditions of her own. she had invented a modified snow-shoe, broad and short, with slightly curved-up ends, and with these strapped on to her lithe feet, her fur coat fastened up to her chin, and her fur cap drawn over her ears and to her brows, she defied the fall of the mercury, and skimmed over the snow as silently and swiftly as a shadow moving. she enjoyed these long, lonely excursions, with her heart kept warm by the hope of discovering something she could bring down with her pistol or her shot-gun, and carry back as a surprise and a treat for the men for supper. there was not much indeed to be found; but a small breed of snow-bird was prevalent, and quite a flock of these would very often follow or precede a snow-storm, and whenever katrine's keen eye caught sight of the little dark patch that a cluster of them made against the snow, she would glide swiftly over in that direction, and have eight or ten of them swinging at her belt to take home. they were small, but cooked as she knew how to cook them, they were a delicacy beyond price to the men who for months had tasted little but beans and hard bacon. katrine felt quite happy if she could return through the suddenly falling gloom of the afternoon and cross the darkened threshold just as the men came back, half frozen, from the creek, and show her cluster of victims swinging by their long-necked heads from her waist. she thought of them, planned for their comfort, and worked for them all day; while to her husband she was absolutely devoted, and one would think that for such devotion a few smiles, a kiss, and some kind words was a small price to pay. yet after the first few weeks, and even during them, stephen, who worked all day to secure his mining gains, would not even exert himself to that degree to return the affection that was worth all his claims put together. one kiss given before he went out to his work in the morning would have made katrine happy all day, one tender inquiry on his return would have amply rewarded her for all her labours, yet he invariably went out to the claims without bestowing the one, and returned without making the other. hard work, privations, loneliness, even the absence of all the amusements she had delighted in, would not have broken her spirits; she would have accepted them all cheerfully, if her husband had only thrown over them the little light and warmth of his affection that she longed for. each day she hoped it might be different; but no, he grew more and more absorbed by the gold fever that was eating away his heart and brain, and the girl grew more and more depressed and resentful. "it would be no trouble to him," she murmured to herself over and over again, as she stood at the wash-tub, wringing out his shirts, or knelt on the floor of the cabin scrubbing the boards, "just a kiss or a smile." she did not in the meantime relax any of her attention to him. her smile for him was always as sweet when he returned, her efforts to please him as untiring, but in her heart her thoughts turned more and more constantly day by day to the idea of leaving him, of returning to her own life, where at least she had not been tormented by this perpetual hope and expectation and disappointment. stephen never dreamed that the girl's thoughts were as they were; though if he had done so, he probably would not have altered his own course--for katrine in several angry outbursts had appealed to him, had told him how she hungered after, not great and difficult proofs of his love, but the little ones, the trifles, how he was starving and killing her love for him by his neglect of it, and he either could not, or would not, understand. but that she contemplated ever leaving him never crossed his brain, any more than the conception of the passionate hate she felt for him at times when he left undone some trifling thing, that if done, would have roused an equally passionate access to her love. he, jaundiced with this mental yellow fever, thought his rich claims, his great wealth, had probably had some influence on the daughter of the polish jew when she accepted him. he relied, in fact, on his wealth, and on the material advantages she would gain by clinging to him, to hold her to him. and with katrine this was a rope of sand. she cared no more for stephen's wealth and for his claims than if they had been ash heaps. there was not a touch of avarice, of calculating greed, in her whole character, and to gratify her own impulse she would have cast all material advantages aside. from stephen she wanted love, and that only, and this was the only chain that could hold for an instant her proud, independent, reckless will. there were the makings of a splendid character in the girl, all the foundations of all the best qualities in her: a little care, a little culture bestowed on them, and she would have developed into a fine and noble woman; but stephen's eyes were blinded by the glare of the gold he saw in his visions, and the far greater and more wonderful treasure, the living human soul, that chance had given over to his care, unfolded itself slowly before him in all its beauty, and he could no longer see it. to talbot it seemed incredible that katrine through her mere physical beauty did not obtain a greater hold upon him, that she seemed so unable to absorb him, that she could not triumph over him by the road of the senses. talbot himself was absorbed in his work, but even he, the onlooker, the outsider, felt the influence of this brilliant young presence that had come suddenly into their sordid life, like the sun rising in radiant majesty over a barren plain. the common table at which they sat seemed no longer the same now that she was at the head, with her beautiful figure rising above it, and her laughing, lovely nineteen-year-old face looking down it. to him, those liquid flashing eyes, and arching brows, and curled red lips seemed to light, positively light, the small and common room. but the eye grows accustomed to beauty and ceases to heed it, just as it grows accustomed to, and ceases to heed, ugliness and deformity, especially where there is no standard, no measure for it, no comparison with other objects. just as any shortcoming, any mental or physical defect that a man hardly notices in a woman he loves, when alone with her, becomes painfully apparent to him when he sees her surrounded by others, so does her beauty strike him when reflected in other eyes, and pass unheeded when seen only by his own. katrine was alone, there was no other woman's face to either rival or be a foil to hers, and after the first six weeks her beauty ceased to sting and surprise stephen's senses. she, as it were, became the standard, since there was no other. and there is no absoluteness about beauty, nor our admiration for it. when we say we admire a woman because she is beautiful, we mean we admire her because she is more beautiful than other women. if all others were the same as she, she would cease to be called a beautiful woman, and if there were none others than she, then she would simply be a woman for us. we could not know whether she was beautiful or not. man's senses are made not to perceive, but to compare, and he cannot judge except by comparison. talbot knew all this, and he could not help feeling sorry that a girl such as this should be so isolated with them, and that the man who possessed her should realise his good fortune so little. he suggested often, for the girl's sake, excursions down into the town; but stephen, partly from his religious views, and more from his anxiety not to waste a minute of his literally golden time, always frowned down the question, and though the girl looked at him wistfully she never complained against his decisions. she seemed to have completely accepted the idea that her marriage meant the renunciation of all the things she had delighted in, and if her marriage had given her more of what she had hoped for, she would have been contented with the change. one evening, when stephen was out in the shed at the back of the cabin stacking up some wood by the light of a candle stuck in a chink of the logs, talbot and the girl were sitting idle on each side of the stove, and somehow, though talbot seldom opened his lips on such matters, seldom in his life offered opinion or advice to others, they had now been speaking of her marriage, and stephen's attitude towards her. there were tears in her great eyes, and her under lip quivered and turned downwards like a wet rose-leaf. "he is so _very_ wrapped up in all this digging business, why did he want to marry me at all?" she said, in a sort of helpless childish wonder. talbot was silent, looking at her, and then instead of answering her question, said-- "why don't you make him notice you more? why can't you appeal to him?" "appeal to him!" she repeated; "it's no use. why, he is gold-plated--eyes, ears, touch, everything, all plated over; you can't reach him through it." "have men nothing like affection in them?" she said, after a minute. "have they nothing between their mad bursts of passion and a cold incivility? what do they do with all the charming ways they have before they possess a woman? stephen was so gentle, so nice, so interested, when he used to visit me down town; and now you see how rude and hateful he is very often. why do they change? i have not changed. i am still as attentive, as eager to please him, more so, than when he came to my cabin. oh," she added, after a minute, "i'm getting so tired of it all, i feel i'd like to throw it all up and go back to my own life and freedom. all the men are so civil and so nice and so devoted as long as a woman does nothing for them," she said simply, not fully realising perhaps the terrible ironical truth she was half-unconsciously uttering. "i could love him immensely," she added, stretching out her arms; "oh, he could have such a love from me, if he wanted it; but as it is, i don't see much use in my staying with him. i feel i'd like to go back to my own life and forget i ever married him." "oh, you must not do that," said talbot, startled out of his usual calm, and fixing his eyes on her; "pray don't think of such things." "do you think he would care?" she said, opening her eyes in her turn. "i'm sure he would," talbot answered, with so much emphasis and decision that the girl sat silent and impressed for some seconds. "why is he not more amiable then?" she asked. "it's men's way," returned talbot, not knowing exactly what to say, and accidentally hitting the truth completely. "they're fools," replied katrine, angrily, while the hot tears fell thickly into her lap. stephen came in at the moment, and though katrine made no attempt to conceal the fact that she was crying, he took no notice of her, but began talking to talbot about the wood. "we shall have to take the sleigh to-morrow and go up the gulch and get some more wood somehow, if we can. there's only a few bundles left," he said, blowing out the candle and dragging some heavy logs over to the fire. "can i come with you?" asked katrine, looking at him with her soft pathetic eyes, still brimming with tears. "why--yes--i suppose so," returned stephen, slowly opening the stove and looking in. "i shall enjoy it so much," answered katrine, her face beginning to sparkle with its accustomed smiles. "we have not had a sleigh ride together once, have we? i'd like to go with you better than anything. you'll like it too, won't you?" "i don't know; it's a confounded nuisance having to leave the claims a whole afternoon, i think." katrine got up suddenly from where she was sitting and walked into the next room without a word. her tears were dried, her smiles killed. the following day was clear and bright, and a cold, pinky-looking winter sunlight filled the air. katrine and stephen started early, and talbot did not expect them back till dark. he was out on the claims all the morning, and came in to his lunch late and did not go out again immediately. it was a day for a half-holiday, and all his men left early; the claims were deserted, and talbot found himself in solitary possession of the gulch. he felt restless and unsettled, and walked about his little bare room in an aimless way quite unusual to him, and the early part of the afternoon had passed away before he realised it. in one of his walks he went up to the window and stood looking out. the gulch always impressed him; it had a solemn melancholy majesty and desolate grandeur that is not easy to define in words: an icy splendour by moonlight, and a horrible gloomy beauty towards the fall of the day. it was at this time that talbot stood looking out at its rugged edges and the snow-drifts turning grey as the sunlight left them, and listening with a sort of mechanical tension to the unbroken and oppressive stillness round him, when his eye caught sight of a man's figure, moving slowly towards the house. it had appeared so suddenly where for hours there had reigned unbroken silence and loneliness, that talbot started a little with sheer surprise; and then another appeared, and another. they were coming, one behind the other, singly, round the corner of the house, and as they emerged into view on the level platform in front of it talbot looked them over and saw at a glance to what order they belonged. "as tough a crowd of claim-jumpers as i have seen," he murmured to himself as he watched their movements. they did not seem very decided or certain, nor well agreed amongst themselves. there were six in all, and they advanced towards the house in a loitering way, pausing once or twice to talk with each other, and glancing over the cabin. they were all dressed alike, in large slouch hats, thick boots and high leggings, and short coats with a belt round the waist, from which depended their enormous six-shooters. as they finally, in their loitering fashion, neared the door, talbot walked to it, threw it wide open, and asked them what they wanted. they hung back from the door a little and looked at each other, and then one said he had a lease on the claims from general marshall. "i am the only person who has power or authority to give a lease on these claims," returned talbot in a short, hard voice. the men hesitated. talbot looked pretty tough himself as he stood there facing them, clothed in buckskin from head to foot, his head nearly touching the lintel of the doorway above him, his revolver on his side, and behind him looming the tunnel, a gaping mouth of blackness. the men shuffled their feet on the snow and grinned at each other uneasily. it did not seem they could work the game of bluff here that they had thought out in the town. "well, that's your opinion," returned the leader in a bantering tone, while the others closed in nearer the threshold in a jeering circle; "but a lease from general marshall's good enough for us, and i guess we're coming in." "you'd better try it," returned talbot, and he slammed to the heavy door in their faces, and fastened it on the inside. he expected them to force it, and he hastily dragged together some sacks of rich dirt that were lying in the tunnel and piled them up, forming quite a respectable barricade. behind these he took his stand, his revolver in his hand. with six against one he felt they must win in the end, but he thought he could put a bullet through half of their number as they advanced, and he'd sell his claim and his life dear. he waited some moments, but nothing happened. there was silence outside, and after a second or two he stepped back to his sitting-room and looked out of the window. a council of war was taking place seemingly. the men had all withdrawn to a little distance, where there was some old tin piping. they had seated themselves on this, and were now in earnest conversation. talbot stood at the window and watched them with a dry smile. he could tell their talk almost from their expressions and their gestures. it was one thing to come up and bluff a man out of his property, and walk in and take it as he walked out; and another to force a narrow tunnel against the straight, steady fire of a fearless devil like this. they could overpower him in the end, there was no doubt of that; but then when they walked in it would be over his dead body, that was clear, and several others besides him, for he was known to be the quickest, straightest shot in the district, and could certainly get away with some of them. it was this part they did not like, for each man felt he might be the one to be picked off and stretched stiff in the tunnel. so there was considerable parleying and hesitation amongst them, and talbot stood motionless at the window watching them as they sat there, and noting the length of their six-shooters that dangled down the sides of their legs. at last there was a concerted movement amongst them: they got up with one accord, and without another glance at the cabin walked slowly away across the plateau in front of the house and round the corner of it towards the town trail, the way they had come. talbot watched them disappear in the grey light of the gulch with surprise, and then drew a deep breath. he hardly knew whether he felt relieved or disappointed. his blood was up then, and he would have liked to send a bullet through a few of them. he roamed about restlessly for some time, and went to the back of the house to a little square window, and from there watched the last of them mount the trail and disappear from the gulch. then all was silence and solitude again, in the swiftly falling darkness. he turned into his sitting-room, and stirred the fire into a blaze and lighted up the lamps--his lamps always burned well and brightly, being kept scientifically clean and trimmed with his own hands,--then he flung himself into a chair and sat there gazing into the flames, his revolver beside him on the table. he half expected the men to return, and his ears remained attentive to the slightest sound without. but there was nothing, absolute stillness reigned all around him; not a crackle of the frosted snow nor the fall of a leaf broke the grave-like silence. when the other two came in, he told his afternoon's adventure in the quietest, simplest way possible, and the fewest words. the girl listened with flushing cheeks and sparkling eyes. "what fun!" she said at last when he had finished, and kicking off her snow-laden boots as she sat by the stove. "and you held off six men by the 'power of your eye?' what a convenient eye that is! i don't see you've any need to carry a six-shooter! i wish they'd come back to-night, we'd give them something of a reception." talbot laughed, and looked pleased at the praise from her bright young lips. stephen only looked anxious. that night they sat up rather later than usual, and katrine was quite in a pleased state of expectation. no visitors made their appearance, however, and at last talbot left to go to his own cabin. "now, if they come in the night," remarked katrine, laughing, as she said good-night, "don't slay them all with your eye, mind, but give me a chance." talbot promised to use his eye mercifully, and katrine and stephen put their lights out and went to bed. it seemed to katrine she had been asleep some time, when she awoke suddenly and put her hand on her husband's arm. "steve, i hear steps." "nonsense," murmured stephen, drowsily; "it's your fancy. go to sleep." but katrine's ears were like those of a wild animal, quick and not to be deceived. "go to sleep yourself, if you can," she retorted, and sprang up in the darkness, found her day clothes, and hustled them on. there was silence now outside, but katrine hurried all she could, and then with one revolver in her belt and one in her hand went into the other room. suddenly, and without the slightest warning, there was a crash, a sound of tearing and splitting wood, and the door was crushed inward, letting in a blast of icy air. there was pitch darkness within and without. katrine answered immediately by two shots fired in succession; there was a heavy groan, a muttered curse, and some shuffling of feet outside. katrine, standing flat against the wall to avoid offering a mark for wandering shots, chuckled inwardly and waited. a second later a shot came in return, but the bullet went high. katrine heard it whizz into the wood somewhere between the wall and roof. she stood motionless, listening. just in front of her, on the other side of the room, was the stove, and in this there still glowed an unextinguished portion of log, making one small spot of blood red in the surrounding darkness. katrine fixed her eye on this glowing spot. to enter farther into the cabin the men must pass between it and her. she raised one of her revolvers into a line with it. when that spot was obliterated, she would know, however silently they moved, the enemy had advanced, and in that second she meant to fire; the stove was high, and a man passing in front of it would have that red spot in a line with his heart. with her heart beating fast with exultation, and not a tremor in her steady fingers, she waited motionless as a statue against the wall. she was not a girl of a cruel nature, but her husband lay behind that slim partition on her right, and unarmed, for stephen would never carry a pistol, and she would have shot unhesitatingly each man in succession that tried to pass her to him. there seemed to be some talking outside and a trampling of feet on the broken wood of the door, and then suddenly the soft red fire spot was eclipsed in the total darkness around, and on the instant katrine's finger had pulled the trigger. there was no groan this time after the shot, only a heavy thud and a crash as a falling body struck some fire-irons by the stove. the red spot glowed out of the darkness again and stared katrine cheerfully in the eyes. there was a confusion of voices outside: katrine could hear the thick oaths and one man apparently enjoining another to come out of there and have done with the business. katrine smiled as she heard. she guessed that the man addressed was the one that lay now between her and the stove, and his ears were for ever closed. in the same moment she heard the inner door open, and for an instant stephen appeared, pale and in his night clothes and with a flaring candle in his hand. with a spring like a leopard katrine had reached him and put her hand over the flame of the candle, crushing it out beneath her palm. the darkness she knew was their only shield. by their voices and their footsteps she could tell the men without numbered not less than four or five. once let a light reveal to them that the house was held only by a single girl, they could overpower her in a few seconds. it was only that horrible pitchy darkness, out of which those deadly shots came ringing with such precision and promptness, that filled them with the idea that the cabin was protected by a body of desperate and straight-shooting miners. it was the fears of the besiegers now simply that was protecting the besieged. "go back," she said, with her lips on his ear, "unless you can find a pistol, and be ready to shoot," and she pushed him within the door again. she stood as before, in an even line with the red bull's-eye of the stove, and listened; there was still a scraping of feet and muttering of voices outside, but not so near the door, and she wondered if the enemy were going round the cabin to attack it from another side. suddenly a shot rang out in the stillness outside, then another, and the ball came through the window behind her and passed over her shoulder; there seemed to be a rush and stampede towards the door. she turned and faced it, raising both revolvers, and as she heard the wood of the fallen door split under the trampling feet, her fingers had almost drawn the triggers to welcome the incomers, when out of that cold blackness beyond the door came a slight cough. katrine's hand dropped to her side, a sick, cold horror came over her as she realised what she would have done in the next instant. that was talbot's cough. one second more of silence, one more step forward, and her shot would have found his heart. she reeled where she stood, against the wall, with the sickness of the thought. she could not shoot again now: he was there outside amongst them--and stephen, was he there too, or inside? talbot, she supposed, roused by the noise, had come out and attacked them between the two cabins. then what she had said to stephen recurred to her. suppose he had searched and found a gun, and should come out from the inner room, he would not count upon talbot's presence any more than she had done; he would naturally shoot at the first who crossed the threshold, as she herself had done; he would shoot in the dark, by her orders. the thoughts flashed quicker than lightning through her brain. the horror of the situation, this uncertainty, this killing blindly in the confusion and the darkness, was too great to be borne. the danger now was greater than even the light could bring. she dropped the pistols on to a stool beside her, drew a match from her pocket, and heedless of the perfect mark she herself offered now, struck it and held it over her head. in a second, the body across the hearth, the wrecked door, and two pale faces looking in at her from the opening, leaped into sight; the enemies, the living ones, were gone. a pool of blood beyond the threshold, and blood on the splintered wood, and their dead companion, only remained. for a moment the three faces, all pale with fear and anxiety, not for themselves, but for each other, stared nervously into each other's eyes in silence. then katrine broke it with a laugh, and brought down the match from over her head and put it to the lamp on the table. "oh, you frightened me so," she said, as she turned up the wick and made it burn, and the men stepped over the door and came in. "i thought i might kill you." she looked up at them both in the lamplight, as if to reassure herself they were really there alive. talbot laid his six-shooter on the table. "you frightened me," he returned, jestingly. "i wouldn't come under that straight fire of yours for anything. the men outside were easier to deal with, they got so scared with you shooting in here and me shooting in their rear; they thought we were a band of a dozen at least." "i'd no idea you were there," murmured katrine, shuddering still, as she moved from the lamp to the fire, and began drawing the half-burnt logs together. "stephen climbed out of the back window and came round to me, but the first shot had already wakened me; i was getting my clothes on when he came," answered talbot, walking over to where the dead man lay between the hearth and the door, and surveying him. "some of your good work, i see," he said, after a minute. "this is one of the lot that came up yesterday afternoon. tough-looking chap, isn't he? well, you see i did not kill them all. i gave you the chance you asked for," he added, looking at her with admiring eyes. "and haven't i made the most of it?" she returned, lifting her flushed face, sparkling with smiles, from the fire. stephen had crept in, pale-faced as the corpse itself, and stood now staring at it in a dumb horror. he could not understand how talbot and his wife could laugh and jest with that terrible object lying motionless between them. had the danger and excitement turned her brain, he wondered, and looked at her apprehensively, but katrine gave no sign of mental or physical collapse. she looked smiling and well pleased with herself, and was stirring the fire and settling the coffee-pot over the flames as if nothing the least startling or disconcerting had occurred, as if no cold body was lying stretched there by the threshold. stephen, reassured for her, let his eyes travel to the corpse, and then, with a sort of groan of horror, sank back on a chair with his face covered in his hands. katrine looked up quickly from the fire, and then went over to him, putting an arm softly round his neck. "what is it, steve, dear? you weren't hurt, were you?" "oh, to have killed him! to have killed a man, how horrible!" muttered stephen, without lifting his head. katrine looked amazed. "well, but he would have killed us if he could," she answered. "you kill a mosquito if it annoys you, and that's right. you only kill a man if he tries to kill you, that's quite fair." "but a murderer!" and stephen shuddered. she felt the shiver of horror under her hand. "isn't it better to be a murderer than murdered?" she asked, with a little smile, feeling she had an unanswerable argument. "murdered, your body is killed, murderer, your soul," came back in the same stifled voice. katrine was silent. she was thinking what a nuisance it was to have a soul that needed so much looking after, never seemed to do any good, and was always obtruding itself and spoiling your best moments of fun in this life. "we'll take him away," she said softly, after a minute, noticing that stephen kept his fingers closely locked over his eyes, as if to shut out some fearful sight. "talbot, let's take him out," she said to their companion, who stood with his back to the fire watching them. stephen made no sign. talbot and the girl walked over to the body. it was stiffening rapidly, and the wide-open eyes glared up glassily to the black rafters of the cabin. "might this be useful?" said talbot, stooping over the man and half drawing the second large revolver from his belt. "no, take nothing," answered katrine, hastily; "we want nothing." talbot let the weapon slide back to its place, and they both bent down and lifted the corpse between them. talbot walked backwards over the cabin door behind him. it was dark outside--a thick, pitchy darkness, with only a grey glare close to the ground from the snow. "let's take him to the gulch," whispered katrine, "and send him down it; it will worry stephen so if he sees him again." it was only a few yards to the edge of the ravine; they moved towards it cautiously and stopped upon the brink. "are you ready?" talbot asked in a low tone, and katrine whispered back "yes." there was a heavy thud, then a soft rolling sound, and then silence, as the drift snow in the bottom of the gulch received and closed over its gift. they waited a second, then talbot stretched out his hand towards her, found her arm in the darkness, and they both walked back together. "it's a pity steve is so sensitive," said katrine, plaintively. "i just saved him, and his house, and his precious gold, and everything, to-night, and he does not like me a bit for it." "i think you are a very brave little girl," said talbot, softly. "do you?" returned katrine, in a pleased voice; and talbot felt that she turned her face and looked up at him in the darkness. "steve and i don't fit very well, do we?" she added, with a sigh; "and he does not fit this life. somehow, i don't believe we shall ever leave this place alive--i have a presentiment we shan't. you will--you'll make a success and go back; but we shan't." talbot did not answer, as they were at the cabin. stephen met them at the door as they came in, with a white stricken face. "where have you put it?" he asked in an awed, trembling whisper. "down the gulch," replied katrine, composedly. "now, steve, you're not to worry about it any more--it was a necessity." she glanced round the room and saw that stephen had been too much shaken to think of putting it in order. the coffee-pot stood where she had left it, and the coffee was boiling over and wasting itself in the fire. she ran to it, took it off, and began pouring it into the cups on the table; as she did so the men noticed blood dripping from her wrist into one of the saucers. "oh, yes," she said indifferently, in answer to stephen's startled exclamation, "i thought i felt my sleeve getting very damp and sticky; there's a graze on the shoulder, i think, and the blood has been crawling slowly down my arm, tickling me horribly. let's see how it looks!" she unfastened her bodice and took it off, seemingly unconscious of talbot's presence. he stood silently by the hearth watching her, and thought, as he saw her bare white arms and full, strong white neck, how well she would look in a london ball-room. stephen, all nervous anxiety, was examining her shoulder. a bullet had gone over it, leaving a furrow in the flesh, where the blood welled up slowly. katrine turned her head aside and regarded it out of one eye, as a bird does. stephen bent over her and kissed her, murmuring incoherent words of remorseful sorrow. katrine flung her arms round him and laughed. "why, i am delighted! it's been quite worth it, the fun we've had to-night. that's all right--it will be healed in a couple of days; just tie it up with your handkerchief." it was an easy place to bind, by passing the bandage under the arm, and this, by katrine's directions, stephen did, with trembling fingers. talbot had turned away from them, and occupied himself by fixing up the door and stuffing the chinks where the wood had broken. when this was done and the bandaging finished, stephen brought a shawl from the other room and wrapped it round the girl's shoulders, and they all drew in round the fire in a close circle with their cups in their hands. their common danger and the sudden realisation of how much they were, each of this lonely trio, to the other; how easily any one of them might have been taken from the circle that night, and how irreparable would have been the loss, drew them all closely together as they had never been before--that delicious chord of sweet human sympathy that lies deep down, but ever present, in the human breast, vibrated strongly in their hearts, and they sat round the cheery blaze, talking and laughing softly, and looking at one another, and then smiling as their eyes met, for mere lightheartedness. chapter vi mammon's pay this little excitement quite delighted and pleased katrine. she had spoken just the truth when she said she wished something like it would happen every day; and the only thing that spoilt the fun of it was stephen's dejection and the persistently depressed way he looked and felt over it. after a day or two the pleasant sense of life having something worth living for passed away again, and the time seemed heavier and slower than ever. day followed day in a dreadful monotony, and the girl visibly lost health and spirits. she changed a good deal, and both men noticed it. she lost her wonderful sweetness and evenness of temper and her bright smiles, and became fretful and irritable, discontented, and sharp in her replies. in the long winter mornings now she would not spring up in the early darkness as formerly, but try to fall asleep again after waking, and put her arm across stephen and tell him there was no use of getting up, that the day was long enough anyway, and it was too dark to do anything; and then she would abuse him if he insisted on getting up in spite of her, and let the breakfast wait so long, that after a time the men drifted into the habit of having it alone, and going out without seeing her. katrine had grown to hate the day, to hate every minute in fact when she was not sleeping, and to try to make the night last as long as possible. stephen noticed all this, and spoke to talbot about it in distress. talbot merely said, "perhaps it's her health; you'd better ask her." stephen did so, and found there was a reason for her apparent illness, which delighted and consoled him; but when katrine flew into a passion, declared it was detestable, that it would take away her freedom and her power to ride and enjoy herself, stephen was shocked and grieved, and said he was disappointed in her; whereupon katrine replied she hated him, and stephen quoted scripture texts to her till she ran out of the cabin and rushed across to talbot's in a passion of sobs and tears. at least, she knew he would not quote texts to her. talbot did all he could to smooth out matters between the two, and after that katrine spoke very little; she took refuge in a dejected silence, and grew paler each day. it was only when the men had gone out to work, and she was left alone with a great pile of things to mend, work which she hated, that she would go to the door and stand looking out over the grey waste under the snow-filled lowering sky, with the tears rolling silently down her checks. from where she stood she could see, through the greyish air, the men working far down at the other end of the claims, and the long line of trenches and the banks of frozen gravel; sometimes, in the light fog, made of the tiny sharp snow-flakes, sifting through the air, they would look misty, like ghosts or shadows; and sometimes the dulled click and scrape of the spades would reach her. "slaves, slaves, just like slaves," she would think, watching the muffled-up figures continually bending over their work; "and they're digging graves, graves." and she would think of annie, and the grave will had been digging for her while he dug for gold. a red sun, dull as copper, hung above them, and sometimes the great northern lights would send up a red flame behind the horizon; and to katrine it seemed like a blood-covered sword held up by nature to warn them off a land not fit for men. one afternoon, when the sun looked more sullen and the sky more threatening than ever, and the men moving at the end of the claim looked no more than mere blots in the cold mist, she stood watching the steady red blade shoot up in the ashen sky, and began comparing its colour to other things. "it's as red," she said to herself softly, "as hearts and diamonds;" and then her thought wandered to the cards themselves, and she thought of the hot saloons at nights crowded with faces, and the tobacco smoke in the air, and the jabber of voices, and the laughter of the miners, and their oaths and jokes and stories, and their friendly ways to her, and the admiration on their rough and sometimes honest faces, and the long tables and the spat, spat of the falling cards as they were dealt, and the chink of the glasses and the hot spirits burning your throat, and then the feeling of jollity, and then the warmth and life and cheeriness of it all. her eyes brightened and her chest heaved a little as she leaned against the lintel. if she could have one night of it again! and here, what would it be when the men came back? supper, and then talbot and stephen talking of their work, and the probable value of the claims, and the pans they could make, and what the dirt would run to, and then dismissing the whole subject as impossible to decide till the spring came and they could wash the gravel, and then having so dismissed it, they would fall to speculating again what the spring would show them the dirt was worth, and so on all over again from the beginning. oh, she had heard it so often, nothing, nothing but the same topic night after night, and after that, cups of coffee, of which she was sick, or water, and then reading a chapter of the testament, and then going to bed, and stephen too dead tired to give her a good-night kiss. if they had had a game of cards in the evening now, all together, and become interested in that and forgotten to talk of their claims, and some good whisky after it, or cleared out one of the cabins and had a dance there with some of the hands who lived near, and a man to whistle tunes for them if there was no other orchestra; but no! stephen thought that cards were wrong and wouldn't have them in his house, and whisky too, and dancing worst of all, and only the sin of avarice and the lust of gold was to be connived at there. as she stood there, the thought slipped into her mind quite suddenly, so suddenly that it surprised herself, "why not go down to town and have a good time as she used?" her heart beat quickly, and the old colour came into her cheek. she glanced at the dull, coppery sun growing dimmer and dimmer behind the thickening snow fog, and the pink light flickering on the horizon, at the dim figures of the men and the grey wastes on every side. there was a thick silence, broken only by a faint far-off click of a shovel from the trenches. there would be half-an-hour's more daylight, half-an-hour before the men returned to miss her. she would get a good start anyway. she turned into the cabin again, her face aglow and her eyes sparkling. she knew that stephen would be fearfully angry with her--she had not been once to the town since her marriage--but she had a stronger nature than stephen's, and felt no fear of his anger. "he thinks i am a reformed character," she muttered contemptuously to herself, as she put on her thick rubber boots. "well, i told him there was only one chance to reform me, and that was to take me away from here, and he wouldn't do it." she built up the fire in an enormous bank, and left the men's slippers and dry socks beside it. then she slipped into her long skin coat, and crushed the fur cap down on her eyebrows and pulled it over her ears. as she went out she took a long look at the claims--the men were still busy there. "slaves," she muttered. she closed the door with a sharp snap and left the key hanging on it, as was usual when she was inside. then she turned her face to the town trail, and set off at a long steady stride through the dead silent air. the town was within easy walking distance for her, and though it would be dark before she reached it, that mattered very little, her eyes were strong and almost as good as a wild cat's in the dark. on every hand the sky seemed to hang low and threatening over the earth, and the air had the grip of iron in it, but katrine pushed on at the same even pace without even an apprehensive glance round. her spirits rose as she walked. she felt the old sense of gladness in her youth and strength and health, and in her freedom, and she bounded along over the hard, glittering snow, full of a mere irresponsible animal pleasure, such as moves the young chamois in his bounds from rock to rock. darkness had come like a blot upon the earth before she had done half the distance, but now she had the twinkling lights and the reddish haze of dawson before her. her own eyes brightened as she caught sight of them, and she hastened her steps. by the time night had fairly settled down she came into the side streets of the town. dawson is an all-night town, and things were in full blast--saloons, shooting-galleries, dance-halls, and dog-fights going on just as usual. she noted with satisfaction that nothing seemed to have altered a little bit since she saw it last, and as she turned into good luck row, to walk down it for old acquaintance' sake, a big, disreputable old yellow dog she had fed through last winter, came bounding up and leaped all over her in delighted recognition. katrine was pleased at this welcome, and spent quite a time at the corner with him, asking how many dog-fights he had had lately, and being answered with short triumphant barks that she took to mean he had demolished all the small dogs of that quarter. then she went on and passed her own former house, and saw to her surprise it was vacant, and so was annie's next it. that looked as if dawson was not pressed for space. as she was turning out of the row she saw ahead of her another old acquaintance, this was a human one, and katrine felt as if she had quite slipped back into her own life as she hailed him. "sam!" she called gently. "hello, sam!" the miner turned, and as soon as he saw her a broad, genial smile overspread his countenance and stretched his mouth from one edge of his fur ear-flaps to the other. "why, kate, you down here again; you've cut the parson fellow, eh?" "oh, no," said katrine hastily, reddening a little; "i'm just in town for a day or so. how's your wife?" "well," answered sam slowly, as he put himself at her side and slouched heavily along the side-walk with her. "she's all right--leastways i reckon she ought to be; she's in 'eaven now." "oh, sam!" said katrine, in a shocked voice, "is she dead? how did she die? when?" "why, i reckon it was the cold like, she kind of froze to death. when i got home one night the fire was out, and she was just laying acrost the hearth; the room was awful cold, and there warn't no food neither--i 'spect that helped it. i'd bin away three or four days, and the food give out quicker than i thought, and the firin'. i arst a doctor here wot it was, and he said it was sincough or sumthin'." "syncope?" suggested katrine. "yes, that's what 'e said; but i sez it was just the cold a ketchin' of her heart like, and stopping it." "what were you doing?" asked katrine. "why, i was out arter gold, o' course." katrine shivered. they passed the "sally white" at that moment, with its flaring lights and noise of merriment within. "let's go in, sam, and get a drink. your tale has pretty near frozen me." they turned in, and as katrine pushed open the door there was a shout of recognition and welcome from the men round the bar. the door fell to behind them, shutting out the icy night. * * * * * when the light failed, and the night had come down on the claims like a black curtain let fall suddenly, the men left the ground, and stiff with cold, their muscles almost rigid, plodded slowly and silently back to the cabin. the hired men dispersed in different directions, some going down town and some to their cabins near. when stephen and talbot entered they found the fire leaping and crackling as if it had just been tended, and both men sat down to change their boots in the outer room. the door into the bedroom was shut, and they supposed katrine was within. they were too tired and frozen to speak, and not a word was exchanged between them. after a time stephen got up and went into the inner room; there was no light in it, and the door swung to behind him. talbot, with a white drawn face, leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. when stephen entered he thought katrine was probably asleep upon the bed, and crossed the room to find a light. when the match was struck and a candle lighted, he stared round stupidly--the room was empty. he looked at the bed, katrine was not there; then his eyes caught a little square of white paper pinned on to the red blanket. he went up to it, unpinned it slowly, and read it with trembling fingers. talbot, waiting in the other room, hungry and thirsty, got up after a time and began to lay the supper. this done, he made the coffee, and when that was ready and still stephen had not reappeared, he rapped at the door. there seemed a muffled sound from within, and talbot pushed the door a little open. inside, he saw stephen sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the paper in his hand. "what's the matter?" said talbot. stephen handed him the paper in a blank silence, and talbot took it and held it near the candle. this is what he read:-- "i have gone down to the town to get a little change and to relieve the dreadful monotony of this life. don't follow me; just leave me alone, and i'll come back in a day or two. there's no need to be anxious. you know i can take care of myself." talbot laughed quietly, and walked back into the sitting-room. "well, she gives you good advice," he said; "i should follow it. let her have a day or two to herself--a day or two of liberty. she'll come back at the end all the better for it." stephen followed him into the firelight; his face was the colour of wood ash, and his eyes looked haggard and terrified. with all his faults he really loved his wife, in his own narrow, limited, selfish way, intensely. "oh, talbot! to think she's gone back to it all! how awful!" talbot gave a gesture of impatience. he understood the girl so much better than stephen ever had that his methods seemed unreasonably foolish to him. and now he was excessively tired and cold and hungry, and his supper seemed of more importance than a world full of injured husbands. "you can't wonder at it, old man," he said. "this life must be intolerable for a girl like that." "why? how?" questioned stephen, blankly. "oh, so quiet; no excitement." "but women ought to like quiet, and excitement's sinful," returned stephen hotly, becoming the low church missionary school-teacher at once. talbot merely laughed and shrugged his shoulders, but his laugh was not friendly, and there was an angry light in his eyes. "what am i to do?" asked stephen mechanically, still standing, the pallor and the horror of his face growing each minute. "i've told you. let her have the few days' enjoyment she asks for; then her heart will reproach her, and she will come back to you." "but she might think me indifferent," murmured stephen, his voice almost choked in his throat. "i shouldn't leave her long. if she does not return the day after to-morrow, then you might go; but if you go now and attempt to force her back, you'll probably make a mess of it." "but think--my wife--" "that's all right," returned talbot, looking at him and understanding what he was thinking of. "in one way, at least, you know she is a good girl. she will only gamble a little and drink and get very jolly, and she'll come back to you in a day or two with no harm done--what are you doing?" he broke off suddenly, as stephen began to tear off his slippers and socks and get his thick wet boots on. "i'm going after her," he said sullenly, in a thick voice, "to bring her back home here--alive or dead." "it will be dead probably, and you'll be exceedingly sorry," returned talbot in a cutting tone. stephen made no answer, but continued fastening his boots. "you'd better have your supper before you go out again," remarked talbot, sarcastically. stephen made no reply. when he had his boots on he put an extra comforter inside his fur collar, put his cap on, and walked over to the door. there he hesitated and looked back. talbot sat unmoved by the fire, his profile to the door. stephen stood for an instant, then came back to the hearth. "talbot!" he said, standing in front of him. the other looked up. "well?" "come with me. help me to find her and bring her back." talbot compressed his lips. "aren't you capable of managing your own 'wife yourself?" he asked. "you have so much influence with her," said stephen, pleadingly. "i suppose i only have that influence because i am not quite a fool," returned talbot angrily, commencing to pull off his slippers. he was angry with stephen, and feeling excessively wearied and disinclined for further effort. he hated to turn out again, and his whole physical system was craving for food and rest. but he was not the man to resist an appeal in which he saw another's whole soul was thrown, and angry and annoyed as he was with stephen, he still disliked the idea of letting his friend go out alone in the arctic night on such an errand. it seemed to him supremely ridiculous for stephen to have to call in another man's aid in these personal matters, but then he was more than twice stephen's age, and had got into the habit of making excuses for him. so, tired and exhausted though he was, he dragged on his frozen boots again, and prepared to accompany stephen. "you'd better have some of this first," he said, pouring out a cup of the coffee he had made, which stood ready on the stove. they each took a cup standing, and then turned out of the cabin, locking the door behind them. the atmosphere and aspect, the whole face of the night, had changed since the girl started. the fog had lifted itself and rolled away somewhere in the darkness. the air was now clear and keen as the edge of steel. the stars were of a piercing brilliance, and all along the black horizon flickered and leaped a faint rosy light. the two men, stiff, tired, and aching, took much longer to accomplish the distance than the girl had done with her light, eager feet, and when they got down to the town the night was well on its way. at the bottom of good luck row, which is, as explained already, one of the first streets you come to, on the edge of the town, they halted and took counsel as to where they would be most likely to find the object of their search. "perhaps she's gone up to the 'pistol shot,'" suggested stephen. "we'd better go up to old poniatovsky." "she hasn't come down to see her father, i should imagine," remarked talbot, in his dryest tone. but stephen persisted she might be there, and so they tramped straight across towards the main street and turned into the "pistol shot." they pushed their way unheeded through the idle, lounging, gossiping crowd within, found their way behind the bar, and asked for poniatovsky. the little pole came out of his back parlour and met them in the passage. he listened to their story, his long pipe in one hand, his mouth open, and his own vile whisky obscuring and clouding his brain. "wot! she haf run away?" he exclaimed, as stephen paused; "and who is de cause? is it this shentleman here?" and he stared up at talbot's slight, tall figure, imposing in its furs, and at the finely-cut, determined features that presented such a contrast to stephen's weak boyish face. "no, no," said the latter angrily; "she hasn't run away at all. she has only come down here for an hour or so. i thought she might have come here to see you." "no," replied the pole deprecatingly, shrugging his shoulders and spreading out his hands, "i haf not seen her. if she come here, i shut the door upon her. i say, 'i vil haf no runaway wives here.' my fren, before you vos marrit did not i say, a truant daughter make a truant wife. she haf left me first, now she haf left you." he had taken stephen by the front of his coat, and was pushing in his words by the aid of a dirty forefinger. talbot abandoned stephen to argue the matter out with his drunken father-in-law, and strolled back through the passage, through the bar-room, and then stood, with his gloved hands deep in his fur-lined pockets, at the saloon door, looking up and down the street. presently one of the wrecks of the night came drifting by, a girl of nineteen or so, with her cheeks blue and pinched in the terrible cold under their coat of coarse paint. he signalled to her, and she drifted across to him, and stood, with her hands thrust up her sleeves, in the light from the "pistol shot." "i expect you've seen the inside of most of the drinking-houses to-night," he said, speaking in a kind voice, for the pitiful, cold face of the girl touched him; "have you seen anything of katrine poniatovsky, a girl who used to live here?" "wot's she like?" the girl asked sullenly. she was so hoarse that she could hardly make the words audible. "a tall girl, dark, and very handsome." "yes, i seed her, not more'n an hour ago, in the 'cock-pit.' she's a-makin' more money in there than i can make if i walk all night. curse her! she sits there, and the devil sits behind her, a-playing for her, i know; but she'd better look out--you don't play with that partner long." "the 'cock-pit.' that's on the other side, isn't it, away from the river?" talbot's heart sank a little as he recognized the name of the worst den for gambling in the whole town. "go down here, and turn to your left. any one will tell you where the 'cock-pit' is," said the girl, with a hollow laugh. then she lingered in the light, and looked at talbot wistfully. he put some money into her hand. "go into the warmth," he said kindly, "and get yourself something." then he turned back into the saloon to find stephen. he met him, having broken away at last from the fatherly advice of the pole, and brushing the front of his coat down with his hand. he was very flushed and angry. "you'd better waste no more time," remarked talbot, calmly. "she is down at the 'cock-pit,' playing." stephen gasped. "how did you find out that?" he asked. "i've just been told by one of the habitués. come along at once." both the men went out, and talbot, following the girl's directions, marched on decidedly, scarcely noticing stephen's questions, which he could not answer. "i don't know," he said, for the fiftieth time, to stephen's last absurd query as to how long she had been there. the houses became poorer and shabbier as they walked. even in log-cabins there is a great difference marked between the respectable and the disreputable. and the figures that passed them from time to time, though more rarely here in this quarter, looked of the toughest, most cut-throat class. "how can she like to come here alone?" exclaimed stephen, with a shudder. "i wonder she is not afraid. i'm surprised she has not come to some harm long ago." talbot smiled to himself inside his fur collar and said nothing. the girl's absolute fearlessness was the point which he admired most in her character, and the immunity from danger seemed in her case, as in others, the natural accompaniment of it. fortune is said to favour the brave. misfortune certainly seems to spare them. "i think this is the place," said talbot at last, and they stopped before a large, but old and dirty-looking cabin. it was sunk beneath the usual level of the ground, and reached by some crooked, slippery steps. at the foot of these steps was a sort of yard, which you had to cross before reaching the cabin door itself. what was in the yard, or what its condition was, it was too dark to see, but a sickening smell came from it as the men descended the steps, and the ground seemed slippery or miry in places above the frozen snow. the windows of the cabin in front gave out no light whatever, but that there was light inside, and very bright light, was evidenced by that which burst through the chinks all over it. "i shouldn't wonder if i stumbled over a corpse next," muttered talbot, as he slipped and almost fell in the darkness on a slimy something under his feet that reminded him of blood. they got up to the door and tried the latch. it would not yield; then they thumped on it with their gloved fists. the latch was drawn back by some hand inside, and the door opened just wide enough to admit them, and was pushed to again. stephen and talbot found themselves in a crowd of loiterers inside the door, who apparently took no notice of them beyond a sodden stare. it was a long, low room that they entered, so low that it seemed to talbot the ceiling was almost upon their heads. the atmosphere was stifling, evil-smelling beyond endurance, and so clouded with tobacco smoke that they could not see the farther end. a long table covered with green cloth took up the centre of the room, and all round the walls were ranged smaller ones. the place was full when the two men entered, all space at the centre table was occupied, the side tables were filled, and men standing up between blocked the way up the room. the windows at the end were barred and shuttered, not a breath of outer air could enter. the cheap lamps nailed at intervals along the grimy walls were mostly black and smoking, adding their acrid fumes to the thick atmosphere. there were very few women present, some painted, worn, unhappy-looking creatures, hovering like restless phantoms round the tables where the thickest crowds were, that seemed all. stephen looked round on every side with haggard face and anxious eyes. she was nowhere near the door, and after a hurried survey of all those lower tables they forced and pressed and pushed their way towards the other end. at last they caught sight of her. she was sitting at a small table, with her face turned towards the room, intent upon the game. her cheeks were flushed with excitement. she had flung her fur cap aside, and her ruffled black hair lay loose upon her forehead. the collar of her bodice was open and turned back a little from her round white neck. she looked, with her soft young face, like a fresh flower dropped by chance into this evil, tainted den. talbot gave her a keen scrutiny as they approached, and understood stephen's infatuation. as for stephen himself, his heart went out to her, and he was filled with a bitter self-reproach and sudden resolutions. his love and his darling! how could he have let her be found here! his claims and his gold, they might all go. he would take her away in safety at once. he would not hesitate again. when they reached the table they saw there was a large stake on the cloth between the two players. her companion was a youngish man, seemingly a miner, dressed in the roughest clothes. neither looked up till both men were close by them and between them and the lights. then katrine raised her eyes and started violently as she recognised them. her face flushed deeper, and her eyebrows contracted with annoyance. stephen went round to the back of her chair and laid his hand on her shoulder. "come away; oh pray, come away," he said, in an imploring tone. it was all he seemed able to articulate. "i'm just in the middle of a game," she answered petulantly. "you mustn't interrupt me." "but it isn't safe for you to be here." "stuff! i used to be here every night before i married you!" a death-like pallor overspread the man's face as he heard. he could not believe her, could not realise it. had she indeed been here night after night? "why do you come here and interfere?" she continued pettishly, looking up from talbot to his companion. "i always have such luck, and i'm likely to lose it if you worry me." the young miner sat back in his chair, thrust both hands in his pockets, and stared rudely at the intruders. he did not mind the interruption as much as she did, since he was losing, and had been steadily ever since he sat down to play with katrine, and doubts and angry questionings of his opponent's methods began to stir in his dull, clouded brain, as toads stir the mud in some thick pool. "you ought not to be here at all," said stephen hotly. "well, why shouldn't i make money as well as you?" returned the girl quickly, with a flash of scorn in her dark eyes, and stephen whitened and winced. "haven't you made enough for one night, in any case?" interposed talbot quietly. "yes, i think i have," she answered, with a glance at the glistening pile on the cloth. "i'll come," she added suddenly, "if jim's no objection. what do you say, jim?" she asked, looking across to the young fellow, who had been a sulky, silent spectator of the whole scene. "shall we quit for to-night?" "if you give me back my money," he answered. "that's mine," he said, pointing to the pile. "it's my money, gentlemen; she's been winning all the evening." "yes, i always do have luck," retorted katrine. "i told you so when we began." "you may call it luck; i don't," muttered the miner, his face turning a dusky purple. "and what do you call it?" returned katrine, white with anger in her turn at the insinuation, while talbot, who saw what was coming, tried to draw her away. "what does it matter? come away; leave him the money." no one in the room noticed what was going on in their corner. the others were all too busy with their own play, absorbed in their own greed; besides, squabbles over the tables were of such common occurrence, they ceased to excite any curiosity. "i shan't," returned katrine, shaking herself free. the oily, smoky light from above fell across her face; it seemed to bloom through the foul, dusky air like a rose. "it's my money--i won it." "yes, by cheating," shouted the miner, forgetting everything but the approaching loss he foresaw of the shining pile. "you lie," said stephen, hoarsely. "she has not cheated you." the miner staggered to his feet, and before any of them realised it he had drawn his pistol and fired. his hand was unsteady from drink and rage, and the ball passed over stephen's shoulder and went into the wall behind him. talbot tried to draw stephen to one side. the miner, blind with anger, half conscious only of what he was about, and drawing almost at random, turned his revolver on talbot. like a flash katrine interposed between them, and jim's bullet found a lodgment in her lungs. she had fired also. the shots had been simultaneous, and the miner fell, without a groan, without a murmur, forward across the table, carrying it with him to the floor. the gold pile scattered amongst the filthy sawdust on the ground. katrine sank backwards into talbot's arms, and her head fell to his shoulder like that of a tired child falling to sleep. in an instant they were surrounded by an eager inquiring throng. all the tables, with some few exceptions, were deserted; the players all crowded up to the end of the room, and stephen and talbot were carried back to the wall by the pressing crowd. some of the men raised the body of the miner; he was dead. the people pressed round, and one glance at the set face told them. a momentary awe spread amongst them, and the men who had raised the body carried it to a bench and laid it there. stephen, pallid as the dead man himself, looked round in desperation on the staring crowd. "is there a surgeon or a doctor here?" he asked. katrine heard him, and raised herself a little in talbot's arms; he was standing against the wall now. she turned her eyes towards stephen and stretched out her hand. "it's no use, steve, dear," she said; "i'm done for. don't worry with a doctor. i shall be gone in five minutes." stephen dropped on his knees and seized the little soft brown hand extended to him, covering it with kisses. "oh no, no, don't say it," he said in a voice suffocated with anguish, heedless of the staring faces around. some of the mob looked on with interest, some turned back to their own tables, others went down on their hands and knees to scrape up the scattered gold dust that had mixed in the trampled sawdust. "lay me a little flatter," she murmured to talbot, and he sank on one knee and so supported her, her head resting on his arm. "if we could get her to the air," stephen exclaimed. "no, the moving pains me; let me be," she replied. "i tell you i'm dying." stephen groaned. "pray then, pray now. oh, katie dear, pray before it is too late. aren't you afraid to die like this, in this place?" katrine shook her head wearily. "no, i don't think i've ever been afraid," she murmured. "did i kill him?" she asked a second later, opening her eyes. talbot looked down and nodded. stephen's voice was too choked for utterance. "i'm glad of that," she murmured, letting her eyes close again; "i never missed a shot yet." "oh, katie, katie," moaned stephen. the room was black to him; it seemed as if he saw hell opening to swallow up for ever his beloved one. katrine opened her eyes at his agonised cry. "now, steve, it can't be helped; i'm dying, and it's all right. i only don't want you to worry over it. nothing is worth worrying for in this world. and i guess we'll all meet again very soon in a warmer place than alaska." stephen, utterly broken down, could only sob upon her hand. talbot felt a sort of rigor passing through the form he held, and thought she was dying. he was stirred to the innermost depths of his being by her act. she had stepped so calmly between him and death, given up her life with the free generous courage of a soldier or a hero. "why did you come between us?" he asked, suddenly bending over her; "why did you do it?" the calm light eyes looked down into the dark passionate depths of the dying girl's pupils, and a long gaze passed between them. what secrets of her soul were revealed to his in that instant when they stood face to face with only death between? then katrine turned her head wearily. "i don't know," she answered faintly; "mere devilry, i think." and she laughed. the laugh shook the wounded lung. her face turned from white to grey, her teeth clenched. there was a spasm as of a sudden wrenching loose from the body, then it sank back, collapsed, motionless, against talbot's breast. the two men carried her out between them. the crowd made way for them, standing on either side in respectful silence. such incidents were not uncommon, and excited nothing more than a dull and transient interest. they took her out, and the gold for which two lives had been sacrificed was left unheeded, scattered in the dust. they went out the way they had come, through the noisome court, up the narrow flight of rotten, slippery stairs into the pure icy air. stephen turned to talbot and took the girl's body wholly into his arms. "i want to carry her up to my cabin," he said in a choking voice, and the other nodded. the night was glorious with the deadly glory of the arctic regions; the air was still, and of a coldness that seemed to bite deep into the flesh; but overhead, in the impenetrable blackness of the sky, the stars shone with a brilliance found only in the north, throwing a cold light over the snowy ground. to the south and east, low down, burned two enormous planets, like fiery eyes watching them over the horizon. slowly the two men walked over the hard ground. not another living being was within sight. stephen walked first with heavy, uneven steps, and his breath came quickly in suppressed and sobbing gasps. talbot followed closely, deep in painful thought. all had happened so suddenly. the whole horrible tragedy had swept over them in a few minutes; she had passed away from them both for ever. his brain seemed dazed by the shock. he could not realise it. he saw her dark head lying on stephen's shoulder. it seemed as if she must lift it every second. he could not believe that she was lifeless, lifeless, this creature who had always been life itself, with her gay smiles, and light tones, and quick movements. now, she and they were blotted out for all time. she had died against his breast, and for him. that was the horrible thought; it came into his brain after all the others, suddenly, and seemed as if it must burst it. and why, why should she have done it? her last words rang in his ears, "mere devilry." so she had always been; reckless, open-handed, generous, she had often risked her life for another, and now she had given it for him. and in her last words she had tried to minimise her own act, tried to relieve him of the burden of a hopeless gratitude. but for all that he would have to bear it, and it seemed crushing him now. that she should have given her life, so young, less than half his own, so full of value and promise, for his! it seemed as if a reproach must follow him to the end of his days. he walked as in a dream. he had no sense of the distance they were going, hardly any of the direction, except that he was following mechanically stephen's slow, uneven, halting footsteps, and watching that little head that lay on his shoulder. once when stephen paused, he stretched out his arms and offered to take the burden from him, but stephen repulsed him fiercely, and then the two went on slowly as before, how long he did not know, it seemed a long time. suddenly, in the middle of the narrow pathway before him, talbot saw stephen stagger, fall to his knees, and then sink heavily sideways in the snow, his arms still tightly locked round the rigid body of the girl. talbot hurried forward and bent over him, feeling hastily in his own pockets for his flask. stephen's eyes were wide open and gazed up at him with a hopeless, despairing determination that went to talbot's heart and chilled it. "i can't go any farther, not another step," he muttered. talbot had been searching hurriedly through all his pockets for the flask he always carried. "good god!" he exclaimed, "i haven't got it; i must have dropped it coming up here, or they stole it in that hell down town." stephen feebly put up his hand. "don't trouble, i don't want it. i am just going to lie here and wait with her. was she not lovely?" he muttered to himself, raising himself on his knees and laying the body before him on the snow. the sky above them arched in pitchy blackness, but the starlight was so keen and brilliant that it lighted up the white silence round them. stephen, on his hands and knees, hung over the still figure and gazed down into the marble face. the short silky black hair made a little blot of darkness in the snow, the white face was turned upward to the starlight. talbot, looking down, caught for an instant the sight of its pure oval, its regular lines, and the sweet mouth, and the passionate, reasonless face of the man crouching over it, and then looked desperately up and down the narrow lonely trail. they were five miles from the town, a little over three from the cabins. glistening whiteness lay all around, till the plains of snow grew grey in the distance; overhead, the burning, flashing, restless stars; and far off, where the two planets guarded the horizon, the red lights of the north began to quiver and flicker in the night. the man on the ground noticed them, and straightening himself suddenly, looked towards them. "the flare of hell!" he muttered, with staring, straining eyes; "it's coming very near." talbot saw that his reason had gone, failed suddenly, as a light goes down under a blast; he was delirious with that sudden delirium born of the awful cold that seizes men like a wolf in the long night of the arctic winters. for a second the helplessness of his situation flashed in upon talbot's brain--alone here at midnight on the frozen trail, with a madman and a corpse! he saw he must get help at once, and the cabins were the nearest point where help could be found. he could get men who would carry stephen by force if necessary, but would he ever live in the fangs of this pitiless cold till they could return to him? he stood for one moment irresolute, unwilling to leave him to meet his death, and that horrible fear that he read in those haggard eyes watching the horizon, alone; and in that moment stephen looked up at him and met his eye, and the madness rolled back and stood off his brain for an instant. he beckoned to talbot, and talbot went down on his knees beside him on the snow. "my claims," muttered stephen; "those claims will be yours now, do you understand? i've arranged it all with that lawyer hoskins, down town. they were to be hers if anything happened to me, but we shall both go to-night, and they will be yours. she said i had sunk my soul in them, talbot; she was right. the gold got me, i neglected her; i let her slip back into evil; i've murdered her for the claims. they are the price hell paid me. but you keep them. all turns to good in your hands. they can't harm you. keep them. they are my grave." "stephen, rouse yourself! you are alive! you've got to live," said talbot desperately, shaking him by the shoulder. "i am going now to bring men back with me to help you home. you've got to live till i return, do you hear?" stephen had turned from him again and put his arms round the motionless form before them. "they are coming nearer," talbot heard him mutter; "but they shall burn through me first, little one;" and he stretched himself across the corpse as if to shield it from the approaching flames, and far off the red eyes of the planets sank nearer the horizon, but still seemed to watch them across the snowy waste. talbot felt the only one thin thread of hope was to go as fast as his fatigue-clogged feet could move up to the cabins, and he rose and faced the homeward trail. he felt the hope of saving stephen was just the least faintest flicker that ever burned within a heart; still there was the chance--the chance that, even should he be already in the sleep that ends in death when he returned, they could rouse him from it and drag him into life again. he forced his heavy feet along, and with a great effort started into a run. his limbs felt like lead, and all his body like paper. the long hours of cold and fatigue, the excitement, the rush of changing emotions he had gone through, had been draining his vitality, but he called upon all that he had left and put it all into the effort to save his friend. he knew that any one second lost or gained might be the one to turn the balance of life or death, and he urged himself forward till a dull pain filled all his side, and his temples seemed bursting, and the great lights before him swam in a blood-red mist. stephen, left alone, raised his head and gazed round him once, then he laid his cheek down on the cold cheek, pressed his lips to the cold lips, and his breast upon the cold breast just over where the bullet had ploughed its way through the flesh and bone. the night gripped him tighter and tighter, and slowly he sank to sleep. _l'envoi._ noontide in june. a sky of the clearest, palest azure, and a rollicking, swelling, tumbling sea, full of smooth billowy waves chasing each other over its deep green surface--waves with their white crests blown backwards, throwing their spray high in the air and seeming to laugh and call to each other in gurgling voices; and between sea and sky the liquid golden sunlight filling the warm, throbbing air, spreading itself in dazzling sheets upon the water, and glinting in ten thousand glittering points on the flying spray thrown up by a steamer's screw. it was the steamer _prince_, homeward-bound from alaska, carrying passengers and a cargo as rich and yellow as the sunshine. and as if it knew of its precious and costly charge, the steamer cut proudly through the turbulent water, cleaving its straight passage homeward, homeward. on the deck of the boat, leaning back idly in a long chair, his calm, grey eyes fixed on the receding shores, where the golden sunshine seemed palpitating on their perilous loveliness, talbot was sitting, with the freshening breeze stirring his hair and bringing to him the breath of a thousand spring flowers on the land. he was returning, and returning successful, with his work accomplished, his toil over, his aim achieved, and amongst all the lines of pain stamped on his pale and quiet face there was written a certain triumph, that yet perhaps was not so much triumph as relief. it was just four months since that terrible night when he had lost both his comrades, just a little less than four months since he had seen them both laid side by side in their lonely grave in the west gulch; and those four months would ever be a blot of horrible blackness on his life. should he ever be able to forget the blank desolation that had closed in upon him night after night as he sat by his lonely hearth or paced the floor, his steps alone breaking the awful stillness? yet he had forced himself to stay and face it, had continued his work and his method of life unchanged. his men had noted little difference in him. he had stayed the time he had appointed for himself, had accomplished his self-appointed task, and at last, when the summer burst in upon the gulch and loosened all nature's fetters, he found himself also free; and now, like a black curtain rent in twain and torn from the bright face of a picture, the clouds of the past seemed falling away, leaving his future clear to his gaze. it stretched before him bright as the laughing sunlit sea beneath his eyes. if they could but have shared his joy, if they could have had their home-coming, his fellow-toilers, his fellow-prisoners! and the salt tears stung his lids until he closed them, shutting out the vivid yellow light, as he thought of the desolate grave in the gulch. the fresh, cool air fanned his face and the sun smiled upon him, a loose piece of canvas of an awning near him flapped backwards and forwards with a monotonous musical sound, the plash and gurgle of the tumbling waves fell soothingly on his ears. gradually sleep came over him gently, and enwrapped his strained, wearied body, his sore bruised mind. when he opened his eyes again it was afternoon. the steamer was still flying onward, but the sea was quiet and smooth, and lay still on every side in the sun's rays as a pool of liquid gold, and the shores of alaska had vanished, lost in a burnished haze of light. the end. http://www.archive.org/details/trailgoldseekers garlrich the trail of the goldseekers [illustration: publisher logo] the trail of the goldseekers a record of travel in prose and verse by hamlin garland author of rose of dutcher's coolly main travelled roads prairie folks boy life on the prairie, etc. new york the macmillan company london: macmillan & co., ltd. copyright, , by hamlin garland. set up and electrotyped. published may, . reprinted january, . norwood press j. s. cushing & co.--berwick & smith co. norwood, mass., u.s.a. table of contents chapter page i. coming of the ships ii. outfitting iii. on the stage road iv. in camp at quesnelle v. the blue rat vi. the beginning of the long trail vii. the blackwater divide viii. we swim the nechaco ix. first crossing of the bulkley x. down the bulkley valley xi. hazleton. midway on the trail xii. crossing the big divide xiii. the silent forests xiv. the great stikeen divide xv. in the cold green mountains xvi. the passing of the beans xvii. the wolves and the vultures assemble xviii. at last the stikeen xix. the goldseekers' camp at glenora xx. great news at wrangell xxi. the rush to atlin lake xxii. atlin lake and the gold fields xxiii. the end of the trail xxiv. homeward bound xxv. ladrone travels in state xxvi. the goldseekers reach the golden river poems anticipation where the desert flames with furnace heat the cow-boy from plain to peak momentous hour a wish the gift of water mounting the eagle trail moon on the plain the whooping crane the loon yet still we rode the gaunt gray wolf abandoned on the trail do you fear the wind? siwash graves line up, brave boys a child of the sun in the grass the faithful broncos the whistling marmot the clouds the great stikeen divide the ute lover devil's club in the cold green mountains the long trail the greeting of the roses the vulture campfires the footstep in the desert so this is the end of the trail to him the toil of the trail the goldseekers the coast range of alaska the freeman of the hills the voice of the maple tree a girl on the trail o the fierce delight the lure of the desert this out of all will remain here the trail ends anticipation i will wash my brain in the splendid breeze, i will lay my cheek to the northern sun, i will drink the breath of the mossy trees, and the clouds shall meet me one by one. i will fling the scholar's pen aside, and grasp once more the bronco's rein, and i will ride and ride and ride, till the rain is snow, and the seed is grain. the way is long and cold and lone-- but i go. it leads where pines forever moan their weight of snow, yet i go. there are voices in the wind that call, there are hands that beckon to the plain; i must journey where the trees grow tall, and the lonely heron clamors in the rain. where the desert flames with furnace heat, i have trod. where the horned toad's tiny feet in a land of burning sand leave a mark, i have ridden in the noon and in the dark. now i go to see the snows, where the mossy mountains rise wild and bleak--and the rose and pink of morning fill the skies with a color that is singing, and the lights of polar nights utter cries as they sweep from star to star, swinging, ringing, where the sunless middays are. the trail of the goldseekers chapter i coming of the ships i a little over a year ago a small steamer swung to at a seattle wharf, and emptied a flood of eager passengers upon the dock. it was an obscure craft, making infrequent trips round the aleutian islands (which form the farthest western point of the united states) to the mouth of a practically unknown river called the yukon, which empties into the ocean near the post of st. michaels, on the northwestern coast of alaska. the passengers on this boat were not distinguished citizens, nor fair to look upon. they were roughly dressed, and some of them were pale and worn as if with long sickness or exhausting toil. yet this ship and these passengers startled the whole english-speaking world. swift as electricity could fly, the magical word gold went forth like a brazen eagle across the continent to turn the faces of millions of earth's toilers toward a region which, up to that time, had been unknown or of ill report. for this ship contained a million dollars in gold: these seedy passengers carried great bags of nuggets and bottles of shining dust which they had burned, at risk of their lives, out of the perpetually frozen ground, so far in the north that the winter had no sun and the summer midnight had no dusk. the world was instantly filled with the stories of these men and of their tons of bullion. there was a moment of arrested attention--then the listeners smiled and nodded knowingly to each other, and went about their daily affairs. but other ships similarly laden crept laggardly through the gates of puget sound, bringing other miners with bags and bottles, and then the world believed. thereafter the journals of all christendom had to do with the "klondike" and "the golden river." men could not hear enough or read enough of the mysterious northwest. in less than ten days after the landing of the second ship, all trains westward-bound across america were heavily laden with fiery-hearted adventurers, who set their faces to the new eldorado with exultant confidence, resolute to do and dare. miners from colorado and cow-boys from montana met and mingled with civil engineers and tailors from new york city, and adventurous merchants from chicago set shoulder to shoemakers from lynn. all kinds and conditions of prospectors swarmed upon the boats at seattle, vancouver, and other coast cities. some entered upon new routes to the gold fields, which were now known to be far in the yukon valley, while others took the already well-known route by way of st. michaels, and thence up the sinuous and sinister stream whose waters began on the eastern slope of the glacial peaks just inland from juneau, and swept to the north and west for more than two thousand miles. it was understood that this way was long and hard and cold, yet thousands eagerly embarked on keels of all designs and of all conditions of unseaworthiness. by far the greater number assaulted the mountain passes of skagway. as the autumn came on, the certainty of the gold deposits deepened; but the tales of savage cliffs, of snow-walled trails, of swift and icy rivers, grew more numerous, more definite, and more appalling. weak-hearted jasons dropped out and returned to warn their friends of the dread powers to be encountered in the northern mountains. as the uncertainties of the river route and the sufferings and toils of the chilcoot and the white pass became known, the adventurers cast about to find other ways of reaching the gold fields, which had come now to be called "the klondike," because of the extreme richness of a small river of that name which entered the yukon, well on toward the arctic circle. from this attempt to avoid the perils of other routes, much talk arose of the dalton trail, the taku trail, the stikeen route, the telegraph route, and the edmonton overland trail. every town within two thousand miles of the klondike river advertised itself as "the point of departure for the gold fields," and set forth the special advantages of its entrance way, crying out meanwhile against the cruel mendacity of those who dared to suggest other and "more dangerous and costly" ways. the winter was spent in urging these claims, and thousands of men planned to try some one or the other of these "side-doors." the movement overland seemed about to surpass the wonderful transcontinental march of miners in ' and ' , and those who loved the trail for its own sake and were eager to explore an unknown country hesitated only between the two trails which were entirely overland. one of these led from edmonton to the head-waters of the pelly, the other started from the canadian pacific railway at ashcroft and made its tortuous way northward between the great glacial coast range on the left and the lateral spurs of the continental divide on the east. the promoters of each of these routes spoke of the beautiful valleys to be crossed, of the lovely streams filled with fish, of the game and fruit. each was called "the poor man's route," because with a few ponies and a gun the prospector could traverse the entire distance during the summer, "arriving on the banks of the yukon, not merely browned and hearty, but a veteran of the trail." it was pointed out also that the ashcroft route led directly across several great gold districts and that the adventurer could combine business and pleasure on the trip by examining the ominica country, the kisgagash mountains, the peace river, and the upper waters of the stikeen. these places were all spoken of as if they were close beside the trail and easy of access, and the prediction was freely made that a flood of men would sweep up this valley such as had never been known in the history of goldseeking. as the winter wore on this prediction seemed about to be realized. in every town in the west, in every factory in the east, men were organizing parties of exploration. grub stakers by the hundred were outfitted, a vast army was ready to march in the early spring, when a new interest suddenly appeared--a new army sprang into being. against the greed for gold arose the lust of battle. war came to change the current of popular interest. the newspapers called home their reporters in the north and sent them into the south, the dakota cow-boys just ready to join the ranks of the goldseekers entered the army of the united states, finding in its southern campaigns an outlet to their undying passion for adventure; while the factory hands who had organized themselves into a goldseeking company turned themselves into a squad of military volunteers. for the time the gold of the north was forgotten in the war of the south. ii however, there were those not so profoundly interested in the war or whose arrangements had been completed before the actual outbreak of cannon-shot, and would not be turned aside. an immense army still pushed on to the north. this i joined on the th day of april, leaving my home in wisconsin, bound for the overland trail and bearing a joyous heart. i believed that i was about to see and take part in a most picturesque and impressive movement across the wilderness. i believed it to be the last great march of the kind which could ever come in america, so rapidly were the wild places being settled up. i wished, therefore, to take part in this tramp of the goldseekers, to be one of them, and record their deeds. i wished to return to the wilderness also, to forget books and theories of art and social problems, and come again face to face with the great free spaces of woods and skies and streams. i was not a goldseeker, but a nature hunter, and i was eager to enter this, the wildest region yet remaining in northern america. i willingly and with joy took the long way round, the hard way through. the cow-boy of rough rude stock this saddle sprite is grosser grown with savage things. inured to storms, his fierce delight is lawless as the beasts he swings his swift rope over.--libidinous, obscene, careless of dust and dirt, serene, he faces snows in calm disdain, or makes his bed down in the rain. chapter ii outfitting we went to sleep while the train was rushing past the lonely settler's shacks on the minnesota prairies. when we woke we found ourselves far out upon the great plains of canada. the morning was cold and rainy, and there were long lines of snow in the swales of the limitless sod, which was silent, dun, and still, with a majesty of arrested motion like a polar ocean. it was like dakota as i saw it in . when it was a treeless desolate expanse, swept by owls and hawks, cut by feet of wild cattle, unmarred and unadorned of man. the clouds ragged, forbidding, and gloomy swept southward as if with a duty to perform. no green thing appeared, all was gray and sombre, and the horizon lines were hid in the cold white mist. spring was just coming on. our car, which was a tourist sleeper, was filled with goldseekers, some of them bound for the stikeen river, some for skagway. while a few like myself had set out for teslin lake by way of "the prairie route." there were women going to join their husbands at dawson city, and young girls on their way to vancouver and seattle, and whole families emigrating to washington. by the middle of the forenoon we were pretty well acquainted, and knowing that two long days were before us, we set ourselves to the task of passing the time. the women cooked their meals on the range in the forward part of the car, or attended to the toilets of the children, quite as regularly as in their own homes; while the men, having no duties to perform, played cards, or talked endlessly concerning their prospects in the northwest, and when weary of this, joined in singing topical songs. no one knew his neighbor's name, and, for the most part, no one cared. all were in mountaineer dress, with rifles, revolvers, and boxes of cartridges, and the sight of a flock of antelopes developed in each man a frenzy of desire to have a shot at them. it was a wild ride, and all day we climbed over low swells, passing little lakes covered with geese and brant, practically the only living things. late in the afternoon we entered upon the selkirks, where no life was. these mountains i had long wished to see, and they were in no sense a disappointment. desolate, death-haunted, they pushed their white domes into the blue sky in savage grandeur. the little snow-covered towns seemed to cower at their feet like timid animals lost in the immensity of the forest. all day we rode among these heights, and at night we went to sleep feeling the chill of their desolate presence. we reached ashcroft (which was the beginning of the long trail) at sunrise. the town lay low on the sand, a spatter of little frame buildings, mainly saloons and lodging houses, and resembled an ordinary cow-town in the western states. rivers of dust were flowing in the streets as we debarked from the train. the land seemed dry as ashes, and the hills which rose near resembled those of montana or colorado. the little hotel swarmed with the rudest and crudest types of men; not dangerous men, only thoughtless and profane teamsters and cow-boys, who drank thirstily and ate like wolves. they spat on the floor while at the table, leaning on their elbows gracelessly. in the bar-room they drank and chewed tobacco, and talked in loud voices upon nothing at all. down on the flats along the railway a dozen camps of klondikers were set exposed to the dust and burning sun. the sidewalks swarmed with outfitters. everywhere about us the talk of teamsters and cattle men went on, concerning regions of which i had never heard. men spoke of hat creek, the chilcoten country, soda creek, lake la hache, and lilloat. chinamen in long boots, much too large for them, came and went sombrely, buying gold sacks and picks. they were mining quietly on the upper waters of the fraser, and were popularly supposed to be getting rich. the townspeople were possessed of thrift quite american in quality, and were making the most of the rush over the trail. "the grass is improving each day," they said to the goldseekers, who were disposed to feel that the townsmen were anything but disinterested, especially the hotel keepers. among the outfitters of course the chief beneficiaries were the horse dealers, and every corral swarmed with mangy little cayuses, thin, hairy, and wild-eyed; while on the fences, in silent meditation or low-voiced conferences, the intending purchasers sat in rows like dyspeptic ravens. the wind storm continued, filling the houses with dust and making life intolerable in the camps below the town. but the crowds moved to and fro restlessly on the one wooden sidewalk, outfitting busily. the costumes were as various as the fancies of the men, but laced boots and cow-boy hats predominated. as i talked with some of the more thoughtful and conscientious citizens, i found them taking a very serious view of our trip into the interior. "it is a mighty hard and long road," they said, "and a lot of those fellows who have never tried a trail of this kind will find it anything but a picnic excursion." they had known a few men who had been as far as hazleton, and the tales of rain, flies, and mosquitoes which these adventurers brought back with them, they repeated in confidential whispers. however, i had determined to go, and had prepared myself for every emergency. i had designed an insect-proof tent, and was provided with a rubber mattress, a down sleeping-bag, rain-proof clothing, and stout shoes. i purchased, as did many of the others, two bills of goods from the hudson bay company, to be delivered at hazleton on the skeena, and at glenora on the stikeen. even with this arrangement it was necessary to carry every crumb of food, in one case three hundred and sixty miles, and in the other case four hundred miles. however, the first two hundred and twenty miles would be in the nature of a practice march, for the trail ran through a country with occasional ranches where feed could be obtained. we planned to start with four horses, taking on others as we needed them. and for one week we scrutinized the ponies swarming around the corrals, in an attempt to find two packhorses that would not give out on the trail, or buck their packs off at the start. "we do not intend to be bothered with a lot of mean broncos," i said, and would not permit myself to be deceived. before many days had passed, we had acquired the reputation of men who thoroughly knew what they wanted. at least, it became known that we would not buy wild cayuses at an exorbitant price. all the week long we saw men starting out with sore-backed or blind or weak or mean broncos, and heard many stories of their troubles and trials. the trail was said to be littered for fifty miles with all kinds of supplies. one evening, as i stood on the porch of the hotel, i saw a man riding a spirited dapple-gray horse up the street. as i watched the splendid fling of his fore-feet, the proud carriage of his head, the splendid nostrils, the deep intelligent eyes, i said: "there is my horse! i wonder if he is for sale." a bystander remarked, "he's coming to see you, and you can have the horse if you want it." the rider drew rein, and i went out to meet him. after looking the horse all over, with a subtle show of not being in haste, i asked, "how much will you take for him?" "fifty dollars," he replied, and i knew by the tone of his voice that he would not take less. i hemmed and hawed a decent interval, examining every limb meanwhile; finally i said, "get off your horse." with a certain sadness the man complied. i placed in his hand a fifty-dollar bill, and took the horse by the bridle. "what is his name?" "i call him prince." "he shall be called prince ladrone," i said to burton, as i led the horse away. each moment increased my joy and pride in my dapple-gray gelding. i could scarcely convince myself of my good fortune, and concluded there must be something the matter with the horse. i was afraid of some trick, some meanness, for almost all mountain horses are "streaky," but i could discover nothing. he was quick on his feet as a cat, listened to every word that was spoken to him, and obeyed as instantly and as cheerfully as a dog. he took up his feet at request, he stood over in the stall at a touch, and took the bit readily (a severe test). in every way he seemed to be exactly the horse i had been waiting for. i became quite satisfied of his value the following morning, when his former owner said to me, in a voice of sadness, "now treat him well, won't you?" "he shall have the best there is," i replied. my partner, meanwhile, had rustled together three packhorses, which were guaranteed to be kind and gentle, and so at last we were ready to make a trial. it was a beautiful day for a start, sunny, silent, warm, with great floating clouds filling the sky. we had tried our tent, and it was pronounced a "jim-cracker-jack" by all who saw it, and exciting almost as much comment among the natives as my anderson pack-saddles. our "truck" was ready on the platform of the storehouse, and the dealer in horses had agreed to pack the animals in order to show that they were "as represented." the whole town turned out to see the fun. the first horse began bucking before the pack-saddle was fairly on, to the vast amusement of the bystanders. "that will do for that beast," i remarked, and he was led away. "bring up your other candidate." the next horse seemed to be gentle enough, but when one of the men took off his bandanna and began binding it round the pony's head, i interrupted. "that'll do," i said; "i know that trick. i don't want a horse whose eyes have to be blinded. take him away." this left us as we were before, with the exception of ladrone. an indian standing near said to burton, "i have gentle horse, no buck, all same like dog." "all right," said partner, with a sigh, "let's see him." the "dam siwash" proved to be more reliable than his white detractor. his horses turned out to be gentle and strong, and we made a bargain without noise. at last it seemed we might be able to get away. "to-morrow morning," said i to burton, "if nothing further intervenes, we hit the trail a resounding whack." all around us similar preparations were going on. half-breeds were breaking wild ponies, cow-boys were packing, roping, and instructing the tenderfoot, the stores swarmed with would-be miners fitting out, while other outfits already supplied were crawling up the distant hill like loosely articulated canvas-colored worms. outfits from spokane and other southern towns began to drop down into the valley, and every train from the east brought other prospectors to stand dazed and wondering before the squalid little camp. each day, each hour, increased the general eagerness to get away. from plain to peak from hot low sands aflame with heat, from crackling cedars dripping odorous gum, i ride to set my burning feet on heights whence uncompagre's waters hum, from rock to rock, and run as white as wool. my panting horse sniffs on the breeze the water smell, too faint for me to know; but i can see afar the trees, which tell of grasses where the asters blow, and columbines and clover bending low are honey-full. i catch the gleam of snow-fields, bright as burnished shields of tempered steel, and round each sovereign lonely height i watch the storm-clouds vault and reel, heavy with hail and trailing veils of sleet. "hurrah, my faithful! soon you shall plunge your burning nostril to the bit in snow; soon you shall rest where foam-white waters lunge from cliff to cliff, and you shall know no more of hunger or the flame of sand or windless desert's heat!" chapter iii on the stage road on the third day of may, after a whole forenoon of packing and "fussing," we made our start and passed successfully over some fourteen miles of the road. it was warm and beautiful, and we felt greatly relieved to escape from the dry and dusty town with its conscienceless horse jockeys and its bibulous teamsters. as we mounted the white-hot road which climbed sharply to the northeast, we could scarcely restrain a shout of exultation. it was perfect weather. we rode good horses, we had chosen our companions, and before us lay a thousand miles of trail, and the mysterious gold fields of the far-off yukon. for two hundred and twenty miles the road ran nearly north toward the town of quesnelle, which was the trading camp for the caribou mining company. this highway was filled with heavy teams, and stage houses were frequent. we might have gone by the river trail, but as the grass was yet young, many of the outfits decided to keep to the stage road. we made our first camp beside the dusty road near the stage barn, in which we housed our horses. a beautiful stream came down from the hills near us. a little farther up the road a big and hairy californian, with two half-breed assistants, was struggling with twenty-five wild cayuses. two or three campfires sparkled near. there was a vivid charm in the scene. the poplars were in tender leaf. the moon, round and brilliant, was rising just above the mountains to the east, as we made our bed and went to sleep with the singing of the stream in our ears. while we were cooking our breakfast the next morning the big californian sauntered by, looking at our little folding stove, our tent, our new-fangled pack-saddles, and our luxurious beds, and remarked:-- "i reckon you fellers are just out on a kind of little hunting trip." we resented the tone of derision in his voice, and i replied:-- "we are bound for teslin lake. we shall be glad to see you any time during the coming fall." he never caught up with us again. we climbed steadily all the next day with the wind roaring over our heads in the pines. it grew much colder and the snow covered the near-by hills. the road was full of trampers on their way to the mines at quesnelle and stanley. i will not call them _tramps_, for every man who goes afoot in this land is entitled to a certain measure of respect. we camped at night just outside the little village called clinton, which was not unlike a town in vermont, and was established during the caribou rush in ' . it lay in a lovely valley beside a swift, clear stream. the sward was deliciously green where we set our tent. thus far burton had wrestled rather unsuccessfully with the crystallized eggs and evaporated potatoes which made up a part of our outfit. "i don't seem to get just the right twist on 'em," he said. "you'll have plenty of chance to experiment," i remarked. however, the bacon was good and so was the graham bread which he turned out piping hot from the little oven of our folding stove. leaving clinton we entered upon a lonely region, a waste of wooded ridges breaking illimitably upon the sky. the air sharpened as we rose, till it seemed like march instead of april, and our overcoats were grateful. somewhere near the middle of the forenoon, as we were jogging along, i saw a deer standing just at the edge of the road and looking across it, as if in fear of its blazing publicity. it seemed for a moment as if he were an optical illusion, so beautiful, so shapely, and so palpitant was he. i had no desire to shoot him, but, turning to burton, called in a low voice, "see that deer." he replied, "where is your gun?" now under my knee i carried a new rifle with a quantity of smokeless cartridges, steel-jacketed and soft-nosed, and yet i was disposed to argue the matter. "see here, burton, it will be bloody business if we kill that deer. we couldn't eat all of it; you wouldn't want to skin it; i couldn't. you'd get your hands all bloody and the memory of that beautiful creature would not be pleasant. therefore i stand for letting him go." burton looked thoughtful. "well, we might sell it or give it away." meanwhile the deer saw us, but seemed not to be apprehensive. perhaps it was a thought-reading deer, and knew that we meant it no harm. as burton spoke, it turned, silent as a shadow, and running to the crest of the hill stood for a moment outlined like a figure of bronze against the sky, then disappeared into the forest. he was so much a part of nature that the horses gave no sign of having seen him at all. at a point a few miles beyond clinton most of the pack trains turned sharply to the left to the fraser river, where the grass was reported to be much better. we determined to continue on the stage road, however, and thereafter met but few outfits. the road was by no means empty, however. we met, from time to time, great blue or red wagons drawn by four or six horses, moving with pleasant jangle of bells and the crack of great whips. the drivers looked down at us curiously and somewhat haughtily from their high seats, as if to say, "we know where we are going--do you know as much?" the landscape grew ever wilder, and the foliage each day spring-like. we were on a high hilly plateau between hat creek and the valley of lake la hache. we passed lakes surrounded by ghostly dead trees, which looked as though the water had poisoned them. there were no ranches of any extent on these hills. the trail continued to be filled with tramping miners; several seemed to be without bedding or food. some drove little pack animals laden with blankets, and all walked like fiends, pressing forward doggedly, hour after hour. many of them were italians, and one group which we overtook went along killing robins for food. they were a merry and dramatic lot, making the silent forests echo with their chatter. i headed my train on ladrone, who led the way with a fine stately tread, his deep brown eyes alight with intelligence, his sensitive ears attentive to every word. he had impressed me already by his learning and gentleness, but when one of my packhorses ran around him, entangling me in the lead rope, pulling me to the ground, the final test of his quality came. i expected to be kicked into shreds. but ladrone stopped instantly, and looking down at me inquiringly, waited for me to scramble out from beneath his feet and drag the saddle up to its place. with heart filled with gratitude, i patted him on the nose, and said, "old boy, if you carry me through to teslin lake, i will take care of you for the rest of your days." at about noon the next day we came down off the high plateau, with its cold and snow, and camped in a sunny sward near a splendid ranch where lambs were at play on the green grass. blackbirds were calling, and we heard our first crane bugling high in the sky. from the loneliness and desolation of the high country, with its sparse road houses, we were now surrounded by sunny fields mellow with thirty seasons' ploughing. the ride was very beautiful. just the sort of thing we had been hoping for. all day we skirted fine lakes with grassy shores. cranes, ducks, and geese filled every pond, the voice of spring in their brazen throats. once a large flight of crane went sweeping by high in the sky, a royal, swift scythe reaping the clouds. i called to them in their own tongue, and they answered. i called again and again, and they began to waver and talk among themselves; and at last, having decided that this voice from below should be heeded, they broke rank and commenced sweeping round and round in great circles, seeking the lost one whose cry rose from afar. baffled and angered, they rearranged themselves at last in long regular lines, and swept on into the north. we camped on this, the sixth day, beside a fine stream which came from a lake, and here we encountered our first mosquitoes. big, black fellows they were, with a lazy, droning sound quite different from any i had ever heard. however, they froze up early and did not bother us very much. at the one hundred and fifty-nine mile house, which was a stage tavern, we began to hear other bogie stories of the trail. we were assured that horses were often poisoned by eating a certain plant, and that the mud and streams were terrible. flies were a never ending torment. all these i regarded as the croakings of men who had never had courage to go over the trail, and who exaggerated the accounts they had heard from others. we were jogging along now some fifteen or twenty miles a day, thoroughly enjoying the trip. the sky was radiant, the aspens were putting forth transparent yellow leaves. on the grassy slopes some splendid yellow flowers quite new to me waved in the warm but strong breeze. on the ninth day we reached soda creek, which is situated on the fraser river, at a point where the muddy stream is deep sunk in the wooded hills. the town was a single row of ramshackle buildings, not unlike a small missouri river town. the citizens, so far as visible, formed a queer collection of old men addicted to rum. they all came out to admire ladrone and to criticise my pack-saddle, and as they stood about spitting and giving wise instances, they reminded me of the jurors in mark twain's "puddin head wilson." one old man tottered up to my side to inquire, "cap, where you going?" "to teslin lake," i replied. "good lord, think of it," said he. "do you ever expect to get there? it is a terrible trip, my son, a terrible trip." at this point a large number of the outfits crossed to the opposite side of the river and took the trail which kept up the west bank of the river. we, however, kept the stage road which ran on the high ground of the eastern bank, forming a most beautiful drive. the river was in full view all the time, with endless vista of blue hills above and the shimmering water with radiant foliage below. aside from the stage road and some few ranches on the river bottom, we were now in the wilderness. on our right rolled a wide wild sea of hills and forests, breaking at last on the great gold range. to the west, a still wilder country reaching to the impassable east range. on this, our eighth day out, we had our second sight of big game. in the night i was awakened by burton, calling in excited whisper, "there's a bear outside." it was cold, i was sleepy, my bed was very comfortable, and i did not wish to be disturbed. i merely growled, "let him alone." but burton, putting his head out of the door of the tent, grew still more interested. "there is a bear out there eating those mutton bones. where's the gun?" i was nearly sinking off to sleep once more and i muttered, "don't bother me; the gun is in the corner of the tent." burton began snapping the lever of the gun impatiently and whispering something about not being able to put the cartridge in. he was accustomed to the old-fashioned winchester, but had not tried these. "put it right in the top," i wearily said, "put it right in the top." "i have," he replied; "but i can't get it _in_ or out!" meanwhile i had become sufficiently awake to take a mild interest in the matter. i rose and looked out. as i saw a long, black, lean creature muzzling at something on the ground, i began to get excited myself. "i guess we better let him go, hadn't we?" said burton. "well, yes, as the cartridge is stuck in the gun; and so long as he lets us alone i think we had better let him alone, especially as his hide is worth nothing at this season of the year, and he is too thin to make steak." the situation was getting comic, but probably it is well that the cartridge failed to go in. burton stuck his head out of the tent, gave a sharp yell, and the huge creature vanished in the dark of the forest. the whole adventure came about naturally. the smell of our frying meat had gone far up over the hills to our right and off into the great wilderness, alluring this lean hungry beast out of his den. doubtless if burton had been able to fire a shot into his woolly hide, we should have had a rare "mix up" of bear, tent, men, mattresses, and blankets. mosquitoes increased, and, strange to say, they seemed to like the shade. they were all of the big, black, lazy variety. we came upon flights of humming-birds. i was rather tired of the saddle, and of the slow jog, jog, jog. but at last there came an hour which made the trouble worth while. when our camp was set, our fire lighted, our supper eaten, and we could stretch out and watch the sun go down over the hills beyond the river, then the day seemed well spent. at such an hour we grew reminiscent of old days, and out of our talk an occasional verse naturally rose. momentous hour a coyote wailing in the yellow dawn, a mountain land that stretches on and on, and ceases not till in the skies vast peaks of rosy snow arise, like walls of plainsman's paradise. i cannot tell why this is so; i cannot say, i do not know why wind and wolf and yellow sky, and grassy mesa, square and high, possess such power to satisfy. but so it is. deep in the grass i lie and hear the winds' feet pass; and all forgot is maid and man, and hope and set ambitious plan are lost as though they ne'er began. a wish all day and many days i rode, my horse's head set toward the sea; and as i rode a longing came to me that i might keep the sunset road, riding my horse right on and on, o'ertake the day still lagging at the west, and so reach boyhood from the dawn, and be with all the days at rest. for then the odor of the growing wheat, the flare of sumach on the hills, the touch of grasses to my feet would cure my brain of all its ills,-- would fill my heart so full of joy that no stern lines could fret my face. there would i be forever boy, lit by the sky's unfailing grace. chapter iv in camp at quesnelle we came into quesnelle about three o'clock of the eleventh day out. from a high point which overlooked the two rivers, we could see great ridges rolling in waves of deep blue against the sky to the northwest. over these our slender little trail ran. the wind was in the south, roaring up the river, and green grass was springing on the slopes. quesnelle we found to be a little town on a high, smooth slope above the fraser. we overtook many prospectors like ourselves camped on the river bank waiting to cross. here also telegraph bulletins concerning the spanish war, dated london, hong kong, and madrid, hung on the walls of the post-office. they were very brief and left plenty of room for imagination and discussion. here i took a pony and a dog-cart and jogged away toward the long-famous caribou mining district next day, for the purpose of inspecting a mine belonging to some friends of mine. the ride was very desolate and lonely, a steady climb all the way, through fire-devastated forests, toward the great peaks. snow lay in the roadside ditches. butterflies were fluttering about, and in the high hills i saw many toads crawling over the snowbanks, a singular sight to me. they were silent, perhaps from cold. strange to say, this ride called up in my mind visions of the hot sands, and the sun-lit buttes and valleys of arizona and montana, and i wrote several verses as i jogged along in the pony-cart. when i returned to camp two days later, i found burton ready and eager to move. the town swarmed with goldseekers pausing here to rest and fill their parflêches. on the opposite side of the river others could be seen in camp, or already moving out over the trail, which left the river and climbed at once into the high ridges dark with pines in the west. as i sat with my partner at night talking of the start the next day, i began to feel not a fear but a certain respect for that narrow little path which was not an arm's span in width, but which was nearly eight hundred miles in length. "from this point, burton, it is business. our practice march is finished." the stories of flies and mosquitoes gave me more trouble than anything else, but a surveyor who had had much experience in this northwestern country recommended the use of oil of pennyroyal, mixed with lard or vaseline. "it will keep the mosquitoes and most of the flies away," he said. "i know, for i have tried it. you can't wear a net, at least i never could. it is too warm, and then it is always in your way. you are in no danger from beasts, but you will curse the day you set out on this trail on account of the insects. it is the worst mosquito country in the world." the gift of water "is water nigh?" the plainsmen cry, as they meet and pass in the desert grass. with finger tip across the lip i ask the sombre navajo. the brown man smiles and answers "sho!"[ ] with fingers high, he signs the miles to the desert spring, and so we pass in the dry dead grass, brothers in bond of the water's ring. [footnote : listen. your attention.] mounting i mount and mount toward the sky, the eagle's heart is mine, i ride to put the clouds a-by where silver lakelets shine. the roaring streams wax white with snow, the eagle's nest draws near, the blue sky widens, hid peaks glow, the air is frosty clear. _and so from cliff to cliff i rise,_ _the eagle's heart is mine;_ _above me ever broadning skies,_ _below the rivers shine._ the eagle trail from rock-built nest, the mother eagle, with a threatning tongue, utters a warning scream. her shrill voice rings wild as the snow-topped crags she sits among; while hovering with her quivering wings her hungry brood, with eyes ablaze she watches every shadow. the water calls far, far below. the sun's red rays ascend the icy, iron walls, and leap beyond the mountains in the west, and over the trail and the eagle's nest the clear night falls. chapter v the psychology of the blue rat _camp twelve_ next morning as we took the boat--which was filled with horses wild and restless--i had a moment of exultation to think we had left the way of tin cans and whiskey bottles, and were now about to enter upon the actual trail. the horses gave us a great deal of trouble on the boat, but we managed to get across safely without damage to any part of our outfit. here began our acquaintance with the blue rat. it had become evident to me during our stay in quesnelle that we needed one more horse to make sure of having provisions sufficient to carry us over the three hundred and sixty miles which lay between the fraser and our next eating-place on the skeena. horses, however, were very scarce, and it was not until late in the day that we heard of a man who had a pony to sell. the name of this man was dippy. he was a german, and had a hare-lip and a most seductive gentleness of voice. i gladly make him historical. he sold me the blue rat, and gave me a chance to study a new type of horse. herr dippy was not a washington irving sort of dutchman; he conformed rather to the modern new york tradesman. he was small, candid, and smooth, very smooth, of speech. he said: "yes, the pony is gentle. he can be rode or packed, but you better lead him for a day or two till he gets quiet." i had not seen the pony, but my partner had crossed to the west side of the fraser river, and had reported him to be a "nice little pony, round and fat and gentle." on that i had rested. mr. dippy joined us at the ferry and waited around to finish the trade. i presumed he intended to cross and deliver the pony, which was in a corral on the west side, but he lisped out a hurried excuse. "the ferry is not coming back for to-day and so--" well, i paid him the money on the strength of my side partner's report; besides, it was hobson's choice. mr. dippy took the twenty-five dollars eagerly and vanished into obscurity. we passed to the wild side of the fraser and entered upon a long and intimate study of the blue rat. he shucked out of the log stable a smooth, round, lithe-bodied little cayuse of a blue-gray color. he looked like a child's toy, but seemed sturdy and of good condition. his foretop was "banged," and he had the air of a mischievous, resolute boy. his eyes were big and black, and he studied us with tranquil but inquiring gaze as we put the pack-saddle on him. he was very small. "he's not large, but he's a gentle little chap," said i, to ease my partner of his dismay over the pony's surprising smallness. "i believe he shrunk during the night," replied my partner. "he seemed two sizes bigger yesterday." we packed him with one hundred pounds of our food and lashed it all on with rope, while the pony dozed peacefully. once or twice i thought i saw his ears cross; one laid back, the other set forward,--bad signs,--but it was done so quickly i could not be sure of it. we packed the other horses while the blue pony stood resting one hind leg, his eyes dreaming. i flung the canvas cover over the bay packhorse.... something took place. i heard a bang, a clatter, a rattling of hoofs. i peered around the bay and saw the blue pony performing some of the most finished, vigorous, and varied bucking it has ever been given me to witness. he all but threw somersaults. he stood on his upper lip. he humped up his back till he looked like a lean cat on a graveyard fence. he stood on his toe calks and spun like a weather-vane on a livery stable, and when the pack exploded and the saddle slipped under his belly, he kicked it to pieces by using both hind hoofs as featly as a man would stroke his beard. after calming the other horses, i faced my partner solemnly. "oh, by the way, partner, where did you get that nice, quiet, little blue pony of yours?" partner smiled sheepishly. "the little divil. buffalo bill ought to have that pony." "well, now," said i, restraining my laughter, "the thing to do is to put that pack on so that it will stay. that pony will try the same thing again, sure." we packed him again with great care. his big, innocent black eyes shining under his bang were a little more alert, but they showed neither fear nor rage. we roped him in every conceivable way, and at last stood clear and dared him to do his prettiest. he did it. all that had gone before was merely preparatory, a blood-warming, so to say; the real thing now took place. he stood up on his hind legs and shot into the air, alighting on his four feet as if to pierce the earth. he whirled like a howling dervish, grunting, snorting--unseeing, and almost unseen in a nimbus of dust, strap ends, and flying pine needles. his whirling undid him. we seized the rope, and just as the pack again slid under his feet we set shoulder to the rope and threw him. he came to earth with a thud, his legs whirling uselessly in the air. he resembled a beetle in molasses. we sat upon his head and discussed him. "he is a wonder," said my partner. we packed him again with infinite pains, and when he began bucking we threw him again and tried to kill him. we were getting irritated. we threw him hard, and drew his hind legs up to his head till he grunted. when he was permitted to rise, he looked meek and small and tired and we were both deeply remorseful. we rearranged the pack--it was some encouragement to know he had not bucked it entirely off--and by blindfolding him we got him started on the trail behind the train. "i suppose that simple-hearted dutchman is gloating over us from across the river," said i to partner; "but no matter, we are victorious." i was now quite absorbed in a study of the blue pony's psychology. he was a new type of mean pony. his eye did not roll nor his ears fall back. he seemed neither scared nor angry. he still looked like a roguish, determined boy. he was alert, watchful, but not vicious. he went off--precisely like one of those mechanical mice or turtles which sidewalk venders operate. once started, he could not stop till he ran down. he seemed not to take our stern measures in bad part. he regarded it as a fair contract, apparently, and considered that we had won. true, he had lost both hair and skin by getting tangled in the rope, but he laid up nothing against us, and, as he followed meekly along behind, partner dared to say:-- "he's all right now. i presume he has been running out all winter and is a little wild. he's satisfied now. we'll have no more trouble with him." every time i looked back at the poor, humbled little chap, my heart tingled with pity and remorse. "we were too rough," i said. "we must be more gentle." "yes, he's nervous and scary; we must be careful not to give him a sudden start. i'll lead him for a while." an hour later, as we were going down a steep and slippery hill, the rat saw his chance. he passed into another spasm, opening and shutting like a self-acting jack-knife. he bounded into the midst of the peaceful horses, scattering them to right and to left in terror. he turned and came up the hill to get another start. partner took a turn on a stump, and all unmindful of it the rat whirled and made a mighty spring. he reached the end of the rope and his hand-spring became a vaulting somersault. he lay, unable to rise, spatting the wind, breathing heavily. such annoying energy i have never seen. we were now mad, muddy, and very resolute. we held him down till he lay quite still. any well-considered, properly bred animal would have been ground to bone dust by such wondrous acrobatic movements. he was skinned in one or two places, the hair was scraped from his nose, his tongue bled, but all these were mere scratches. when we repacked him he walked off comparatively unhurt. noon on the plain the horned toad creeping along the sand, the rattlesnake asleep beneath the sage, have now a subtle fatal charm. in their sultry calm, their love of heat, i read once more the burning page of nature under cloudless skies. o pitiless and splendid land! mine eyelids close, my lips are dry by force of thy hot floods of light. soundless as oil the wind flows by, mine aching brain cries out for night! chapter vi the beginning of the long trail as we left the bank of the fraser river we put all wheel tracks behind. the trail turned to the west and began to climb, following an old swath which had been cut into the black pines by an adventurous telegraph company in . immense sums of money were put into this venture by men who believed the ocean cable could not be laid. the work was stopped midway by the success of field's wonderful plan, and all along the roadway the rusted and twisted wire lay in testimony of the seriousness of the original design. the trail was a white man's road. it lacked grace and charm. it cut uselessly over hills and plunged senselessly into ravines. it was an irritation to all of us who knew the easy swing, the circumspection, and the labor-saving devices of an indian trail. the telegraph line was laid by compass, not by the stars and the peaks; it evaded nothing; it saved distance, not labor. my feeling of respect deepened into awe as we began to climb the great wooded divide which lies between the fraser and the blackwater. the wild forest settled around us, grim, stern, and forbidding. we were done with civilization. everything that was required for a home in the cold and in the heat was bound upon our five horses. we must carry bed, board, roof, food, and medical stores, over three hundred and sixty miles of trail, through all that might intervene of flood and forest. this feeling of awe was emphasized by the coming on of the storm in which we camped that night. we were forced to keep going until late in order to obtain feed, and to hustle in order to get everything under cover before the rain began to fall. we were only twelve miles on our way, but being wet and cold and hungry, we enjoyed the full sense of being in the wilderness. however, the robins sang from the damp woods and the loons laughed from hidden lakes. it rained all night, and in the morning we were forced to get out in a cold, wet dawn. it was a grim start, dismal and portentous, bringing the realities of the trail very close to us. while i rustled the horses out of the wet bush, partner stirred up a capital breakfast of bacon, evaporated potatoes, crystallized eggs, and graham bread. he had discovered at last the exact amount of water to use in cooking these "vegetables," and they were very good. the potatoes tasted not unlike mashed potatoes, and together with the eggs made a very savory and wholesome dish. with a cup of strong coffee and some hot graham gems we got off in very good spirits indeed. it continued muddy, wet, and cold. i walked most of the day, leading my horse, upon whom i had packed a part of the outfit to relieve the other horses. there was no fun in the day, only worry and trouble. my feet were wet, my joints stiff, and my brain weary of the monotonous black, pine forest. there is a great deal of work on the trail,--cooking, care of the horses, together with almost ceaseless packing and unpacking, and the bother of keeping the packhorses out of the mud. we were busy from five o'clock in the morning until nine at night. there were other outfits on the trail having a full ton of supplies, and this great weight had to be handled four times a day. in our case the toil was much less, but it was only by snatching time from my partner that i was able to work on my notes and keep my diary. had the land been less empty of game and richer in color, i should not have minded the toil and care taking. as it was, we were all looking forward to the beautiful lake country which we were told lay just beyond the blackwater. one tremendous fact soon impressed me. there were no returning footsteps on this trail. all toes pointed in one way, toward the golden north. no man knew more than his neighbor the character of the land which lay before us. the life of each outfit was practically the same. at about . in the morning the campers awoke. the click-clack of axes began, and slender columns of pale blue smoke stole softly into the air. then followed the noisy rustling of the horses by those set aside for that duty. by the time the horses were "cussed into camp," the coffee was hot, and the bacon and beans ready to be eaten. a race in packing took place to see who should pull out first. at about seven o'clock in the morning the outfits began to move. but here there was a difference of method. most of them travelled for six or seven hours without unpacking, whereas our plan was to travel for four hours, rest from twelve to three, and pack up and travel four hours more. this difference in method resulted in our passing outfit after outfit who were unable to make the same distances by their one march. we went to bed with the robins and found it no hardship to rise with the sparrows. as burton got the fire going, i dressed and went out to see if all the horses were in the bunch, and edged them along toward the camp. i then packed up the goods, struck the tent and folded it, and had everything ready to sling on the horses by the time breakfast was ready. with my rifle under my knee, my rain coat rolled behind my saddle, my camera dangling handily, my rope coiled and lashed, i called out, "are we all set?" "oh, i guess so," burton invariably replied. with a last look at the camping ground to see that nothing of value was left, we called in exactly the same way each time, "hike, boys, hike, hike." (hy-ak: chinook for "hurry up.") it was a fine thing, and it never failed to touch me, to see them fall in, one by one. the "ewe-neck" just behind ladrone, after him "old bill," and behind him, groaning and taking on as if in great pain, "major grunt," while at the rear, with sharp outcry, came burton riding the blue pony, who was quite content, as we soon learned, to carry a man weighing seventy pounds more than his pack. he considered himself a saddle horse, not a pack animal. it was not an easy thing to keep a pack train like this running. as the horses became tired of the saddle, two of them were disposed to run off into the brush in an attempt to scrape their load from their backs. others fell to feeding. sometimes bill would attempt to pass the bay in order to walk next ladrone. then they would _scrouge_ against each other like a couple of country schoolboys, to see who should get ahead. it was necessary to watch the packs with worrysome care to see that nothing came loose, to keep the cinches tight, and to be sure that none of the horses were being galled by their burdens. we travelled for the most part alone and generally in complete silence, for i was too far in advance to have any conversation with my partner. the trail continued wet, muddy, and full of slippery inclines, but we camped on a beautiful spot on the edge of a marshy lake two or three miles in length. as we threw up our tent and started our fire, i heard two cranes bugling magnificently from across the marsh, and with my field-glass i could see them striding along in the edge of the water. the sun was getting well toward the west. all around stood the dark and mysterious forest, out of which strange noises broke. in answer to the bugling of the cranes, loons were wildly calling, a flock of geese, hidden somewhere under the level blaze of the orange-colored light of the setting sun, were holding clamorous convention. this is one of the compensating moments of the trail. to come out of a gloomy and forbidding wood into an open and grassy bank, to see the sun setting across the marsh behind the most splendid blue mountains, makes up for many weary hours of toil. as i lay down to sleep i heard a coyote cry, and the loons answered, and out of the cold, clear night the splendid voices of the cranes rang triumphantly. the heavens were made as brass by their superb, defiant notes. the whooping crane at sunset from the shadowed sedge of lonely lake, among the reeds, he lifts his brazen-throated call, and the listening cat with teeth at edge with famine hears and heeds. "_come one, come all, come all, come all!_" is the bird's challenge bravely blown to every beast the woodlands own. "_my legs are long, my wings are strong,_ _i wait the answer to my threat._" echoing, fearless, triumphant, the cry disperses through the world, and yet only the clamorous, cloudless sky and the wooded mountains make reply. the loon at some far time this water sprite a brother of the coyote must have been. for when the sun is set, forth from the failing light his harsh cries fret the silence of the night, and the hid wolf answers with a wailing keen. chapter vii the blackwater divide about noon the next day we suddenly descended to the blackwater, a swift stream which had been newly bridged by those ahead of us. in this wild land streams were our only objective points; the mountains had no names, and the monotony of the forest produced a singular effect on our minds. our journey at times seemed a sort of motionless progression. once our tent was set and our baggage arranged about us, we lost all sense of having moved at all. immediately after leaving the blackwater bridge we had a grateful touch of an indian trail. the telegraph route kept to the valley flat, but an old trail turned to the right and climbed the north bank by an easy and graceful grade which it was a joy to follow. the top of the bench was wooded and grassy, and the smooth brown trail wound away sinuous as a serpent under the splendid pine trees. for more than three hours we strolled along this bank as distinguished as those who occupy boxes at the theatre. below us the blackwater looped away under a sunny sky, and far beyond, enormous and unnamed, deep blue mountains rose, notching the western sky. the scene was so exceedingly rich and amiable we could hardly believe it to be without farms and villages, yet only an indian hut or two gave indication of human life. after following this bank for a few miles, we turned to the right and began to climb the high divide which lies between the blackwater and the muddy, both of which are upper waters of the fraser. like all the high country through which we had passed this ridge was covered with a monotonous forest of small black pines, with very little bird or animal life of any kind. by contrast the valley of the blackwater shone in our memory like a jewel. after a hard drive we camped beside a small creek, together with several other outfits. one of them belonged to a doctor from the chilcoten country. he was one of those englishmen who are natural plainsmen. he was always calm, cheerful, and self-contained. he took all worry and danger as a matter of course, and did not attempt to carry the customs of a london hotel into the camp. when an englishman has this temper, he makes one of the best campaigners in the world. as i came to meet the other men on the trail, i found that some peculiar circumstance had led to their choice of route. the doctor had a ranch in the valley of the fraser. one of "the manchester boys" had a cousin near soda creek. "siwash charley" wished to prospect on the head-waters of the skeena; and so in almost every case some special excuse was given. when the truth was known, the love of adventure had led all of us to take the telegraph route. most of the miners argued that they could make their entrance by horse as cheaply, if not as quickly, as by boat. for the most part they were young, hardy, and temperate young men of the middle condition of american life. one of the manchester men had been a farmer in connecticut, an attendant in an insane asylum in massachusetts, and an engineer. he was fat when he started, and weighed two hundred and twenty pounds. by the time we had overtaken him his trousers had begun to flap around him. he was known as "big bill." his companion, frank, was a sinewy little fellow with no extra flesh at all,--an alert, cheery, and vociferous boy, who made noise enough to scare all the game out of the valley. neither of these men had ever saddled a horse before reaching the chilcoten, but they developed at once into skilful packers and rugged trailers, though they still exposed themselves unnecessarily in order to show that they were not "tenderfeet." "siwash charley" was a montana miner who spoke chinook fluently, and swore in splendid rhythms on occasion. he was small, alert, seasoned to the trail, and capable of any hardship. "the man from chihuahua" was so called because he had been prospecting in mexico. he had the best packhorses on the trail, and cared for them like a mother. he was small, weazened, hardy as oak, inured to every hardship, and very wise in all things. he had led his fine little train of horses from chihuahua to seattle, thence to the thompson river, joining us at quesnelle. he was the typical trailer. he spoke in the missouri fashion, though he was a born californian. his partner was a quiet little man from snohomish flats, in washington. these outfits were typical of scores of others, and it will be seen that they were for the most part americans, the group of germans from new york city and the english doctor being the exceptions. there was little talk among us. we were not merely going a journey, but going as rapidly as was prudent, and there was close attention to business. there was something morbidly persistent in the action of these trains. they pushed on resolutely, grimly, like blind worms following some directing force from within. this peculiarity of action became more noticeable day by day. we were not on the trail, after all, to hunt, or fish, or skylark. we had set our eyes on a distant place, and toward it our feet moved, even in sleep. the muddy river, which we reached late in the afternoon, was silent as oil and very deep, while the banks, muddy and abrupt, made it a hard stream to cross. as we stood considering the problem, a couple of indians appeared on the opposite bank with a small raft, and we struck a bargain with them to ferry our outfit. they set us across in short order, but our horses were forced to swim. they were very much alarmed and shivered with excitement (this being the first stream that called for swimming), but they crossed in fine style, ladrone leading, his neck curving, his nostrils wide-blown. we were forced to camp in the mud of the river bank, and the gray clouds flying overhead made the land exceedingly dismal. the night closed in wet and cheerless. the two indians stopped to supper with us and ate heartily. i seized the opportunity to talk with them, and secured from them the tragic story of the death of the blackwater indians. "siwash, he die hy-u (great many). hy-u die, chilens, klootchmans (women), all die. white man no help. no send doctor. siwash all die, white man no care belly much." in this simple account of the wiping out of a village of harmless people by "the white man's disease" (small-pox), unaided by the white man's wonderful skill, there lies one of the great tragedies of savage life. very few were left on the blackwater or on the muddy, though a considerable village had once made the valley cheerful with its primitive pursuits. they were profoundly impressed by our tent and gun, and sat on their haunches clicking their tongues again and again in admiration, saying of the tent, "all the same lilly (little) house." i tried to tell them of the great world to the south, and asked them a great many questions to discover how much they knew of the people or the mountains. they knew nothing of the plains indians, but one of them had heard of vancouver and seattle. they had not the dignity and thinking power of the plains people, but they seemed amiable and rather jovial. we passed next day two adventurers tramping their way to hazleton. each man carried a roll of cheap quilts, a skillet, and a cup. we came upon them as they were taking off their shoes and stockings to wade through a swift little river, and i realized with a sudden pang of sympathetic pain, how distressing these streams must be to such as go afoot, whereas i, on my fine horse, had considered them entirely from an æsthetic point of view. we had been on the road from quesnelle a week, and had made nearly one hundred miles, jogging along some fifteen miles each day, camping, eating, sleeping, with nothing to excite us--indeed, the trail was quiet as a country lane. a dead horse here and there warned us to be careful how we pushed our own burden-bearers. we were deep in the forest, with the pale blue sky filled with clouds showing only in patches overhead. we passed successively from one swamp of black pine to another, over ridges covered with white pine, all precisely alike. as soon as our camp was set and fires lighted, we lost all sense of having travelled, so similar were the surroundings of each camp. partridges could be heard drumming in the lowlands. mosquitoes were developing by the millions, and cooking had become almost impossible without protection. the "varments" came in relays. a small gray variety took hold of us while it was warm, and when it became too cold for them, the big, black, "sticky" fellows appeared mysteriously, and hung around in the air uttering deep, bass notes like lazy flies. the little gray fellows were singularly ferocious and insistent in their attentions. at last, as we were winding down the trail beneath the pines, we came suddenly upon an indian with a gun in the hollow of his arm. so still, so shadowy, so neutral in color was he, that at first sight he seemed a part of the forest, like the shaded hole of a tree. he turned out to be a "runner," so to speak, for the ferrymen at tchincut crossing, and led us down to the outlet of the lake where a group of natives with their slim canoes sat waiting to set us over. an hour's brisk work and we rose to the fine grassy eastern slope overlooking the lake. we rose on our stirrups with shouts of joy. we had reached the land of our dreams! here was the trailers' heaven! wooded promontories, around which the wavelets sparkled, pushed out into the deep, clear flood. great mountains rose in the background, lonely, untouched by man's all-desolating hand, while all about us lay suave slopes clothed with most beautiful pea-vine, just beginning to ripple in the wind, and beyond lay level meadows lit by little ponds filled with wildfowl. there was just forest enough to lend mystery to these meadows, and to shut from our eager gaze the beauties of other and still more entrancing glades. the most exacting hunter or trailer could not desire more perfect conditions for camping. it was god's own country after the gloomy monotony of the barren pine forest, and needed only a passing deer or a band of elk to be a poem as well as a picture. all day we skirted this glorious lake, and at night we camped on its shores. the horses were as happy as their masters, feeding in plenty on sweet herbage for the first time in long days. late in the day we passed the largest indian village we had yet seen. it was situated on stony creek, which came from tatchick lake and emptied into tchincut lake. the shallows flickered with the passing of trout, and the natives were busy catching and drying them. as we rode amid the curing sheds, the children raised a loud clamor, and the women laughed and called from house to house, "oh, see the white men!" we were a circus parade to them. their opportunities for earning money are scant, and they live upon a very monotonous diet of fish and possibly dried venison and berries. except at favorable points like stony creek, where a small stream leads from one lake to another, there are no villages because there are no fish. i shall not soon forget the shining vistas through which we rode that day, nor the meadows which possessed all the allurement and mystery which the word "savanna" has always had with me. it was like going back to the prairies of indiana, illinois, and iowa, as they were sixty years ago, except in this case the elk and the deer were absent. yet still we rode we wallowed deep in mud and sand; we swam swift streams that roared in wrath; they stood at guard in that lone land, like dragons in the slender path. yet still we rode right on and on, and shook our clenched hands at the sky. we dared the frost at early dawn, and the dread tempest sweeping by. it was not all so dark. now and again the robin, singing loud and long, made wildness tame, and lit the rain with sudden sunshine with his song. wild roses filled the air with grace, the shooting-star swung like a bell from bended stem, and all the place was like to heaven after hell. chapter viii we swim the nechaco here was perfection of camping, but no allurement could turn the goldseekers aside. some of them remained for a day, a few for two days, but not one forgot for a moment that he was on his way to the klondike river sixteen hundred miles away. in my enthusiasm i proposed to camp for a week, but my partner, who was "out for gold instid o' daisies, 'guessed' we'd better be moving." he could not bear to see any one pass us, and that was the feeling of every man on the trail. each seemed to fear that the gold might all be claimed before he arrived. with a sigh i turned my back on this glorious region and took up the forward march. all the next day we skirted the shores of tatchick lake, coming late in the afternoon to the nechaco river, a deep, rapid stream which rose far to our left in the snowy peaks of the coast range. all day the sky to the east had a brazen glow, as if a great fire were raging there, but toward night the wind changed and swept it away. the trail was dusty for the first time, and the flies venomous. late in the afternoon we pitched camp, setting our tent securely, expecting rain. before we went to sleep the drops began to drum on the tent roof, a pleasant sound after the burning dust of the trail. the two trampers kept abreast of us nearly all day, but they began to show fatigue and hunger, and a look of almost sullen desperation had settled on their faces. as we came down next day to where the swift nechaco met the endako rushing out of fraser lake, we found the most dangerous flood we had yet crossed. a couple of white men were calking a large ferry-boat, but as it was not yet seaworthy and as they had no cable, the horses must swim. i dreaded to see them enter this chill, gray stream, for not only was it wide and swift, but the two currents coming together made the landing confusing to the horses as well as to ourselves. rain was at hand and we had no time to waste. the horses knew that some hard swimming was expected of them and would gladly have turned back if they could. we surrounded them with furious outcry and at last ladrone sprang in and struck for the nearest point opposite, with that intelligence which marks the bronco horse. the others followed readily. two of the poorer ones labored heavily, but all touched shore in good order. the rain began to fall sharply and we were forced to camp on the opposite bank as swiftly as possible, in order to get out of the storm. we worked hard and long to put everything under cover and were muddy and tired at the end of it. at last the tent was up, the outfit covered with waterproof canvas, the fire blazing and our bread baking. in pitching our camp we had plenty of assistance at the hands of several indian boys from a near-by village, who hung about, eager to lend a hand, in the hope of getting a cup of coffee and a piece of bread in payment. the streaming rain seemed to have no more effect upon them than on a loon. the conditions were all strangely similar to those at the muddy river. night closed in swiftly. through the dark we could hear the low swish of the rising river, and burton, with a sly twinkle in his eye, remarked, "for a semi-arid country, this is a pretty wet rain." in planning the trip, i had written to him saying: "the trail runs for the most part though a semi-arid country, somewhat like eastern washington." it rained all the next day and we were forced to remain in camp, which was dismal business; but we made the best of it, doing some mending of clothes and tackle during the long hours. we were visited by all the indians from old fort fraser, which was only a mile away. they sat about our blazing fire laughing and chattering like a group of girls, discussing our characters minutely, and trying to get at our reasons for going on such a journey. one of them who spoke a little english said, after looking over my traps: "you boss, you ty-ee, you belly rich man. why you come?" this being interpreted meant, "you have a great many splendid things, you are rich. now, why do you come away out here in this poor siwash country?" i tried to convey to him that i wished to see the mountains and to get acquainted with the people. he then asked, "more white men come?" throwing my hands in the air and spreading my fingers many times, i exclaimed, "hy-u white man, hy-u!" whereat they all clicked their tongues and looked at each other in astonishment. they could not understand why this sudden flood of white people should pour into their country. this i also explained in lame chinook: "we go klap pilchickamin (gold). white man hears say hy-u pilchickamin there (i pointed to the north). white man heap like pilchickamin, so he comes." all the afternoon and early evening little boys came and went on the swift river in their canoes, singing wild, hauntingly musical boating songs. they had no horses, but assembled in their canoes, racing and betting precisely as the cheyenne lads run horses at sunset in the valley of the lamedeer. all about the village the grass was rich and sweet, uncropped by any animal, for these poor fishermen do not aspire to the wonderful wealth of owning a horse. they had heard that cattle were coming over the trail and all inquired, "spose when moos-moos come?" they knew that milk and butter were good things, and some of them had hopes of owning a cow sometime. they had tiny little gardens in sheltered places on the sunny slopes, wherein a few potatoes were planted; for the rest they hunt and fish and trap in winter and trade skins for meat and flour and coffee, and so live. how they endure the winters in such wretched houses, it is impossible to say. there was a lone white man living on the site of the old fort, as agent of the hudson bay company. he kept a small stock of clothing and groceries and traded for "skins," as the indians all call pelts. they count in skins. so many skins will buy a rifle, so many more will secure a sack of flour. the storekeeper told me that the two trampers had arrived there a few days before without money and without food. "i gave 'em some flour and sent 'em on," he said. "the siwashes will take care of them, but it ain't right. what the cussed idiots mean by setting out on such a journey i can't understand. why, one tramp came in here early in the spring who couldn't speak english, and who left quesnelle without even a blanket or an axe. fact! and yet the lord seems to take care of these fools. you wouldn't believe it, but that fellow picked up an axe and a blanket the first day out. but he'd a died only for the indians. they won't let even a white man starve to death. i helped him out with some flour and he went on. they all rush on. seems like they was just crazy to get to dawson--couldn't sleep without dreamin' of it." i was almost as eager to get on as the tramps, but burton went about his work regularly as a clock. i wrote, yawned, stirred the big campfire, gazed at the clouds, talked with the indians, and so passed the day. i began to be disturbed, for i knew the power of a rain on the trail. it transforms it, makes it ferocious. the path that has charmed and wooed, becomes uncertain, treacherous, gloomy, and engulfing. creeks become rivers, rivers impassable torrents, and marshes bottomless abysses. pits of quicksand develop in most unexpected places. driven from smooth lake margins, the trailers' ponies are forced to climb ledges of rock, and to rattle over long slides of shale. in places the threadlike way itself becomes an aqueduct for a rushing overflow of water. at such times the man on the trail feels the grim power of nature. she has no pity, no consideration. she sets mud, torrents, rocks, cold, mist, to check and chill him, to devour him. over him he has no roof, under him no pavement. never for an instant is he free from the pressure of the elements. sullen streams lie athwart his road like dragons, and in a land like this, where snowy peaks rise on all sides, rain meant sudden and enormous floods of icy water. it was still drizzling on the third day, but we packed and pushed on, though the hills were slippery and the creeks swollen. water was everywhere, but the sun came out, lighting the woods into radiant greens and purples. robins and sparrows sang ecstatically, and violets, dandelions, and various kinds of berries were in odorous bloom. a vine with a blue flower, new to me, attracted my attention, also a yellow blossom of the cowslip variety. this latter had a form not unlike a wild sunflower. here for the first time i heard a bird singing a song quite new to me. he was a thrushlike little fellow, very shy and difficult to see as he sat poised on the tip of a black pine in the deep forest. his note was a clear cling-ling, like the ringing of a steel triangle. _chingaling, chingaling_, one called near at hand, and then farther off another answered, _ching, ching, chingaling-aling_, with immense vim, power, and vociferation. burton, who had spent many years in the mighty forests of washington, said: "that little chap is familiar to me. away in the pines where there is no other bird i used to hear his voice. no matter how dark it was, i could always tell when morning was coming by his note, and on cloudy days i could always tell when the sunset was coming by hearing him call." to me his phrase was not unlike the metallic ringing cry of a sort of blackbird which i heard in the torrid plazas of mexico. he was very difficult to distinguish, for the reason that he sat so high in the tree and was so wary. he was very shy of approach. he was a plump, trim little fellow of a plain brown color, not unlike a small robin. there was another cheerful little bird, new to me also, which uttered an amusing phrase in two keys, something like _tee tay, tee tay, tee tay_, one note sustained high and long, followed by another given on a lower key. it was not unlike to the sound made by a boy with a tuning pipe. this, burton said, was also a familiar sound in the depths of the great washington firs. these two cheery birds kept us company in the gloomy, black-pine forest, when we sorely needed solace of some kind. fraser lake was also very charming, romantic enough to be the scene of cooper's best novels. the water was deliciously clear and cool, and from the farther shore great mountains rose in successive sweeps of dark green foothills. at this time we felt well satisfied with ourselves and the trip. with a gleam in his eyes burton said, "this is the kind of thing our folks think we're doing all the time." relentless nature she laid her rivers to snare us, she set her snows to chill, her clouds had the cunning of vultures, her plants were charged to kill. the glooms of her forests benumbed us, on the slime of her ledges we sprawled; but we set our feet to the northward, and crawled and crawled and crawled! we defied her, and cursed her, and shouted: "to hell with your rain and your snow. our minds we have set on a journey, and despite of your anger we go!" chapter ix the first crossing of the bulkley we were now following a chain of lakes to the source of the endako, one of the chief northwest sources of the fraser, and were surrounded by tumultuous ridges covered with a seamless robe of pine forests. for hundreds of miles on either hand lay an absolutely untracked wilderness. in a land like this the trail always follows a water-course, either ascending or descending it; so for some days we followed the edges of these lakes and the banks of the connecting streams, toiling over sharp hills and plunging into steep ravines, over a trail belly-deep in mud and water and through a wood empty of life. these were hard days. we travelled for many hours through a burnt-out tract filled with twisted, blackened uprooted trees in the wake of fire and hurricane. from this tangled desolation i received the suggestion of some verses which i call "the song of the north wind." the wind and the fire worked together. if the wind precedes, he prepares the way for his brother fire, and in return the fire weakens the trees to the wind. we had settled into a dull routine, and the worst feature of each day's work was the drag, drag of slow hours on the trail. we could not hurry, and we were forced to watch our horses with unremitting care in order to nurse them over the hard spots, or, rather, the soft spots, in the trail. we were climbing rapidly and expected soon to pass from the watershed of the fraser into that of the skeena. we passed a horse cold in death, with his head flung up as if he had been fighting the wolves in his final death agony. it was a grim sight. another beast stood abandoned beside the trail, gazing at us reproachfully, infinite pathos in his eyes. he seemed not to have the energy to turn his head, but stood as if propped upon his legs, his ribs showing with horrible plainness a tragic dejection in every muscle and limb. the feed was fairly good, our horses were feeling well, and curiously enough the mosquitoes had quite left us. we overtook and passed a number of outfits camped beside a splendid rushing stream. on burns' lake we came suddenly upon a settlement of quite sizable indian houses with beautiful pasturage about. the village contained twenty-five or thirty families of carrier indians, and was musical with the plaintive boat-songs of the young people. how long these native races have lived here no one can tell, but their mark on the land is almost imperceptible. they are not of those who mar the landscape. on the first of june we topped the divide between the two mighty watersheds. behind us lay the fraser, before us the skeena. the majestic coast range rose like a wall of snow far away to the northwest, while a near-by lake, filling the foreground, reflected the blue ridges of the middle distance--a magnificent spread of wild landscape. it made me wish to abandon the trail and push out into the unexplored. from this point we began to descend toward the bulkley, which is the most easterly fork of the skeena. soon after starting on our downward path we came to a fork in the trail. one trail, newly blazed, led to the right and seemed to be the one to take. we started upon it, but found it dangerously muddy, and so returned to the main trail which seemed to be more numerously travelled. afterward we wished we had taken the other, for we got one of our horses into the quicksand and worked for more than three hours in the attempt to get him out. a horse is a strange animal. he is counted intelligent, and so he is if he happens to be a bronco or a mule. but in proportion as he is a thoroughbred, he seems to lose power to take care of himself--loses heart. our ewe-neck bay had a trace of racer in him, and being weakened by poor food, it was his bad luck to slip over the bank into a quicksand creek. having found himself helpless he instantly gave up heart and lay out with a piteous expression of resignation in his big brown eyes. we tugged and lifted and rolled him around from one position to another, each more dangerous than the first, all to no result. while i held him up from drowning, my partner "brushed in" around him so that he _could_ not become submerged. we tried hitching the other horses to him in order to drag him out, but as they were saddle-horses, and had never set shoulder to a collar in their lives, they refused to pull even enough to take the proverbial setting hen off the nest. up to this time i had felt no need of company on the trail, and for the most part we had travelled alone. but i now developed a poignant desire to hear the tinkle of a bell on the back trail, for there is no "funny business" about losing a packhorse in the midst of a wild country. his value is not represented by the twenty-five dollars which you originally paid for him. sometimes his life is worth all you can give for him. after some three hours of toil (the horse getting weaker all the time), i looked around once more with despairing gaze, and caught sight of a bunch of horses across the valley flat. in this country there were no horses except such as the goldseeker owned, and this bunch of horses meant a camp of trailers. leaping to my saddle, i galloped across the spongy marsh to hailing distance. my cries for help brought two of the men running with spades to help us. the four of us together lifted the old horse out of the pit more dead than alive. we fell to and rubbed his legs to restore circulation. later we blanketed him and turned him loose upon the grass. in a short time he was nearly as well as ever. it was a sorrowful experience, for a fallen horse is a horse in ruins and makes a most woful appeal upon one's sympathies. i went to bed tired out, stiff and sore from pulling on the rope, my hands blistered, my nerves shaken. as i was sinking off to sleep i heard a wolf howl, as though he mourned the loss of a feast. we had been warned that the bulkley river was a bad stream to cross,--in fact, the road-gang had cut a new trail in order to avoid it,--that is to say, they kept to the right around the sharp elbow which the river makes at this point, whereas the old trail cut directly across the elbow, making two crossings. at the point where the new trail led to the right we held a council of war to determine whether to keep to the old trail, and so save several days' travel, or to turn to the right and avoid the difficult crossing. the new trail was reported to be exceedingly miry, and that determined the matter--we concluded to make the short cut. we descended to the bulkley through clouds of mosquitoes and endless sloughs of mud. the river was out of its banks, and its quicksand flats were exceedingly dangerous to our pack animals, although the river itself at this point was a small and sluggish stream. it took us exactly five hours of most exhausting toil to cross the river and its flat. we worked like beavers, we sweated like hired men, wading up to our knees in water, and covered with mud, brushing in a road over the quicksand for the horses to walk. the ewe-necked bay was fairly crazy with fear of the mud, and it was necessary to lead him over every foot of the way. we went into camp for the first time too late to eat by daylight. it became necessary for us to use a candle inside the tent at about eleven o'clock. the horses were exhausted, and crazy for feed. it was a struggle to get them unpacked, so eager were they to forage. ladrone, always faithful, touched my heart by his patience and gentleness, and his reliance upon me. i again heard a gray wolf howl as i was sinking off to sleep. the gaunt gray wolf o a shadowy beast is the gaunt gray wolf! and his feet fall soft on a carpet of spines; where the night shuts quick and the winds are cold he haunts the deeps of the northern pines. his eyes are eager, his teeth are keen, as he slips at night through the bush like a snake, crouching and cringing, straight into the wind, to leap with a grin on the fawn in the brake. he falls like a cat on the mother grouse brooding her young in the wind-bent weeds, or listens to heed with a start of greed the bittern booming from river reeds. he's the symbol of hunger the whole earth through, his spectre sits at the door or cave, and the homeless hear with a thrill of fear the sound of his wind-swept voice on the air. abandoned on the trail a poor old horse with down-cast mien and sad wild eyes, stood by the lonely trail--and oh! he was so piteous lean. he seemed to look a mild surprise at all mankind that we should treat him so. how hardily he struggled up the trail and through the streams all men should know. yet now abandoned to the wolf, his waiting foe, he stood in silence, as an old man dreams. and as his master left him, this he seemed to say: "you leave me helpless by the path; i do not curse you, but i pray defend me from the wolves' wild wrath!" and yet his master rode away! chapter x down the bulkley valley as we rose to the top of the divide which lies between the two crossings of the bulkley, a magnificent view of the coast range again lightened the horizon. in the foreground a lovely lake lay. on the shore of this lake stood a single indian shack occupied by a half-dozen children and an old woman. they were all wretchedly clothed in graceless rags, and formed a bitter and depressing contrast to the magnificence of nature. one of the lads could talk a little chinook mixed with english. "how far is it to the ford?" i asked of him. "white man say, mebbe-so six, mebbe-so nine mile." knowing the indian's vague idea of miles, i said:-- "how _long_ before we reach the ford? sit-kum sun?" which is to say noon. he shook his head. "klip sun come. me go-hyak make canoe. me felly." by which he meant: "you will arrive at the ford by sunset. i will hurry on and build a raft and ferry you over the stream." with an axe and a sack of dried fish on his back and a poor old shot-gun in his arm, he led the way down the trail at a slapping pace. he kept with us till dinner-time, however, in order to get some bread and coffee. like the _jicarilla_ apaches, these people have discovered the virtues of the inner bark of the black pine. all along the trail were trees from which wayfarers had lunched, leaving a great strip of the white inner wood exposed. "man heap dry--this muck-a-muck heap good," said the young fellow, as he handed me a long strip to taste. it was cool and sweet to the tongue, and on a hot day would undoubtedly quench thirst. the boy took it from the tree by means of a chisel-shaped iron after the heavy outer bark has been hewed away by the axe. all along the trail were tree trunks whereon some loitering young siwash had delineated a human face by a few deft and powerful strokes of the axe, the sculptural planes of cheeks, brow, and chin being indicated broadly but with truth and decision. often by some old camp a tree would bear on a planed surface the rude pictographs, so that those coming after could read the number, size, sex, and success at hunting of those who had gone before. there is something japanese, it seems to me, in this natural taste for carving among all the northwest people. all about us was now riotous june. the season was incredibly warm and forward, considering the latitude. strawberries were in bloom, birds were singing, wild roses appeared in miles and in millions, plum and cherry trees were white with blossoms--in fact, the splendor and radiance of iowa in june. a beautiful lake occupied our left nearly all day. as we arrived at the second crossing of the bulkley about six o'clock, our young indian met us with a sorrowful face. "stick go in chuck. no canoe. walk stick." a big cottonwood log had fallen across the stream and lay half-submerged and quivering in the rushing river. over this log a half-dozen men were passing like ants, wet with sweat, "bucking" their outfits across. the poor siwash was out of a job and exceedingly sorrowful. "this is the kind of picnic we didn't expect," said one of the young men, as i rode up to see what progress they were making. we took our turn at crossing the tree trunk, which was submerged nearly a foot deep with water running at mill-race speed, and resumed the trail, following running water most of the way over a very good path. once again we had a few hours' positive enjoyment, with no sense of being in a sub-arctic country. we could hardly convince ourselves that we were in latitude . the only peculiarity which i never quite forgot was the extreme length of the day. at . at night it was still light enough to write. no sooner did it get dark on one side of the hut than it began to lighten on the other. the weather was gloriously cool, crisp, and invigorating, and whenever we had sound soil under our feet we were happy. the country was getting each hour more superbly mountainous. great snowy peaks rose on all sides. the coast range, lofty, roseate, dim, and far, loomed ever in the west, but on our right a group of other giants assembled, white and stern. a part of the time we threaded our way through fire-devastated forests of fir, and then as suddenly burst out into tracts of wild roses with beautiful open spaces of waving pea-vine on which our horses fed ravenously. we were forced to throw up our tent at every meal, so intolerable had the mosquitoes become. here for the first time our horses were severely troubled by myriads of little black flies. they were small, but resembled our common house flies in shape, and were exceedingly venomous. they filled the horses' ears, and their sting produced minute swellings all over the necks and breasts of the poor animals. had it not been for our pennyroyal and bacon grease, the bay horse would have been eaten raw. we overtook the trampers again at chock lake. they were thin, their legs making sharp creases in their trouser legs--i could see that as i neared them. they were walking desperately, reeling from side to side with weakness. there was no more smiling on their faces. one man, the smaller, had the countenance of a wolf, pinched in round the nose. his bony jaw was thrust forward resolutely. the taller man was limping painfully because of a shoe which had gone to one side. their packs were light, but their almost incessant change of position gave evidence of pain and great weariness. i drew near to ask how they were getting along. the tall man, with a look of wistful sadness like that of a hungry dog, said, "not very well." "how are you off for grub?" "nothing left but some beans and a mere handful of flour." i invited them to a "square meal" a few miles farther on, and in order to help them forward i took one of their packs on my horse. i inferred that they would take turns at the remaining pack and so keep pace with us, for we were dropping steadily now--down, down through the most beautiful savannas, with fine spring brooks rushing from the mountain's side. flowers increased; the days grew warmer; it began to feel like summer. the mountains grew ever mightier, looming cloudlike at sunset, bearing glaciers on their shoulders. we were almost completely happy--but alas, the mosquitoes! their hum silenced the songs of the birds; their feet made the mountains of no avail. the otherwise beautiful land became a restless hell for the unprotected man or beast. it was impossible to eat or sleep without some defence, and our pennyroyal salve was invaluable. it enabled us to travel with some degree of comfort, where others suffered martyrdom. at noon burton made up a heavy mess, in expectation of the trampers, who had fallen a little behind. the small man came into view first, for he had abandoned his fellow-traveller. this angered me, and i was minded to cast the little sneak out of camp, but his pinched and hungry face helped me to put up with him. i gave him a smart lecture and said, "i supposed you intended to help the other man, or i wouldn't have relieved you of a pound." the other toiler turned up soon, limping, and staggering with weakness. when dinner was ready, they came to the call like a couple of starving dogs. the small man had no politeness left. he gorged himself like a wolf. he fairly snapped the food down his throat. the tall man, by great effort, contrived to display some knowledge of better manners. as they ate, i studied them. they were blotched by mosquito bites and tanned to a leather brown. their thin hands were like claws, their doubled knees seemed about to pierce their trouser legs. "yes," said the taller man, "the mosquitoes nearly eat us up. we can only sleep in the middle of the day, or from about two o'clock in the morning till sunrise. we walk late in the evening--till nine or ten--and then sit in the smoke till it gets cold enough to drive away the mosquitoes. then we try to sleep. but the trouble is, when it is cold enough to keep them off, it's too cold for us to sleep." "what did you do during the late rains?" i inquired. "oh, we kept moving most of the time. at night we camped under a fir tree by the trail and dried off. the mosquitoes didn't bother us so much then. we were wet nearly all the time." i tried to get at his point of view, his justification for such senseless action, but could only discover a sort of blind belief that something would help him pull through. he had gone to the caribou mines to find work, and, failing, had pushed on toward hazleton with a dim hope of working his way to teslin lake and to the klondike. he started with forty pounds of provisions and three or four dollars in his pocket. he was now dead broke, and his provisions almost gone. meanwhile, the smaller man made no sign of hearing a word. he ate and ate, till my friend looked at me with a comical wink. we fed him staples--beans, graham bread, and coffee--and he slowly but surely reached the bottom of every dish. he did not fill up, he simply "wiped out" the cooked food. the tall man was not far behind him. as he talked, i imagined the life they had led. at first the trail was good, and they were able to make twenty miles each day. the weather was dry and warm, and sleeping was not impossible. they camped close beside the trail when they grew tired--i had seen and recognized their camping-places all along. but the rains came on, and they were forced to walk all day through the wet shrubs with the water dripping from their ragged garments. they camped at night beneath the firs (for the ground is always dry under a fir), where a fire is easily built. there they hung over the flame, drying their clothing and their rapidly weakening shoes. the mosquitoes swarmed upon them bloodily in the shelter and warmth of the trees, for they had no netting or tent. their meals were composed of tea, a few hastily stewed beans, and a poor quality of sticky camp bread. their sleep was broken and fitful. they were either too hot or too cold, and the mosquitoes gave way only when the frost made slumber difficult. in the morning they awoke to the necessity of putting on their wet shoes, and taking the muddy trail, to travel as long as they could stagger forward. in addition to all this, they had no maps, and knew nothing of their whereabouts or how far it was to a human habitation. their only comfort lay in the passing of outfits like mine. from such as i, they "rustled food" and clothing. the small man did not even thank us for the meal; he sat himself down for a smoke and communed with his stomach. the tall man was plainly worsted. his voice had a plaintive droop. his shoe gnawed into his foot, and his pack was visibly heavier than that of his companion. we were two weeks behind our schedule, and our own flour sack was not much bigger than a sachet-bag, but we gave them some rice and part of our beans and oatmeal, and they moved away. we were approaching sea-level, following the bulkley, which flows in a northwesterly direction and enters the great skeena river at right angles, just below its three forks. each hour the peaks seemed to assemble and uplift. the days were at their maximum, the sun set shortly after eight, but it was light until nearly eleven. at midday the sun was fairly hot, but the wind swept down from the mountains cool and refreshing. i shall not soon forget those radiant meadows, over which the far mountains blazed in almost intolerable splendor; it was too perfect to endure. like the light of the sun lingering on the high peaks with most magical beauty, it passed away to be seen no more. in the midst of these grandeurs we lost one of our horses. whenever a horse breaks away from his fellows on the trail, it is pretty safe to infer he has "hit the back track." as i went out to round up the horses, "major grunt" was nowhere to be found. he had strayed from the bunch and we inferred had started back over the trail. we trailed him till we met one of the trampers, who assured us that no horse had passed him in the night, for he had been camped within six feet of the path. up to this time there had been no returning footsteps, and it was easy to follow the horse so long as he kept to the trail, but the tramper's report was positive--no horse had passed him. we turned back and began searching the thickets around the camp. we toiled all day, not merely because the horse was exceedingly valuable to us, but also for the reason that he had a rope attached to his neck and i was afraid he might become entangled in the fallen timber and so starve to death. the tall tramper, who had been definitely abandoned by his partner, was a sad spectacle. he was blotched by mosquito bites, thin and weak with hunger, and his clothes hung in tatters. he had just about reached the limit of his courage, and though we were uncertain of our horses, and our food was nearly exhausted, we gave him all the rice we had and some fruit and sent him on his way. night came, and still no signs of "major grunt." it began to look as though some one had ridden him away and we should be forced to go on without him. this losing of a horse is one of the accidents which make the trail so uncertain. we were exceedingly anxious to get on. there was an oppressive warmth in the air, and flies and mosquitoes were the worst we had ever seen. altogether this was a dark day on our calendar. after we had secured ourselves in our tents that night the sound of the savage insects without was like the roaring of a far-off hailstorm. the horses rolled in the dirt, snorted, wheeled madly, stamped, shook their heads, and flung themselves again and again on the ground, giving every evidence of the most terrible suffering. "if this is to continue," i said to my partner, "i shall quit, and either kill all my horses or ship them out of the country. i will not have them eaten alive in this way." it was impossible to go outside to attend to them. nothing could be done but sit in gloomy silence and listen to the drumming of their frantic feet on the turf as they battled against their invisible foes. at last, led by old ladrone, they started off at a hobbling gallop up the trail. "well, we are in for it now," i remarked, as the footsteps died away. "they've hit the back trail, and we'll have another day's hard work to catch 'em and bring 'em back. however, there's no use worrying. the mosquitoes would eat us alive if we went out now. we might just as well go to sleep and wait till morning." sleep was difficult under the circumstances, but we dozed off at last. as we took their trail in the cool of the next morning, we found the horses had taken the back trail till they reached an open hillside, and had climbed to the very edge of the timber. there they were all in a bunch, with the exception of "major grunt," of whom we had no trace. with a mind filled with distressing pictures of the lost horse entangled in his rope, and lying flat on his side hidden among the fallen tree trunks, there to struggle and starve, i reluctantly gave orders for a start, with intent to send an indian back to search for him. after two hours' smart travel we came suddenly upon the little indian village of morricetown, which is built beside a narrow cañon through which the bulkley rushes with tremendous speed. here high on the level grassy bank we camped, quite secure from mosquitoes, and surrounded by the curious natives, who showed us where to find wood and water, and brought us the most beautiful spring salmon, and potatoes so tender and fine that the skin could be rubbed from them with the thumb. they were exactly like new potatoes in the states. out of this, it may be well understood, we had a most satisfying dinner. summer was in full tide. pieplant was two feet high, and strawberries were almost ripe. calling the men of the village around me, i explained in pigeon-english and worse chinook that i had lost a horse, and that i would give five dollars to the man who would bring him to me. they all listened attentively, filled with joy at a chance to earn so much money. at last the chief man of the village, a very good-looking fellow of twenty-five or thirty, said to me: "all light, me go, me fetch 'um. you stop here. mebbe-so, klip-sun, i come bling horse." his confidence relieved us of anxiety, and we had a very pleasant day of it, digesting our bountiful meal of salmon and potatoes, and mending up our clothing. we were now pretty ragged and very brown, but in excellent health. late in the afternoon a gang of road-cutters (who had been sent out by the towns interested in the route) came into town from hazleton, and i had a talk with the boss, a very decent fellow, who gave a grim report of the trail beyond. he said: "nobody knows anything about that trail. jim deacon, the head-man of our party when we left hazleton, was only about seventy miles out, and cutting fallen timber like a man chopping cord wood, and sending back for more help. we are now going back to bridge and corduroy the places we had no time to fix as we came." morricetown was a superb spot, and burton was much inclined to stay right there and prospect the near-by mountains. so far as a mere casual observer could determine, this country offers every inducement to prospectors. it is possible to grow potatoes, hay, and oats, together with various small fruits, in this valley, and if gold should ever be discovered in the rushing mountain streams, it would be easy to sustain a camp and feed it well. long before sunset an indian came up to us and smilingly said, "you hoss--come." and a few minutes later the young ty-ee came riding into town leading "major grunt," well as ever, but a little sullen. he had taken the back trail till he came to a narrow and insecure bridge. there he had turned up the stream, going deeper and deeper into the "stick," as the siwash called the forest. i paid the reward gladly, and major took his place among the other horses with no sign of joy. do you fear the wind? do you fear the force of the wind, the slash of the rain? go face them and fight them, be savage again. go hungry and cold like the wolf, go wade like the crane. the palms of your hands will thicken, the skin of your cheek will tan, you'll grow ragged and weary and swarthy, but you'll walk like a man! chapter xi hazleton. midway on the trail we were now but thirty miles from hazleton, where our second bill of supplies was waiting for us, and we were eager to push on. taking the advice of the road-gang we crossed the frail suspension bridge (which the indians had most ingeniously constructed out of logs and pieces of old telegraph wire) and started down the west side of the river. every ravine was filled by mountain streams' foam--white with speed. we descended all day and the weather grew more and more summer-like each mile. ripe strawberries lured us from the warm banks. for the first time we came upon great groves of red cedar under which the trail ran very muddy and very slippery by reason of the hard roots of the cedars which never decay. creeks that seemed to me a good field for placer mining came down from the left, but no one stopped to do more than pan a little gravel from a cut bank or a bar. at about two o'clock of the second day we came to the indian village of hagellgate, which stands on the high bank overhanging the roaring river just before it empties into the skeena. here we got news of the tramp who had fallen in exhaustion and was being cared for by the indians. descending swiftly we came to the bank of the river, which was wide, tremendously swift and deep and cold. rival indian ferry companies bid for our custom, each man extolling his boat at the expense of the "old canoe--no good" of his rivals. the canoes were like those to be seen all along the coast, that is to say they had been hollowed from cottonwood or pine trees and afterward steamed and spread by means of hot water to meet the maker's idea of the proper line of grace and speed. they were really beautiful and sat the water almost as gracefully as the birch-bark canoe of the chippewas. at each end they rose into a sort of neck, which terminated often in a head carved to resemble a deer or some fabled animal. some of them had white bands encircling the throat of this figurehead. their paddles were short and broad, but light and strong. these canoes are very seaworthy. as they were driven across the swift waters, they danced on the waves like leaves, and the boatmen bent to their oars with almost desperate energy and with most excited outcry. therein is expressed a mighty difference between the siwash and the plains indian. the cheyenne, the sioux, conceal effort, or fear, or enthusiasm. these little people chattered and whooped at each other like monkeys. upon hearing them for the first time i imagined they were losing control of the boat. judging from their accent they were shrieking phrases like these:-- "quick, quick! dig in deep, joe. scratch now, we're going down--whoop! hay, now! all together--swing her, dog-gone ye--swing her! now straight--keep her straight! can't ye see that eddy? whoop, whoop! let out a link or two, you spindle-armed child. now _quick_ or we're lost!" while the other men seemed to reply in kind: "oh, rats, we're a makin' it. head her toward that bush. don't get scared--trust me--i'll sling her ashore!" a plains indian, under similar circumstances, would have strained every muscle till his bones cracked, before permitting himself to show effort or excitement. with all their confusion and chatter these little people were always masters of the situation. they came out right, no matter how savage the river, and the bulkley at this point was savage. every drop of water was in motion. it had no eddies, no slack water. its momentum was terrific. in crossing, the boatmen were obliged to pole their canoes far up beyond the point at which they meant to land; then, at the word, they swung into the rushing current and pulled like fiends for the opposite shore. their broad paddles dipped so rapidly they resembled paddle-wheels. they kept the craft head-on to the current, and did not attempt to charge the bank directly, but swung-to broadside. in this way they led our horses safely across, and came up smiling each time. we found hazleton to be a small village composed mainly of indians, with a big hudson bay post at its centre. it was situated on a lovely green flat, but a few feet above the skeena, which was a majestic flood at this point. there were some ten or fifteen outfits camped in and about the village, resting and getting ready for the last half of the trail. some of the would-be miners had come up the river in the little hudson bay steamer, which makes two or three trips a year, and were waiting for her next trip in order to go down again. the town was filled with gloomy stories of the trail. no one knew its condition. in fact, it had not been travelled in seventeen years, except by the indians on foot with their packs of furs. the road party was ahead, but toiling hard and hurrying to open a way for us. as i now reread all the advance literature of this "prairie route," i perceived how skilfully every detail with regard to the last half of the trail had been slurred over. we had been led into a sort of sack, and the string was tied behind us. the hudson bay agent said to me with perfect frankness, "there's no one in this village, except one or two indians, who's ever been over the trail, or who can give you any information concerning it." he furthermore said, "a large number of these fellows who are starting in on this trip with their poor little cayuses will never reach the stikeen river, and might better stop right here." feed was scarce here as everywhere, and we were forced to camp on the trail, some two miles above the town. in going to and from our tent we passed the indian burial ground, which was very curious and interesting to me. it was a veritable little city of the dead, with streets of tiny, gayly painted little houses in which the silent and motionless ones had been laid in their last sleep. each tomb was a shelter, a roof, and a tomb, and upon each the builder had lavished his highest skill in ornament. they were all vivid with paint and carving and lattice work. each builder seemed trying to outdo his neighbor in making a cheerful habitation for his dead. more curious still, in each house were the things which the dead had particularly loved. in one, a trunk contained all of a girl's much-prized clothing. a complete set of dishes was visible in another, while in a third i saw a wash-stand, bowl, pitcher, and mirror. there was something deeply touching to me in all this. they are so poor, their lives are so bare of comforts, that the consecration of these articles to the dead seemed a greater sacrifice than we, who count ourselves civilized, would make. each chair, or table, or coat, or pair of shoes, costs many skins. the set of furniture meant many hard journeys in the cold, long days of trailing, trapping, and packing. the clothing had a high money value, yet it remained undisturbed. i saw one day a woman and two young girls halt to look timidly in at the window of a newly erected tomb, but only for a moment; and then, in a panic of fear and awe, they hurried away. the days which followed were cold and gloomy, quite in keeping with the grim tales of the trail. bodies of horses and mules, drowned in the attempt to cross the skeena, were reported passing the wharf at the post. the wife of a retired indian agent, who claimed to have been over the route many years ago, was interviewed by my partner. after saying that it was a terrible trail, she sententiously ended with these words, "gentlemen, you may consider yourselves explorers." i halted a very intelligent indian who came riding by our camp. "how far to teslin lake?" i asked. he mused. "maybe so forty days, maybe so thirty days. me think forty days." "good feed? hy-u muck-a-muck?" he looked at me in silence and his face grew a little graver. "ha--lo muck-a-muck (no feed). long time no glass. hy-yu stick (woods). hy-u river--all day swim." turning to burton, i said, "here we get at the truth of it. this man has no reason for lying. we need another horse, and we need fifty pounds more flour." one by one the outfits behind us came dropping down into hazleton in long trains of weary horses, some of them in very bad condition. many of the goldseekers determined to "quit." they sold their horses as best they could to the indians (who were glad to buy them), and hired canoes to take them to the coast, intent to catch one of the steamers which ply to and fro between skagway and seattle. but one by one, with tinkling bells and sharp outcry of drivers, other outfits passed us, cheerily calling: "good luck! see you later," all bound for the "gold belt." gloomy skies continued to fill the imaginative ones with forebodings, and all day they could be seen in groups about the village discussing ways and means. quarrels broke out, and parties disbanded in discouragement and bitterness. the road to the golden river seemed to grow longer, and the precious sand more elusive, from day to day. here at hazleton, where they had hoped to reach a gold region, nothing was doing. those who had visited the kisgagash mountains to the north were lukewarm in their reports, and no one felt like stopping to explore. the cry was, "on to dawson." here in hazleton i came upon the lame tramp. he had secured lodging in an empty shack and was being helped to food by some citizens in the town for whom he was doing a little work. seeing me pass he called to me and began to inquire about the trail. i read in the gleam of his eye an insane resolution to push forward. this i set about to check. "if you wish to commit suicide, start on this trail. the four hundred miles you have been over is a summer picnic excursion compared to that which is now to follow. my advice to you is to stay right where you are until the next hudson bay steamer comes by, then go to the captain and tell him just how you are situated, and ask him to carry you down to the coast. you are insane to think for a moment of attempting the four hundred miles of unknown trail between here and glenora, especially without a cent in your pocket and no grub. you have no right to burden the other outfits with your needs." this plain talk seemed to affect him and he looked aggrieved. "but what can i do? i have no money and no work." i replied in effect: "whatever you do, you can't afford to enter upon this trail, and you can't expect men who are already short of grub to feed and take care of you. there's a chance for you to work your way back to the coast on the hudson bay steamer. there's only starvation on the trail." as i walked away he called after me, but i refused to return. i had the feeling in spite of all i had said that he would attempt to rustle a little grub and make his start on the trail. the whole goldseeking movement was, in a way, a craze; he was simply an extreme development of it. it seemed necessary to break camp in order not to be eaten up by the siwash dogs, whose peculiarities grew upon me daily. they were indeed strange beasts. they seemed to have no youth. i never saw them play; even the puppies were grave and sedate. they were never in a hurry and were not afraid. they got out of our way with the least possible exertion, looking meekly reproachful or snarling threateningly at us. they were ever watchful. no matter how apparently deep their slumber, they saw every falling crumb, they knew where we had hung our fish, and were ready as we turned our backs to make away with it. it was impossible to leave anything eatable for a single instant. nothing but the sleight of hand of a conjurer could equal the mystery of their stealing. after buying a fourth pack animal and reshoeing all our horses, we got our outfit into shape for the long, hard drive which lay before us. every ounce of superfluous weight, every tool, every article not absolutely essential, was discarded and its place filled with food. we stripped ourselves like men going into battle, and on the third day lined up for teslin lake, six hundred miles to the north. siwash graves here in their tiny gayly painted homes they sleep, these small dead people of the streams, their names unknown, their deeds forgot, their by-gone battles lost in dreams. a few short days and we who laugh will be as still, will lie as low as utterly in dark as they who rot here where the roses blow. they fought, and loved, and toiled, and died, as all men do, and all men must. of what avail? we at the end fall quite as shapelessly to dust. line up, brave boys the packs are on, the cinches tight, the patient horses wait, upon the grass the frost lies white, the dawn is gray and late. the leader's cry rings sharp and clear, the campfires smoulder low; before us lies a shallow mere, beyond, the mountain snow. "_line up, billy, line up, boys,_ _the east is gray with coming day,_ _we must away, we cannot stay._ _hy-o, hy-ak, brave boys!_" five hundred miles behind us lie, as many more ahead, through mud and mire on mountains high our weary feet must tread. so one by one, with loyal mind, the horses swing to place, the strong in lead, the weak behind, in patient plodding grace. "_hy-o, buckskin, brave boy, joe!_ _the sun is high,_ _the hid loons cry:_ _hy-ak--away! hy-o!_" chapter xii crossing the big divide our stay at hazleton in some measure removed the charm of the first view. the people were all so miserably poor, and the hosts of howling, hungry dogs made each day more distressing. the mountains remained splendid to the last; and as we made our start i looked back upon them with undiminished pleasure. we pitched tent at night just below the ford, and opposite another indian village in which a most mournful medicine song was going on, timed to the beating of drums. dogs joined with the mourning of the people with cries of almost human anguish, to which the beat of the passionless drum added solemnity, and a sort of inexorable marching rhythm. it seemed to announce pestilence and flood, and made the beautiful earth a place of hunger and despair. i was awakened in the early dawn by a singular cry repeated again and again on the farther side of the river. it seemed the voice of a woman uttering in wailing; chant the most piercing agony of despairing love. it ceased as the sun arose and was heard no more. it was difficult to imagine such anguish in the bustle of the bright morning. it seemed as though it must have been an illusion--a dream of tragedy. in the course of an hour's travel we came down to the sandy bottom of the river, whereon a half-dozen fine canoes were beached and waiting for us. the skilful natives set us across very easily, although it was the maddest and wildest of all the rivers we had yet seen. we crossed the main river just above the point at which the west fork enters. the horses were obliged to swim nearly half a mile, and some of them would not have reached the other shore had it not been for the indians, who held their heads out of water from the sterns of the canoes, and so landed them safely on the bar just opposite the little village called kispyox, which is also the indian name of the west fork. the trail made off up the eastern bank of this river, which was as charming as any stream ever imagined by a poet. the water was gray-green in color, swift and active. it looped away in most splendid curves, through opulent bottom lands, filled with wild roses, geranium plants, and berry blooms. openings alternated with beautiful woodlands and grassy meadows, while over and beyond all rose the ever present mountains of the coast range, deep blue and snow-capped. there was no strangeness in the flora--on the contrary, everything seemed familiar. hazel bushes, poplars, pines, all growth was amazingly luxuriant. the trail was an indian path, graceful and full of swinging curves. we had passed beyond the telegraph wire of the old trail. early in the afternoon we passed some five or six outfits camped on a beautiful grassy bank overlooking the river, and forming a most satisfying picture. the bells on the grazing horses were tinkling, and from sparkling fires, thin columns of smoke arose. some of the young men were bathing, while others were washing their shirts in the sunny stream. there was a cheerful sound of whistling and rattling of tinware mingled with the sound of axes. nothing could be more jocund, more typical, of the young men and the trail. it was one of the few pleasant camps of the long journey. it was raining when we awoke, but before noon it cleared sufficiently to allow us to pack. we started at one, though the bushes were loaded with water, and had we not been well clothed in waterproof, we should have been drenched to the bone. we rode for four hours over a good trail, dodging wet branches in the pouring rain. it lightened at five, and we went into camp quite dry and comfortable. we unpacked near an indian ranch belonging to an old man and his wife, who came up at once to see us. they were good-looking, rugged old souls, like powerful japanese. they could not speak chinook, and we could not get much out of them. the old wife toted a monstrous big salmon up the hill to sell to us, but we had more fish than we could eat, and were forced to decline. there was a beautiful spring just back of the cabin, and the old man seemed to take pleasure in having us get our water from it. neither did he object to our horses feeding about his house, where there was very excellent grass. it was a charming camping-place, wild flowers made the trail radiant even in the midst of rain. the wild roses grew in clumps of sprays as high as a horse's head. just before we determined to camp we had passed three or four outfits grouped together on the sward on the left bank of the river. as we rode by, one of the men had called to me saying: "you had better camp. it is thirty miles from here to feed." to this i had merely nodded, giving it little attention; but now as we sat around our campfire, burton brought the matter up again: "if it is thirty miles to feed, we will have to get off early to-morrow morning and make as big a drive as we can, while the horses are fresh, and then make the latter part of the run on empty stomachs." "oh, i think they were just talking for our special benefit," i replied. "no, they were in earnest. one of them came out to see me. he said he got his pointer from the mule train ahead of us. feed is going to be very scarce, and the next run is fully thirty miles." i insisted it could not be possible that we should go at once from the luxuriant pea-vine and bluejoint into a thirty-mile stretch of country where nothing grew. "there must be breaks in the forest where we can graze our horses." it rained all night and in the morning it seemed as if it had settled into a week's downpour. however, we were quite comfortable with plenty of fresh salmon, and were not troubled except with the thought of the mud which would result from this rainstorm. we were falling steadily behind our schedule each day, but the horses were feeding and gaining strength--"and when we hit the trail, we will hit it hard," i said to burton. it was sunday. the day was perfectly quiet and peaceful, like a rainy sunday in the states. the old indian below kept to his house all day, not visiting us. it is probable that he was a catholic. the dogs came about us occasionally; strange, solemn creatures that they are, they had the persistence of hunger and the silence of burglars. it was raining when we awoke monday morning, but we were now restless to get under way. we could not afford to spend another day waiting in the rain. it was gloomy business in camp, and at the first sign of lightening sky we packed up and started promptly at twelve o'clock. that ride was the sternest we had yet experienced. it was like swimming in a sea of green water. the branches sloshed us with blinding raindrops. the mud spurted under our horses' hoofs, the sky was gray and drizzled moisture, and as we rose we plunged into ever deepening forests. we left behind us all hazel bushes, alders, wild roses, and grasses. moss was on every leaf and stump: the forest became savage, sinister and silent, not a living thing but ourselves moved or uttered voice. this world grew oppressive with its unbroken clear greens, its dripping branches, its rotting trees; its snake-like roots half buried in the earth convinced me that our warning was well-born. at last we came into upper heights where no blade of grass grew, and we pushed on desperately, on and on, hour after hour. we began to suffer with the horses, being hungry and cold ourselves. we plunged into bottomless mudholes, slid down slippery slopes of slate, and leaped innumerable fallen logs of fir. the sky had no more pity than the mossy ground and the desolate forest. it was a mocking land, a land of green things, but not a blade of grass: only austere trees and noxious weeds. during the day we met an old man so loaded down i could not tell whether he was man, woman, or beast. a sort of cap or wide cloth band went across his head, concealing his forehead. his huge pack loomed over his shoulders, and as he walked, using two paddles as canes, he seemed some anomalous four-footed beast of burden. as he saw us he threw off his pack to rest and stood erect, a sturdy man of sixty, with short bristling hair framing a kindly resolute face. he was very light-hearted. he shook hands with me, saying, "kla-how-ya," in answer to my, "kla-how-ya six," which is to say, "how are you, friend?" he smiled, pointed to his pack, and said, "hy-u skin." his season had been successful and he was going now to sell his catch. a couple of dogs just behind carried each twenty pounds on their backs. we were eating lunch, and i invited him to sit and eat. he took a seat and began to parcel out the food in two piles. "he has a companion coming," i said to my partner. in a few moments a boy of fourteen or fifteen came up, carrying a pack that would test the strength of a powerful white man. he, too, threw off his load and at a word from the old man took a seat at the table. they shared exactly alike. it was evident that they were father and son. a few miles farther on we met another family, two men, a woman, a boy, and six dogs, all laden in proportion. they were all handsomer than the siwashes of the fraser river. they came from the head-waters of the nasse, they said. they could speak but little chinook and no english at all. when i asked in chinook, "how far is it to feed for our horses?" the woman looked first at our thin animals, then at us, and shook her head sorrowfully; then lifting her hands in the most dramatic gesture she half whispered, "si-ah, si-ah!" that is to say, "far, very far!" both these old people seemed very kind to their dogs, which were fat and sleek and not related to those i had seen in hazleton. when the old man spoke to them, his voice was gentle and encouraging. at the word they all took up the line of march and went off down the hill toward the hudson bay store, there to remain during the summer. we pushed on, convinced by the old woman's manner that our long trail was to be a gloomy one. night began to settle over us at last, adding the final touches of uncertainty and horror to the gloom. we pushed on with necessary cruelty, forcing the tired horses to their utmost, searching every ravine and every slope for a feed; but only ferns and strange green poisonous plants could be seen. we were angling up the side of the great ridge which separated the west fork of the skeena river from the middle fork. it was evident that we must cross this high divide and descend into the valley of the middle fork before we could hope to feed our horses. however, just as darkness was beginning to come on, we came to an almost impassable slough in the trail, where a small stream descended into a little flat marsh and morass. this had been used as a camping-place by others, and we decided to camp, because to travel, even in the twilight, was dangerous to life and limb. it was a gloomy and depressing place to spend the night. there was scarcely level ground enough to receive our camp. the wood was soggy and green. in order to reach the marsh we were forced to lead our horses one by one through a dangerous mudhole, and once through this they entered upon a quaking bog, out of which grew tufts of grass which had been gnawed to the roots by the animals which had preceded them; only a rank bottom of dead leaves of last year's growth was left for our tired horses. i was deeply anxious for fear they would crowd into the central bog in their efforts to reach the uncropped green blades which grew out of reach in the edge of the water. they were ravenous with hunger after eight hours of hard labor. our clothing was wet to the inner threads, and we were tired and muddy also, but our thoughts were on the horses rather than upon ourselves. we soon had a fire going and some hot supper, and by ten o'clock were stretched out in our beds for the night. i have never in my life experienced a gloomier or more distressing camp on the trail. my bed was dry and warm, but i could not forget our tired horses grubbing about in the chilly night on that desolate marsh. a child of the sun give me the sun and the sky, the wide sky. let it blaze with light, let it burn with heat--i care not. the sun is the blood of my heart, the wind of the plain my breath. no woodsman am i. my eyes are set for the wide low lines. the level rim of the prairie land is mine. the semi-gloom of the pointed firs, the sleeping darks of the mountain spruce, are prison and poison to such as i. in the forest i long for the rose of the plain, in the dark of the firs i die. in the grass o to lie in long grasses! o to dream of the plain! where the west wind sings as it passes a weird and unceasing refrain; where the rank grass wallows and tosses, and the plains' ring dazzles the eye; where hardly a silver cloud bosses the flashing steel arch of the sky. to watch the gay gulls as they flutter like snowflakes and fall down the sky, to swoop in the deeps of the hollows, where the crow's-foot tosses awry; and gnats in the lee of the thickets are swirling like waltzers in glee to the harsh, shrill creak of the crickets and the song of the lark and the bee. o far-off plains of my west land! o lands of winds and the free, swift deer--my mist-clad plain! from my bed in the heart of the forest, from the clasp and the girdle of pain your light through my darkness passes; to your meadows in dreaming i fly to plunge in the deeps of your grasses, to bask in the light of your sky! chapter xiii the silent forests of the dread skeena we were awake early and our first thought was of our horses. they were quite safe and cropping away on the dry stalks with patient diligence. we saddled up and pushed on, for food was to be had only in the valley, whose blue and white walls we could see far ahead of us. after nearly six hours' travel we came out of the forest, out into the valley of the middle fork of the skeena, into sunlight and grass in abundance, where we camped till the following morning, giving the horses time to recuperate. we were done with smiling valleys--that i now perceived. we were coming nearer to the sub-arctic country, grim and desolate. the view was magnificent, but the land seemed empty and silent except of mosquitoes, of which there were uncounted millions. on our right just across the river rose the white peaks of the kisgagash mountains. snow was still lying in the gullies only a few rods above us. the horses fed right royally and soon forgot the dearth of the big divide. as we were saddling up to move the following morning, several outfits came trailing down into the valley, glad as we had been of the splendid field of grass. they were led by a grizzled old american, who cursed the country with fine fervor. "i can stand any kind of a country," said he, "except one where there's no feed. and as near's i can find out we're in fer hell's own time fer feed till we reach them prairies they tell about." after leaving this flat, we had the kuldo (a swift and powerful river) to cross, but we found an old indian and a girl camped on the opposite side waiting for us. the daughter, a comely child about sixteen years of age, wore a calico dress and "store" shoes. she was a self-contained little creature, and clearly in command of the boat, and very efficient. it was no child's play to put the light canoe across such a stream, but the old man, with much shouting and under command of the girl, succeeded in crossing six times, carrying us and our baggage. as we were being put across for the last time it became necessary for some one to pull the canoe through the shallow water, and the little girl, without hesitation, leaped out regardless of new shoes, and tugged at the rope while the old man poled at the stern, and so we were landed. as a recognition of her resolution i presented her with a dollar, which i tried to make her understand was her own, and not to be given to her father. up to that moment she had been very shy and rather sullen, but my present seemed to change her opinion of us, and she became more genial at once. she was short and sturdy, and her little footsteps in the trail were strangely suggestive of civilization. after leaving the river we rose sharply for about three miles. this brought us to the first notice on the trail which was signed by the road-gang, an ambiguous scrawl to the effect that feed was to be very scarce for a long, long way, and that we should feed our horses before going forward. the mystery of the sign lay in the fact that no feed was in sight, and if it referred back to the flat, then it was in the nature of an irish bull. there was a fork in the trail here, and another notice informed us that the trail to the right ran to the indian village of kuldo. rain threatened, and as it was late and no feed promised, i determined to camp. turning to the right down a tremendously steep path (the horses sliding on their haunches), we came to an old indian fishing village built on a green shelf high above the roaring water of the skeena. the people all came rushing out to see us, curious but very hospitable. some of the children began plucking grasses for the horses, but being unaccustomed to animals of any kind, not one would approach within reach of them. i tried, by patting ladrone and putting his head over my shoulder, to show them how gentle he was, but they only smiled and laughed as much as to say, "yes, that is all right for _you_, but we are afraid." they were all very good-looking, smiling folk, but poorly dressed. they seemed eager to show us where the best grass grew, demanded nothing of us, begged nothing, and did not attempt to overcharge us. there were some eight or ten families in the cañon, and their houses were wretched shacks, mere lodges of slabs with vents in the peak. so far as they could, they conformed to the ways of white men. here they dwell by this rushing river in the midst of a gloomy and trackless forest, far removed from any other people of any sort. they were but a handful of human souls. as they spoke little chinook and almost no english, it was difficult to converse with them. they had lost the sign language or seemed not to use it. their village was built here because the cañon below offered a capital place for fishing and trapping, and the principal duty of the men was to watch the salmon trap dancing far below. for the rest they hunt wild animals and sell furs to the hudson bay company at hazleton, which is their metropolis. they led us to the edge of the village and showed us where the road-gang had set their tent, and we soon had a fire going in our little stove, which was the amazement and delight of a circle of men, women, and children, but they were not intrusive and asked for nothing. later in the evening the old man and the girl who had helped to ferry us across the kuldo came down the hill and joined the circle of our visitors. she smiled as we greeted her and so did the father, who assured me he was the ty-ee (boss) of the village, which he seemed to be. after our supper we distributed some fruit among the children, and among the old women some hot coffee with sugar, which was a keen delight to them. our desire to be friendly was deeply appreciated by these poor people, and our wish to do them good was greater than our means. the way was long before us and we could not afford to give away our supplies. how they live in winter i cannot understand; probably they go down the river to hazleton. i began to dread the dark green dripping firs which seemed to encompass us like some vast army. they chilled me, oppressed me. moreover, i was lame in every joint from the toil of crossing rivers, climbing steep hills, and dragging at cinches. i had walked down every hill and in most cases on the sharp upward slopes in order to relieve ladrone of my weight. as we climbed back to our muddy path next day, we were filled with dark forebodings of the days to come. we climbed all day, keeping the bench high above the river. the land continued silent. it was a wilderness of firs and spruce pines. it was like a forest of bronze. nothing but a few rose bushes and some leek-like plants rose from the mossy floor, on which the sun fell, weak and pale, in rare places. no beast or bird uttered sound save a fishing eagle swinging through the cañon above the roaring water. in the gloom the voice of the stream became a raucous roar. on every side cold and white and pitiless the snowy peaks lifted above the serrate rim of the forest. life was scant here. in all the mighty spread of forest between the continental divide on the east and the coast range at the west there are few living things, and these few necessarily centre in the warm openings on the banks of the streams where the sunlight falls or in the high valleys above the firs. there are no serpents and no insects. as we mounted day by day we crossed dozens of swift little streams cold and gray with silt. our rate of speed was very low. one of our horses became very weak and ill, evidently poisoned, and we were forced to stop often to rest him. all the horses were weakening day by day. toward the middle of the third day, after crossing a stream which came from the left, the trail turned as if to leave the skeena behind. we were mighty well pleased and climbed sharply and with great care of our horses till we reached a little meadow at the summit, very tired and disheartened, for the view showed only other peaks and endless waves of spruce and fir. we rode on under drizzling skies and dripping trees. there was little sunshine and long lines of heavily weighted gray clouds came crawling up the valley from the sea to break in cold rain over the summits. the horses again grew hungry and weak, and it was necessary to use great care in crossing the streams. we were lame and sore with the toil of the day, and what was more depressing found ourselves once more upon the banks of the skeena, where only an occasional bunch of bluejoint could be found. the constant strain of watching the horses and guiding them through the mud began to tell on us both. there was now no moment of ease, no hour of enjoyment. we had set ourselves grimly to the task of bringing our horses through alive. we no longer rode, we toiled in silence, leading our saddle-horses on which we had packed a part of our outfit to relieve the sick and starving packhorses. on the fourth day we took a westward shoot from the river, and following the course of a small stream again climbed heavily up the slope. our horses were now so weak we could only climb a few rods at a time without rest. but at last, just as night began to fall, we came upon a splendid patch of bluejoint, knee-deep and rich. it was high on the mountain side, on a slope so steep that the horses could not lie down, so steep that it was almost impossible to set our tent. we could not persuade ourselves to pass it, however, and so made the best of it. everywhere we could see white mountains, to the south, to the west, to the east. "now we have left the skeena valley," said burton. "yes, we have seen the last of the skeena," i replied, "and i'm glad of it. i never want to see that gray-green flood again." a part of the time that evening we spent in picking the thorns of devil's-club out of our hands. this strange plant i had not seen before, and do not care to see it again. in plunging through the mudholes we spasmodically clutched these spiny things. ladrone nipped steadily at the bunch of leaves which grew at the top of the twisted stalk. again we plunged down into the cold green forest, following a stream whose current ran to the northeast. this brought us once again to the bank of the dreaded skeena. the trail was "punishing," and the horses plunged and lunged all day through the mud, over logs, stones, and roots. our nerves quivered with the torture of piloting our mistrusted desperate horses through these awful pitfalls. we were still in the region of ferns and devil's-club. we allowed no feed to escape us. at any hour of the day, whenever we found a bunch of grass, no matter if it were not bigger than a broom, we stopped for the horses to graze it and so we kept them on their feet. at five o'clock in the afternoon we climbed to a low, marshy lake where an indian hunter was camped. he said we would find feed on another lake some miles up, and we pushed on, wallowing through mud and water of innumerable streams, each moment in danger of leaving a horse behind. i walked nearly all day, for it was torture to me as well as to ladrone to ride him over such a trail. three of our horses now showed signs of poisoning, two of them walked with a sprawling action of the fore legs, their eyes big and glassy. one was too weak to carry anything more than his pack-saddle, and our going had a sort of sullen desperation in it. our camps were on the muddy ground, without comfort or convenience. next morning, as i swung into the saddle and started at the head of my train, ladrone threw out his nose with a sharp indrawn squeal of pain. at first i paid little attention to it, but it came again--and then i noticed a weakness in his limbs. i dismounted and examined him carefully. he, too, was poisoned and attacked by spasms. it was a sorrowful thing to see my proud gray reduced to this condition. his eyes were dilated and glassy and his joints were weak. we could not stop, we could not wait, we must push on to feed and open ground; and so leading him carefully i resumed our slow march. but at last, just when it seemed as though we could not go any farther with our suffering animals, we came out of the poisonous forest upon a broad grassy bottom where a stream was flowing to the northwest. we raised a shout of joy, for it seemed this must be a branch of the nasse. if so, we were surely out of the clutches of the skeena. this bottom was the first dry and level ground we had seen since leaving the west fork, and the sun shone. "old man, the worst of our trail is over," i shouted to my partner. "the land looks more open to the north. we're coming to that plateau they told us of." oh, how sweet, fine, and sunny the short dry grass seemed to us after our long toilsome stay in the sub-aqueous gloom of the skeena forests! we seemed about to return to the birds and the flowers. ladrone was very ill, but i fed him some salt mixed with lard, and after a doze in the sun he began to nibble grass with the others, and at last stretched out on the warm dry sward to let the glorious sun soak into his blood. it was a joyous thing to us to see the faithful ones revelling in the healing sunlight, their stomachs filled at last with sweet rich forage. we were dirty, ragged, and lame, and our hands were calloused and seamed with dirt, but we were strong and hearty. we were high in the mountains here. those little marshy lakes and slow streams showed that we were on a divide, and to our minds could be no other than the head-waters of the nasse, which has a watershed of its own to the sea. we believed the worst of our trip to be over. the faithful broncos they go to certain death--to freeze, to grope their way through blinding snow, to starve beneath the northern trees-- their curse on us who made them go! they trust and we betray the trust; they humbly look to us for keep. the rifle crumbles them to dust, and we--have hardly grace to weep as they line up to die. the whistling marmot on mountains cold and bold and high, where only golden eagles fly, he builds his home against the sky. above the clouds he sits and whines, the morning sun about him shines; rivers loop below in shining lines. no wolf or cat may find him there, that winged corsair of the air, the eagle, is his only care. he sees the pink snows slide away, he sees his little ones at play, and peace fills out each summer day. in winter, safe within his nest, he eats his winter store with zest, and takes his young ones to his breast. chapter xiv the great stikeen divide at about eight o'clock the next morning, as we were about to line up for our journey, two men came romping down the trail, carrying packs on their backs and taking long strides. they were "hitting the high places in the scenery," and seemed to be entirely absorbed in the work. i hailed them and they turned out to be two young men from duluth, minnesota. they were without hats, very brown, very hairy, and very much disgusted with the country. for an hour we discussed the situation. they were the first white men we had met on the entire journey, almost the only returning footsteps, and were able to give us a little information of the trail, but only for a distance of about forty miles; beyond this they had not ventured. "we left our outfits back here on a little lake--maybe you saw our indian guide--and struck out ahead to see if we could find those splendid prairies they were telling us about, where the caribou and the moose were so thick you couldn't miss 'em. we've been forty miles up the trail. it's all a climb, and the very worst yet. you'll come finally to a high snowy divide with nothing but mountains on every side. there _is_ no prairie; it's all a lie, and we're going back to hazleton to go around by way of skagway. have you any idea where we are?" "why, certainly; we're in british columbia." "but where? on what stream?" "oh, that is a detail," i replied. "i consider the little camp on which we are camped one of the head-waters of the nasse; but we're not on the telegraph trail at all. we're more nearly in line with the old dease lake trail." "why is it, do you suppose, that the road-gang ahead of us haven't left a single sign, not even a word as to where we are?" "maybe they can't write," said my partner. "perhaps they don't know where they are at, themselves," said i. "well, that's exactly the way it looks to me." "are there any outfits ahead of us?" "yes, old bob borlan's about two days up the slope with his train of mules, working like a slave to get through. they're all getting short of grub and losing a good many horses. you'll have to work your way through with great care, or you'll lose a horse or two in getting from here to the divide." "well, this won't do. so-long, boys," said one of the young fellows, and they started off with immense vigor, followed by their handsome dogs, and we lined up once more with stern faces, knowing now that a terrible trail for at least one hundred miles was before us. there was no thought of retreat, however. we had set our feet to this journey, and we determined to go. after a few hours' travel we came upon the grassy shore of another little lake, where the bells of several outfits were tinkling merrily. on the bank of a swift little river setting out of the lake, a couple of tents stood, and shirts were flapping from the limbs of near-by willows. the owners were "the man from chihuahua," his partner, the blacksmith, and the two young men from manchester, new hampshire, who had started from ashcroft as markedly tenderfoot as any men could be. they had been lambasted and worried into perfect efficiency as packers and trailers, and were entitled to respect--even the respect of "the man from chihuahua." they greeted us with jovial outcry. "hullo, strangers! where ye think you're goin'?" "goin' crazy," replied burton. "you look it," said bill. "by god, we was all sure crazy when we started on this damn trail," remarked the old man. he was in bad humor on account of his horses, two of which were suffering from poisoning. when anything touched his horses, he was "plum irritable." he came up to me very soberly. "have you any idee where we're at?" "yes--we're on the head-waters of the nasse." "are we on the telegraph trail?" "no; as near as i can make out we're away to the right of the telegraph crossing." thereupon we compared maps. "it's mighty little use to look at maps--they're all drew by guess--an'--by god, anyway," said the old fellow, as he ran his grimy forefinger over the red line which represented the trail. "we've been a slantin' hellwards ever since we crossed the skeeny--i figure it we're on the old dease lake trail." to this we all agreed at last, but our course thereafter was by no means clear. "if we took the old dease lake trail we're three hundred miles from telegraph creek yit--an' somebody's goin' to be hungry before we get in," said the old trailer. "i'd like to camp here for a few days and feed up my horses, but it ain't safe--we got 'o keep movin'. we've been on this damn trail long enough, and besides grub is gittin' lighter all the time." "what do you think of the trail?" asked burton. "i've been on the trail all my life," he replied, "an' i never was in such a pizen, empty no-count country in my life. wasn't that big divide hell? did ye ever see the beat of that fer a barren? no more grass than a cellar. might as well camp in a cistern. i wish i could lay hands on the feller that called this 'the prairie route'--they'd sure be a dog-fight right here." the old man expressed the feeling of those of us who were too shy and delicate of speech to do it justice, and we led him on to most satisfying blasphemy of the land and the road-gang. "yes, there's that road-gang sent out to put this trail into shape--what have they done? you'd think they couldn't read or write--not a word to help us out." partner and i remained in camp all the afternoon and all the next day, although our travelling companions packed up and moved out the next morning. we felt the need of a day's freedom from worry, and our horses needed feed and sunshine. oh, the splendor of the sun, the fresh green grass, the rippling water of the river, the beautiful lake! and what joy it was to see our horses feed and sleep. they looked distressingly thin and poor without their saddles. ladrone was still weak in the ankle joints and the arch had gone out of his neck, while faithful bill, who never murmured or complained, had a glassy stare in his eyes, the lingering effects of poisoning. the wind rose in the afternoon, bringing to us a sound of moaning tree-tops, and somehow it seemed to be an augury of better things--seemed to prophesy a fairer and dryer country to the north of us. the singing of the leaves went to my heart with a hint of home, and i remembered with a start how absolutely windless the sullen forest of the skeena had been. near by a dam was built across the river, and a fishing trap made out of willows was set in the current. piles of caribou hair showed that the indians found game in the autumn. we took time to explore some old fishing huts filled with curious things,--skins, toboggans, dog-collars, cedar ropes, and many other traps of small value to anybody. most curious of all we found some flint-lock muskets made exactly on the models of one hundred years ago, but dated ! it seemed impossible that guns of such ancient models should be manufactured up to the present date; but there they were all carefully marked "london, ." it was a long day of rest and regeneration. we took a bath in the clear, cold waters of the stream, washed our clothing and hung it up to dry, beat the mud out of our towels, and so made ready for the onward march. we should have stayed longer, but the ebbing away of our grub pile made us apprehensive. to return was impossible. the clouds circling the mountains the gray clouds go heavy with storms as a mother with child, seeking release from their burden of snow with calm slow motion they cross the wild-- stately and sombre, they catch and cling to the barren crags of the peaks in the west, weary with waiting, and mad for rest. the great stikeen divide a land of mountains based in hills of fir, empty, lone, and cold. a land of streams whose roaring voices drown the whirr of aspen leaves, and fill the heart with dreams of dearth and death. the peaks are stern and white the skies above are grim and gray, and the rivers cleave their sounding way through endless forests dark as night, toward the ocean's far-off line of spray. chapter xv in the cold green mountains the nasse river, like the skeena and the stikeen, rises in the interior mountains, and flows in a south-westerly direction, breaking through the coast range into the pacific ocean, not far from the mouth of the stikeen. it is a much smaller stream than the skeena, which is, moreover, immensely larger than the maps show. we believed we were about to pass from the watershed of the nasse to the east fork of the iskoot, on which those far-shining prairies were said to lie, with their flowery meadows rippling under the west wind. if we could only reach that mystical plateau, our horses would be safe from all disease. we crossed the cheweax, a branch of the nasse, and after climbing briskly to the northeast along the main branch we swung around over a high wooded hog-back, and made off up the valley along the north and lesser fork. we climbed all day, both of us walking, leading our horses, with all our goods distributed with great care over the six horses. it was a beautiful day overhead--that was the only compensation. we were sweaty, eaten by flies and mosquitoes, and covered with mud. all day we sprawled over roots, rocks, and logs, plunging into bogholes and slopping along in the running water, which in places had turned the trail into an aqueduct. the men from duluth had told no lie. after crawling upward for nearly eight hours we came upon a little patch of bluejoint, on the high side of the hill, and there camped in the gloom of the mossy and poisonous forest. by hard and persistent work we ticked off nearly fifteen miles, and judging from the stream, which grew ever swifter, we should come to a divide in the course of fifteen or twenty miles. the horses being packed light went along fairly well, although it was a constant struggle to get them to go through the mud. old ladrone walking behind me groaned with dismay every time we came to one of those terrible sloughs. he seemed to plead with me, "oh, my master, don't send me into that dreadful hole!" but there was no other way. it must be done, and so burton's sharp cry would ring out behind and our little train would go in one after the other, plunging, splashing, groaning, struggling through. ladrone, seeing me walk a log by the side of the trail, would sometimes follow me as deftly as a cat. he seemed to think his right to avoid the mud as good as mine. but as there was always danger of his slipping off and injuring himself, i forced him to wallow in the mud, which was as distressing to me as to him. the next day we started with the determination to reach the divide. "there is no hope of grass so long as we remain in this forest," said burton. "we must get above timber where the sun shines to get any feed for our horses. it is cruel, but we must push them to-day just as long as they can stand up, or until we reach the grass." nothing seemed to appall or disturb my partner; he was always ready to proceed, his voice ringing out with inflexible resolution. it was one of the most laborious days of all our hard journey. hour after hour we climbed steadily up beside the roaring gray-white little stream, up toward the far-shining snowfields, which blazed back the sun like mirrors. the trees grew smaller, the river bed seemed to approach us until we slumped along in the running water. at last we burst out into the light above timber line. around us porcupines galloped, and whistling marmots signalled with shrill vehemence. we were weak with fatigue and wet with icy water to the knees, but we pushed on doggedly until we came to a little mound of short, delicious green grass from which the snow had melted. on this we stopped to let the horses graze. the view was magnificent, and something wild and splendid came on the wind over the snowy peaks and smooth grassy mounds. we were now in the region of great snowfields, under which roared swift streams from still higher altitudes. there were thousands of marmots, which seemed to utter the most intense astonishment at the inexplicable coming of these strange creatures. the snow in the gullies had a curious bloody line which i could not account for. a little bird high up here uttered a sweet little whistle, so sad, so full of pleading, it almost brought tears to my eyes. in form it resembled a horned lark, but was smaller and kept very close to the ground. we reached the summit at sunset, there to find only other mountains and other enormous gulches leading downward into far blue cañons. it was the wildest land i have ever seen. a country unmapped, unsurveyed, and unprospected. a region which had known only an occasional indian hunter or trapper with his load of furs on his way down to the river and his canoe. desolate, without life, green and white and flashing illimitably, the gray old peaks aligned themselves rank on rank until lost in the mists of still wilder regions. from this high point we could see our friends, the manchester boys, on the north slope two or three miles below us at timber line. weak in the knees, cold and wet and hungry as we were, we determined to push down the trail over the snowfields, down to grass and water. not much more than forty minutes later we came out upon a comparatively level spot of earth where grass was fairly good, and where the wind-twisted stunted pines grew in clumps large enough to furnish wood for our fires and a pole for our tent. the land was meshed with roaring rills of melting snow, and all around went on the incessant signalling of the marmots--the only cheerful sound in all the wide green land. we had made about twenty-three miles that day, notwithstanding tremendous steeps and endless mudholes mid-leg deep. it was the greatest test of endurance of our trip. we had the good luck to scare up a ptarmigan (a sort of piebald mountain grouse), and though nearly fainting with hunger, we held ourselves in check until we had that bird roasted to a turn. i shall never experience greater relief or sweeter relaxation of rest than that i felt as i stretched out in my down sleeping bag for twelve hours' slumber. i considered that we were about one hundred and ninety miles from hazleton, and that this must certainly be the divide between the skeena and the stikeen. the manchester boys reported finding some very good pieces of quartz on the hills, and they were all out with spade and pick prospecting, though it seemed to me they showed but very little enthusiasm in the search. "i b'lieve there's gold here," said "chihuahua," "but who's goin' to stay here and look fer it? in the first place, you couldn't work fer mor'n 'bout three months in the year, and it 'ud take ye the other nine months fer to git yer grub in. them hills look to me to be mineralized, but i ain't honin' to camp here." this seemed to be the general feeling of all the other prospectors, and i did not hear that any one else went so far even as to dig a hole. as near as i could judge there seemed to be three varieties of "varmints" galloping around over the grassy slopes of this high country. the largest of these, a gray and brown creature with a tawny, bristling mane, i took to be a porcupine. next in size were the giant whistlers, who sat up like old men and signalled, like one boy to another. and last and least, and more numerous than all, were the smaller "chucks" resembling prairie dogs. these animals together with the ptarmigan made up the inhabitants of these lofty slopes. i searched every green place on the mountains far and near with my field-glasses, but saw no sheep, caribou, or moose, although one or two were reported to have been killed by others on the trail. the ptarmigan lived in the matted patches of willow. there were a great many of them, and they helped out our monotonous diet very opportunely. they moved about in pairs, the cock very loyal to the hen in time of danger; but not even this loyalty could save him. hunger such as ours considered itself very humane in stopping short of the slaughter of the mother bird. the cock was easily distinguished by reason of his party-colored plumage and his pink eyes. we spent the next forenoon in camp to let our horses feed up, and incidentally to rest our own weary bones. all the forenoon great, gray clouds crushed against the divide behind us, flinging themselves in rage against the rocks like hungry vultures baffled in their chase. we exulted over their impotence. "we are done with you, you storms of the skeena--we're out of your reach at last!" we were confirmed in this belief as we rode down the trail, which was fairly pleasant except for short periods, when the clouds leaped the snowy walls behind and scattered drizzles of rain over us. later the clouds thickened, the sky became completely overcast, and my exultation changed to dismay, and we camped at night as desolate as ever, in the rain, and by the side of a little marsh on which the horses could feed only by wading fetlock deep in the water. we were wet to the skin, and muddy and tired. i could no longer deceive myself. our journey had become a grim race with the wolf. our food grew each day scantier, and we were forced to move each day and every day, no matter what the sky or trail might be. going over our food carefully that night, we calculated that we had enough to last us ten days, and if we were within one hundred and fifty miles of the skeena, and if no accident befell us, we would be able to pull in without great suffering. but accidents on the trail are common. it is so easy to lose a couple of horses, we were liable to delay and to accident, and the chances were against us rather than in our favor. it seemed as though the trail would never mend. we were dropping rapidly down through dwarf pines, down into endless forests of gloom again. we had splashed, slipped, and tumbled down the trail to this point with three horses weak and sick. the rain had increased, and all the brightness of the morning on the high mountain had passed away. for hours we had walked without a word except to our horses, and now night was falling in thick, cold rain. as i plodded along i saw in vision and with great longing the plains, whose heat and light seemed paradise by contrast. the next day was the fourth of july, and such a day! it rained all the forenoon, cold, persistent, drizzling rain. we hung around the campfire waiting for some let-up to the incessant downpour. we discussed the situation. i said: "now, if the stream in the cañon below us runs to the left, it will be the east fork of the iskoot, and we will then be within about one hundred miles of glenora. if it runs to the right, heaven only knows where we are." the horses, chilled with the rain, came off the sloppy marsh to stand under the trees, and old ladrone edged close to the big fire to share its warmth. this caused us to bring in the other horses and put them close to the fire under the big branches of the fir tree. it was deeply pathetic to watch the poor worn animals, all life and spirit gone out of them, standing about the fire with drooping heads and half-closed eyes. perhaps they dreamed, like us, of the beautiful, warm, grassy hills of the south. the ute lover beneath the burning brazen sky, the yellowed tepes stand. not far away a singing river sets through the sand. within the shadow of a lonely elm tree the tired ponies keep. the wild land, throbbing with the sun's hot magic, is rapt as sleep. from out a clump of scanty willows a low wail floats. the endless repetition of a lover's melancholy notes; so sad, so sweet, so elemental, all lover's pain seems borne upon its sobbing cadence-- the love-song of the plain. from frenzied cry forever falling, to the wind's wild moan, it seems the voice of anguish calling alone! alone! caught from the winds forever moaning on the plain, wrought from the agonies of woman in maternal pain, it holds within its simple measure all death of joy, breathed though it be by smiling maiden or lithe brown boy. it hath this magic, sad though its cadence and short refrain; it helps the exiled people of the mountain endure the plain; for when at night the stars aglitter defy the moon, the maiden listens, leans to seek her lover where waters croon. flute on, o lithe and tuneful utah, reply brown jade; there are no other joys secure to either man or maid. soon you are old and heavy hearted, lost to mirth; while on you lies the white man's gory greed of earth. strange that to me that burning desert seems so dear. the endless sky and lonely mesa, flat and drear, calls me, calls me as the flute of utah calls his mate-- this wild, sad, sunny, brazen country, hot as hate. again the glittering sky uplifts star-blazing; again the stream from out the far-off snowy mountains sings through my dream; and on the air i hear the flute-voice calling the lover's croon, and see the listening, longing maiden lit by the moon. devil's club it is a sprawling, hateful thing, thorny and twisted like a snake, writhing to work a mischief, in the brake it stands at menace, in its cling is danger and a venomed sting. it grows on green and slimy slopes, it is a thing of shades and slums, for passing feet it wildly gropes, and loops to catch all feet that run seeking a path to sky and sun. in the cold green mountains in the cold green mountains where the savage torrents roared, and the clouds were gray above us, and the fishing eagle soared, where no grass waved, where no robins cried, there our horses starved and died, in the cold green mountains. in the cold green mountains, nothing grew but moss and trees, water dripped and sludgy streamlets trapped our horses by the knees. where we slipped, slid, and lunged, mired down and wildly plunged toward the cold green mountains! chapter xvi the passing of the beans at noon, the rain slacking a little, we determined to pack up, and with such cheer as we could called out, "line up, boys--line up!" starting on our way down the trail. after making about eight miles we came upon a number of outfits camped on the bank of the river. as i rode along on my gray horse, for the trail there allowed me to ride, i passed a man seated gloomily at the mouth of his tent. to him i called with an assumption of jocularity i did not feel, "stranger, where are you bound for?" he replied, "the north pole." "do you expect to get there?" "sure," he replied. riding on i met others beside the trail, and all wore a similar look of almost sullen gravity. they were not disposed to joke with me, and perceiving something to be wrong, i passed on without further remark. when we came down to the bank of the stream, behold it ran to the right. and i could have sat me down and blasphemed with the rest. i now understood the gloom of the others. _we were still in the valley of the inexorable skeena._ it could be nothing else; this tremendous stream running to our right could be no other than the head-waters of that ferocious flood which no surveyor has located. it is immensely larger and longer than any map shows. we crossed the branch without much trouble, and found some beautiful bluejoint-grass on the opposite bank, into which we joyfully turned our horses. when they had filled their stomachs, we packed up and pushed on about two miles, overtaking the manchester boys on the side-hill in a tract of dead, burned-out timber, a cheerless spot. in speaking about the surly answer i had received from the man on the banks of the river, i said: "i wonder why those men are camped there? they must have been there for several days." partner replied: "they are all out of grub and are waiting for some one to come by to whack-up with 'em. one of the fellows came out and talked with me and said he had nothing left but beans, and tried to buy some flour of me." this opened up an entirely new line of thought. i understood now that what i had taken for sullenness was the dejection of despair. the way was growing gloomy and dark to them. they, too, were racing with the wolf. we had one short moment of relief next day as we entered a lovely little meadow and camped for noon. the sun shone warm, the grass was thick and sweet. it was like late april in the central west--cool, fragrant, silent. aisles of peaks stretched behind us and before us. we were still high in the mountains, and the country was less wooded and more open. but we left this beautiful spot and entered again on a morass. it was a day of torture to man and beast. the land continued silent. there were no toads, no butterflies, no insects of any kind, except a few mosquitoes, no crickets, no singing thing. i have never seen a land so empty of life. we had left even the whistling marmots entirely behind us. we travelled now four outfits together, with some twenty-five horses. part of the time i led with ladrone, part of the time "the man from chihuahua" took the lead, with his fine strong bays. if a horse got down we all swarmed around and lifted him out, and when any question of the trail came up we held "conferences of the powers." we continued for the most part up a wide mossy and grassy river bottom covered with water. we waded for miles in water to our ankles, crossing hundreds of deep little rivulets. occasionally a horse went down into a hole and had to be "snailed out," and we were wet and covered with mud all day. it was a new sort of trail and a terror. the mountains on each side were very stately and impressive, but we could pay little attention to views when our horses were miring down at every step. we could not agree about the river. some were inclined to the belief that it was a branch of the stikeen, the old man was sure it was "skeeny." we were troubled by a new sort of fly, a little orange-colored fellow whose habits were similar to those of the little black fiends of the bulkley valley. they were very poisonous indeed, and made our ears swell up enormously--the itching and burning was well-nigh intolerable. we saw no life at all save one grouse hen guarding her young. a paradise for game it seemed, but no game. a beautiful grassy, marshy, and empty land. we passed over one low divide after another with immense snowy peaks thickening all around us. for the first time in over two hundred miles we were all able to ride. whistling marmots and grouse again abounded. we had a bird at every meal. the wind was cool and the sky was magnificent, and for the first time in many days we were able to take off our hats and face the wind in exultation. toward night, however, mosquitoes became troublesome in their assaults, covering the horses in solid masses. strange to say, none of them, not even ladrone, seemed to mind them in the least. we felt sure now of having left the skeena forever. one day we passed over a beautiful little spot of dry ground, which filled us with delight; it seemed as though we had reached the prairies of the pamphlets. we camped there for noon, and though the mosquitoes were terrific we were all chortling with joy. the horses found grass in plenty and plucked up spirits amazingly. we were deceived. in half an hour we were in the mud again. the whole country for miles and miles in every direction was a series of high open valleys almost entirely above timber line. these valleys formed the starting-points of innumerable small streams which fell away into the iskoot on the left, the stikeen on the north, the skeena on the east and south. these valleys were covered with grass and moss intermingled, and vast tracts were flooded with water from four to eight inches deep, through which we were forced to slop hour after hour, and riding was practically impossible. as we were plodding along silently one day a dainty white gull came lilting through the air and was greeted with cries of joy by the weary drivers. more than one of them could "smell the salt water." in imagination they saw this bird following the steamer up the stikeen to the first south fork, thence to meet us. it seemed only a short ride down the valley to the city of glenora and the post-office. each day we drove above timber line, and at noon were forced to rustle the dead dwarf pine for fire. the marshes were green and filled with exquisite flowers and mosses, little white and purple bells, some of them the most beautiful turquoise-green rising from tufts of verdure like mignonette. i observed also a sort of crocus and some cheery little buttercups. the ride would have been magnificent had it not been for the spongy, sloppy marsh through which our horses toiled. as it was, we felt a certain breadth and grandeur in it surpassing anything we had hitherto seen. our three outfits with some score of horses went winding through the wide, green, treeless valleys with tinkle of bells and sharp cry of drivers. the trail was difficult to follow, because in the open ground each man before us had to take his own course, and there were few signs to mark the line the road-gang had taken. it was impossible to tell where we were, but i was certain we were upon the head-waters of some one of the many forks of the great stikeen river. marmots and a sort of little prairie dog continued plentiful, but there was no other life. the days were bright and cool, resplendent with sun and rich in grass. some of the goldseekers fired a salute with shotted guns when, poised on the mountain side, they looked down upon a stream flowing to the northwest. but the joy was short-lived. the descent of this mountain's side was by all odds the most terrible piece of trail we had yet found. it led down the north slope, and was oozy and slippery with the melting snow. it dropped in short zigzags down through a grove of tangled, gnarled, and savage cedars and pines, whose roots were like iron and filled with spurs that were sharp as chisels. the horses, sliding upon their haunches and unable to turn themselves in the mud, crashed into the tangled pines and were in danger of being torn to pieces. for more than an hour we slid and slewed through this horrible jungle of savage trees, and when we came out below we had two horses badly snagged in the feet, but ladrone was uninjured. we now crossed and recrossed the little stream, which dropped into a deep cañon running still to the northwest. after descending for some hours we took a trail which branched sharply to the northeast, and climbed heavily to a most beautiful camping-spot between the peaks, with good grass, and water, and wood all around us. we were still uncertain of our whereabouts, but all the boys were fairly jubilant. "this would be a splendid camp for a few weeks," said partner. that night as the sun set in incommunicable splendor over the snowy peaks to the west the empty land seemed left behind. we went to sleep with the sound of a near-by mountain stream in our ears, and the voice of an eagle sounding somewhere on the high cliffs. the next day we crossed another divide and entered another valley running north. being confident that this _was_ the stikeen, we camped early and put our little house up. it was raining a little. we had descended again to the aspens and clumps of wild roses. it was good to see their lovely faces once more after our long stay in the wild, cold valleys of the upper lands. the whole country seemed drier, and the vegetation quite different. indeed, it resembled some of the colorado valleys, but was less barren on the bottoms. there were still no insects, no crickets, no bugs, and very few birds of any kind. all along the way on the white surface of the blazed trees were messages left by those who had gone before us. some of them were profane assaults upon the road-gang. others were pathetic inquiries: "where in hell are we?"--"how is this for a prairie route?"--"what river is this, anyhow?" to these pencillings others had added facetious replies. there were also warnings and signs to help us keep out of the mud. we followed the same stream all day. whether the iskoot or not we did not know. the signs of lower altitude thickened. wild roses met us again, and strawberry blossoms starred the sunny slopes. the grass was dry and ripe, and the horses did not relish it after their long stay in the juicy meadows above. we had been wet every day for nearly three weeks, and did not mind moisture now, but my shoes were rapidly going to pieces, and my last pair of trousers was frazzled to the knees. nearly every outfit had lame horses like our old bay, hobbling along bravely. our grub was getting very light, which was a good thing for the horses; but we had an occasional grouse to fry, and so as long as our flour held out we were well fed. it became warmer each day, and some little weazened berries appeared on the hillsides, the first we had seen, and they tasted mighty good after months of bacon and beans. we were taking some pleasure in the trip again, and had it not been for the sores on our horses' feet and our scant larder we should have been quite at ease. our course now lay parallel to a range of peaks on our right, which we figured to be the hotailub mountains. this settled the question of our position on the map--we were on the third and not the first south fork of the stikeen and were a long way still from telegraph creek. the long trail we tunnelled miles of silent pines, dark forests where the stillness was so deep the scared wind walked a tip-toe on the spines, and the restless aspen seemed to sleep. we threaded aisles of dripping fir; we climbed toward mountains dim and far, where snow forever shines and shines, and only winds and waters are. red streams came down from hillsides crissed and crossed with fallen firs; but on a sudden, lo! a silver lakelet bound and barred with sunset's clouds reflected far below. these lakes so lonely were, so still and cool, they burned as bright as burnished steel; the shadowed pine branch in the pool was no less vivid than the real. we crossed the great divide and saw the sun-lit valleys far below us wind; before us opened cloudless sky; the raw, gray rain swept close behind. we saw great glaciers grind themselves to foam; we trod the moose's lofty home, and heard, high on the yellow hills, the wildcat clamor of his ills. the way grew grimmer day by day, the weeks to months stretched on and on; and hunger kept, not far away, a never failing watch at dawn. we lost all reckoning of season and of time; sometimes it seemed the bitter breeze of icy march brought fog and rain, and next november tempests shook the trees. it was a wild and lonely ride. save the hid loon's mocking cry, or marmot on the mountain side, the earth was silent as the sky. all day through sunless forest aisles, on cold dark moss our horses trod; it was so lonely there for miles and miles, the land seemed lost to god. our horses cut by rocks; by brambles torn, staggered onward, stiff and sore; or broken, bruised, and saddle-worn, fell in the sloughs to rise no more. yet still we rode right on and on, and shook our clenched hands at the clouds, daring the winds of early dawn, and the dread torrent roaring loud. so long we rode, so hard, so far, we seemed condemned by stern decree to ride until the morning star should sink forever in the sea. yet now, when all is past, i dream of every mountain's shining cap. i long to hear again the stream roar through the foam-white granite gap. the pains recede. the joys draw near. the splendors of great nature's face make me forget all need, all fear, and the long journey grows in grace. the greeting of the roses we had been long in mountain snow, in valleys bleak, and broad, and bare, where only moss and willows grow, and no bird wings the silent air. and so when on our downward way, wild roses met us, we were glad; they were so girlish fair, so gay, it seemed the sun had made them mad. chapter xvii the wolves and the vultures assemble about noon of the fiftieth day out, we came down to the bank of a tremendously swift stream which we called the third south fork. on a broken paddle stuck in the sand we found this notice: "the trail crosses here. swim horses from the bar. it is supposed to be about ninety miles to telegraph creek.--(signed) the mules." we were bitterly disappointed to find ourselves so far from our destination, and began once more to calculate on the length of time it would take us to get out of the wilderness. partner showed me the flour-sack which he held in one brawny fist. "i believe the dern thing leaks," said he, and together we went over our store of food. we found ourselves with an extra supply of sugar, condensed cream, and other things which our friends the manchester boys needed, while they were able to spare us a little flour. there was a tacit agreement that we should travel together and stand together. accordingly we began to plan for the crossing of this swift and dangerous stream. a couple of canoes were found cached in the bushes, and these would enable us to set our goods across, while we forced our horses to swim from a big bar in the stream above. while we were discussing these thing around our fires at night, another tramper, thin and weak, came into camp. he was a little man with a curly red beard, and was exceedingly chipper and jocular for one in his condition. he had been out of food for some days, and had been living on squirrels, ground-hogs, and such other small deer as he could kill and roast along his way. he brought word of considerable suffering among the outfits behind us, reporting "the dutchman" to be entirely out of beans and flour, while others had lost so many of their horses that all were in danger of starving to death in the mountains. as he warmed up on coffee and beans, he became very amusing. he was hairy and ragged, but neat, and his face showed a certain delicacy of physique. he, too, was a marked example of the craze to "get somewhere where gold is." he broke off suddenly in the midst of his story to exclaim with great energy: "i want to do two things, go back and get my boy away from my wife, and break the back of my brother-in-law. he made all the trouble." once and again he said, "i'm going to find the gold up here or lay my bones on the hills." in the midst of these intense phrases he whistled gayly or broke off to attend to his cooking. he told of his hard experiences, with pride and joy, and said, "isn't it lucky i caught you just here?" and seemed willing to talk all night. in the morning i went over to the campfire to see if he were still with us. he was sitting in his scanty bed before the fire, mending his trousers. "i've just got to put a patch on right now or my knee'll be through," he explained. he had a neat little kit of materials and everything was in order. "i haven't time to turn the edges of the patch under," he went on. "it ought to be done--you can't make a durable patch unless you do. this 'housewife' my wife made me when we was first married. i was peddlin' then in eastern oregon. if it hadn't been for her brother--oh, i'll smash his face in, some day"--he held up the other trouser leg: "see that patch? ain't that a daisy?--that's the way i ought to do. say, looks like i ought to rustle enough grub out of all these outfits to last me into glenora, don't it?" we came down gracefully--we could not withstand such prattle. the blacksmith turned in some beans, the boys from manchester divided their scanty store of flour and bacon, i brought some salt, some sugar, and some oatmeal, and as the small man put it away he chirped and chuckled like a cricket. his thanks were mere words, his voice was calm. he accepted our aid as a matter of course. no perfectly reasonable man would ever take such frightful chances as this absurd little ass set his face to without fear. he hummed a little tune as he packed his outfit into his shoulder-straps. "i ought to rattle into glenora on this grub, hadn't i?" he said. at last he was ready to be ferried across the river, which was swift and dangerous. burton set him across, and as he was about to depart i gave him a letter to post and a half-dollar to pay postage. my name was written on the corner of the envelope. he knew me then and said, "i've a good mind to stay right with you; i'm something of a writer myself." i hastened to say that he could reach glenora two or three days in advance of us, for the reason that we were bothered with a lame horse. in reality, we were getting very short of provisions and were even then on rations. "i think you'll overtake the borland outfit," i said. "if you don't, and you need help, camp by the road till we come up and we'll all share as long as there's anything to share. but you are in good trim and have as much grub as we have, so you'd better spin along." he "hit the trail" with a hearty joy that promised well, and i never saw him again. his cheery smile and unshrinking cheek carried him through a journey that appalled old packers with tents, plenty of grub, and good horses. to me he was simply a strongly accentuated type of the goldseeker--insanely persistent; blind to all danger, deaf to all warning, and doomed to failure at the start. the next day opened cold and foggy, but we entered upon a hard day's work. burton became the chief canoeman, while one of the manchester boys, stripped to the undershirt, sat in the bow to pull at the paddle "all same siwash." burton's skill and good judgment enabled us to cross without losing so much as a buckle. some of our poor lame horses had a hard struggle in the icy current. at about p.m. we were able to line up in the trail on the opposite side. we pressed on up to the higher valleys in hopes of finding better feed, and camped in the rain about two miles from the ford. the wind came from the northwest with a suggestion of autumn in its uneasy movement. the boys were now exceedingly anxious to get into the gold country. they began to feel most acutely the passing of the summer. in the camp at night the talk was upon the condition of telegraph creek and the teslin lake trail. rain, rain, rain! it seemed as though no day could pass without rain. and as i woke i heard the patter of fine drops on our tent roof. the old man cursed the weather most eloquently, expressing the general feeling of the whole company. however, we saddled up and pushed on, much delayed by the lame horses. at about twelve o'clock i missed my partner's voice and looking about saw only two of the packhorses following. hitching those beside the trail, i returned to find burton seated beside the lame horse, which could not cross the slough. i examined the horse's foot and found a thin stream of arterial blood spouting out. "that ends it, burton," i said. "i had hoped to bring all my horses through, but this old fellow is out of the race. it is a question now either of leaving him beside the trail with a notice to have him brought forward or of shooting him out of hand." to this partner gravely agreed, but said, "it's going to be pretty hard lines to shoot that faithful old chap." "yes," i replied, "i confess i haven't the courage to face him with a rifle after all these weeks of faithful service. but it must be done. you remember that horse back there with a hole in his flank and his head flung up? we mustn't leave this old fellow to be a prey to the wolves. now if you'll kill him you can set your price on the service. anything at all i will pay. did you ever kill a horse?" partner was honest. "yes, once. he was old and sick and i believed it better to put him out of his suffering than to let him drag on." "that settles it, partner," said i. "your hands are already imbued with gore--it must be done." he rose with a sigh. "all right. lead him out into the thicket." i handed him the gun (into which i had shoved two steel-jacketed bullets, the kind that will kill a grizzly bear), and took the old horse by the halter. "come, boy," i said, "it's hard, but it's the only merciful thing." the old horse looked at me with such serene trust and confidence, my courage almost failed me. his big brown eyes were so full of sorrow and patient endurance. with some urging he followed me into the thicket a little aside from the trail. turning away i mounted ladrone in order that i might not see what happened. there was a crack of a rifle in the bush--the sound of a heavy body falling, and a moment later burton returned with a coiled rope in his hand and a look of trouble on his face. the horses lined up again with one empty place and an extra saddle topping the pony's pack. it was a sorrowful thing to do, but there was no better way. as i rode on, looking back occasionally to see that my train was following, my heart ached to think of the toil the poor old horse had undergone--only to meet death in the bush at the hands of his master. relieved of our wounded horse we made good time and repassed before nine o'clock several outfits that had overhauled us during our trouble. we rose higher and higher, and came at last into a grassy country and to a series of small lakes, which were undoubtedly the source of the second fork of the stikeen. but as we had lost so much time during the day, we pushed on with all our vigor for a couple of hours and camped about nine o'clock of a beautiful evening, with a magnificent sky arching us as if with a prophecy of better times ahead. the horses were now travelling very light, and our food supply was reduced to a few pounds of flour and bread--we had no game and no berries. beans were all gone and our bacon reduced to the last shred. we had come to expect rain every day of our lives, and were feeling a little the effects of our scanty diet of bread and bacon--hill-climbing was coming to be laborious. however, the way led downward most of the time, and we were able to rack along at a very good pace even on an empty stomach. during the latter part of the second day the trail led along a high ridge, a sort of hog-back overlooking a small river valley on our left, and bringing into view an immense blue cañon far ahead of us. "there lies the stikeen," i called to burton. "we're on the second south fork, which we follow to the stikeen, thence to the left to telegraph creek." i began to compose doggerel verses to express our exultation. we were very tired and glad when we reached a camping-place. we could not stop on this high ridge for lack of water, although the feed was very good. we were forced to plod on and on until we at last descended into the valley of a little stream which crossed our path. the ground had been much trampled, but as rain was falling and darkness coming on, there was nothing to do but camp. out of our last bit of bacon grease and bread and tea we made our supper. while we were camping, "the wild dutchman," a stalwart young fellow we had seen once or twice on the trail, came by with a very sour visage. he went into camp near, and came over to see us. he said: "i hain't had no pread for more dan a veek. i've nuttin' put peans. if you can, let me haf a biscuit. by gott, how goot dat vould taste." i yielded up a small loaf and encouraged him as best i could: "as i figure it, we are within thirty-five miles of telegraph creek; i've kept a careful diary of our travel. if we've passed over the dease lake trail, which is probably about four hundred miles from hazleton to glenora, we must be now within thirty-five miles of telegraph creek." i was not half so sure of this as i made him think; but it gave him a great deal of comfort, and he went off very much enlivened. sunday and no sun! it was raining when we awoke and the mosquitoes were stickier than ever. our grub was nearly gone, our horses thin and weak, and the journey uncertain. all ill things seemed to assemble like vultures to do us harm. the world was a grim place that day. it was a question whether we were not still on the third south fork instead of the second south fork, in which case we were at least one hundred miles from our supplies. if we were forced to cross the main stikeen and go down on the other side, it might be even farther. the men behind us were all suffering, and some of them were sure to have a hard time if such weather continued. at the same time i felt comparatively sure of our ground. we were ragged, dirty, lame, unshaven, and unshorn--we were fighting from morning till night. the trail became more discouraging each moment that the rain continued to fall. there was little conversation even between partner and myself. for many days we had moved in perfect silence for the most part, though no gloom or sullenness appeared in burton's face. we were now lined up once more, taking the trail without a word save the sharp outcry of the drivers hurrying the horses forward, or the tinkle of the bells on the lead horse of the train. the vulture he wings a slow and watchful flight, his neck is bare, his eyes are bright, his plumage fits the starless night. he sits at feast where cattle lie withering in ashen alkali, and gorges till he scarce can fly. but he is kingly on the breeze! on rigid wing, in careless ease, a soundless bark on viewless seas. piercing the purple storm cloud, he makes the sun his neighbor, and shakes his wrinkled neck in mock dismay, and swings his slow, contemptuous way above the hot red lightning's play. monarch of cloudland--yet a ghoul of prey. campfires . _popple_ a river curves like a bended bow, and over it winds of summer lightly blow; two boys are feeding a flame with bark of the pungent popple. hark! they are uttering dreams. "i will go hunt gold toward the western sky," says the older lad; "i know it is there, for the rainbow shows just where it is. i'll go camping, and take a pan, and shovel gold, when i'm a man." . _sage brush_ the burning day draws near its end, and on the plain a man and his friend sit feeding an odorous sage-brush fire. a lofty butte like a funeral pyre, with the sun atop, looms high in the cloudless, windless, saffron sky. a snake sleeps under a grease-wood plant; a horned toad snaps at a passing ant; the plain is void as a polar floe, and the limitless sky has a furnace glow. the men are gaunt and shaggy and gray, and their childhood river is far away; the gold still hides at the rainbow's tip, yet the wanderer speaks with a resolute lip. "i will seek till i find--or till i die," he mutters, and lifts his clenched hand high, and puts behind him love and wife, and the quiet round of a farmer's life. . _pine_ the dark day ends in a bitter night. the mighty mountains cold, and white, and stern as avarice, still hide their gold deep in wild cañons fold on fold, both men are old, and one is grown as gray as the snows around him sown. he hovers over a fire of pine, spicy and cheering; toward the line of the towering peaks he lifts his eyes. "i'd rather have a boy with shining hair, to bear my name, than all your share of earth's red gold," he said; and died, a loveless, childless man, before the morning light began. chapter xviii at last the stikeen about the middle of the afternoon of the fifty-eighth day we topped a low divide, and came in sight of the stikeen river. our hearts thrilled with pleasure as we looked far over the deep blue and purple-green spread of valley, dim with mist, in which a little silver ribbon of water could be seen. after weeks of rain, as if to make amend for useless severity, the sun came out, a fresh westerly breeze sprang up, and the sky filled with glowing clouds flooded with tender light. the bloom of fireweed almost concealed the devastation of flame in the fallen firs, and the grim forest seemed a royal road over which we could pass as over a carpet--winter seemed far away. but all this was delusion. beneath us lay a thousand quagmires. the forest was filled with impenetrable jungles and hidden streams, ridges sullen and silent were to be crossed, and the snow was close at hand. across this valley an eagle might sweep with joy, but the pack trains must crawl in mud and mire through long hours of torture. we spent but a moment here, and then with grim resolution called out, "line up, boys, line up!" and struck down upon the last two days of our long journey. on the following noon we topped another rise, and came unmistakably in sight of the stikeen river lying deep in its rocky cañon. we had ridden all the morning in a pelting rain, slashed by wet trees, plunging through bogs and sliding down ravines, and when we saw the valley just before us we raised a cheer. it seemed we could hear the hotel bells ringing far below. but when we had tumbled down into the big cañon near the water's edge, we found ourselves in scarcely better condition than before. we were trapped with no feed for our horses, and no way to cross the river, which was roaring mad by reason of the heavy rains, a swift and terrible flood, impossible to swim. men were camped all along the bank, out of food like ourselves, and ragged and worn and weary. they had formed a little street of camps. borland, the leader of the big mule train, was there, calm and efficient as ever. "the wilson outfit," "the man from chihuahua," "throw-me-feet," and the manchester boys were also included in the group. "the dutchman" came sliding down just behind us. after a scanty dinner of bacon grease and bread we turned our horses out on the flat by the river, and joined the little village. borland said: "we've been here for a day and a half, tryin' to induce that damn ferryman to come over, and now we're waitin' for reënforcements. let's try it again, numbers will bring 'em." thereupon we marched out solemnly upon the bank (some ten or fifteen of us) and howled like a pack of wolves. for two hours we clamored, alternating the ute war-whoop with the swiss yodel. it was truly cacophonous, but it produced results. minute figures came to the brow of the hill opposite, and looked at us like cautious cockroaches and then went away. at last two shadowy beetles crawled down the zigzag trail to the ferry-boat, and began bailing her out. ultimately three men, sweating, scared, and tremulous, swung a clumsy scow upon the sand at our feet. it was no child's play to cross that stream. together with one of "the little dutchmen," and a representation from "the mule outfit," i stepped into the boat and it was swung off into the savage swirl of gray water. we failed of landing the first time. i did not wonder at the ferryman's nervousness, as i felt the heave and rush of the whirling savage flood. at the "ratty" little town of telegraph creek we purchased beans at fifteen cents a pound, bacon at thirty-five cents, and flour at ten cents, and laden with these necessaries hurried back to the hungry hordes on the opposite side of the river. that night "the little dutchman" did nothing but cook and eat to make up for lost time. every face wore a smile. the next morning burton and one or two other men from the outfits took the horses back up the trail to find feed, while the rest of us remained in camp to be ready for the boats. late in the afternoon we heard far down the river a steamer whistling for telegraph creek, and everybody began packing truck down to the river where the boat was expected to land. word was sent back over the trail to the boys herding the horses, and every man was in a tremor of apprehension lest the herders should not hear the boat and bring the horses down in time to get off on it. it was punishing work packing our stuff down the sloppy path to the river bank, but we buckled to it hard, and in the course of a couple of hours had all snug and ready for embarkation. there was great excitement among the outfits, and every man was hurrying and worrying to get away. it was known that charges would be high, and each of us felt in his pocket to see how many dollars he had left. the steamboat company had us between fire and water and could charge whatever it pleased. some of the poor prospectors gave up their last dollar to cross this river toward which they had journeyed so long. the boys came sliding down the trail wildly excited, driving the horses before them, and by . we were all packed on the boat, one hundred and twenty horses and some two dozen men. we were a seedy and careworn lot, in vivid contrast with the smartly uniformed purser of the boat. the rates were exorbitant, but there was nothing to do but to pay them. however, borland and i, acting as committee, brought such pressure to bear upon the purser that he "threw in" a dinner, and there was a joyous rush for the table when this good news was announced. for the first time in nearly three months we were able to sit down to a fairly good meal with clean nice tableware, with pie and pudding to end the meal. it seemed as though we had reached civilization. the boat was handsomely built, and quite new and capacious, too, for it held our horses without serious crowding. i was especially anxious about ladrone, but was able to get him into a very nice place away from the engines and in no danger of being kicked by a vicious mule. we drifted down the river past telegraph creek without stopping, and late at night laid by at glenora and unloaded in the crisp, cool dusk. as we came off the boat with our horses we were met by a crowd of cynical loafers who called to us out of the dark, "what in hell you fellows think you're doing?" we were regarded as wildly insane for having come over so long and tedious a route. we erected our tents, and went into camp beside our horses on the bank near the dock. it was too late to move farther that night. we fed our beasts upon hay at five cents a pound,--poor hay at that,--and they were forced to stand exposed to the searching river wind. as for ourselves, we were filled with dismay by the hopeless dulness of the town. instead of being the hustling, rushing gold camp we had expected to find, it came to light as a little town of tents and shanties, filled with men who had practically given up the teslin lake route as a bad job. the government trail was incomplete, the wagon road only built halfway, and the railroad--of which we had heard so much talk--had been abandoned altogether. as i slipped the saddle and bridle from ladrone next day and turned him out upon the river bottom for a two weeks' rest, my heart was very light. the long trail was over. no more mud, rocks, stumps, and roots for ladrone. away the other poor animals streamed down the trail, many of them lame, all of them poor and weak, and some of them still crazed by the poisonous plants of the cold green mountains through which they had passed. this ended the worst of the toil, the torment of the trail. it had no dangers, but it abounded in worriments and disappointments. as i look back upon it now i suffer, because i see my horses standing ankle-deep in water on barren marshes or crowding round the fire chilled and weak, in endless rain. if our faces looked haggard and worn, it was because of the never ending anxiety concerning the faithful animals who trusted in us to find them food and shelter. otherwise we suffered little, slept perfectly dry and warm every night, and ate three meals each day: true, the meals grew scanty and monotonous, but we did not go hungry. the trail was a disappointment to me, not because it was long and crossed mountains, but because it ran through a barren, monotonous, silent, gloomy, and rainy country. it ceased to interest me. it had almost no wild animal life, which i love to hear and see. its lakes and rivers were for the most part cold and sullen, and its forests sombre and depressing. the only pleasant places after leaving hazleton were the high valleys above timber line. they were magnificent, although wet and marshy to traverse. as a route to reach the gold fields of teslin lake and the yukon it is absurd and foolish. it will never be used again for that purpose. should mines develop on the high divides between the skeena, iskoot, and stikeen, it may possibly be used again from hazleton; otherwise it will be given back to the indians and their dogs. the footstep in the desert a man put love forth from his heart, and rode across the desert far away. "woman shall have no place nor part in my lone life," men heard him say. he rode right on. the level rim of the barren plain grew low and wide; it seemed to taunt and beckon him, to ride right on and fiercely ride. one day he rode a well-worn path, and lo! even in that far land he saw (and cursed in gusty wrath) a woman's footprint in the sand. sharply he drew the swinging rein, and hanging from his saddle bow gazed long and silently--cursed again, then turned as if to go. "for love will seize you at the end, fear loneliness--fear sickness, too, for they will teach you wisdom, friend." yet he rode on as madmen do. he built a cabin by a sounding stream, he digged in cañons dark and deep, and ever the waters caused a dream and the face of woman broke his sleep. it was a slender little mark, and the man had lived alone so long within the cañon's noise and dark, the footprint moved him like a song. it spoke to him of women in the east, of girls in silken robes, with shining hair, and talked of those who sat at feast, while sweet-eyed laughter filled the air. and more. a hundred visions rose, he saw his mother's knotted hands ply round thick-knitted homely hose, her thoughts with him in desert lands. a smiling wife, in bib and cap, moved busily from chair to chair, or sat with apples in her lap, content with sweet domestic care. _all these his curse had put away,_ _all these were his no more to hold;_ _he had his cañon cold and gray,_ _he had his little heaps of gold._ chapter xix the goldseekers' camp at glenora glenora, like telegraph creek, was a village of tents and shacks. previous to the opening of the year it had been an old hudson bay trading-post at the head of navigation on the stikeen river, but during april and may it had been turned into a swarming camp of goldseekers on their way to teslin lake by way of the much-advertised "stikeen route" to the yukon. a couple of months before our arrival nearly five thousand people had been encamped on the river flat; but one disappointment had followed another, the government road had been abandoned, the pack trail had proved a menace, and as a result the camp had thinned away, and when we of the long trail began to drop into town glenora contained less than five hundred people, including tradesmen and mechanics. the journey of those who accompanied me on the long trail was by no means ended. it was indeed only half done. there remained more than one hundred and seventy miles of pack trail before the head of navigation on the yukon could be reached. i turned aside. my partner went on. in order to enter the head-waters of the pelly it was necessary to traverse four hundred miles of trail, over which a year's provision for each man must be carried. food was reported to be "a dollar a pound" at teslin lake and winter was coming on. to set face toward any of these regions meant the most careful preparation or certain death. the weather was cold and bleak, and each night the boys assembled around the big campfire to discuss the situation. they reported the country full of people eager to get away. everybody seemed studying the problem of what to do and how to do it. some were for going to the head-waters of the pelly, others advocated the nisutlin, and others still thought it a good plan to prospect on the head-waters of the tooya, from which excellent reports were coming in. hour after hour they debated, argued, and agreed. in the midst of it all burton remained cool and unhurried. sitting in our tent, which flapped and quivered in the sounding southern wind, we discussed the question of future action. i determined to leave him here with four of the horses and a thousand pounds of grub with which to enter the gold country; for my partner was a miner, not a literary man. it had been my intention to go with him to teslin lake, there to build a boat and float down the river to dawson; but i was six weeks behind my schedule, the trail was reported to be bad, and the water in the hotalinqua very low, making boating slow and hazardous. therefore i concluded to join the stream of goldseekers who were pushing down toward the coast to go in by way of skagway. there was a feeling in the air on the third day after going into camp which suggested the coming of autumn. some of the boys began to dread the desolate north, out of which the snows would soon begin to sweep. it took courage to set face into that wild land with winter coming on, and yet many of them were ready to do it. the manchester boys and burton formed a "side-partnership," and faced a year of bacon and beans without visible sign of dismay. the ominous cold deepened a little every night. it seemed like october as the sun went down. around us on every side the mountain peaks cut the sky keen as the edge of a sword, and the wind howled up the river gusty and wild. a little group of tents sprang up around our own and every day was full of quiet enjoyment. we were all living very high, with plenty of berries and an occasional piece of fresh beef. steel-head salmon were running and were a drug in the market. the talk of the pelly river grew excited as a report came in detailing a strike, and all sorts of outfits began to sift out along the trail toward teslin lake. the rain ceased at last and the days grew very pleasant with the wind again in the south, roaring up the river all day long with great power, reminding me of the equatorial currents which sweep over illinois and wisconsin in september. we had nothing now to trouble us but the question of moving out into the gold country. one by one the other misguided ones of the long trail came dropping into camp to meet the general depression and stagnation. they were brown, ragged, long-haired, and for the most part silent with dismay. some of them celebrated their escape by getting drunk, but mainly they were too serious-minded to waste time or substance. some of them had expended their last dollar on the trail and were forced to sell their horses for money to take them out of the country. some of the partnerships went to pieces for other causes. long-smouldering dissensions burst into flame. "the swedes" divided and so did "the dutchman," the more resolute of them keeping on the main trail while others took the trail to the coast or returned to the states. meanwhile, ladrone and his fellows were rejoicing like ourselves in fairly abundant food and in continuous rest. the old gray began to look a little more like his own proud self. as i went out to see him he came up to me to be curried and nosed about me, begging for salt. his trust in me made him doubly dear, and i took great joy in thinking that he, at least, was not doomed to freeze or starve in this savage country which has no mercy and no hope for horses. there was great excitement on the first sunday following our going into camp, when the whistle of a steamer announced the coming of the mail. it produced as much movement as an election or a bear fight. we all ran to the bank to see her struggle with the current, gaining headway only inch by inch. she was a small stern-wheeler, not unlike the boats which run on the upper missouri. we all followed her down to the hudson bay post, like a lot of small boys at a circus, to see her unload. this was excitement enough for one day, and we returned to camp feeling that we were once more in touch with civilization. among the first of those who met us on our arrival was a german, who was watching some horses and some supplies in a big tent close by the river bank. while pitching my tent on that first day he came over to see me, and after a few words of greeting said quietly, but with feeling, "i am glad you've come, it was so lonesome here." we were very busy, but i think we were reasonably kind to him in the days that followed. he often came over of an evening and stood about the fire, and although i did not seek to entertain him, i am glad to say i answered him civilly; burton was even social. i recall these things with a certain degree of feeling, because not less than a week later this poor fellow was discovered by one of our company swinging from the crosstree of the tent, a ghastly corpse. there was something inexplicable in the deed. no one could account for it. he seemed not to be a man of deep feeling. and one of the last things he uttered in my hearing was a coarse jest which i did not like and to which i made no reply. in his pocket the coroner found a letter wherein he had written, "bury me right here where i failed, here on the bank of the river." it contained also a message to his wife and children in the states. there were tragic splashes of red on the trail, murder, and violent death by animals and by swift waters. now here at the end of the trail was a suicide. so this is the end of the trail to him-- to swing at the tail of a rope and die; making a chapter gray and grim, adding a ghost to the midnight sky? he toiled for days on the icy way, he slept at night on the wind-swept snow; now here he hangs in the morning's gray, a grisly shape by the river's flow. it was just two weeks later when i put the bridle and saddle on ladrone and rode him down the trail. his heart was light as mine, and he had gained some part of his firm, proud, leaping walk. he had confidence in the earth once more. this was the first firm stretch of road he had trod for many weeks. he was now to take the boat for the outside world. there was an element of sadness in the parting between ladrone and the train he had led for so many miles. as we saddled up for the last time he stood waiting. the horses had fared together for ninety days. they had "lined up" nearly two hundred times, and now for the last time i called out: "line up, boys! line up! heke! heke!" ladrone swung into the trail. behind him came "barney," next "major," then sturdy "bay bill," and lastly "nibbles," the pony. for the last time they were to follow their swift gray leader, who was going south to live at ease, while they must begin again the ascent of the trail. ladrone whinnied piteously for his mates as i led him aboard the steamer, but they did not answer. they were patiently waiting their master's signal. never again would they set eyes on the stately gray leader who was bound to most adventurous things. never again would they see the green grass come on the hills. i had a feeling that i could go on living this way, leading a pack train across the country indefinitely. it seemed somehow as though this way of life, this routine, must continue. i had a deep interest in the four horses, and it was not without a feeling of guilt that i saw them move away on their last trail. at bottom the end of every horse is tragic. death comes sooner or later, but death here in this country, so cold and bleak and pitiless to all animals, seems somehow closer, more inevitable, more cruel, and flings over every animal the shadow of immediate tragedy. there was something approaching crime in bringing a horse over that trail for a thousand miles only to turn him loose at the end, or to sell him to some man who would work him to the point of death, and then shoot him or turn him out to freeze. as the time came when i must return to the south and to the tame, the settled, the quiet, i experienced a profound feeling of regret, of longing for the wild and lonely. i looked up at the shining green and white mountains and they allured me still, notwithstanding all the toil and discomfort of the journey just completed. the wind from the south, damp and cool, the great river gliding with rushing roar to meet the sea, had a distinct and wonderful charm from which i rent myself with distinct effort. the toil of the trail what have i gained by the toil of the trail? i know and know well. i have found once again the lore i had lost in the loud city's hell. i have broadened my hand to the cinch and the axe, i have laid my flesh to the rain; i was hunter and trailer and guide; i have touched the most primitive wildness again. i have threaded the wild with the stealth of the deer, no eagle is freer than i; no mountain can thwart me, no torrent appall, i defy the stern sky. so long as i live these joys will remain, i have touched the most primitive wildness again. chapter xx great news at wrangell boat after boat had come up, stopped for a night, and dropped down the river again, carrying from ten to twenty of the goldseekers who had determined to quit or to try some other way in; and at last the time had come for me to say good-by to burton and all those who had determined to keep on to teslin lake. i had helped them buy and sack and weigh their supplies, and they were ready to line up once more. as i led ladrone down toward the boat, he called again for his fellows, but only strangers made reply. after stowing him safely away and giving him feed, i returned to the deck in order to wave my hat to burton. in accordance with his peculiar, undemonstrative temperament, he stood for a few moments in silence, with his hands folded behind his back, then, with a final wave of the hand, turned on his heel and returned to his work. farewells and advice more or less jocular rang across the rail of the boat between some ten or fifteen of us who had hit the new trail and those on shore. "good-by, boys; see you at dawson." "we'll beat you in yet," called bill. "don't over-work." "let us know if you strike it!" shouted frank. "all right; you do the same," i replied. as the boat swung out into the stream, and the little group on the bank faded swiftly away, i confess to a little dimness of the eyes. i thought of the hardships toward which my uncomplaining partner was headed, and it seemed to me nature was conspiring to crush him. the trip down the river was exceedingly interesting. the stream grew narrower as we approached the coast range, and became at last very dangerous for a heavy boat such as the _strathcona_ was. we were forced to lay by at last, some fifty miles down, on account of the terrific wind which roared in through the gap, making the steering of the big boat through the cañon very difficult. at the point where we lay for the night a small creek came in. steel-headed salmon were running, and the creek was literally lined with bear tracks of great size, as far up as we penetrated. these bears are said to be a sort of brown fishing bear of enormous bulk, as large as polar bears, and when the salmon are spawning in the upper waters of the coast rivers, they become so fat they can hardly move. certainly i have never been in a country where bear signs were so plentiful. the wood was an almost impassable tangle of vines and undergrowth, and the thought of really finding a bear was appalling. the stikeen breaks directly through the coast range at right angles, like a battering-ram. immense glaciers were on either side. one tremendous river of ice came down on our right, presenting a face wall apparently hundreds of feet in height and some miles in width. i should have enjoyed exploring this glacier, which is said to be one of the greatest on the coast. the next day our captain, a bold and reckless man, carried us through to wrangell by _walking_ his boat over the sand bars on its paddle-wheel. i was exceedingly nervous, because if for any reason we had become stuck in mid river, it would have been impossible to feed ladrone or to take him ashore except by means of another steamer. however, all things worked together to bring us safely through, and in the afternoon of the second day we entered an utterly different world--the warm, wet coast country. the air was moist, the grasses and tall ferns were luxuriant, and the forest trees immense. out into a sun-bright bay we swept with a feeling of being in safe waters once more, and rounded-to about sunset at a point on the island just above a frowzy little town. this was wrangell island and the town was fort wrangell, one of the oldest stations on the coast. i had placed my horse under bond intending to send him through to vancouver to be taken care of by the hudson bay company. he was still a canadian horse and so must remain upon the wharf over night. as he was very restless and uneasy, i camped down beside him on the planks. i lay for a long time listening to the waters flowing under me and looking at the gray-blue sky, across which stars shot like distant rockets dying out in the deeps of the heavens in silence. an odious smell rose from the bay as the tide went out, a seal bawled in the distance, fishes flopped about in the pools beneath me, and a man playing a violin somewhere in the village added a melancholy note. i could hear the boys crying, "all about the war," and ladrone continued restless and eager. several times in the night, when he woke me with his trampling, i called to him, and hearing my voice he became quiet. i took breakfast at a twenty-five cent "joint," where i washed out of a tin basin in an ill-smelling area. after breakfast i grappled with the customs man and secured the papers which made ladrone an american horse, free to eat grass wherever it could be found under the stars and stripes. i started immediately to lead him to pasture, and this was an interesting and memorable experience. there are no streets, that is to say no roads, in wrangell. there are no carriages and no horses, not even donkeys. therefore it was necessary for ladrone to walk the perilous wooden sidewalks after me. this he did with all the dignity of a county judge, and at last we came upon grass, knee deep, rich and juicy. our passage through the street created a great sensation. little children ran to the gates to look upon us. "there goes a horsie," they shouted. an old man stopped me on the street and asked me where i was taking "t'old 'orse." i told him i had already ridden him over a thousand miles and now he was travelling with me back to god's country. he looked at me in amazement, and walked off tapping his forehead as a sign that i must certainly "have wheels." as i watched ladrone at his feed an old indian woman came along and smiled with amiable interest. at last she said, pointing to the other side of the village, "over there muck-a-muck, hy-u muck-a-muck." she wished to see the horse eating the best grass there was to be had on the island. a little later three or four native children came down the hill and were so amazed and so alarmed at the sight of this great beast feeding beside the walk that they burst into loud outcry and ran desperately away. they were not accustomed to horses. to them he was quite as savage in appearance as a polar bear. in a short time everybody in the town knew of the old gray horse and his owner. i furnished a splendid topic for humorous conversation during the dull hours of the day. here again i came upon other gaunt and rusty-coated men from the long trail. they could be recognized at a glance by reason of their sombre faces and their undecided action. they could scarcely bring themselves to such ignominious return from a fruitless trip on which they had started with so much elation, and yet they hesitated about attempting any further adventure to the north, mainly because their horses had sold for so little and their expenses had been so great. many of them were nearly broken. in the days that followed they discussed the matter in subdued voices, sitting in the sun on the great wharf, sombrely looking out upon the bay. on the third day a steamer came in from the north, buzzing with the news of another great strike not far from skagway. juneau, dyea, as well as skagway itself, were said to be almost deserted. men were leaving the white pass railway in hundreds, and a number of the hands on the steamer herself had deserted under the excitement. mingling with the passengers we eagerly extracted every drop of information possible. no one knew much about it, but they said all they knew and a good part of what they had heard, and when the boat swung round and disappeared in the moonlight, she left the goldseekers exultant and tremulous on the wharf. they were now aflame with desire to take part in this new stampede, which seemed to be within their slender means, and i, being one of them and eager to see such a "stampede," took a final session with the customs collector, and prepared to board the next boat. i arranged with duncan mckinnon to have my old horse taken care of in his lot. i dug wells for him so that he should not lack for water, and treated him to a dish of salt, and just at sunset said good-by to him with another twinge of sadness and turned toward the wharf. he looked very lonely and sad standing there with drooping head in the midst of the stumps of his pasture lot. however, there was plenty of feed and half a dozen men volunteered to keep an eye on him. "don't worry, mon," said donald mclane. "he'll be gettin' fat and strong on the juicy grass, whilst you're a-heavin' out the gold-dust." there were about ten of us who lined up to the purser's window of the little steamer which came along that night and purchased second-class passage. the boat was very properly named the _utopia_, and was so crowded with other goldseekers from down the coast, that we of the long trail were forced to put our beds on the floor of the little saloon in the stern of the boat which was called the "social room." we were all second-class, and we all lay down in rows on the carpet, covering every foot of space. each man rolled up in his own blankets, and i was the object of considerable remark by reason of my mattress, which gave me as good a bed as the vessel afforded. there was a great deal of noise on the boat, and its passengers, both men and women, were not of the highest type. there were several stowaways, and some of the women were not very nice as to their actions, and, rightly or wrongly, were treated with scant respect by the men, who were loud and vulgar for the most part. sleep was difficult in the turmoil. though second-class passengers, strange to say, we came first at table and were very well fed. the boat ran entirely inside a long row of islands, and the water was smooth as a river. the mountains grew each moment more splendid as we neared skagway, and the ride was most enjoyable. whales and sharks interested us on the way. the women came to light next day, and on the whole were much better than i had inferred from the two or three who were the source of disturbance the night before. the men were not of much interest; they seemed petty and without character for the most part. at juneau we came into a still more mountainous country, and for the rest of the way the scenery was magnificent. vast rivers of ice came curving down absolutely out of the clouds which hid the summits of the mountains--came curving in splendid lines down to the very water's edge. the sea was chill and gray, and as we entered the mouth of lynn canal a raw swift wind swept by, making us shiver with cold. the grim bronze-green mountains' sides formed a most impressive but forbidding scene. it was nine o'clock the next morning as we swung to and unloaded ourselves upon one of the long wharves which run out from the town of skagway toward the deep water. we found the town exceedingly quiet. half the men had gone to the new strike. stores were being tended by women, some small shops were closed entirely, and nearly every business firm had sent representatives into the new gold fields, which we now found to be on atlin lake. it was difficult to believe that this wharf a few months before had been the scene of a bloody tragedy which involved the shooting of "soapy smith," the renowned robber and desperado. on the contrary, it seemed quite like any other town of its size in the states. the air was warm and delightful in midday, but toward night the piercing wind swept down from the high mountains, making an overcoat necessary. a few men had returned from this new district, and were full of enthusiasm concerning the prospects. their reports increased the almost universal desire to have a part in the stampede. the iowa boys from the long trail wasted no time, but set about their own plans for getting in. they expected to reach the creek by sheer force and awkwardness. they had determined to try the "cut-off," which left the wagon road and took off up the east fork of the skagway river. nearly three hundred people had already set out on this trail, and the boys felt sure of "making it all right--all right," though it led over a great glacier and into an unmapped region of swift streams. "after the telegraph trail," said doc, "we're not easily scared." it seemed to me a desperate chance, and i was not ready to enter upon such a trip with only such grub and clothing as could be carried upon my back; but it was the last throw of the dice for these young fellows. they had very little money left, and could not afford to hire pack trains; but by making a swift dash into the country, each hoped to get a claim. how they expected to hold it or use it after they got it, they were unable to say; but as they were out for gold, and here was a chance (even though it were but the slightest chance in the world) to secure a location, they accepted it with the sublime audacity of youth and ignorance. they saddled themselves with their packs, and with a cheery wave of the hand said "good-by and good luck" and marched away in single file. just a week later i went round to see if any news of them had returned to their bunk house. i found their names on the register. they had failed. one of them set forth their condition of purse and mind by writing: "dave walters, boone, iowa. busted and going home." the goldseekers i saw these dreamers of dreams go by, i trod in their footsteps a space; each marched with his eyes on the sky, each passed with a light on his face. they came from the hopeless and sad, they faced the future and gold; some the tooth of want's wolf had made mad, and some at the forge had grown old. behind them these serfs of the tool the rags of their service had flung; no longer of fortune the fool, this word from each bearded lip rung: "once more i'm a man, i am free! no man is my master, i say; to-morrow i fail, it may be-- no matter, i'm freeman to-day." they go to a toil that is sure, to despair and hunger and cold; their sickness no warning can cure, they are mad with a longing for gold. the light will fade from each eye, the smile from each face; they will curse the impassible sky, and the earth when the snow torrents race. some will sink by the way and be laid in the frost of the desolate earth; and some will return to a maid, empty of hand as at birth. _but this out of all will remain,_ _they have lived and have tossed;_ _so much in the game will be gain,_ _though the gold of the dice has been lost._ chapter xxi the rush to atlin lake it took me longer to get under way, for i had determined to take at least thirty days' provisions for myself and a newspaper man who joined me here. our supplies, together with tent, tools, and clothing, made a considerable outfit. however, in a few days we were ready to move, and when i again took my place at the head of a little pack train it seemed quite in the natural order of things. we left late in the day with intent to camp at the little village of white pass, which was the end of the wagon road and some twelve miles away. we moved out of town along a road lined with refuse, camp-bottoms, ruined cabins, tin cans, and broken bottles,--all the unsightly debris of the rush of may and june. a part of the way had been corduroyed, for which i was exceedingly grateful, for the skagway river roared savagely under our feet, while on either side of the roadway at other points i could see abysses of mud which, in the growing darkness, were sufficiently menacing. our course was a northerly one. we were ascending the ever narrowing cañon of the river at a gentle grade, with snowy mountains in vista. we arrived at white pass at about ten o'clock at night. a little town is springing up there, confident of being an important station on the railroad which was already built to that point. thus far the journey had been easy and simple, but immediately after leaving white pass we entered upon an exceedingly stony road, filled with sharp rock which had been blasted from the railway above us. upon reaching the end of the wagon road, and entering upon the trail, we came upon the way of death. the waters reeked with carrion. the breeze was the breath of carrion, and all nature was made indecent and disgusting by the presence of carcasses. within the distance of fifteen miles we passed more than two thousand dead horses. it was a cruel land, a land filled with the record of men's merciless greed. nature herself was cold, majestic, and grand. the trail rough, hard, and rocky. the horses labored hard under their heavy burdens, though the floor they trod was always firm. just at the summit in the gray mist, where a bulbous granite ridge cut blackly and lonesomely against the sky, we overtook a flock of turkeys being driven by a one-armed man with a singularly appropriate scotch cap on his head. the birds sat on the bleak gray rocks in the gathering dusk with the suggestion of being utterly at the end of the world. their feathers were blown awry by the merciless wind and they looked weary, disconsolate, and bewildered. their faint, sad gobbling was like the talk of sick people lost in a desert. they were on their way to dawson city to their death and they seemed to know it. we camped at the halfway house, a big tent surrounded by the most diabolical landscape of high peaks lost in mist, with near-by slopes of gray rocks scantily covered with yellow-green grass. all was bare, wild, desolate, and drear. the wind continued to whirl down over the divide, carrying torn gray masses of vapor which cast a gloomy half light across the gruesome little meadow covered with rotting carcasses and crates of bones which filled the air with odor of disease and death. within the tent, which flopped and creaked in the wind, we huddled about the cook-stove in the light of a lantern, listening to the loud talk of a couple of packers who were discussing their business with enormous enthusiasm. happily they grew sleepy at last and peace settled upon us. i unrolled my sleeping bag and slept dreamlessly until the "russian nobleman," who did the cooking, waked me. morning broke bleak and desolate. mysterious clouds which hid the peaks were still streaming wildly down the cañon. we got away at last, leaving behind us that sad little meadow and its gruesome lakes, and began the slow and toilsome descent over slippery ledges of rock, among endless rows of rotting carcasses, over poisonous streams and through desolate, fire-marked, and ghastly forests of small pines. everywhere were the traces of the furious flood of humankind that had broken over this height in the early spring. wreckage of sleighs, abandoned tackle, heaps of camp refuse, clothing, and most eloquent of all the pathway itself, worn into the pitiless iron ledges, made it possible for me to realize something of the scene. down there in the gully, on the sullen drift of snow, the winter trail could still be seen like an unclean ribbon and here, where the shrivelled hides of horses lay thick, wound the summer pathway. up yonder summit, lock-stepped like a file of convicts, with tongues protruding and breath roaring from their distended throats, thousands of men had climbed with killing burdens on their backs, mad to reach the great inland river and the gold belt. like the men of the long trail, they, too, had no time to find the gold under their feet. it was terrible to see how on every slippery ledge the ranks of horses had broken like waves to fall in heaps like rows of seaweed, tumbled, contorted, and grinning. their dried skins had taken on the color of the soil, so that i sometimes set foot upon them without realizing what they were. many of them had saddles on and nearly all had lead-ropes. some of them had even been tied to trees and left to starve. in all this could be read the merciless greed and impracticability of these goldseekers. men who had never driven a horse in their lives, and had no idea what an animal could do, or what he required to eat, loaded their outfits upon some poor patient beast and drove him without feed until, weakened and insecure of foot, he slipped and fell on some one of these cruel ledges of flinty rock. the business of packing, however, had at last fallen into less cruel or at least more judicial hands, and though the trail was filled with long pack trains going and coming, they were for the most part well taken care of. we met many long trains of packhorses returning empty from bennett lake. they were followed by shouting drivers who clattered along on packhorses wherever the trail would permit. one train carried four immense trunks--just behind the trunks, mounted astride of one of the best horses, rode a bold-faced, handsome white woman followed by a huge negress. the white woman had made her pile by dancing a shameless dance in the dissolute dens of dawson city, and was on her way to paris or new york for a "good time." the reports of the hotel keepers made her out to be unspeakably vile. the negress was quite decent by contrast. at log cabin we came in sight of the british flag which marks the boundary line of united states territory, where a camp of mounted police and the british customs officer are located. it was a drear season even in midsummer, a land of naked ledges and cold white peaks. a few small pine trees furnished logs for the cabins and wood for their fires. the government offices were located in tents. i found the officers most courteous, and the customs fair. the treatment given me at log cabin was in marked contrast with the exactions of my own government at wrangell. all goods were unloaded before the inspector's tent and quickly examined. the miner suffered very little delay. a number of badly maimed packhorses were running about on the american side. i was told that the police had stopped them by reason of their sore backs. if a man came to the line with horses overloaded or suffering, he was made to strip the saddles from their backs. "you can't cross this line with animals like that," was the stern sentence in many cases. this humanity, as unexpected as it was pleasing, deserves the best word of praise of which i am capable. at last we left behind us all these wrecks of horseflesh, these poisonous streams, and came down upon lake bennett, where the water was considered safe to drink, and where the eye could see something besides death-spotted ledges of savage rocks. the town was a double row of tents, and log huts set close to the beach whereon boats were building and saws and hammers were uttering a cheerful chorus. long trains of packhorses filled the streets. the wharfs swarmed with men loading chickens, pigs, vegetables, furniture, boxes of dry-goods, stoves, and every other conceivable domestic utensil into big square barges, which were rigged with tall strong masts bearing most primitive sails. it was a busy scene, but of course very quiet as compared with the activity of may, june, and july. these barges appealed to me very strongly. they were in some cases floating homes, a combination of mover's wagon and river boat. many of them contained women and children, with accompanying cats and canary birds. in every face was a look of exultant faith in the venture. they were bound for dawson city. the men for atlin were setting forth in rowboats, or were waiting for the little steamers which had begun to ply between bennett city and the new gold fields. i set my little tent, which was about as big as a dog kennel, and crawled into it early, in order to be shielded from the winds, which grew keen as sword blades as the sun sank behind the western mountains. the sky was like november, and i wondered where burton was encamped. i would have given a great deal to have had him with me on this trip. the coast range of alaska the wind roars up from the angry sea with a message of warning and haste to me. it bids me go where the asters blow, and the sun-flower waves in the sunset glow. from the granite mountains the glaciers crawl, in snow-white spray the waters fall. the bay is white with the crested waves, and ever the sea wind ramps and raves. i hate this cold, bleak northern land, i fear its snow-flecked harborless strand-- i fly to the south as a homing dove, back to the land of corn i love. and never again shall i set my feet where the snow and the sea and the mountains meet. chapter xxii atlin lake and the gold fields there is nothing drearier than camping on the edge of civilization like this, where one is surrounded by ill smells, invaded by streams of foul dust, and deprived of wood and clear water. i was exceedingly eager to get away, especially as the wind continued cold and very searching. it was a long dull day of waiting. at last the boat came in and we trooped aboard--a queer mixture of men and bundles. the boat itself was a mere scow with an upright engine in the centre and a stern-wheel tacked on the outside. there were no staterooms, of course, and almost no bunks. the interior resembled a lumberman's shanty. we moved off towing a big scow laden with police supplies for tagish house. the wind was very high and pushed steadily behind, or we would not have gone faster than a walk. we had some eight or ten passengers, all bound for the new gold fields, and these together with their baggage and tools filled the boat to the utmost corner. the feeling of elation among these men reminded me of the great land boom of dakota in , in which i took a part. there was something fine and free and primitive in it all. we cooked our supper on the boat's stove, furnishing our own food from the supplies we were taking in with us. the ride promised to be very fine. we made off down the narrow lake, which lies between two walls of high bleak mountains, but far in the distance more alluring ranges arose. there was no sign of mineral in the near-by peaks. late in the afternoon the wind became so high and the captain of our boat so timid, we were forced to lay by for the night and so swung around under a point, seeking shelter from the wind, which became each moment more furious. i made my bed down on the roof of the boat and went to sleep looking at the drifting clouds overhead. once or twice during the night when i awoke i heard the howling blast sweeping by with increasing power. all the next day we loitered on bennett lake--the wind roaring without ceasing, and the white-caps running like hares. we drifted at last into a cove and there lay in shelter till six o'clock at night. the sky was clear and the few clouds were gloriously bright and cool and fleecy. we met several canoes of goldseekers on their return who shouted doleful warnings at us and cursed the worthlessness of the district to which we were bound. they all looked exceedingly dirty, ragged, and sour of visage. at the same time, however, boat after boat went sailing down past us on their way to atlin and dawson. they drove straight before the wind, and for the most part experienced little danger, all of which seemed to us to emphasize the unnecessary timidity of our own captain. there was a charm in this wild spot, but we were too impatient to enjoy it. there were men on board who felt that they were being cheated of a chance to get a gold mine, and when the wind began to fall we fired up and started down the lake. as deep night came on i made my bed on the roof again and went to sleep with the flying sparks lining the sky overhead. i was in some danger of being set on fire, but i preferred sleeping there to sleeping on the floor inside the boat, where the reek of tobacco smoke was sickening. when i awoke we were driving straight up tagish lake, a beautiful, clear, green and blue spread of rippling water with lofty and boldly outlined peaks on each side. the lake ran from southeast to northwest and was much larger than any map shows. we drove steadily for ten hours up this magnificent water with ever increasing splendor of scenery, arriving about sunset at taku city, which we found to be a little group of tents at the head of taku arm. innumerable boats of every design fringed the shore. men were coming and men were going, producing a bewildering clash of opinions with respect to the value of the mines. a few of these to whom we spoke said, "it's all a fake," and others were equally certain it was "all right." a short portage was necessary to reach atlin lake, and taking a part of our baggage upon our shoulders we hired the remainder packed on horses and within an hour were moving up the smooth path under the small black pines, across the low ridge which separates the two lakes. at the top of this ridge we were able to look out over the magnificent spread of atlin lake, which was more beautiful in every way than tagish or taku. it is, in fact, one of the most beautiful lakes i have ever seen. far to the southeast it spread until it was lost to view among the bases of the gigantic glacier-laden mountains of the coast range. to the left--that is to the north--it seemed to divide, enclosing a splendid dome-shaped solitary mountain, one fork moving to the east, the other to the west. its end could not be determined by the eye in either direction. its width was approximately about ten miles. at the end of the trail we found an enterprising canadian with a naphtha launch ready to ferry us across to atlin city, but were forced to wait for some one who had gone back to taku for a second load. while we were waiting, the engineer, who was a round-faced and rather green boy, fell under the influences of a large, plump, and very talkative lady who made the portage just behind us. she so absorbed and fascinated the lad that he let the engine run itself into some cramp of piston or wheel. there was a sudden crunching sound and the propeller stopped. the boy minimized the accident, but the captain upon arrival told us it would be necessary to unload from the boat while the engine was being repaired. it was now getting dark, and as it was pretty evident that the repairs on the boat would take a large part of the night, we camped where we were. the talkative lady, whom the irreverent called "the glass front," occupied a tent which belonged to the captain of the launch and the rest of us made our beds down under the big trees. a big fire was built and around this we sat, doing more or less talking. there was an old tennesseean in the party from dawson, who talked interminably. he told us of his troubles, trials, and victories in dawson: how he had been successful, how he had fallen ill, and how his life had been saved by a good old miner who gave him an opportunity to work over his dump. sick as he was he was able in a few days to find gold enough to take him out of the country to a doctor. he was now on his way back to his claim and professed to be very sceptical of atlin and every other country except dawson. the plump lady developed exceedingly kittenish manners late in the evening, and invited the whole company to share her tent. a singular type of woman, capable of most ladylike manners and having astonishingly sensible moments, but inexpressibly silly most of the time. she was really a powerful, self-confident, and shrewd woman, but preferred to seem young and helpless. altogether the company was sufficiently curious. there was a young civil engineer from new york city, a land boomer from skagway, an irishman from juneau, a representative of a new york paper, one or two nondescripts from the states, and one or two prospectors from quebec. the night was cold and beautiful and my partner and i, by going sufficiently far away from the old tennesseean and the plump lady, were able to sleep soundly until sunrise. the next morning we hired a large unpainted skiff and by working very hard ourselves in addition to paying full fare we reached camp at about ten o'clock in the morning. atlin city was also a clump of tents half hidden in the trees on the beach of the lake near the mouth of pine creek. the lake was surpassingly beautiful under the morning sun. a crowd of sullen, profane, and grimy men were lounging around, cursing the commissioners and the police. the beach was fringed with rowboats and canoes, like a new england fishing village, and all day long men were loading themselves into these boats, hungry, tired, and weary, hastening back to skagway or the coast; while others, fresh, buoyant, and hopeful, came gliding in. to those who came, the sullen and disappointed ones who were about to go uttered approbrious cries: "see the damn fools come! what d'you think you're doin'? on a fishin' excursion?" we went into camp on the water front, and hour after hour men laden with packs tramped ceaselessly to and fro along the pathway just below our door. i was now chief cook and bottle washer, my partner, who was entirely unaccustomed to work of this kind, having the status of a boarder. the lake was a constant joy to us. as the sun sank the glacial mountains to the southwest became most royal in their robes of purple and silver. the sky filled with crimson and saffron clouds which the lake reflected like a mirror. the little rocky islands drowsed in the mist like some strange monsters sleeping on the bosom of the water. the men were filthy and profane for the most part, and made enjoyment of nature almost impossible. many of them were of the rudest and most uninteresting types, nomads--almost tramps. they had nothing of the epic qualities which belong to the mountaineers and natural miners of the rocky mountains. many of them were loafers and ne'er-do-wells from skagway and other towns of the coast. we had a gold pan, a spade, and a pick. therefore early the next morning we flung a little pack of grub over our shoulders and set forth to test the claims which were situated upon pine creek, a stream which entered lake atlin near the camp. it was said to be eighteen miles long and discovery claim was some eight miles up. we traced our way up the creek as far as discovery and back, panning dirt at various places with resulting colors in some cases. the trail was full of men racking to and fro with heavy loads on their backs. they moved in little trains of four or five or six men, some going out of the country, others coming in--about an equal number each way. everything along the creek was staked, and our test work resulted in nothing more than gaining information with regard to what was going on. the camps on the hills at night swarmed with men in hot debate. the majority believed the camps to be a failure, and loud discussions resounded from the trees as partner and i sat at supper. the town-site men were very nervous. the camps were decreasing in population, and the tone was one of general foreboding. the campfires flamed all along the lake walk, and the talk of each group could be overheard by any one who listened. altercations went on with clangorous fury. almost every party was in division. some enthusiastic individual had made a find, or had seen some one else who had. his cackle reached other groups, and out of the dark hulking figures loomed to listen or to throw in hot missiles of profanity. phrases multiplied, mingling inextricably. "morgan claims thirty cents to the pan ... good creek claim ... his sluice is about ready ... a clean-up last night ... i don't believe it.... no, sir, i wouldn't give a hundred dollars for the whole damn moose pasture.... well, it's good enough for me.... i tell you it's rotten, the whole damn cheese.... you've got to stand in with the police or you can't get...." and so on and on unendingly, without coherence. i went to sleep only when the sound of the wordy warfare died away. i permitted myself a day of rest. borrowing a boat next day, we went out upon the water and up to the mouth of pine creek, where we panned some dirt to amuse ourselves. the lake was like liquid glass, the bottom visible at an enormous depth. it made me think of the marvellous water of mcdonald lake in the kalispels. i steered the boat (with a long-handled spade) and so was able to look about me and absorb at ease the wonderful beauty of this unbroken and unhewn wilderness. the clouds were resplendent, and in every direction the lake vistas were ideally beautiful and constantly changing. toward night the sky grew thick and heavy with clouds. the water of the lake was like molten jewels, ruby and amethyst. the boat seemed floating in some strange, ethereal substance hitherto unknown to man--translucent and iridescent. the mountains loomed like dim purple pillars at the western gate of the world, and the rays of the half-hidden sun plunging athwart these sentinels sank deep into the shining flood. later the sky cleared, and the inverted mountains in the lake were scarcely less vivid than those which rose into the sky. the next day i spent with gold pan and camera, working my way up spruce creek, a branch of pine. i found men cheerily at work getting out sluice boxes and digging ditches. i panned everywhere, but did not get much in the way of colors, but the creek seemed to grow better as i went up, and promised very rich returns. i came back rushing, making five miles just inside an hour, hungry and tired. the crowded camp thinned out. the faint-hearted ones who had no courage to sweat for gold sailed away. others went out upon their claims to build cabins and lay sluices. i found them whip-sawing lumber, building cabins, and digging ditches. each day the news grew more encouraging, each day brought the discovery of a new creek or a lake. men came back in swarms and reporting finds on "lake surprise," a newly discovered big body of water, and at last came the report of surprising discoveries in the benches high above the creek. in the camp one night i heard a couple of men talking around a campfire near me. one of them said: "why, you know old sperry was digging on the ridge just above discovery and i came along and see him up there. and i said, 'hullo, uncle, what you doin', diggin' your grave?' and the old feller said, 'you just wait a few minutes and i'll show ye.' well, sir, he filled up a sack o' dirt and toted it down to the creek, and i went along with him to see him wash it out, and say, he took $ . out of one pan of that dirt, and $ . out of the other pan. well, that knocked me. i says, 'uncle, you're all right.' and then i made tracks for a bench claim next him. well, about that time everybody began to hustle for bench claims, and now you can't get one anywhere near him." at another camp, a packer was telling of an immense nugget that had been discovered somewhere on the upper waters of birch creek. "and say, fellers, you know there is another lake up there pretty near as big as atlin. they are calling it lake surprise. i heard a feller say a few days ago there was a big lake up there and i thought he meant a lake six or eight miles long. on the very high ground next to birch, you can look down over that lake and i bet it's sixty miles long. it must reach nearly to teslin lake." there was something pretty fine in the thought of being in a country where lakes sixty miles long were being discovered and set forth on the maps of the world. up to this time atlin lake itself was unmapped. to an unpractical man like myself it was reward enough to feel the thrill of excitement which comes with such discoveries. however, i was not a goldseeker, and when i determined to give up any further pursuit of mining and to delegate it entirely to my partner, i experienced a feeling of relief. i determined to "stick to my last," notwithstanding the fascination which i felt in the sight of placer gold. quartz mining has never had the slightest attraction for me, but to see the gold washed out of the sand, to see it appear bright and shining in the black sand in the bottom of the pan, is really worth while. it is first-hand contact with nature's stores of wealth. i went up to discovery for the last time with my camera slung over my shoulder, and my note-book in hand to take a final survey of the miners and to hear for the last time their exultant talk. i found them exceedingly cheerful, even buoyant. the men who had gone in with ten days' provisions, the tenderfoot miners, the men "with a cigarette and a sandwich," had gone out. those who remained were men who knew their business and were resolute and self-sustaining. there was a crowd of such men around the land-office tents and many filings were made. nearly every man had his little phial of gold to show. no one was loud, but every one seemed to be quietly confident and replied to my questions in a low voice, "well, you can safely say the country is all right." the day was fine like september in wisconsin. the lake as i walked back to it was very alluring. my mind returned again and again to the things i had left behind for so long. my correspondence, my books, my friends, all the literary interests of my life, began to reassert their dominion over me. for some time i had realized that this was almost an ideal spot for camping or mining. just over in the wild country toward teslin lake, herds of caribou were grazing. moose and bear were being killed daily, rich and unknown streams were waiting for the gold pan, the pick and the shovel, but--it was not for me! i was ready to return--eager to return. the freeman of the hills i have no master but the wind, my only liege the sun; all bonds and ties i leave behind, free as the wolf i run. my master wind is passionless, he neither chides nor charms; he fans me or he freezes me, and helps are quick as harms. he never turns to injure me, and when his voice is high i crouch behind a rock and see his storm of snows go by. he too is subject of the sun, as all things earthly are, where'er he flies, where'er i run, we know our kingly star. the voice of the maple tree i am worn with the dull-green spires of fir, i am tired of endless talk of gold, i long for the cricket's cheery whirr, and the song that the maples sang of old. o the beauty and learning and light that lie in the leaves of the level lands! they shake my heart in the deep of the night, they call me and bless me with calm, cool hands. _sing, o leaves of the maple tree,_ _i hear your voice by the savage sea,_ _hear and hasten to home and thee!_ chapter xxiii the end of the trail the day on which i crossed the lake to taku city was most glorious. a september haze lay on the mountains, whose high slopes, orange, ruby, and golden-green, allured with almost irresistible attraction. although the clouds were gathering in the east, the sunset was superb. taku arm seemed a river of gold sweeping between gates of purple. as the darkness came on, a long creeping line of fire crept up a near-by mountain's side, and from time to time, as it reached some great pine, it flamed to the clouds like a mighty geyser of red-hot lava. it was splendid but terrible to witness. the next day was a long, long wait for the steamer. i now had in my pocket just twelve dollars, but possessed a return ticket on one of the boats. this ticket was not good on any other boat, and naturally i felt considerable anxiety for fear it would not turn up. my dinner consisted of moose steak, potatoes, and bread, and was most thoroughly enjoyed. at last the steamer came, but it was not the one on which i had secured passage, and as it took almost my last dollar to pay for deck passage thereon, i lived on some small cakes of my own baking, which i carried in a bag. i was now in a sad predicament unless i should connect at lake bennett with some one who would carry my outfit back to skagway on credit. i ate my stale cakes and drank lake water, and thus fooled the little jap steward out of two dollars. it was a sad business, but unavoidable. the lake being smooth, the trip consumed but thirteen hours, and we arrived at bennett lake late at night. hoisting my bed and luggage to my shoulder, i went up on the side-hill like a stray dog, and made my bed down on the sand beside a cart, near a shack. the wind, cold and damp, swept over the mountains with a roar. i was afraid the owners of the cart might discover me there, and order me to seek a bed elsewhere. dogs sniffed around me during the night, but on the whole i slept very well. i could feel the sand blowing over me in the wild gusts of wind which relented not in all my stay at bennett city. i spent literally the last cent i had on a scanty breakfast, and then, in company with doctor g. (a fellow prospector), started on my return to the coast over the far-famed chilcoot pass. at a.m. we took the little ferry for the head of lindernan lake. the doctor paid my fare. the boat, a wabbly craft, was crowded with returning klondikers, many of whom were full of importance and talk of their wealth; while others, sick and worn, with a wistful gleam in their eyes, seemed eager to get back to civilization and medical care. there were some women, also, who had made a fortune in dance-houses and were now bound for new york and paris, where dresses could be had in the latest styles and in any quantities. my travelling mate, the doctor, was a tall and vigorous man from winnipeg, accustomed to a plainsman's life, hardy and resolute. he said, "we ought to make dyea to-day." i said in reply, "very well, we can try." it was ten o'clock when we left the little boat and hit the trail, which was thirty miles long, and passed over the summit three thousand six hundred feet above the sea. the doctor's pace was tremendous, and we soon left every one else behind. i carried my big coat and camera, which hindered me not a little. for the first part of the journey the doctor preceded me, his broad shoulders keeping off the powerful wind and driving mist, which grew thicker as we rose among the ragged cliffs beside a roaring stream. that walk was a grim experience. until two o'clock we climbed resolutely along a rough, rocky, and wooded trail, with the heavy mist driving into our faces. the road led up a rugged cañon and over a fairly good wagon road until somewhere about twelve o'clock. then the foot trail deflected to the left, and climbed sharply over slippery ledges, along banks of ancient snows in which carcasses of horses lay embedded, and across many rushing little streams. the way grew grimmer each step. at last we came to crater lake, and from that point on it was a singular and sinister land of grassless crags swathed in mist. nothing could be seen at this point but a desolate, flat expanse of barren sands over which gray-green streams wandered in confusion, coming from darkness and vanishing in obscurity. strange shapes showed in the gray dusk of the crater. it was like a landscape in hell. it seemed to be the end of the earth, where no life had ever been or could long exist. across this flat to its farther wall we took our way, facing the roaring wind now heavy with clouds of rain. at last we stood in the mighty notch of the summit, through which the wind rushed as though hurrying to some far-off, deep-hidden vacuum in the world. the peaks of the mountains were lost in clouds out of which water fell in vicious slashes. the mist set the imagination free. the pinnacles around us were like those which top the valley of desolation. we seemed each moment about to plunge into ladderless abysses. nothing ever imagined by poe or doré could be more singular, more sinister, than these summits in such a light, in such a storm. it might serve as the scene for an exiled devil. the picture of beelzebub perched on one of those gray, dimly seen crags, his form outlined in the mist, would shake the heart. i thought of "peer gynt" wandering in the high home of the trolls. crags beetled beyond crags, and nothing could be heard but the wild waters roaring in the obscure depths beneath our feet. there was no sky, no level place, no growing thing, no bird or beast,--only crates of bones to show where some heartless master had pushed a faithful horse up these terrible heights to his death. and here--just here in a world of crags and mist--i heard a shout of laughter, and then bursting upon my sight, strong-limbed, erect, and full-bosomed, appeared a girl. her face was like a rain-wet rose--a splendid, unexpected flower set in this dim and gray and desolate place. fearlessly she fronted me to ask the way, a laugh upon her lips, her big gray eyes confident of man's chivalry, modest and sincere. i had been so long among rude men and their coarse consorts that this fair woman lit the mist as if with sudden sunshine--just a moment and was gone. there were others with her, but they passed unnoticed. there in the gloom, like a stately pink rose, i set the girl of the mist. sheep camp was the end of the worst portion of the trail. i had now crossed both the famed passes, much improved of course. they are no longer dangerous (a woman in good health can cross them easily), but they are grim and grievous ways. they reek of cruelty and every association that is coarse and hard. they possess a peculiar value to me in that they throw into fadeless splendor the wealth, the calm, the golden sunlight which lay upon the proud beauty of atlin lake. the last hours of the trip formed a supreme test of endurance. at sheep camp, a wet and desolate shanty town, eight miles from dyea, we came upon stages just starting over our road. but as they were all open carriages, and we were both wet with perspiration and rain, and hungry and tired, we refused to book passage. "to ride eight miles in an open wagon would mean a case of pneumonia to me," i said. "quite right," said the doctor, and we pulled out down the road at a smart clip. the rain had ceased, but the air was raw and the sky gray, and i was very tired, and those eight miles stretched out like a rubber string. night fell before we had passed over half the road, which lay for the most part down the flat along the chilcoot river. in fact, we crossed this stream again and again. in places there were bridges, but most of the crossings were fords where it was necessary to wade through the icy water above our shoe tops. our legs, numb and weary, threw off this chill with greater pain each time. as the night fell we could only see the footpath by the dim shine of its surface patted smooth by the moccasined feet of the indian packers. at last i walked with a sort of mechanical action which was dependent on my subconscious will. there was nothing else to do but to go through. the doctor was a better walker than i. his long legs had more reach as well as greater endurance. nevertheless he admitted being about as tired as ever in his life. at last, when it seemed as though i could not wade any more of those icy streams and continue to walk, we came in sight of the electric lights on the wharfs of dyea, sparkling like jewels against the gray night. their radiant promise helped over the last mile miraculously. we were wet to the knees and covered with mud as we entered upon the straggling street of the decaying town. we stopped in at the first restaurant to get something hot to eat, but found ourselves almost too tired to enjoy even pea soup. but it warmed us up a little, and keeping on down the street we came at last to a hotel of very comfortable accommodations. we ordered a fire built to dry our clothing, and staggered up the stairs. that ended the goldseekers' trail for me. henceforward i intended to ride--nevertheless i was pleased to think i could still walk thirty miles in eleven hours through a rain storm, and over a summit three thousand six hundred feet in height. the city had not entirely eaten the heart out of my body. we arose from a dreamless sleep, somewhat sore, but in amazingly good trim considering our condition the night before, and made our way into our muddy clothing with grim resolution. after breakfast we took a small steamer which ran to skagway, where we spent the day arranging to take the steamer to the south. we felt quite at home in skagway now, and chicago seemed not very far away. having made connection with my bankers i stretched out in my twenty-five cent bunk with the assurance of a gold king. here the long trail took a turn. i had been among the miners and hunters for four months. i had been one of them. i had lived the essentials of their lives, and had been able to catch from them some hint of their outlook on life. they were a disappointment to me in some ways. they seemed like mechanisms. they moved as if drawn by some great magnet whose centre was dawson city. they appeared to drift on and in toward that human maelstrom going irresolutely to their ruin. they did not seem to me strong men--on the contrary, they seemed weak men--or men strong with one insane purpose. they set their faces toward the golden north, and went on and on through every obstacle like men dreaming, like somnambulists--bending their backs to the most crushing burdens, their faces distorted with effort. "on to dawson!" "to the klondike!" that was all they knew. i overtook them in the fraser river valley, i found them in hazleton. they were setting sail at bennett, tugging oars on the hotalinqua, and hundreds of them were landing every day at dawson, there to stand with lax jaws waiting for something to turn up--lost among thousands of their kind swarming in with the same insane purpose. skagway was to me a sad place. on either side rose green mountains covered with crawling glaciers. between these stern walls, a cold and violent wind roared ceaselessly from the sea gates through which the ships drive hurriedly. all these grim presences depressed me. i longed for release from them. i waited with impatience the coming of the steamer which was to rescue me from the merciless beach. at last it came, and its hoarse boom thrilled the heart of many a homesick man like myself. we had not much to put aboard, and when i climbed the gang-plank it was with a feeling of fortunate escape. a girl on the trail a flutter of skirts in the dapple of leaves on the trees, the sound of a small, happy voice on the breeze, the print of a slim little foot on the trail, and the miners rejoice as they hammer with picks in the vale. for fairer than gold is the face of a maid, and sovereign as stars the light of her eyes; for women alone were the long trenches laid; for women alone they defy the stern skies. these toilers are grimy, and hairy, and dun with the wear of the wind, the scorch of the sun; but their picks fall slack, their foul tongues are mute-- as the maiden goes by these earthworms salute! chapter xxiv homeward bound the steamer was crowded with men who had also made the turn at the end of the trail. there were groups of prospectors (disappointed and sour) from copper river, where neither copper nor gold had been found. there were miners sick and broken who had failed on the tanana, and others, emaciated and eager-eyed, from dawson city going out with a part of the proceeds of the year's work to see their wives and children. there were a few who considered themselves great capitalists, and were on their way to spend the winter in luxury in the eastern cities, and there were grub stakers who had squandered their employers' money in drink and gaming. none of them interested me very greatly. i was worn out with the filth and greed and foolishness of many of these men. they were commonplace citizens, turned into stampeders without experience or skill. one of the most successful men on the boat had been a truckman in the streets of tacoma, and was now the silly possessor of a one-third interest in some great mines on the klondike river. he told every one of his great deeds, and what he was worth. he let us know how big his house was, and how much he paid for his piano. he was not a bad man, he was merely a cheap man, and was followed about by a gang of heelers to whom drink was luxury and vice an entertainment. these parasites slapped the teamster on the shoulder and listened to every empty phrase he uttered, as though his gold had made of him something sacred and omniscient. i had no interest in him till being persuaded to play the fiddle he sat in the "social room," and sawed away on "honest john," "the devil's dream," "haste to the wedding," and "the fisher's hornpipe." he lost all sense of being a millionnaire, and returned to his simple, unsophisticated self. the others cheered him because he had gold. i cheered him because he was a good old "corduroy fiddler." again we passed between the lofty blue-black and bronze-green walls of lynn canal. the sea was cold, placid, and gray. the mist cut the mountains at the shoulder. vast glaciers came sweeping down from the dread mystery of the upper heights. lower still lines of running water white as silver came leaping down from cliff to cliff--slender, broken of line, nearly perpendicular--to fall at last into the gray hell of the sea. it was a sullen land which menaced as with lowering brows and clenched fists. a landscape without delicacy of detail or warmth or variety of color--a land demanding young, cheerful men. it was no place for the old or for women. as we neared wrangell the next afternoon i tackled the purser about carrying my horse. he had no room, so i left the boat in order to wait for another with better accommodations for ladrone. almost the first man i met on the wharf was donald. "how's the horse?" i queried. "gude!--fat and sassy. there's no a fence in a' the town can hold him. he jumped into colonel crittendon's garden patch, and there's a dollar to pay for the cauliflower he ate, and he broke down a fence by the church, ye've to fix that up--but he's in gude trim himsel'." "tell 'm to send in their bills," i replied with vast relief. "has he been much trouble to you?" "verra leetle except to drive into the lot at night. i had but to go down where he was feeding and soon as he heard me comin' he made for the lot--he knew quite as well as i did what was wanted of him. he's a canny old boy." as i walked out to find the horse i discovered his paths everywhere. he had made himself entirely at home. he owned the village and was able to walk any sidewalk in town. everybody knew his habits. he drank in a certain place, and walked a certain round of daily feeding. the children all cried out at me: "goin' to find the horsie? he's over by the church." a darky woman smiled from the door of a cabin and said, "you ole hoss lookin' mighty fine dese days." when i came to him i was delighted and amused. he had taken on some fat and a great deal of dirt. he had also acquired an aldermanic paunch which quite destroyed his natural symmetry of body, but he was well and strong and lively. he seemed to recognize me, and as i put the rope about his neck and fell to in the effort to make him clean once more, he seemed glad of my presence. that day began my attempt to get away. i carted out my feed and saddles, and when all was ready i sat on the pier and watched the burnished water of the bay for the dim speck which a steamer makes in rounding the distant island. at last the cry arose, "a steamer from the north!" i hurried for ladrone, and as i passed with the horse the citizens smiled incredulously and asked, "goin' to take the horse with you, eh?" the boys and girls came out to say good-by to the horse on whose back they had ridden. ladrone followed me most trustfully, looking straight ahead, his feet clumping loudly on the boards of the walk. hitching him on the wharf i lugged and heaved and got everything in readiness. in vain! the steamer had no place for my horse and i was forced to walk him back and turn him loose once more upon the grass. i renewed my watching. the next steamer did not touch at the same wharf. therefore i carted all my goods, feed, hay, and general plunder, around to the other wharf. as i toiled to and fro the citizens began to smile very broadly. i worked like a hired man in harvest. at last, horse, feed, and baggage were once more ready. when the next boat came in i timidly approached the purser. no, he had no place for me but would take my horse! once more i led ladrone back to pasture and the citizens laughed most unconcealedly. they laid bets on my next attempt. in mckinnon's store i was greeted as a permanent citizen of fort wrangell. i began to grow nervous on my own account. was i to remain forever in wrangell? the bay was most beautiful, but the town was wretched. it became each day more unendurable to me. i searched the waters of the bay thereafter, with gaze that grew really anxious. i sat for hours late at night holding my horse and glaring out into the night in the hope to see the lights of a steamer appear round the high hills of the coast. at last the _forallen_, a great barnyard of a ship, came in. i met the captain. i paid my fare. i got my contract and ticket, and leading ladrone into the hoisting box i stepped aside. the old boy was quiet while i stood near, but when the whistle sounded and the sling rose in air leaving me below, his big eyes flashed with fear and dismay. he struggled furiously for a moment and then was quiet. a moment later he dropped into the hold and was safe. he thought himself in a barn once more, and when i came hurrying down the stairway he whinnied. he seized the hay i put before him and thereafter was quite at home. the steamer had a score of mules and work horses on board, but they occupied stalls on the upper deck, leaving ladrone aristocratically alone in his big, well-ventilated barn, and there three times each day i went to feed and water him. i rubbed him with hay till his coat began to glimmer in the light and planned what i could do to help him through a storm. fortunately the ocean was perfectly smooth even across the entrance to queen charlotte's sound, where the open sea enters and the big swells are sometimes felt. ladrone never knew he was moving at all. the mate of the boat took unusual interest in the horse because of his deeds and my care of him. meanwhile i was hearing from time to time of my fellow-sufferers on the long trail. it was reported in wrangell that some of the unfortunates were still on the snowy divide between the skeena and the stikeen. that terrible trail will not soon be forgotten by any one who traversed it. on the fifth day we entered seattle and once more the sling-box opened its doors for ladrone. this time he struggled not at all. he seemed to say: "i know this thing. i tried it once and it didn't hurt me--i'm not afraid." now this horse belongs to the wild country. he was born on the bunch-grass hills of british columbia and he had never seen a street-car in his life. engines he knew something about, but not much. steamboats and ferries he knew a great deal about; but all the strange monsters and diabolical noises of a city street were new to him, and it was with some apprehension that i took his rein to lead him down to the freight depot and his car. again this wonderful horse amazed me. he pointed his alert and quivering ears at me and followed with never so much as a single start or shying bound. he seemed to reason that as i had led him through many dangers safely i could still be trusted. around us huge trucks rattled, electric cars clanged, railway engines whizzed and screamed, but ladrone never so much as tightened the rein; and when in the dark of the chute (which led to the door of the car) he put his soft nose against me to make sure i was still with him, my heart grew so tender that i would not have left him behind for a thousand dollars. i put him in a roomy box-car and bedded him knee-deep in clean yellow straw. i padded the hitching pole with his blanket, moistened his hay, and put some bran before him. then i nailed him in and took my leave of him with some nervous dread, for the worst part of his journey was before him. he must cross three great mountain ranges and ride eight days, over more than two thousand miles of railway. i could not well go with him, but i planned to overhaul him at spokane and see how he was coming on. i did not sleep much that night. i recalled how the great forest trees were blazing last year when i rode over this same track. i thought of the sparks flying from the engine, and how easy it would be for a single cinder to fall in the door and set all that dry straw ablaze. i was tired and my mind conjured up such dire images as men dream of after indigestible dinners. o the fierce delight o the fierce delight, the passion that comes from the wild, where the rains and the snows go over, and man is a child. go, set your face to the open, and lay your breast to the blast, when the pines are rocking and groaning, and the rent clouds tumble past. go swim the streams of the mountains, where the gray-white waters are mad, go set your foot on the summit, and shout and be glad! chapter xxv ladrone travels in state with a little leisure to walk about and talk with the citizens of seattle, i became aware of a great change since the year before. the boom of the goldseeker was over. the talk was more upon the spanish war; the business of outfitting was no longer paramount; the reckless hurrah, the splendid exultation, were gone. men were sailing to the north, but they embarked, methodically, in business fashion. it is safe to say that the north will never again witness such a furious rush of men as that which took place between august, ' , and june, ' . gold is still there, and it will continue to be sought, but the attention of the people is directed elsewhere. in seattle, as all along the line, the talk a year ago had been almost entirely on gold hunting. every storekeeper advertised klondike goods, but these signs were now rusty and faded. the fever was over, the reign of the humdrum was restored. taking the train next day, i passed ladrone in the night somewhere, and as i looked from my window at the great fires blazing in the forest, my fear of his burning came upon me again. at spokane i waited with great anxiety for him to arrive. at last the train drew in and i hurried to his car. the door was closed, and as i nervously forced it open he whinnied with that glad chuckling a gentle horse uses toward his master. he had plenty of hay, but was hot and thirsty, and i hurried at risk of life and limb to bring him cool water. his eyes seemed to shine with delight as he saw me coming with the big bucket of cool drink. leaving him a tub of water, i bade him good-by once more and started him for helena, five hundred miles away. at missoula, the following evening, i rushed into the ticket office and shouted, "where is ' '?" the clerk knew me and smilingly extended his hand. "how de do? she has just pulled out. the horse is all ok. we gave him fresh water and feed." i thanked him and returned to my train. reaching livingston in the early morning i was forced to wait nearly all day for the train. this was no hardship, however, for it enabled me to return once more to the plain. all the old familiar presences were there. the splendid sweep of brown, smooth hills, the glory of clear sky, the crisp exhilarating air, appealed to me with great power after my long stay in the cold, green mountains of the north. i walked out a few miles from the town over the grass brittle and hot, from which the clapping grasshoppers rose in swarms, and dropping down on the point of a mesa i relived again in drowse the joys of other days. it was plain to me that goldseeking in the rocky mountains was marvellously simple and easy compared to even the best sections of the northwest, and the long journey of the forty-niners was not only incredibly more splendid and dramatic, but had the allurement of a land of eternal summer beyond the final great range. the long trail i had just passed was not only grim and monotonous, but led toward an ever increasing ferocity of cold and darkness to the arctic circle and the silence of death. when the train came crawling down the pink and purple slopes of the hills at sunset that night, i was ready for my horse. bridle in hand i raced after the big car while it was being drawn up into the freight yards. as i galloped i held excited controversy with the head brakeman. i asked that the car be sent to the platform. he objected. i insisted and the car was thrown in. i entered, and while ladrone whinnied glad welcome i knocked out some bars, bridled him, and said, "come, boy, now for a gambol." he followed me without the slightest hesitation out on the platform and down the steep slope to the ground. there i mounted him without waiting for saddle and away we flew. he was gay as a bird. his neck arched and his eyes and ears were quick as squirrels. we galloped down to the yellowstone river and once more he thrust his dusty nozzle deep into the clear mountain water. then away he raced until our fifteen minutes were up. i was glad to quit. he was too active for me to enjoy riding without a saddle. right up to the door of the car he trotted, seeming to understand that his journey was not yet finished. he entered unhesitatingly and took his place. i battened down the bars, nailed the doors into place, filled his tub with cold water, mixed him a bran mash, and once more he rolled away. i sent him on this time, however, with perfect confidence. he was actually getting fat on his prison fare, and was too wise to allow himself to be bruised by the jolting of the cars. the bystanders seeing a horse travelling in such splendid loneliness asked, "runnin' horse?" and i (to cover my folly) replied evasively, "he can run a little for good money." this satisfied every one that he was a sprinter and quite explained his private car. at bismarck i found myself once more ahead of " " and waited all day for the horse to appear. as the time of the train drew near i borrowed a huge water pail and tugged a supply of water out beside the track and there sat for three hours, expecting the train each moment. at last it came, but ladrone was not there. his car was missing. i rushed into the office of the operator: "where's the horse in ' , '?" i asked. "i don't know," answered the agent, in the tone of one who didn't care. visions of ladrone side-tracked somewhere and perishing for want of air and water filled my mind. i waxed warm. "that horse must be found at once," i said. the clerks and operators wearily looked out of the window. the idea of any one being so concerned about a horse was to them insanity or worse. i insisted. i banged my fist on the table. at last one of the young men yawned languidly, looked at me with dim eyes, and as one brain-cell coalesced with another seemed to mature an idea. he said:-- "rheinhart had a horse this morning on his extra." "did he--maybe that's the one." they discussed this probability with lazy indifference. at last they condescended to include me in their conversation. i insisted on their telegraphing till they found that horse, and with an air of distress and saint-like patience the agent wrote out a telegram and sent it. thereafter he could not see me; nevertheless i persisted. i returned to the office each quarter of an hour to ask if an answer had come to the telegram. at last it came. ladrone was ahead and would arrive in st. paul nearly twelve hours before me. i then telegraphed the officers of the road to see that he did not suffer and composed myself as well as i could for the long wait. at st. paul i hurried to the freight office and found the horse had been put in a stable. i sought the stable, and there, among the big dray horses, looking small and trim as a racer, was the lost horse, eating merrily on some good minnesota timothy. he was just as much at ease there as in the car or the boat or on the marshes of the skeena valley, but he was still a half-day's ride from his final home. i bustled about filling up another car. again for the last time i sweated and tugged getting feed, water, and bedding. again the railway hands marvelled and looked askance. again some one said, "does it pay to bring a horse like that so far?" "pay!" i shouted, thoroughly disgusted, "does it pay to feed a dog for ten years? does it pay to ride a bicycle? does it pay to bring up a child? pay--no; it does not pay. i'm amusing myself. you drink beer because you like to, you use tobacco--i squander my money on a horse." i said a good deal more than the case demanded, being hot and dusty and tired and--i had broken loose. the clerk escaped through a side door. once more i closed the bars on the gray and saw him wheeled out into the grinding, jolting tangle of cars where the engines cried out like some untamable flesh-eating monsters. the light was falling, the smoke thickening, and it was easy to imagine a tragic fate for the patient and lonely horse. delay in getting the car made me lose my train and i was obliged to take a late train which did not stop at my home. i was still paying for my horse out of my own bone and sinew. at last the luscious green hills, the thick grasses, the tall corn-shocks and the portly hay-stacks of my native valley came in view and they never looked so abundant, so generous, so entirely sufficing to man and beast as now in returning from a land of cold green forests, sparse grass, and icy streams. at ten o'clock another huge freight train rolled in, ladrone's car was side-tracked and sent to the chute. for the last time he felt the jolt of the car. in a few minutes i had his car opened and a plank laid. "come, boy!" i called. "this is home." he followed me as before, so readily, so trustingly, my heart responded to his affection. i swung to the saddle. with neck arched high and with a proud and lofty stride he left the door of his prison behind him. his fame had spread through the village. on every corner stood the citizens to see him pass. as i opened the door to the barn i said to him:-- "enter! your days of thirst, of hunger, of cruel exposure to rain and snow are over. here is food that shall not fail," and he seemed to understand. it might seem absurd if i were to give expression to the relief and deep pleasure it gave me to put that horse into that familiar stall. he had been with me more than four thousand miles. he had carried me through hundreds of icy streams and over snow fields. he had responded to every word and obeyed every command. he had suffered from cold and hunger and poison. he had walked logs and wallowed through quicksands. he had helped me up enormous mountains and i had guided him down dangerous declivities. his faithful heart had never failed even in days of direst need, and now he shall live amid plenty and have no care so long as he lives. it does not pay,--that is sure,--but after all what does pay? the lure of the desert i lie in my blanket, alone, alone! hearing the voice of the roaring rain, and my heart is moved by the wind's low moan to wander the wastes of the wind-worn plain, searching for something--i cannot tell-- the face of a woman, the love of a child-- or only the rain-wet prairie swell or the savage woodland wide and wild. i must go away--i know not where! lured by voices that cry and cry, drawn by fingers that clutch my hair, called to the mountains bleak and high, led to the mesas hot and bare. o god! how my heart's blood wakes and thrills to the cry of the wind, the lure of the hills. i'll follow you, follow you far; ye voices of winds, and rain and sky, to the peaks that shatter the evening star. wealth, honor, wife, child--all i have in the city's keep, i loose and forget when ye call and call and the desert winds around me sweep. chapter xxvi the goldseekers reach the golden river the goldseekers are still seeking. i withdrew, but they went on. in the warmth and security of my study, surrounded by the peace and comfort of my native coolly, i thought of them as they went toiling over the trail, still toward the north. it was easy for me to imagine their daily life. the manchester boys and burton, my partner, left glenora with ten horses and more than two thousand pounds of supplies. twice each day this immense load had to be handled; sometimes in order to rest and graze the ponies, every sack and box had to be taken down and lifted up to their lashings again four times each day. this meant toil. it meant also constant worry and care while the train was in motion. three times each day a campfire was built and coffee and beans prepared. however, the weather continued fair, my partner wrote me, and they arrived at teslin lake in september, after being a month on the road, and there set about building a boat to carry them down the river. here the horses were sold, and i know it must have been a sad moment for burton to say good-by to his faithful brutes. but there was no help for it. there was no more thought of going to the head-waters of the pelly and no more use for the horses. indeed, the gold-hunters abandoned all thought of the nisutlin and the hotalinqua. they were fairly in the grasp of the tremendous current which seemed to get ever swifter as it approached the mouth of the klondike river. they were mad to reach the pool wherein all the rest of the world was fishing. nothing less would satisfy them. at last they cast loose from the shore and started down the river, straight into the north. each hour, each mile, became a menace. day by day they drifted while the spitting snows fell hissing into the cold water, and ice formed around the keel of the boat at night. they passed men camped and panning dirt, but continued resolute, halting only "to pass the good word." it grew cold with appalling rapidity and the sun fell away to the south with desolating speed. the skies darkened and lowered as the days shortened. all signs of life except those of other argonauts disappeared. the river filled with drifting ice, and each night landing became more difficult. at last the winter came. the river closed up like an iron trap, and before they knew it they were caught in the jam of ice and fighting for their lives. they landed on a wooded island after a desperate struggle and went into camp with the thermometer thirty below zero. but what of that? they were now in the gold belt. after six months of incessant toil, of hope deferred, they were at last on the spot toward which they had struggled. all around them was the overflow from the klondike. their desire to go farther was checked. they had reached the counter current--the back-water--and were satisfied. leaving to others the task of building a permanent camp, my sturdy partner, a couple of days later, started prospecting in company with two others whom he had selected to represent the other outfit. the thermometer was fifty-six degrees below zero, and yet for seven days, with less than six hours' sleep, without a tent, those devoted idiots hunted the sands of a near-by creek for gold, and really staked claims. on the way back one of the men grew sleepy and would have lain down to die except for the vigorous treatment of burton, who mauled him and dragged him about and rubbed him with snow until his blood began to circulate once more. in attempting to walk on the river, which was again in motion, burton fell through, wetting one leg above the knee. it was still more than thirty degrees below zero, but what of that? he merely kept going. they reached the bank opposite the camp late on the seventh day, but were unable to cross the moving ice. for the eighth night they "danced around the fire as usual," not daring to sleep for fear of freezing. they literally frosted on one side while scorching at the fire on the other, turning like so many roasting pigs before the blaze. the river solidified during the night and they crossed to the camp to eat and sleep in safety. a couple of weeks later they determined to move down the river to a new stampede in thistle creek. once more these indomitable souls left their warm cabin, took up their beds and nearly two thousand pounds of outfit and toiled down the river still farther into the terrible north. the chronicle of this trip by burton is of mathematical brevity: "on th concluded to move. took four days. very cold. ther. down to below. froze one toe. got claim--now building cabin. expect to begin singeing in a few days." the toil, the suffering, the monotonous food, the lack of fire, he did not dwell upon, but singeing, that is to say burning down through the eternally frozen ground, was to begin at once. to singe a hole into the soil ten or fifteen feet deep in the midst of the sunless seventy of the arctic circle is no light task, but these men will do it; if hardihood and honest toil are of any avail they will all share in the precious sand whose shine has lured them through all the dark days of the long trail, calling with such power that nothing could stay them or turn them aside. if they fail, well-- this out of all will remain, they have lived and have tossed. so much of the game will be gain, though the gold of the dice has been lost. here the trail ends here the trail ends--here by a river so swifter, and darker, and colder than any we crossed on our long, long way. steady, dan, steady. ho, there, my dapple, you first from the saddle shall slip and be free. now go, you are clear from command of a master; go wade in the grasses, go munch at the grain. i love you, my faithful, but all is now over; ended the comradeship held 'twixt us twain. i go to the river and the wide lands beyond it, you go to the pasture, and death claims us all. _for here the trail ends!_ _here the trail ends!_ draw near with the broncos. slip the hitch, loose the cinches, slide the saw-bucks away from each worn, weary back. we are done with the axe, the camp, and the kettle; strike hand to each cayuse and send him away. let them go where the roses and grasses are growing, to the meadows that slope to the warm western sea. no more shall they serve us; no more shall they suffer the sting of the lash, the heat of the day. soon they will go to a winterless haven, to the haven of beasts where none may enslave. _for here the trail ends_. _here the trail ends._ never again shall the far-shining mountains allure us, no more shall the icy mad torrents appall. fold up the sling ropes, coil down the cinches, cache the saddles, and put the brown bridles away. not one of the roses of navajo silver, not even a spur shall we save from the rust. put away the worn tent-cloth, let the red people have it; we are done with all shelter, we are done with the gun. not so much as a pine branch, not even a willow shall swing in the air 'twixt us and our god. naked and lone we cross the wide ferry, bare to the cold, the dark and the rain. _for here the trail ends._ _here the trail ends._ here by the landing i wait the last boat, the slow silent one. we each go alone--no man with another, each into the gloom of the swift black flood-- boys, it is hard, but here we must scatter; the gray boatman waits, and i--i go first. all is dark over there where the dim boat is rocking-- but that is no matter! no man need to fear; for clearly we're told the powers that lead us shall govern the game to the end of the day. _good-by--here the trail ends!_ * * * * * works by gilbert parker mo. cloth. each, $ . . pierre and his people. when valmond came to pontiac. an adventurer of the north. a romany of the snows. a lover's diary. "he has the instinct of the thing: his narrative has distinction, his characters and incidents have the picturesque quality, and he has the sense for the scale of character-drawing demanded by romance, hitting the happy mean between lay figures and over-analyzed 'souls.'" --_st. james gazette._ "stories happily conceived and finely executed. there is strength and genius in mr. parker's style." --_daily telegraph,_ london. published by the macmillan company, fifth avenue, new york. * * * * * _a new edition_ rose of dutcher's coolly by hamlin garland cloth, mo. $ . _william dean howells_ "i cherish with a grateful sense of the high pleasure they have given me mr. garland's splendid achievements in objective fiction." _the critic_ "its realism is hearty, vivid, flesh and blood realism, which makes the book readable even to those who disapprove most conscientiously of many things in it." _the new age_ "it is, beyond all manner of doubt, one of the most powerful novels of recent years. it has created a sensation." _kansas city journal_ "after the fashion of all rare vintages mr. garland seems to improve with age. no more evidence of this is needed than a perusal of his 'rose of dutcher's coolly.' one might sum up the many excellences of the entire story by saying that it is not unworthy of any american writer." the macmillan company fifth avenue new york version by al haines. the son of the wolf jack london contains the white silence the son of the wolf the men of forty mile in a far country to the man on the trail the priestly prerogative the wisdom of the trail the wife of a king an odyssey of the north the white silence 'carmen won't last more than a couple of days.' mason spat out a chunk of ice and surveyed the poor animal ruefully, then put her foot in his mouth and proceeded to bite out the ice which clustered cruelly between the toes. 'i never saw a dog with a highfalutin' name that ever was worth a rap,' he said, as he concluded his task and shoved her aside. 'they just fade away and die under the responsibility. did ye ever see one go wrong with a sensible name like cassiar, siwash, or husky? no, sir! take a look at shookum here, he's--' snap! the lean brute flashed up, the white teeth just missing mason's throat. 'ye will, will ye?' a shrewd clout behind the ear with the butt of the dog whip stretched the animal in the snow, quivering softly, a yellow slaver dripping from its fangs. 'as i was saying, just look at shookum here--he's got the spirit. bet ye he eats carmen before the week's out.' 'i'll bank another proposition against that,' replied malemute kid, reversing the frozen bread placed before the fire to thaw. 'we'll eat shookum before the trip is over. what d'ye say, ruth?' the indian woman settled the coffee with a piece of ice, glanced from malemute kid to her husband, then at the dogs, but vouchsafed no reply. it was such a palpable truism that none was necessary. two hundred miles of unbroken trail in prospect, with a scant six days' grub for themselves and none for the dogs, could admit no other alternative. the two men and the woman grouped about the fire and began their meager meal. the dogs lay in their harnesses for it was a midday halt, and watched each mouthful enviously. 'no more lunches after today,' said malemute kid. 'and we've got to keep a close eye on the dogs--they're getting vicious. they'd just as soon pull a fellow down as not, if they get a chance.' 'and i was president of an epworth once, and taught in the sunday school.' having irrelevantly delivered himself of this, mason fell into a dreamy contemplation of his steaming moccasins, but was aroused by ruth filling his cup. 'thank god, we've got slathers of tea! i've seen it growing, down in tennessee. what wouldn't i give for a hot corn pone just now! never mind, ruth; you won't starve much longer, nor wear moccasins either.' the woman threw off her gloom at this, and in her eyes welled up a great love for her white lord--the first white man she had ever seen--the first man whom she had known to treat a woman as something better than a mere animal or beast of burden. 'yes, ruth,' continued her husband, having recourse to the macaronic jargon in which it was alone possible for them to understand each other; 'wait till we clean up and pull for the outside. we'll take the white man's canoe and go to the salt water. yes, bad water, rough water--great mountains dance up and down all the time. and so big, so far, so far away--you travel ten sleep, twenty sleep, forty sleep'--he graphically enumerated the days on his fingers--'all the time water, bad water. then you come to great village, plenty people, just the same mosquitoes next summer. wigwams oh, so high--ten, twenty pines. 'hi-yu skookum!' he paused impotently, cast an appealing glance at malemute kid, then laboriously placed the twenty pines, end on end, by sign language. malemute kid smiled with cheery cynicism; but ruth's eyes were wide with wonder, and with pleasure; for she half believed he was joking, and such condescension pleased her poor woman's heart. 'and then you step into a--a box, and pouf! up you go.' he tossed his empty cup in the air by way of illustration and, as he deftly caught it, cried: 'and biff! down you come. oh, great medicine men! you go fort yukon. i go arctic city--twenty-five sleep--big string, all the time--i catch him string--i say, "hello, ruth! how are ye?"--and you say, "is that my good husband?"--and i say, "yes"--and you say, "no can bake good bread, no more soda"--then i say, "look in cache, under flour; good-by." you look and catch plenty soda. all the time you fort yukon, me arctic city. hi-yu medicine man!' ruth smiled so ingenuously at the fairy story that both men burst into laughter. a row among the dogs cut short the wonders of the outside, and by the time the snarling combatants were separated, she had lashed the sleds and all was ready for the trail.--'mush! baldy! hi! mush on!' mason worked his whip smartly and, as the dogs whined low in the traces, broke out the sled with the gee pole. ruth followed with the second team, leaving malemute kid, who had helped her start, to bring up the rear. strong man, brute that he was, capable of felling an ox at a blow, he could not bear to beat the poor animals, but humored them as a dog driver rarely does--nay, almost wept with them in their misery. 'come, mush on there, you poor sore-footed brutes!' he murmured, after several ineffectual attempts to start the load. but his patience was at last rewarded, and though whimpering with pain, they hastened to join their fellows. no more conversation; the toil of the trail will not permit such extravagance. and of all deadening labors, that of the northland trail is the worst. happy is the man who can weather a day's travel at the price of silence, and that on a beaten track. and of all heartbreaking labors, that of breaking trail is the worst. at every step the great webbed shoe sinks till the snow is level with the knee. then up, straight up, the deviation of a fraction of an inch being a certain precursor of disaster, the snowshoe must be lifted till the surface is cleared; then forward, down, and the other foot is raised perpendicularly for the matter of half a yard. he who tries this for the first time, if haply he avoids bringing his shoes in dangerous propinquity and measures not his length on the treacherous footing, will give up exhausted at the end of a hundred yards; he who can keep out of the way of the dogs for a whole day may well crawl into his sleeping bag with a clear conscience and a pride which passeth all understanding; and he who travels twenty sleeps on the long trail is a man whom the gods may envy. the afternoon wore on, and with the awe, born of the white silence, the voiceless travelers bent to their work. nature has many tricks wherewith she convinces man of his finity--the ceaseless flow of the tides, the fury of the storm, the shock of the earthquake, the long roll of heaven's artillery--but the most tremendous, the most stupefying of all, is the passive phase of the white silence. all movement ceases, the sky clears, the heavens are as brass; the slightest whisper seems sacrilege, and man becomes timid, affrighted at the sound of his own voice. sole speck of life journeying across the ghostly wastes of a dead world, he trembles at his audacity, realizes that his is a maggot's life, nothing more. strange thoughts arise unsummoned, and the mystery of all things strives for utterance. and the fear of death, of god, of the universe, comes over him--the hope of the resurrection and the life, the yearning for immortality, the vain striving of the imprisoned essence--it is then, if ever, man walks alone with god. so wore the day away. the river took a great bend, and mason headed his team for the cutoff across the narrow neck of land. but the dogs balked at the high bank. again and again, though ruth and malemute kid were shoving on the sled, they slipped back. then came the concerted effort. the miserable creatures, weak from hunger, exerted their last strength. up--up--the sled poised on the top of the bank; but the leader swung the string of dogs behind him to the right, fouling mason's snowshoes. the result was grievous. mason was whipped off his feet; one of the dogs fell in the traces; and the sled toppled back, dragging everything to the bottom again. slash! the whip fell among the dogs savagely, especially upon the one which had fallen. 'don't,--mason,' entreated malemute kid; 'the poor devil's on its last legs. wait and we'll put my team on.' mason deliberately withheld the whip till the last word had fallen, then out flashed the long lash, completely curling about the offending creature's body. carmen--for it was carmen--cowered in the snow, cried piteously, then rolled over on her side. it was a tragic moment, a pitiful incident of the trail--a dying dog, two comrades in anger. ruth glanced solicitously from man to man. but malemute kid restrained himself, though there was a world of reproach in his eyes, and, bending over the dog, cut the traces. no word was spoken. the teams were doublespanned and the difficulty overcome; the sleds were under way again, the dying dog dragging herself along in the rear. as long as an animal can travel, it is not shot, and this last chance is accorded it--the crawling into camp, if it can, in the hope of a moose being killed. already penitent for his angry action, but too stubborn to make amends, mason toiled on at the head of the cavalcade, little dreaming that danger hovered in the air. the timber clustered thick in the sheltered bottom, and through this they threaded their way. fifty feet or more from the trail towered a lofty pine. for generations it had stood there, and for generations destiny had had this one end in view--perhaps the same had been decreed of mason. he stooped to fasten the loosened thong of his moccasin. the sleds came to a halt, and the dogs lay down in the snow without a whimper. the stillness was weird; not a breath rustled the frost-encrusted forest; the cold and silence of outer space had chilled the heart and smote the trembling lips of nature. a sigh pulsed through the air--they did not seem to actually hear it, but rather felt it, like the premonition of movement in a motionless void. then the great tree, burdened with its weight of years and snow, played its last part in the tragedy of life. he heard the warning crash and attempted to spring up but, almost erect, caught the blow squarely on the shoulder. the sudden danger, the quick death--how often had malemute kid faced it! the pine needles were still quivering as he gave his commands and sprang into action. nor did the indian girl faint or raise her voice in idle wailing, as might many of her white sisters. at his order, she threw her weight on the end of a quickly extemporized handspike, easing the pressure and listening to her husband's groans, while malemute kid attacked the tree with his ax. the steel rang merrily as it bit into the frozen trunk, each stroke being accompanied by a forced, audible respiration, the 'huh!' 'huh!' of the woodsman. at last the kid laid the pitiable thing that was once a man in the snow. but worse than his comrade's pain was the dumb anguish in the woman's face, the blended look of hopeful, hopeless query. little was said; those of the northland are early taught the futility of words and the inestimable value of deeds. with the temperature at sixty-five below zero, a man cannot lie many minutes in the snow and live. so the sled lashings were cut, and the sufferer, rolled in furs, laid on a couch of boughs. before him roared a fire, built of the very wood which wrought the mishap. behind and partially over him was stretched the primitive fly--a piece of canvas, which caught the radiating heat and threw it back and down upon him--a trick which men may know who study physics at the fount. and men who have shared their bed with death know when the call is sounded. mason was terribly crushed. the most cursory examination revealed it. his right arm, leg, and back were broken; his limbs were paralyzed from the hips; and the likelihood of internal injuries was large. an occasional moan was his only sign of life. no hope; nothing to be done. the pitiless night crept slowly by--ruth's portion, the despairing stoicism of her race, and malemute kid adding new lines to his face of bronze. in fact, mason suffered least of all, for he spent his time in eastern tennessee, in the great smoky mountains, living over the scenes of his childhood. and most pathetic was the melody of his long-forgotten southern vernacular, as he raved of swimming holes and coon hunts and watermelon raids. it was as greek to ruth, but the kid understood and felt--felt as only one can feel who has been shut out for years from all that civilization means. morning brought consciousness to the stricken man, and malemute kid bent closer to catch his whispers. 'you remember when we foregathered on the tanana, four years come next ice run? i didn't care so much for her then. it was more like she was pretty, and there was a smack of excitement about it, i think. but d'ye know, i've come to think a heap of her. she's been a good wife to me, always at my shoulder in the pinch. and when it comes to trading, you know there isn't her equal. d'ye recollect the time she shot the moosehorn rapids to pull you and me off that rock, the bullets whipping the water like hailstones?--and the time of the famine at nuklukyeto?--when she raced the ice run to bring the news? 'yes, she's been a good wife to me, better'n that other one. didn't know i'd been there? 'never told you, eh? well, i tried it once, down in the states. that's why i'm here. been raised together, too. i came away to give her a chance for divorce. she got it. 'but that's got nothing to do with ruth. i had thought of cleaning up and pulling for the outside next year--her and i--but it's too late. don't send her back to her people, kid. it's beastly hard for a woman to go back. think of it!--nearly four years on our bacon and beans and flour and dried fruit, and then to go back to her fish and caribou. it's not good for her to have tried our ways, to come to know they're better'n her people's, and then return to them. take care of her, kid, why don't you--but no, you always fought shy of them--and you never told me why you came to this country. be kind to her, and send her back to the states as soon as you can. but fix it so she can come back--liable to get homesick, you know. 'and the youngster--it's drawn us closer, kid. i only hope it is a boy. think of it!--flesh of my flesh, kid. he mustn't stop in this country. and if it's a girl, why, she can't. sell my furs; they'll fetch at least five thousand, and i've got as much more with the company. and handle my interests with yours. i think that bench claim will show up. see that he gets a good schooling; and kid, above all, don't let him come back. this country was not made for white men. 'i'm a gone man, kid. three or four sleeps at the best. you've got to go on. you must go on! remember, it's my wife, it's my boy--o god! i hope it's a boy! you can't stay by me--and i charge you, a dying man, to pull on.' 'give me three days,' pleaded malemute kid. 'you may change for the better; something may turn up.' 'no.' 'just three days.' 'you must pull on.' 'two days.' 'it's my wife and my boy, kid. you would not ask it.' 'one day.' 'no, no! i charge--' 'only one day. we can shave it through on the grub, and i might knock over a moose.' 'no--all right; one day, but not a minute more. and, kid, don't--don't leave me to face it alone. just a shot, one pull on the trigger. you understand. think of it! think of it! flesh of my flesh, and i'll never live to see him! 'send ruth here. i want to say good-by and tell her that she must think of the boy and not wait till i'm dead. she might refuse to go with you if i didn't. goodby, old man; good-by. 'kid! i say--a--sink a hole above the pup, next to the slide. i panned out forty cents on my shovel there. 'and, kid!' he stooped lower to catch the last faint words, the dying man's surrender of his pride. 'i'm sorry--for--you know--carmen.' leaving the girl crying softly over her man, malemute kid slipped into his parka and snowshoes, tucked his rifle under his arm, and crept away into the forest. he was no tyro in the stern sorrows of the northland, but never had he faced so stiff a problem as this. in the abstract, it was a plain, mathematical proposition--three possible lives as against one doomed one. but now he hesitated. for five years, shoulder to shoulder, on the rivers and trails, in the camps and mines, facing death by field and flood and famine, had they knitted the bonds of their comradeship. so close was the tie that he had often been conscious of a vague jealousy of ruth, from the first time she had come between. and now it must be severed by his own hand. though he prayed for a moose, just one moose, all game seemed to have deserted the land, and nightfall found the exhausted man crawling into camp, lighthanded, heavyhearted. an uproar from the dogs and shrill cries from ruth hastened him. bursting into the camp, he saw the girl in the midst of the snarling pack, laying about her with an ax. the dogs had broken the iron rule of their masters and were rushing the grub. he joined the issue with his rifle reversed, and the hoary game of natural selection was played out with all the ruthlessness of its primeval environment. rifle and ax went up and down, hit or missed with monotonous regularity; lithe bodies flashed, with wild eyes and dripping fangs; and man and beast fought for supremacy to the bitterest conclusion. then the beaten brutes crept to the edge of the firelight, licking their wounds, voicing their misery to the stars. the whole stock of dried salmon had been devoured, and perhaps five pounds of flour remained to tide them over two hundred miles of wilderness. ruth returned to her husband, while malemute kid cut up the warm body of one of the dogs, the skull of which had been crushed by the ax. every portion was carefully put away, save the hide and offal, which were cast to his fellows of the moment before. morning brought fresh trouble. the animals were turning on each other. carmen, who still clung to her slender thread of life, was downed by the pack. the lash fell among them unheeded. they cringed and cried under the blows, but refused to scatter till the last wretched bit had disappeared--bones, hide, hair, everything. malemute kid went about his work, listening to mason, who was back in tennessee, delivering tangled discourses and wild exhortations to his brethren of other days. taking advantage of neighboring pines, he worked rapidly, and ruth watched him make a cache similar to those sometimes used by hunters to preserve their meat from the wolverines and dogs. one after the other, he bent the tops of two small pines toward each other and nearly to the ground, making them fast with thongs of moosehide. then he beat the dogs into submission and harnessed them to two of the sleds, loading the same with everything but the furs which enveloped mason. these he wrapped and lashed tightly about him, fastening either end of the robes to the bent pines. a single stroke of his hunting knife would release them and send the body high in the air. ruth had received her husband's last wishes and made no struggle. poor girl, she had learned the lesson of obedience well. from a child, she had bowed, and seen all women bow, to the lords of creation, and it did not seem in the nature of things for woman to resist. the kid permitted her one outburst of grief, as she kissed her husband--her own people had no such custom--then led her to the foremost sled and helped her into her snowshoes. blindly, instinctively, she took the gee pole and whip, and 'mushed' the dogs out on the trail. then he returned to mason, who had fallen into a coma, and long after she was out of sight crouched by the fire, waiting, hoping, praying for his comrade to die. it is not pleasant to be alone with painful thoughts in the white silence. the silence of gloom is merciful, shrouding one as with protection and breathing a thousand intangible sympathies; but the bright white silence, clear and cold, under steely skies, is pitiless. an hour passed--two hours--but the man would not die. at high noon the sun, without raising its rim above the southern horizon, threw a suggestion of fire athwart the heavens, then quickly drew it back. malemute kid roused and dragged himself to his comrade's side. he cast one glance about him. the white silence seemed to sneer, and a great fear came upon him. there was a sharp report; mason swung into his aerial sepulcher, and malemute kid lashed the dogs into a wild gallop as he fled across the snow. the son of the wolf man rarely places a proper valuation upon his womankind, at least not until deprived of them. he has no conception of the subtle atmosphere exhaled by the sex feminine, so long as he bathes in it; but let it be withdrawn, and an ever-growing void begins to manifest itself in his existence, and he becomes hungry, in a vague sort of way, for a something so indefinite that he cannot characterize it. if his comrades have no more experience than himself, they will shake their heads dubiously and dose him with strong physic. but the hunger will continue and become stronger; he will lose interest in the things of his everyday life and wax morbid; and one day, when the emptiness has become unbearable, a revelation will dawn upon him. in the yukon country, when this comes to pass, the man usually provisions a poling boat, if it is summer, and if winter, harnesses his dogs, and heads for the southland. a few months later, supposing him to be possessed of a faith in the country, he returns with a wife to share with him in that faith, and incidentally in his hardships. this but serves to show the innate selfishness of man. it also brings us to the trouble of 'scruff' mackenzie, which occurred in the old days, before the country was stampeded and staked by a tidal-wave of the che-cha-quas, and when the klondike's only claim to notice was its salmon fisheries. 'scruff' mackenzie bore the earmarks of a frontier birth and a frontier life. his face was stamped with twenty-five years of incessant struggle with nature in her wildest moods,--the last two, the wildest and hardest of all, having been spent in groping for the gold which lies in the shadow of the arctic circle. when the yearning sickness came upon him, he was not surprised, for he was a practical man and had seen other men thus stricken. but he showed no sign of his malady, save that he worked harder. all summer he fought mosquitoes and washed the sure-thing bars of the stuart river for a double grubstake. then he floated a raft of houselogs down the yukon to forty mile, and put together as comfortable a cabin as any the camp could boast of. in fact, it showed such cozy promise that many men elected to be his partner and to come and live with him. but he crushed their aspirations with rough speech, peculiar for its strength and brevity, and bought a double supply of grub from the trading-post. as has been noted, 'scruff' mackenzie was a practical man. if he wanted a thing he usually got it, but in doing so, went no farther out of his way than was necessary. though a son of toil and hardship, he was averse to a journey of six hundred miles on the ice, a second of two thousand miles on the ocean, and still a third thousand miles or so to his last stamping-grounds,--all in the mere quest of a wife. life was too short. so he rounded up his dogs, lashed a curious freight to his sled, and faced across the divide whose westward slopes were drained by the head-reaches of the tanana. he was a sturdy traveler, and his wolf-dogs could work harder and travel farther on less grub than any other team in the yukon. three weeks later he strode into a hunting-camp of the upper tanana sticks. they marveled at his temerity; for they had a bad name and had been known to kill white men for as trifling a thing as a sharp ax or a broken rifle. but he went among them single-handed, his bearing being a delicious composite of humility, familiarity, sang-froid, and insolence. it required a deft hand and deep knowledge of the barbaric mind effectually to handle such diverse weapons; but he was a past-master in the art, knowing when to conciliate and when to threaten with jove-like wrath. he first made obeisance to the chief thling-tinneh, presenting him with a couple of pounds of black tea and tobacco, and thereby winning his most cordial regard. then he mingled with the men and maidens, and that night gave a potlach. the snow was beaten down in the form of an oblong, perhaps a hundred feet in length and quarter as many across. down the center a long fire was built, while either side was carpeted with spruce boughs. the lodges were forsaken, and the fivescore or so members of the tribe gave tongue to their folk-chants in honor of their guest. 'scruff' mackenzie's two years had taught him the not many hundred words of their vocabulary, and he had likewise conquered their deep gutturals, their japanese idioms, constructions, and honorific and agglutinative particles. so he made oration after their manner, satisfying their instinctive poetry-love with crude flights of eloquence and metaphorical contortions. after thling-tinneh and the shaman had responded in kind, he made trifling presents to the menfolk, joined in their singing, and proved an expert in their fifty-two-stick gambling game. and they smoked his tobacco and were pleased. but among the younger men there was a defiant attitude, a spirit of braggadocio, easily understood by the raw insinuations of the toothless squaws and the giggling of the maidens. they had known few white men, 'sons of the wolf,' but from those few they had learned strange lessons. nor had 'scruff' mackenzie, for all his seeming carelessness, failed to note these phenomena. in truth, rolled in his sleeping-furs, he thought it all over, thought seriously, and emptied many pipes in mapping out a campaign. one maiden only had caught his fancy,--none other than zarinska, daughter to the chief. in features, form, and poise, answering more nearly to the white man's type of beauty, she was almost an anomaly among her tribal sisters. he would possess her, make her his wife, and name her--ah, he would name her gertrude! having thus decided, he rolled over on his side and dropped off to sleep, a true son of his all-conquering race, a samson among the philistines. it was slow work and a stiff game; but 'scruff' mackenzie maneuvered cunningly, with an unconcern which served to puzzle the sticks. he took great care to impress the men that he was a sure shot and a mighty hunter, and the camp rang with his plaudits when he brought down a moose at six hundred yards. of a night he visited in chief thling-tinneh's lodge of moose and cariboo skins, talking big and dispensing tobacco with a lavish hand. nor did he fail to likewise honor the shaman; for he realized the medicine-man's influence with his people, and was anxious to make of him an ally. but that worthy was high and mighty, refused to be propitiated, and was unerringly marked down as a prospective enemy. though no opening presented for an interview with zarinska, mackenzie stole many a glance to her, giving fair warning of his intent. and well she knew, yet coquettishly surrounded herself with a ring of women whenever the men were away and he had a chance. but he was in no hurry; besides, he knew she could not help but think of him, and a few days of such thought would only better his suit. at last, one night, when he deemed the time to be ripe, he abruptly left the chief's smoky dwelling and hastened to a neighboring lodge. as usual, she sat with squaws and maidens about her, all engaged in sewing moccasins and beadwork. they laughed at his entrance, and badinage, which linked zarinska to him, ran high. but one after the other they were unceremoniously bundled into the outer snow, whence they hurried to spread the tale through all the camp. his cause was well pleaded, in her tongue, for she did not know his, and at the end of two hours he rose to go. 'so zarinska will come to the white man's lodge? good! i go now to have talk with thy father, for he may not be so minded. and i will give him many tokens; but he must not ask too much. if he say no? good! zarinska shall yet come to the white man's lodge.' he had already lifted the skin flap to depart, when a low exclamation brought him back to the girl's side. she brought herself to her knees on the bearskin mat, her face aglow with true eve-light, and shyly unbuckled his heavy belt. he looked down, perplexed, suspicious, his ears alert for the slightest sound without. but her next move disarmed his doubt, and he smiled with pleasure. she took from her sewing bag a moosehide sheath, brave with bright beadwork, fantastically designed. she drew his great hunting-knife, gazed reverently along the keen edge, half tempted to try it with her thumb, and shot it into place in its new home. then she slipped the sheath along the belt to its customary resting-place, just above the hip. for all the world, it was like a scene of olden time,--a lady and her knight. mackenzie drew her up full height and swept her red lips with his moustache, the, to her, foreign caress of the wolf. it was a meeting of the stone age and the steel; but she was none the less a woman, as her crimson cheeks and the luminous softness of her eyes attested. there was a thrill of excitement in the air as 'scruff' mackenzie, a bulky bundle under his arm, threw open the flap of thling-tinneh's tent. children were running about in the open, dragging dry wood to the scene of the potlach, a babble of women's voices was growing in intensity, the young men were consulting in sullen groups, while from the shaman's lodge rose the eerie sounds of an incantation. the chief was alone with his blear-eyed wife, but a glance sufficed to tell mackenzie that the news was already told. so he plunged at once into the business, shifting the beaded sheath prominently to the fore as advertisement of the betrothal. 'o thling-tinneh, mighty chief of the sticks and the land of the tanana, ruler of the salmon and the bear, the moose and the cariboo! the white man is before thee with a great purpose. many moons has his lodge been empty, and he is lonely. and his heart has eaten itself in silence, and grown hungry for a woman to sit beside him in his lodge, to meet him from the hunt with warm fire and good food. he has heard strange things, the patter of baby moccasins and the sound of children's voices. and one night a vision came upon him, and he beheld the raven, who is thy father, the great raven, who is the father of all the sticks. and the raven spake to the lonely white man, saying: "bind thou thy moccasins upon thee, and gird thy snow-shoes on, and lash thy sled with food for many sleeps and fine tokens for the chief thling-tinneh. for thou shalt turn thy face to where the mid-spring sun is wont to sink below the land and journey to this great chief's hunting-grounds. there thou shalt make big presents, and thling-tinneh, who is my son, shall become to thee as a father. in his lodge there is a maiden into whom i breathed the breath of life for thee. this maiden shalt thou take to wife." 'o chief, thus spake the great raven; thus do i lay many presents at thy feet; thus am i come to take thy daughter!' the old man drew his furs about him with crude consciousness of royalty, but delayed reply while a youngster crept in, delivered a quick message to appear before the council, and was gone. 'o white man, whom we have named moose-killer, also known as the wolf, and the son of the wolf! we know thou comest of a mighty race; we are proud to have thee our potlach-guest; but the king-salmon does not mate with the dogsalmon, nor the raven with the wolf.' 'not so!' cried mackenzie. 'the daughters of the raven have i met in the camps of the wolf,--the squaw of mortimer, the squaw of tregidgo, the squaw of barnaby, who came two ice-runs back, and i have heard of other squaws, though my eyes beheld them not.' 'son, your words are true; but it were evil mating, like the water with the sand, like the snow-flake with the sun. but met you one mason and his squaw' no? he came ten ice-runs ago,--the first of all the wolves. and with him there was a mighty man, straight as a willow-shoot, and tall; strong as the bald-faced grizzly, with a heart like the full summer moon; his-' 'oh!' interrupted mackenzie, recognizing the well-known northland figure, 'malemute kid!' 'the same,--a mighty man. but saw you aught of the squaw? she was full sister to zarinska.' 'nay, chief; but i have heard. mason--far, far to the north, a spruce-tree, heavy with years, crushed out his life beneath. but his love was great, and he had much gold. with this, and her boy, she journeyed countless sleeps toward the winter's noonday sun, and there she yet lives,--no biting frost, no snow, no summer's midnight sun, no winter's noonday night.' a second messenger interrupted with imperative summons from the council. as mackenzie threw him into the snow, he caught a glimpse of the swaying forms before the council-fire, heard the deep basses of the men in rhythmic chant, and knew the shaman was fanning the anger of his people. time pressed. he turned upon the chief. 'come! i wish thy child. and now, see! here are tobacco, tea, many cups of sugar, warm blankets, handkerchiefs, both good and large; and here, a true rifle, with many bullets and much powder.' 'nay,' replied the old man, struggling against the great wealth spread before him. 'even now are my people come together. they will not have this marriage.' 'but thou art chief.' 'yet do my young men rage because the wolves have taken their maidens so that they may not marry.' 'listen, o thling-tinneh! ere the night has passed into the day, the wolf shall face his dogs to the mountains of the east and fare forth to the country of the yukon. and zarinska shall break trail for his dogs.' 'and ere the night has gained its middle, my young men may fling to the dogs the flesh of the wolf, and his bones be scattered in the snow till the springtime lay them bare.' it was threat and counter-threat. mackenzie's bronzed face flushed darkly. he raised his voice. the old squaw, who till now had sat an impassive spectator, made to creep by him for the door. the song of the men broke suddenly and there was a hubbub of many voices as he whirled the old woman roughly to her couch of skins. 'again i cry--listen, o thling-tinneh! the wolf dies with teeth fast-locked, and with him there shall sleep ten of thy strongest men,--men who are needed, for the hunting is not begun, and the fishing is not many moons away. and again, of what profit should i die? i know the custom of thy people; thy share of my wealth shall be very small. grant me thy child, and it shall all be thine. and yet again, my brothers will come, and they are many, and their maws are never filled; and the daughters of the raven shall bear children in the lodges of the wolf. my people are greater than thy people. it is destiny. grant, and all this wealth is thine.' moccasins were crunching the snow without. mackenzie threw his rifle to cock, and loosened the twin colts in his belt. 'grant, o chief!' 'and yet will my people say no.' 'grant, and the wealth is thine. then shall i deal with thy people after.' 'the wolf will have it so. i will take his tokens,--but i would warn him.' mackenzie passed over the goods, taking care to clog the rifle's ejector, and capping the bargain with a kaleidoscopic silk kerchief. the shaman and half a dozen young braves entered, but he shouldered boldly among them and passed out. 'pack!' was his laconic greeting to zarinska as he passed her lodge and hurried to harness his dogs. a few minutes later he swept into the council at the head of the team, the woman by his side. he took his place at the upper end of the oblong, by the side of the chief. to his left, a step to the rear, he stationed zarinska, her proper place. besides, the time was ripe for mischief, and there was need to guard his back. on either side, the men crouched to the fire, their voices lifted in a folk-chant out of the forgotten past. full of strange, halting cadences and haunting recurrences, it was not beautiful. 'fearful' may inadequately express it. at the lower end, under the eye of the shaman, danced half a score of women. stern were his reproofs of those who did not wholly abandon themselves to the ecstasy of the rite. half hidden in their heavy masses of raven hair, all dishevelled and falling to their waists, they slowly swayed to and fro, their forms rippling to an ever-changing rhythm. it was a weird scene; an anachronism. to the south, the nineteenth century was reeling off the few years of its last decade; here flourished man primeval, a shade removed from the prehistoric cave-dweller, forgotten fragment of the elder world. the tawny wolf-dogs sat between their skin-clad masters or fought for room, the firelight cast backward from their red eyes and dripping fangs. the woods, in ghostly shroud, slept on unheeding. the white silence, for the moment driven to the rimming forest, seemed ever crushing inward; the stars danced with great leaps, as is their wont in the time of the great cold; while the spirits of the pole trailed their robes of glory athwart the heavens. 'scruff' mackenzie dimly realized the wild grandeur of the setting as his eyes ranged down the fur-fringed sides in quest of missing faces. they rested for a moment on a newborn babe, suckling at its mother's naked breast. it was forty below,--seven and odd degrees of frost. he thought of the tender women of his own race and smiled grimly. yet from the loins of some such tender woman had he sprung with a kingly inheritance,--an inheritance which gave to him and his dominance over the land and sea, over the animals and the peoples of all the zones. single-handed against fivescore, girt by the arctic winter, far from his own, he felt the prompting of his heritage, the desire to possess, the wild danger--love, the thrill of battle, the power to conquer or to die. the singing and the dancing ceased, and the shaman flared up in rude eloquence. through the sinuosities of their vast mythology, he worked cunningly upon the credulity of his people. the case was strong. opposing the creative principles as embodied in the crow and the raven, he stigmatized mackenzie as the wolf, the fighting and the destructive principle. not only was the combat of these forces spiritual, but men fought, each to his totem. they were the children of jelchs, the raven, the promethean fire-bringer; mackenzie was the child of the wolf, or in other words, the devil. for them to bring a truce to this perpetual warfare, to marry their daughters to the arch-enemy, were treason and blasphemy of the highest order. no phrase was harsh nor figure vile enough in branding mackenzie as a sneaking interloper and emissary of satan. there was a subdued, savage roar in the deep chests of his listeners as he took the swing of his peroration. 'aye, my brothers, jelchs is all-powerful! did he not bring heaven-borne fire that we might be warm? did he not draw the sun, moon, and stars, from their holes that we might see? did he not teach us that we might fight the spirits of famine and of frost? but now jelchs is angry with his children, and they are grown to a handful, and he will not help. 'for they have forgotten him, and done evil things, and trod bad trails, and taken his enemies into their lodges to sit by their fires. and the raven is sorrowful at the wickedness of his children; but when they shall rise up and show they have come back, he will come out of the darkness to aid them. o brothers! the fire-bringer has whispered messages to thy shaman; the same shall ye hear. let the young men take the young women to their lodges; let them fly at the throat of the wolf; let them be undying in their enmity! then shall their women become fruitful and they shall multiply into a mighty people! and the raven shall lead great tribes of their fathers and their fathers' fathers from out of the north; and they shall beat back the wolves till they are as last year's campfires; and they shall again come to rule over all the land! 'tis the message of jelchs, the raven.' this foreshadowing of the messiah's coming brought a hoarse howl from the sticks as they leaped to their feet. mackenzie slipped the thumbs of his mittens and waited. there was a clamor for the 'fox,' not to be stilled till one of the young men stepped forward to speak. 'brothers! the shaman has spoken wisely. the wolves have taken our women, and our men are childless. we are grown to a handful. the wolves have taken our warm furs and given for them evil spirits which dwell in bottles, and clothes which come not from the beaver or the lynx, but are made from the grass. and they are not warm, and our men die of strange sicknesses. i, the fox, have taken no woman to wife; and why? twice have the maidens which pleased me gone to the camps of the wolf. even now have i laid by skins of the beaver, of the moose, of the cariboo, that i might win favor in the eyes of thling-tinneh, that i might marry zarinska, his daughter. even now are her snow-shoes bound to her feet, ready to break trail for the dogs of the wolf. nor do i speak for myself alone. as i have done, so has the bear. he, too, had fain been the father of her children, and many skins has he cured thereto. i speak for all the young men who know not wives. the wolves are ever hungry. always do they take the choice meat at the killing. to the ravens are left the leavings. 'there is gugkla,' he cried, brutally pointing out one of the women, who was a cripple. 'her legs are bent like the ribs of a birch canoe. she cannot gather wood nor carry the meat of the hunters. did the wolves choose her?' 'ai! ai!' vociferated his tribesmen. 'there is moyri, whose eyes are crossed by the evil spirit. even the babes are affrighted when they gaze upon her, and it is said the bald-face gives her the trail. 'was she chosen?' again the cruel applause rang out. 'and there sits pischet. she does not hearken to my words. never has she heard the cry of the chit-chat, the voice of her husband, the babble of her child. 'she lives in the white silence. cared the wolves aught for her? no! theirs is the choice of the kill; ours is the leavings. 'brothers, it shall not be! no more shall the wolves slink among our campfires. the time is come.' a great streamer of fire, the aurora borealis, purple, green, and yellow, shot across the zenith, bridging horizon to horizon. with head thrown back and arms extended, he swayed to his climax. 'behold! the spirits of our fathers have arisen and great deeds are afoot this night!' he stepped back, and another young man somewhat diffidently came forward, pushed on by his comrades. he towered a full head above them, his broad chest defiantly bared to the frost. he swung tentatively from one foot to the other. words halted upon his tongue, and he was ill at ease. his face was horrible to look upon, for it had at one time been half torn away by some terrific blow. at last he struck his breast with his clenched fist, drawing sound as from a drum, and his voice rumbled forth as does the surf from an ocean cavern. 'i am the bear,--the silver-tip and the son of the silver-tip! when my voice was yet as a girl's, i slew the lynx, the moose, and the cariboo; when it whistled like the wolverines from under a cache, i crossed the mountains of the south and slew three of the white rivers; when it became as the roar of the chinook, i met the bald-faced grizzly, but gave no trail.' at this he paused, his hand significantly sweeping across his hideous scars. 'i am not as the fox. my tongue is frozen like the river. i cannot make great talk. my words are few. the fox says great deeds are afoot this night. good! talk flows from his tongue like the freshets of the spring, but he is chary of deeds. 'this night shall i do battle with the wolf. i shall slay him, and zarinska shall sit by my fire. the bear has spoken.' though pandemonium raged about him, 'scruff' mackenzie held his ground. aware how useless was the rifle at close quarters, he slipped both holsters to the fore, ready for action, and drew his mittens till his hands were barely shielded by the elbow gauntlets. he knew there was no hope in attack en masse, but true to his boast, was prepared to die with teeth fast-locked. but the bear restrained his comrades, beating back the more impetuous with his terrible fist. as the tumult began to die away, mackenzie shot a glance in the direction of zarinska. it was a superb picture. she was leaning forward on her snow-shoes, lips apart and nostrils quivering, like a tigress about to spring. her great black eyes were fixed upon her tribesmen, in fear and defiance. so extreme the tension, she had forgotten to breathe. with one hand pressed spasmodically against her breast and the other as tightly gripped about the dog-whip, she was as turned to stone. even as he looked, relief came to her. her muscles loosened; with a heavy sigh she settled back, giving him a look of more than love--of worship. thling-tinneh was trying to speak, but his people drowned his voice. then mackenzie strode forward. the fox opened his mouth to a piercing yell, but so savagely did mackenzie whirl upon him that he shrank back, his larynx all agurgle with suppressed sound. his discomfiture was greeted with roars of laughter, and served to soothe his fellows to a listening mood. 'brothers! the white man, whom ye have chosen to call the wolf, came among you with fair words. he was not like the innuit; he spoke not lies. he came as a friend, as one who would be a brother. but your men have had their say, and the time for soft words is past. 'first, i will tell you that the shaman has an evil tongue and is a false prophet, that the messages he spake are not those of the fire-bringer. his ears are locked to the voice of the raven, and out of his own head he weaves cunning fancies, and he has made fools of you. he has no power. 'when the dogs were killed and eaten, and your stomachs were heavy with untanned hide and strips of moccasins; when the old men died, and the old women died, and the babes at the dry dugs of the mothers died; when the land was dark, and ye perished as do the salmon in the fall; aye, when the famine was upon you, did the shaman bring reward to your hunters? did the shaman put meat in your bellies? again i say, the shaman is without power. thus i spit upon his face!' though taken aback by the sacrilege, there was no uproar. some of the women were even frightened, but among the men there was an uplifting, as though in preparation or anticipation of the miracle. all eyes were turned upon the two central figures. the priest realized the crucial moment, felt his power tottering, opened his mouth in denunciation, but fled backward before the truculent advance, upraised fist, and flashing eyes, of mackenzie. he sneered and resumed. 'was i stricken dead? did the lightning burn me? did the stars fall from the sky and crush me? pish! i have done with the dog. now will i tell you of my people, who are the mightiest of all the peoples, who rule in all the lands. at first we hunt as i hunt, alone. 'after that we hunt in packs; and at last, like the cariboo-run, we sweep across all the land. 'those whom we take into our lodges live; those who will not come die. zarinska is a comely maiden, full and strong, fit to become the mother of wolves. though i die, such shall she become; for my brothers are many, and they will follow the scent of my dogs. 'listen to the law of the wolf: whoso taketh the life of one wolf, the forfeit shall ten of his people pay. in many lands has the price been paid; in many lands shall it yet be paid. 'now will i deal with the fox and the bear. it seems they have cast eyes upon the maiden. so? behold, i have bought her! thling-tinneh leans upon the rifle; the goods of purchase are by his fire. yet will i be fair to the young men. to the fox, whose tongue is dry with many words, will i give of tobacco five long plugs. 'thus will his mouth be wetted that he may make much noise in the council. but to the bear, of whom i am well proud, will i give of blankets two; of flour, twenty cups; of tobacco, double that of the fox; and if he fare with me over the mountains of the east, then will i give him a rifle, mate to thling-tinneh's. if not? good! the wolf is weary of speech. yet once again will he say the law: whoso taketh the life of one wolf, the forfeit shall ten of his people pay.' mackenzie smiled as he stepped back to his old position, but at heart he was full of trouble. the night was yet dark. the girl came to his side, and he listened closely as she told of the bear's battle-tricks with the knife. the decision was for war. in a trice, scores of moccasins were widening the space of beaten snow by the fire. there was much chatter about the seeming defeat of the shaman; some averred he had but withheld his power, while others conned past events and agreed with the wolf. the bear came to the center of the battle-ground, a long naked hunting-knife of russian make in his hand. the fox called attention to mackenzie's revolvers; so he stripped his belt, buckling it about zarinska, into whose hands he also entrusted his rifle. she shook her head that she could not shoot,--small chance had a woman to handle such precious things. 'then, if danger come by my back, cry aloud, "my husband!" no; thus, "my husband!"' he laughed as she repeated it, pinched her cheek, and reentered the circle. not only in reach and stature had the bear the advantage of him, but his blade was longer by a good two inches. 'scruff' mackenzie had looked into the eyes of men before, and he knew it was a man who stood against him; yet he quickened to the glint of light on the steel, to the dominant pulse of his race. time and again he was forced to the edge of the fire or the deep snow, and time and again, with the foot tactics of the pugilist, he worked back to the center. not a voice was lifted in encouragement, while his antagonist was heartened with applause, suggestions, and warnings. but his teeth only shut the tighter as the knives clashed together, and he thrust or eluded with a coolness born of conscious strength. at first he felt compassion for his enemy; but this fled before the primal instinct of life, which in turn gave way to the lust of slaughter. the ten thousand years of culture fell from him, and he was a cave-dweller, doing battle for his female. twice he pricked the bear, getting away unscathed; but the third time caught, and to save himself, free hands closed on fighting hands, and they came together. then did he realize the tremendous strength of his opponent. his muscles were knotted in painful lumps, and cords and tendons threatened to snap with the strain; yet nearer and nearer came the russian steel. he tried to break away, but only weakened himself. the fur-clad circle closed in, certain of and anxious to see the final stroke. but with wrestler's trick, swinging partly to the side, he struck at his adversary with his head. involuntarily the bear leaned back, disturbing his center of gravity. simultaneous with this, mackenzie tripped properly and threw his whole weight forward, hurling him clear through the circle into the deep snow. the bear floundered out and came back full tilt. 'o my husband!' zarinska's voice rang out, vibrant with danger. to the twang of a bow-string, mackenzie swept low to the ground, and a bonebarbed arrow passed over him into the breast of the bear, whose momentum carried him over his crouching foe. the next instant mackenzie was up and about. the bear lay motionless, but across the fire was the shaman, drawing a second arrow. mackenzie's knife leaped short in the air. he caught the heavy blade by the point. there was a flash of light as it spanned the fire. then the shaman, the hilt alone appearing without his throat, swayed and pitched forward into the glowing embers. click! click!--the fox had possessed himself of thling-tinneh's rifle and was vainly trying to throw a shell into place. but he dropped it at the sound of mackenzie's laughter. 'so the fox has not learned the way of the plaything? he is yet a woman. 'come! bring it, that i may show thee!' the fox hesitated. 'come, i say!' he slouched forward like a beaten cur. 'thus, and thus; so the thing is done.' a shell flew into place and the trigger was at cock as mackenzie brought it to shoulder. 'the fox has said great deeds were afoot this night, and he spoke true. there have been great deeds, yet least among them were those of the fox. is he still intent to take zarinska to his lodge? is he minded to tread the trail already broken by the shaman and the bear? 'no? good!' mackenzie turned contemptuously and drew his knife from the priest's throat. 'are any of the young men so minded? if so, the wolf will take them by two and three till none are left. no? good! thling-tinneh, i now give thee this rifle a second time. if, in the days to come, thou shouldst journey to the country of the yukon, know thou that there shall always be a place and much food by the fire of the wolf. the night is now passing into the day. i go, but i may come again. and for the last time, remember the law of the wolf!' he was supernatural in their sight as he rejoined zarinska. she took her place at the head of the team, and the dogs swung into motion. a few moments later they were swallowed up by the ghostly forest. till now mackenzie had waited; he slipped into his snow-shoes to follow. 'has the wolf forgotten the five long plugs?' mackenzie turned upon the fox angrily; then the humor of it struck him. 'i will give thee one short plug.' 'as the wolf sees fit,' meekly responded the fox, stretching out his hand. the men of forty mile when big jim belden ventured the apparently innocuous proposition that mush-ice was 'rather pecooliar,' he little dreamed of what it would lead to. neither did lon mcfane, when he affirmed that anchor-ice was even more so; nor did bettles, as he instantly disagreed, declaring the very existence of such a form to be a bugaboo. 'an' ye'd be tellin' me this,' cried lon, 'after the years ye've spint in the land! an' we atin' out the same pot this many's the day!' 'but the thing's agin reasin,' insisted bettles. 'look you, water's warmer than ice--' 'an' little the difference, once ye break through.' 'still it's warmer, because it ain't froze. an' you say it freezes on the bottom?' 'only the anchor-ice, david, only the anchor-ice. an' have ye niver drifted along, the water clear as glass, whin suddin, belike a cloud over the sun, the mushy-ice comes bubblin' up an' up till from bank to bank an' bind to bind it's drapin' the river like a first snowfall?' 'unh, hunh! more'n once when i took a doze at the steering-oar. but it allus come out the nighest side-channel, an' not bubblin' up an' up.' 'but with niver a wink at the helm?' 'no; nor you. it's agin reason. i'll leave it to any man!' bettles appealed to the circle about the stove, but the fight was on between himself and lon mcfane. 'reason or no reason, it's the truth i'm tellin' ye. last fall, a year gone, 'twas sitka charley and meself saw the sight, droppin' down the riffle ye'll remember below fort reliance. an' regular fall weather it was--the glint o' the sun on the golden larch an' the quakin' aspens; an' the glister of light on ivery ripple; an' beyand, the winter an' the blue haze of the north comin' down hand in hand. it's well ye know the same, with a fringe to the river an' the ice formin' thick in the eddies--an' a snap an' sparkle to the air, an' ye a-feelin' it through all yer blood, a-takin' new lease of life with ivery suck of it. 'tis then, me boy, the world grows small an' the wandtherlust lays ye by the heels. 'but it's meself as wandthers. as i was sayin', we a-paddlin', with niver a sign of ice, barrin' that by the eddies, when the injun lifts his paddle an' sings out, "lon mcfane! look ye below!" so have i heard, but niver thought to see! as ye know, sitka charley, like meself, niver drew first breath in the land; so the sight was new. then we drifted, with a head over ayther side, peerin' down through the sparkly water. for the world like the days i spint with the pearlers, watchin' the coral banks a-growin' the same as so many gardens under the sea. there it was, the anchor-ice, clingin' an' clusterin' to ivery rock, after the manner of the white coral. 'but the best of the sight was to come. just after clearin' the tail of the riffle, the water turns quick the color of milk, an' the top of it in wee circles, as when the graylin' rise in the spring, or there's a splatter of wet from the sky. 'twas the anchor-ice comin' up. to the right, to the lift, as far as iver a man cud see, the water was covered with the same. an' like so much porridge it was, slickin' along the bark of the canoe, stickin' like glue to the paddles. it's many's the time i shot the self-same riffle before, and it's many's the time after, but niver a wink of the same have i seen. 'twas the sight of a lifetime.' 'do tell!' dryly commented bettles. 'd'ye think i'd b'lieve such a yarn? i'd ruther say the glister of light'd gone to your eyes, and the snap of the air to your tongue.' ''twas me own eyes that beheld it, an' if sitka charley was here, he'd be the lad to back me.' 'but facts is facts, an' they ain't no gettin' round 'em. it ain't in the nature of things for the water furtherest away from the air to freeze first.' 'but me own eyes-' 'don't git het up over it,' admonished bettles, as the quick celtic anger began to mount. 'then yer not after belavin' me?' 'sence you're so blamed forehanded about it, no; i'd b'lieve nature first, and facts.' 'is it the lie ye'd be givin' me?' threatened lon. 'ye'd better be askin' that siwash wife of yours. i'll lave it to her, for the truth i spake.' bettles flared up in sudden wrath. the irishman had unwittingly wounded him; for his wife was the half-breed daughter of a russian fur-trader, married to him in the greek mission of nulato, a thousand miles or so down the yukon, thus being of much higher caste than the common siwash, or native, wife. it was a mere northland nuance, which none but the northland adventurer may understand. 'i reckon you kin take it that way,' was his deliberate affirmation. the next instant lon mcfane had stretched him on the floor, the circle was broken up, and half a dozen men had stepped between. bettles came to his feet, wiping the blood from his mouth. 'it hain't new, this takin' and payin' of blows, and don't you never think but that this will be squared.' 'an' niver in me life did i take the lie from mortal man,' was the retort courteous. 'an' it's an avil day i'll not be to hand, waitin' an' willin' to help ye lift yer debts, barrin' no manner of way.' 'still got that - ?' lon nodded. 'but you'd better git a more likely caliber. mine'll rip holes through you the size of walnuts.' 'niver fear; it's me own slugs smell their way with soft noses, an' they'll spread like flapjacks against the coming out beyand. an' when'll i have the pleasure of waitin' on ye? the waterhole's a strikin' locality.' ''tain't bad. jest be there in an hour, and you won't set long on my coming.' both men mittened and left the post, their ears closed to the remonstrances of their comrades. it was such a little thing; yet with such men, little things, nourished by quick tempers and stubborn natures, soon blossomed into big things. besides, the art of burning to bedrock still lay in the womb of the future, and the men of forty-mile, shut in by the long arctic winter, grew high-stomached with overeating and enforced idleness, and became as irritable as do the bees in the fall of the year when the hives are overstocked with honey. there was no law in the land. the mounted police was also a thing of the future. each man measured an offense, and meted out the punishment inasmuch as it affected himself. rarely had combined action been necessary, and never in all the dreary history of the camp had the eighth article of the decalogue been violated. big jim belden called an impromptu meeting. scruff mackenzie was placed as temporary chairman, and a messenger dispatched to solicit father roubeau's good offices. their position was paradoxical, and they knew it. by the right of might could they interfere to prevent the duel; yet such action, while in direct line with their wishes, went counter to their opinions. while their rough-hewn, obsolete ethics recognized the individual prerogative of wiping out blow with blow, they could not bear to think of two good comrades, such as bettles and mcfane, meeting in deadly battle. deeming the man who would not fight on provocation a dastard, when brought to the test it seemed wrong that he should fight. but a scurry of moccasins and loud cries, rounded off with a pistol-shot, interrupted the discussion. then the storm-doors opened and malemute kid entered, a smoking colt's in his hand, and a merry light in his eye. 'i got him.' he replaced the empty shell, and added, 'your dog, scruff.' 'yellow fang?' mackenzie asked. 'no; the lop-eared one.' 'the devil! nothing the matter with him.' 'come out and take a look.' 'that's all right after all. buess he's got 'em, too. yellow fang came back this morning and took a chunk out of him, and came near to making a widower of me. made a rush for zarinska, but she whisked her skirts in his face and escaped with the loss of the same and a good roll in the snow. then he took to the woods again. hope he don't come back. lost any yourself?' 'one--the best one of the pack--shookum. started amuck this morning, but didn't get very far. ran foul of sitka charley's team, and they scattered him all over the street. and now two of them are loose, and raging mad; so you see he got his work in. the dog census will be small in the spring if we don't do something.' 'and the man census, too.' 'how's that? who's in trouble now?' 'oh, bettles and lon mcfane had an argument, and they'll be down by the waterhole in a few minutes to settle it.' the incident was repeated for his benefit, and malemute kid, accustomed to an obedience which his fellow men never failed to render, took charge of the affair. his quickly formulated plan was explained, and they promised to follow his lead implicitly. 'so you see,' he concluded, 'we do not actually take away their privilege of fighting; and yet i don't believe they'll fight when they see the beauty of the scheme. life's a game and men the gamblers. they'll stake their whole pile on the one chance in a thousand. 'take away that one chance, and--they won't play.' he turned to the man in charge of the post. 'storekeeper, weight out three fathoms of your best half-inch manila. 'we'll establish a precedent which will last the men of forty-mile to the end of time,' he prophesied. then he coiled the rope about his arm and led his followers out of doors, just in time to meet the principals. 'what danged right'd he to fetch my wife in?' thundered bettles to the soothing overtures of a friend. ''twa'n't called for,' he concluded decisively. ''twa'n't called for,' he reiterated again and again, pacing up and down and waiting for lon mcfane. and lon mcfane--his face was hot and tongue rapid as he flaunted insurrection in the face of the church. 'then, father,' he cried, 'it's with an aisy heart i'll roll in me flamy blankets, the broad of me back on a bed of coals. niver shall it be said that lon mcfane took a lie 'twixt the teeth without iver liftin' a hand! an' i'll not ask a blessin'. the years have been wild, but it's the heart was in the right place.' 'but it's not the heart, lon,' interposed father roubeau; 'it's pride that bids you forth to slay your fellow man.' 'yer frinch,' lon replied. and then, turning to leave him, 'an' will ye say a mass if the luck is against me?' but the priest smiled, thrust his moccasined feet to the fore, and went out upon the white breast of the silent river. a packed trail, the width of a sixteen-inch sled, led out to the waterhole. on either side lay the deep, soft snow. the men trod in single file, without conversation; and the black-stoled priest in their midst gave to the function the solemn aspect of a funeral. it was a warm winter's day for forty-mile--a day in which the sky, filled with heaviness, drew closer to the earth, and the mercury sought the unwonted level of twenty below. but there was no cheer in the warmth. there was little air in the upper strata, and the clouds hung motionless, giving sullen promise of an early snowfall. and the earth, unresponsive, made no preparation, content in its hibernation. when the waterhole was reached, bettles, having evidently reviewed the quarrel during the silent walk, burst out in a final ''twa'n't called for,' while lon mcfane kept grim silence. indignation so choked him that he could not speak. yet deep down, whenever their own wrongs were not uppermost, both men wondered at their comrades. they had expected opposition, and this tacit acquiescence hurt them. it seemed more was due them from the men they had been so close with, and they felt a vague sense of wrong, rebelling at the thought of so many of their brothers coming out, as on a gala occasion, without one word of protest, to see them shoot each other down. it appeared their worth had diminished in the eyes of the community. the proceedings puzzled them. 'back to back, david. an' will it be fifty paces to the man, or double the quantity?' 'fifty,' was the sanguinary reply, grunted out, yet sharply cut. but the new manila, not prominently displayed, but casually coiled about malemute kid's arm, caught the quick eye of the irishman, and thrilled him with a suspicious fear. 'an' what are ye doin' with the rope?' 'hurry up!' malemute kid glanced at his watch. 'i've a batch of bread in the cabin, and i don't want it to fall. besides, my feet are getting cold.' the rest of the men manifested their impatience in various suggestive ways. 'but the rope, kid' it's bran' new, an' sure yer bread's not that heavy it needs raisin' with the like of that?' bettles by this time had faced around. father roubeau, the humor of the situation just dawning on him, hid a smile behind his mittened hand. 'no, lon; this rope was made for a man.' malemute kid could be very impressive on occasion. 'what man?' bettles was becoming aware of a personal interest. 'the other man.' 'an' which is the one ye'd mane by that?' 'listen, lon--and you, too, bettles! we've been talking this little trouble of yours over, and we've come to one conclusion. we know we have no right to stop your fighting-' 'true for ye, me lad!' 'and we're not going to. but this much we can do, and shall do--make this the only duel in the history of forty-mile, set an example for every che-cha-qua that comes up or down the yukon. the man who escapes killing shall be hanged to the nearest tree. now, go ahead!' lon smiled dubiously, then his face lighted up. 'pace her off, david--fifty paces, wheel, an' niver a cease firin' till a lad's down for good. 'tis their hearts'll niver let them do the deed, an' it's well ye should know it for a true yankee bluff.' he started off with a pleased grin on his face, but malemute kid halted him. 'lon! it's a long while since you first knew me?' 'many's the day.' 'and you, bettles?' 'five year next june high water.' 'and have you once, in all that time, known me to break my word' or heard of me breaking it?' both men shook their heads, striving to fathom what lay beyond. 'well, then, what do you think of a promise made by me?' 'as good as your bond,' from bettles. 'the thing to safely sling yer hopes of heaven by,' promptly endorsed lon mcfane. 'listen! i, malemute kid, give you my word--and you know what that means that the man who is not shot stretches rope within ten minutes after the shooting.' he stepped back as pilate might have done after washing his hands. a pause and a silence came over the men of forty-mile. the sky drew still closer, sending down a crystal flight of frost--little geometric designs, perfect, evanescent as a breath, yet destined to exist till the returning sun had covered half its northern journey. both men had led forlorn hopes in their time--led with a curse or a jest on their tongues, and in their souls an unswerving faith in the god of chance. but that merciful deity had been shut out from the present deal. they studied the face of malemute kid, but they studied as one might the sphinx. as the quiet minutes passed, a feeling that speech was incumbent on them began to grow. at last the howl of a wolf-dog cracked the silence from the direction of forty-mile. the weird sound swelled with all the pathos of a breaking heart, then died away in a long-drawn sob. 'well i be danged!' bettles turned up the collar of his mackinaw jacket and stared about him helplessly. 'it's a gloryus game yer runnin', kid,' cried lon mcfane. 'all the percentage of the house an' niver a bit to the man that's buckin'. the devil himself'd niver tackle such a cinch--and damned if i do.' there were chuckles, throttled in gurgling throats, and winks brushed away with the frost which rimed the eyelashes, as the men climbed the ice-notched bank and started across the street to the post. but the long howl had drawn nearer, invested with a new note of menace. a woman screamed round the corner. there was a cry of, 'here he comes!' then an indian boy, at the head of half a dozen frightened dogs, racing with death, dashed into the crowd. and behind came yellow fang, a bristle of hair and a flash of gray. everybody but the yankee fled. the indian boy had tripped and fallen. bettles stopped long enough to grip him by the slack of his furs, then headed for a pile of cordwood already occupied by a number of his comrades. yellow fang, doubling after one of the dogs, came leaping back. the fleeing animal, free of the rabies, but crazed with fright, whipped bettles off his feet and flashed on up the street. malemute kid took a flying shot at yellow fang. the mad dog whirled a half airspring, came down on his back, then, with a single leap, covered half the distance between himself and bettles. but the fatal spring was intercepted. lon mcfane leaped from the woodpile, countering him in midair. over they rolled, lon holding him by the throat at arm's length, blinking under the fetid slaver which sprayed his face. then bettles, revolver in hand and coolly waiting a chance, settled the combat. ''twas a square game, kid,' lon remarked, rising to his feet and shaking the snow from out his sleeves; 'with a fair percentage to meself that bucked it.' that night, while lon mcfane sought the forgiving arms of the church in the direction of father roubeau's cabin, malemute kid talked long to little purpose. 'but would you,' persisted mackenzie, 'supposing they had fought?' 'have i ever broken my word?' 'no; but that isn't the point. answer the question. would you?' malemute kid straightened up. 'scruff, i've been asking myself that question ever since, and--' 'well?' 'well, as yet, i haven't found the answer.' in a far country when a man journeys into a far country, he must be prepared to forget many of the things he has learned, and to acquire such customs as are inherent with existence in the new land; he must abandon the old ideals and the old gods, and oftentimes he must reverse the very codes by which his conduct has hitherto been shaped. to those who have the protean faculty of adaptability, the novelty of such change may even be a source of pleasure; but to those who happen to be hardened to the ruts in which they were created, the pressure of the altered environment is unbearable, and they chafe in body and in spirit under the new restrictions which they do not understand. this chafing is bound to act and react, producing divers evils and leading to various misfortunes. it were better for the man who cannot fit himself to the new groove to return to his own country; if he delay too long, he will surely die. the man who turns his back upon the comforts of an elder civilization, to face the savage youth, the primordial simplicity of the north, may estimate success at an inverse ratio to the quantity and quality of his hopelessly fixed habits. he will soon discover, if he be a fit candidate, that the material habits are the less important. the exchange of such things as a dainty menu for rough fare, of the stiff leather shoe for the soft, shapeless moccasin, of the feather bed for a couch in the snow, is after all a very easy matter. but his pinch will come in learning properly to shape his mind's attitude toward all things, and especially toward his fellow man. for the courtesies of ordinary life, he must substitute unselfishness, forbearance, and tolerance. thus, and thus only, can he gain that pearl of great price--true comradeship. he must not say 'thank you'; he must mean it without opening his mouth, and prove it by responding in kind. in short, he must substitute the deed for the word, the spirit for the letter. when the world rang with the tale of arctic gold, and the lure of the north gripped the heartstrings of men, carter weatherbee threw up his snug clerkship, turned the half of his savings over to his wife, and with the remainder bought an outfit. there was no romance in his nature--the bondage of commerce had crushed all that; he was simply tired of the ceaseless grind, and wished to risk great hazards in view of corresponding returns. like many another fool, disdaining the old trails used by the northland pioneers for a score of years, he hurried to edmonton in the spring of the year; and there, unluckily for his soul's welfare, he allied himself with a party of men. there was nothing unusual about this party, except its plans. even its goal, like that of all the other parties, was the klondike. but the route it had mapped out to attain that goal took away the breath of the hardiest native, born and bred to the vicissitudes of the northwest. even jacques baptiste, born of a chippewa woman and a renegade voyageur (having raised his first whimpers in a deerskin lodge north of the sixty-fifth parallel, and had the same hushed by blissful sucks of raw tallow), was surprised. though he sold his services to them and agreed to travel even to the never-opening ice, he shook his head ominously whenever his advice was asked. percy cuthfert's evil star must have been in the ascendant, for he, too, joined this company of argonauts. he was an ordinary man, with a bank account as deep as his culture, which is saying a good deal. he had no reason to embark on such a venture--no reason in the world save that he suffered from an abnormal development of sentimentality. he mistook this for the true spirit of romance and adventure. many another man has done the like, and made as fatal a mistake. the first break-up of spring found the party following the ice-run of elk river. it was an imposing fleet, for the outfit was large, and they were accompanied by a disreputable contingent of half-breed voyageurs with their women and children. day in and day out, they labored with the bateaux and canoes, fought mosquitoes and other kindred pests, or sweated and swore at the portages. severe toil like this lays a man naked to the very roots of his soul, and ere lake athabasca was lost in the south, each member of the party had hoisted his true colors. the two shirks and chronic grumblers were carter weatherbee and percy cuthfert. the whole party complained less of its aches and pains than did either of them. not once did they volunteer for the thousand and one petty duties of the camp. a bucket of water to be brought, an extra armful of wood to be chopped, the dishes to be washed and wiped, a search to be made through the outfit for some suddenly indispensable article--and these two effete scions of civilization discovered sprains or blisters requiring instant attention. they were the first to turn in at night, with score of tasks yet undone; the last to turn out in the morning, when the start should be in readiness before the breakfast was begun. they were the first to fall to at mealtime, the last to have a hand in the cooking; the first to dive for a slim delicacy, the last to discover they had added to their own another man's share. if they toiled at the oars, they slyly cut the water at each stroke and allowed the boat's momentum to float up the blade. they thought nobody noticed; but their comrades swore under their breaths and grew to hate them, while jacques baptiste sneered openly and damned them from morning till night. but jacques baptiste was no gentleman. at the great slave, hudson bay dogs were purchased, and the fleet sank to the guards with its added burden of dried fish and pemican. then canoe and bateau answered to the swift current of the mackenzie, and they plunged into the great barren ground. every likely-looking 'feeder' was prospected, but the elusive 'pay-dirt' danced ever to the north. at the great bear, overcome by the common dread of the unknown lands, their voyageurs began to desert, and fort of good hope saw the last and bravest bending to the towlines as they bucked the current down which they had so treacherously glided. jacques baptiste alone remained. had he not sworn to travel even to the never-opening ice? the lying charts, compiled in main from hearsay, were now constantly consulted. and they felt the need of hurry, for the sun had already passed its northern solstice and was leading the winter south again. skirting the shores of the bay, where the mackenzie disembogues into the arctic ocean, they entered the mouth of the little peel river. then began the arduous up-stream toil, and the two incapables fared worse than ever. towline and pole, paddle and tumpline, rapids and portages--such tortures served to give the one a deep disgust for great hazards, and printed for the other a fiery text on the true romance of adventure. one day they waxed mutinous, and being vilely cursed by jacques baptiste, turned, as worms sometimes will. but the half-breed thrashed the twain, and sent them, bruised and bleeding, about their work. it was the first time either had been manhandled. abandoning their river craft at the headwaters of the little peel, they consumed the rest of the summer in the great portage over the mackenzie watershed to the west rat. this little stream fed the porcupine, which in turn joined the yukon where that mighty highway of the north countermarches on the arctic circle. but they had lost in the race with winter, and one day they tied their rafts to the thick eddy-ice and hurried their goods ashore. that night the river jammed and broke several times; the following morning it had fallen asleep for good. 'we can't be more'n four hundred miles from the yukon,' concluded sloper, multiplying his thumb nails by the scale of the map. the council, in which the two incapables had whined to excellent disadvantage, was drawing to a close. 'hudson bay post, long time ago. no use um now.' jacques baptiste's father had made the trip for the fur company in the old days, incidentally marking the trail with a couple of frozen toes. sufferin' cracky!' cried another of the party. 'no whites?' 'nary white,' sloper sententiously affirmed; 'but it's only five hundred more up the yukon to dawson. call it a rough thousand from here.' weatherbee and cuthfert groaned in chorus. 'how long'll that take, baptiste?' the half-breed figured for a moment. 'workum like hell, no man play out, ten--twenty--forty--fifty days. um babies come' (designating the incapables), 'no can tell. mebbe when hell freeze over; mebbe not then.' the manufacture of snowshoes and moccasins ceased. somebody called the name of an absent member, who came out of an ancient cabin at the edge of the campfire and joined them. the cabin was one of the many mysteries which lurk in the vast recesses of the north. built when and by whom, no man could tell. two graves in the open, piled high with stones, perhaps contained the secret of those early wanderers. but whose hand had piled the stones? the moment had come. jacques baptiste paused in the fitting of a harness and pinned the struggling dog in the snow. the cook made mute protest for delay, threw a handful of bacon into a noisy pot of beans, then came to attention. sloper rose to his feet. his body was a ludicrous contrast to the healthy physiques of the incapables. yellow and weak, fleeing from a south american fever-hole, he had not broken his flight across the zones, and was still able to toil with men. his weight was probably ninety pounds, with the heavy hunting knife thrown in, and his grizzled hair told of a prime which had ceased to be. the fresh young muscles of either weatherbee or cuthfert were equal to ten times the endeavor of his; yet he could walk them into the earth in a day's journey. and all this day he had whipped his stronger comrades into venturing a thousand miles of the stiffest hardship man can conceive. he was the incarnation of the unrest of his race, and the old teutonic stubbornness, dashed with the quick grasp and action of the yankee, held the flesh in the bondage of the spirit. 'all those in favor of going on with the dogs as soon as the ice sets, say ay.' 'ay!' rang out eight voices--voices destined to string a trail of oaths along many a hundred miles of pain. 'contrary minded?' 'no!' for the first time the incapables were united without some compromise of personal interests. 'and what are you going to do about it?' weatherbee added belligerently. 'majority rule! majority rule!' clamored the rest of the party. 'i know the expedition is liable to fall through if you don't come,' sloper replied sweetly; 'but i guess, if we try real hard, we can manage to do without you. what do you say, boys?' the sentiment was cheered to the echo. 'but i say, you know,' cuthfert ventured apprehensively; 'what's a chap like me to do?' 'ain't you coming with us.' 'no--o.' 'then do as you damn well please. we won't have nothing to say.' 'kind o' calkilate yuh might settle it with that canoodlin' pardner of yourn,' suggested a heavy-going westerner from the dakotas, at the same time pointing out weatherbee. 'he'll be shore to ask yuh what yur a-goin' to do when it comes to cookin' an' gatherin' the wood.' 'then we'll consider it all arranged,' concluded sloper. 'we'll pull out tomorrow, if we camp within five miles--just to get everything in running order and remember if we've forgotten anything.' the sleds groaned by on their steel-shod runners, and the dogs strained low in the harnesses in which they were born to die. jacques baptiste paused by the side of sloper to get a last glimpse of the cabin. the smoke curled up pathetically from the yukon stovepipe. the two incapables were watching them from the doorway. sloper laid his hand on the other's shoulder. 'jacques baptiste, did you ever hear of the kilkenny cats?' the half-breed shook his head. 'well, my friend and good comrade, the kilkenny cats fought till neither hide, nor hair, nor yowl, was left. you understand?--till nothing was left. very good. now, these two men don't like work. they'll be all alone in that cabin all winter--a mighty long, dark winter. kilkenny cats--well?' the frenchman in baptiste shrugged his shoulders, but the indian in him was silent. nevertheless, it was an eloquent shrug, pregnant with prophecy. things prospered in the little cabin at first. the rough badinage of their comrades had made weatherbee and cuthfert conscious of the mutual responsibility which had devolved upon them; besides, there was not so much work after all for two healthy men. and the removal of the cruel whiphand, or in other words the bulldozing half-breed, had brought with it a joyous reaction. at first, each strove to outdo the other, and they performed petty tasks with an unction which would have opened the eyes of their comrades who were now wearing out bodies and souls on the long trail. all care was banished. the forest, which shouldered in upon them from three sides, was an inexhaustible woodyard. a few yards from their door slept the porcupine, and a hole through its winter robe formed a bubbling spring of water, crystal clear and painfully cold. but they soon grew to find fault with even that. the hole would persist in freezing up, and thus gave them many a miserable hour of ice-chopping. the unknown builders of the cabin had extended the sidelogs so as to support a cache at the rear. in this was stored the bulk of the party's provisions. food there was, without stint, for three times the men who were fated to live upon it. but the most of it was the kind which built up brawn and sinew, but did not tickle the palate. true, there was sugar in plenty for two ordinary men; but these two were little else than children. they early discovered the virtues of hot water judiciously saturated with sugar, and they prodigally swam their flapjacks and soaked their crusts in the rich, white syrup. then coffee and tea, and especially the dried fruits, made disastrous inroads upon it. the first words they had were over the sugar question. and it is a really serious thing when two men, wholly dependent upon each other for company, begin to quarrel. weatherbee loved to discourse blatantly on politics, while cuthfert, who had been prone to clip his coupons and let the commonwealth jog on as best it might, either ignored the subject or delivered himself of startling epigrams. but the clerk was too obtuse to appreciate the clever shaping of thought, and this waste of ammunition irritated cuthfert. he had been used to blinding people by his brilliancy, and it worked him quite a hardship, this loss of an audience. he felt personally aggrieved and unconsciously held his muttonhead companion responsible for it. save existence, they had nothing in common--came in touch on no single point. weatherbee was a clerk who had known naught but clerking all his life; cuthfert was a master of arts, a dabbler in oils, and had written not a little. the one was a lower-class man who considered himself a gentleman, and the other was a gentleman who knew himself to be such. from this it may be remarked that a man can be a gentleman without possessing the first instinct of true comradeship. the clerk was as sensuous as the other was aesthetic, and his love adventures, told at great length and chiefly coined from his imagination, affected the supersensitive master of arts in the same way as so many whiffs of sewer gas. he deemed the clerk a filthy, uncultured brute, whose place was in the muck with the swine, and told him so; and he was reciprocally informed that he was a milk-and-water sissy and a cad. weatherbee could not have defined 'cad' for his life; but it satisfied its purpose, which after all seems the main point in life. weatherbee flatted every third note and sang such songs as 'the boston burglar' and 'the handsome cabin boy,' for hours at a time, while cuthfert wept with rage, till he could stand it no longer and fled into the outer cold. but there was no escape. the intense frost could not be endured for long at a time, and the little cabin crowded them--beds, stove, table, and all--into a space of ten by twelve. the very presence of either became a personal affront to the other, and they lapsed into sullen silences which increased in length and strength as the days went by. occasionally, the flash of an eye or the curl of a lip got the better of them, though they strove to wholly ignore each other during these mute periods. and a great wonder sprang up in the breast of each, as to how god had ever come to create the other. with little to do, time became an intolerable burden to them. this naturally made them still lazier. they sank into a physical lethargy which there was no escaping, and which made them rebel at the performance of the smallest chore. one morning when it was his turn to cook the common breakfast, weatherbee rolled out of his blankets, and to the snoring of his companion, lighted first the slush lamp and then the fire. the kettles were frozen hard, and there was no water in the cabin with which to wash. but he did not mind that. waiting for it to thaw, he sliced the bacon and plunged into the hateful task of bread-making. cuthfert had been slyly watching through his half-closed lids. consequently there was a scene, in which they fervently blessed each other, and agreed, henceforth, that each do his own cooking. a week later, cuthfert neglected his morning ablutions, but none the less complacently ate the meal which he had cooked. weatherbee grinned. after that the foolish custom of washing passed out of their lives. as the sugar-pile and other little luxuries dwindled, they began to be afraid they were not getting their proper shares, and in order that they might not be robbed, they fell to gorging themselves. the luxuries suffered in this gluttonous contest, as did also the men. in the absence of fresh vegetables and exercise, their blood became impoverished, and a loathsome, purplish rash crept over their bodies. yet they refused to heed the warning. next, their muscles and joints began to swell, the flesh turning black, while their mouths, gums, and lips took on the color of rich cream. instead of being drawn together by their misery, each gloated over the other's symptoms as the scurvy took its course. they lost all regard for personal appearance, and for that matter, common decency. the cabin became a pigpen, and never once were the beds made or fresh pine boughs laid underneath. yet they could not keep to their blankets, as they would have wished; for the frost was inexorable, and the fire box consumed much fuel. the hair of their heads and faces grew long and shaggy, while their garments would have disgusted a ragpicker. but they did not care. they were sick, and there was no one to see; besides, it was very painful to move about. to all this was added a new trouble--the fear of the north. this fear was the joint child of the great cold and the great silence, and was born in the darkness of december, when the sun dipped below the horizon for good. it affected them according to their natures. weatherbee fell prey to the grosser superstitions, and did his best to resurrect the spirits which slept in the forgotten graves. it was a fascinating thing, and in his dreams they came to him from out of the cold, and snuggled into his blankets, and told him of their toils and troubles ere they died. he shrank away from the clammy contact as they drew closer and twined their frozen limbs about him, and when they whispered in his ear of things to come, the cabin rang with his frightened shrieks. cuthfert did not understand--for they no longer spoke--and when thus awakened he invariably grabbed for his revolver. then he would sit up in bed, shivering nervously, with the weapon trained on the unconscious dreamer. cuthfert deemed the man going mad, and so came to fear for his life. his own malady assumed a less concrete form. the mysterious artisan who had laid the cabin, log by log, had pegged a wind-vane to the ridgepole. cuthfert noticed it always pointed south, and one day, irritated by its steadfastness of purpose, he turned it toward the east. he watched eagerly, but never a breath came by to disturb it. then he turned the vane to the north, swearing never again to touch it till the wind did blow. but the air frightened him with its unearthly calm, and he often rose in the middle of the night to see if the vane had veered--ten degrees would have satisfied him. but no, it poised above him as unchangeable as fate. his imagination ran riot, till it became to him a fetish. sometimes he followed the path it pointed across the dismal dominions, and allowed his soul to become saturated with the fear. he dwelt upon the unseen and the unknown till the burden of eternity appeared to be crushing him. everything in the northland had that crushing effect--the absence of life and motion; the darkness; the infinite peace of the brooding land; the ghastly silence, which made the echo of each heartbeat a sacrilege; the solemn forest which seemed to guard an awful, inexpressible something, which neither word nor thought could compass. the world he had so recently left, with its busy nations and great enterprises, seemed very far away. recollections occasionally obtruded--recollections of marts and galleries and crowded thoroughfares, of evening dress and social functions, of good men and dear women he had known--but they were dim memories of a life he had lived long centuries agone, on some other planet. this phantasm was the reality. standing beneath the wind-vane, his eyes fixed on the polar skies, he could not bring himself to realize that the southland really existed, that at that very moment it was a-roar with life and action. there was no southland, no men being born of women, no giving and taking in marriage. beyond his bleak skyline there stretched vast solitudes, and beyond these still vaster solitudes. there were no lands of sunshine, heavy with the perfume of flowers. such things were only old dreams of paradise. the sunlands of the west and the spicelands of the east, the smiling arcadias and blissful islands of the blest--ha! ha! his laughter split the void and shocked him with its unwonted sound. there was no sun. this was the universe, dead and cold and dark, and he its only citizen. weatherbee? at such moments weatherbee did not count. he was a caliban, a monstrous phantom, fettered to him for untold ages, the penalty of some forgotten crime. he lived with death among the dead, emasculated by the sense of his own insignificance, crushed by the passive mastery of the slumbering ages. the magnitude of all things appalled him. everything partook of the superlative save himself--the perfect cessation of wind and motion, the immensity of the snow-covered wildness, the height of the sky and the depth of the silence. that wind-vane--if it would only move. if a thunderbolt would fall, or the forest flare up in flame. the rolling up of the heavens as a scroll, the crash of doom--anything, anything! but no, nothing moved; the silence crowded in, and the fear of the north laid icy fingers on his heart. once, like another crusoe, by the edge of the river he came upon a track--the faint tracery of a snowshoe rabbit on the delicate snow-crust. it was a revelation. there was life in the northland. he would follow it, look upon it, gloat over it. he forgot his swollen muscles, plunging through the deep snow in an ecstasy of anticipation. the forest swallowed him up, and the brief midday twilight vanished; but he pursued his quest till exhausted nature asserted itself and laid him helpless in the snow. there he groaned and cursed his folly, and knew the track to be the fancy of his brain; and late that night he dragged himself into the cabin on hands and knees, his cheeks frozen and a strange numbness about his feet. weatherbee grinned malevolently, but made no offer to help him. he thrust needles into his toes and thawed them out by the stove. a week later mortification set in. but the clerk had his own troubles. the dead men came out of their graves more frequently now, and rarely left him, waking or sleeping. he grew to wait and dread their coming, never passing the twin cairns without a shudder. one night they came to him in his sleep and led him forth to an appointed task. frightened into inarticulate horror, he awoke between the heaps of stones and fled wildly to the cabin. but he had lain there for some time, for his feet and cheeks were also frozen. sometimes he became frantic at their insistent presence, and danced about the cabin, cutting the empty air with an axe, and smashing everything within reach. during these ghostly encounters, cuthfert huddled into his blankets and followed the madman about with a cocked revolver, ready to shoot him if he came too near. but, recovering from one of these spells, the clerk noticed the weapon trained upon him. his suspicions were aroused, and thenceforth he, too, lived in fear of his life. they watched each other closely after that, and faced about in startled fright whenever either passed behind the other's back. the apprehensiveness became a mania which controlled them even in their sleep. through mutual fear they tacitly let the slush-lamp burn all night, and saw to a plentiful supply of bacon-grease before retiring. the slightest movement on the part of one was sufficient to arouse the other, and many a still watch their gazes countered as they shook beneath their blankets with fingers on the trigger-guards. what with the fear of the north, the mental strain, and the ravages of the disease, they lost all semblance of humanity, taking on the appearance of wild beasts, hunted and desperate. their cheeks and noses, as an aftermath of the freezing, had turned black. their frozen toes had begun to drop away at the first and second joints. every movement brought pain, but the fire box was insatiable, wringing a ransom of torture from their miserable bodies. day in, day out, it demanded its food--a veritable pound of flesh--and they dragged themselves into the forest to chop wood on their knees. once, crawling thus in search of dry sticks, unknown to each other they entered a thicket from opposite sides. suddenly, without warning, two peering death's-heads confronted each other. suffering had so transformed them that recognition was impossible. they sprang to their feet, shrieking with terror, and dashed away on their mangled stumps; and falling at the cabin's door, they clawed and scratched like demons till they discovered their mistake. occasionally they lapsed normal, and during one of these sane intervals, the chief bone of contention, the sugar, had been divided equally between them. they guarded their separate sacks, stored up in the cache, with jealous eyes; for there were but a few cupfuls left, and they were totally devoid of faith in each other. but one day cuthfert made a mistake. hardly able to move, sick with pain, with his head swimming and eyes blinded, he crept into the cache, sugar canister in hand, and mistook weatherbee's sack for his own. january had been born but a few days when this occurred. the sun had some time since passed its lowest southern declination, and at meridian now threw flaunting streaks of yellow light upon the northern sky. on the day following his mistake with the sugar-bag, cuthfert found himself feeling better, both in body and in spirit. as noontime drew near and the day brightened, he dragged himself outside to feast on the evanescent glow, which was to him an earnest of the sun's future intentions. weatherbee was also feeling somewhat better, and crawled out beside him. they propped themselves in the snow beneath the moveless wind-vane, and waited. the stillness of death was about them. in other climes, when nature falls into such moods, there is a subdued air of expectancy, a waiting for some small voice to take up the broken strain. not so in the north. the two men had lived seeming eons in this ghostly peace. they could remember no song of the past; they could conjure no song of the future. this unearthly calm had always been--the tranquil silence of eternity. their eyes were fixed upon the north. unseen, behind their backs, behind the towering mountains to the south, the sun swept toward the zenith of another sky than theirs. sole spectators of the mighty canvas, they watched the false dawn slowly grow. a faint flame began to glow and smoulder. it deepened in intensity, ringing the changes of reddish-yellow, purple, and saffron. so bright did it become that cuthfert thought the sun must surely be behind it--a miracle, the sun rising in the north! suddenly, without warning and without fading, the canvas was swept clean. there was no color in the sky. the light had gone out of the day. they caught their breaths in half-sobs. but lo! the air was aglint with particles of scintillating frost, and there, to the north, the wind-vane lay in vague outline of the snow. a shadow! a shadow! it was exactly midday. they jerked their heads hurriedly to the south. a golden rim peeped over the mountain's snowy shoulder, smiled upon them an instant, then dipped from sight again. there were tears in their eyes as they sought each other. a strange softening came over them. they felt irresistibly drawn toward each other. the sun was coming back again. it would be with them tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. and it would stay longer every visit, and a time would come when it would ride their heaven day and night, never once dropping below the skyline. there would be no night. the ice-locked winter would be broken; the winds would blow and the forests answer; the land would bathe in the blessed sunshine, and life renew. hand in hand, they would quit this horrid dream and journey back to the southland. they lurched blindly forward, and their hands met--their poor maimed hands, swollen and distorted beneath their mittens. but the promise was destined to remain unfulfilled. the northland is the northland, and men work out their souls by strange rules, which other men, who have not journeyed into far countries, cannot come to understand. an hour later, cuthfert put a pan of bread into the oven, and fell to speculating on what the surgeons could do with his feet when he got back. home did not seem so very far away now. weatherbee was rummaging in the cache. of a sudden, he raised a whirlwind of blasphemy, which in turn ceased with startling abruptness. the other man had robbed his sugar-sack. still, things might have happened differently, had not the two dead men come out from under the stones and hushed the hot words in his throat. they led him quite gently from the cache, which he forgot to close. that consummation was reached; that something they had whispered to him in his dreams was about to happen. they guided him gently, very gently, to the woodpile, where they put the axe in his hands. then they helped him shove open the cabin door, and he felt sure they shut it after him--at least he heard it slam and the latch fall sharply into place. and he knew they were waiting just without, waiting for him to do his task. 'carter! i say, carter!' percy cuthfert was frightened at the look on the clerk's face, and he made haste to put the table between them. carter weatherbee followed, without haste and without enthusiasm. there was neither pity nor passion in his face, but rather the patient, stolid look of one who has certain work to do and goes about it methodically. 'i say, what's the matter?' the clerk dodged back, cutting off his retreat to the door, but never opening his mouth. 'i say, carter, i say; let's talk. there's a good chap.' the master of arts was thinking rapidly, now, shaping a skillful flank movement on the bed where his smith & wesson lay. keeping his eyes on the madman, he rolled backward on the bunk, at the same time clutching the pistol. 'carter!' the powder flashed full in weatherbee's face, but he swung his weapon and leaped forward. the axe bit deeply at the base of the spine, and percy cuthfert felt all consciousness of his lower limbs leave him. then the clerk fell heavily upon him, clutching him by the throat with feeble fingers. the sharp bite of the axe had caused cuthfert to drop the pistol, and as his lungs panted for release, he fumbled aimlessly for it among the blankets. then he remembered. he slid a hand up the clerk's belt to the sheath-knife; and they drew very close to each other in that last clinch. percy cuthfert felt his strength leave him. the lower portion of his body was useless, the inert weight of weatherbee crushed him--crushed him and pinned him there like a bear under a trap. the cabin became filled with a familiar odor, and he knew the bread to be burning. yet what did it matter? he would never need it. and there were all of six cupfuls of sugar in the cache--if he had foreseen this he would not have been so saving the last several days. would the wind-vane ever move? why not' had he not seen the sun today? he would go and see. no; it was impossible to move. he had not thought the clerk so heavy a man. how quickly the cabin cooled! the fire must be out. the cold was forcing in. it must be below zero already, and the ice creeping up the inside of the door. he could not see it, but his past experience enabled him to gauge its progress by the cabin's temperature. the lower hinge must be white ere now. would the tale of this ever reach the world? how would his friends take it? they would read it over their coffee, most likely, and talk it over at the clubs. he could see them very clearly, 'poor old cuthfert,' they murmured; 'not such a bad sort of a chap, after all.' he smiled at their eulogies, and passed on in search of a turkish bath. it was the same old crowd upon the streets. strange, they did not notice his moosehide moccasins and tattered german socks! he would take a cab. and after the bath a shave would not be bad. no; he would eat first. steak, and potatoes, and green things how fresh it all was! and what was that? squares of honey, streaming liquid amber! but why did they bring so much? ha! ha! he could never eat it all. shine! why certainly. he put his foot on the box. the bootblack looked curiously up at him, and he remembered his moosehide moccasins and went away hastily. hark! the wind-vane must be surely spinning. no; a mere singing in his ears. that was all--a mere singing. the ice must have passed the latch by now. more likely the upper hinge was covered. between the moss-chinked roof-poles, little points of frost began to appear. how slowly they grew! no; not so slowly. there was a new one, and there another. two--three--four; they were coming too fast to count. there were two growing together. and there, a third had joined them. why, there were no more spots. they had run together and formed a sheet. well, he would have company. if gabriel ever broke the silence of the north, they would stand together, hand in hand, before the great white throne. and god would judge them, god would judge them! then percy cuthfert closed his eyes and dropped off to sleep. to the man on the trail 'dump it in!.' 'but i say, kid, isn't that going it a little too strong? whisky and alcohol's bad enough; but when it comes to brandy and pepper sauce and-' 'dump it in. who's making this punch, anyway?' and malemute kid smiled benignantly through the clouds of steam. 'by the time you've been in this country as long as i have, my son, and lived on rabbit tracks and salmon belly, you'll learn that christmas comes only once per annum. and a christmas without punch is sinking a hole to bedrock with nary a pay streak.' 'stack up on that fer a high cyard,' approved big jim belden, who had come down from his claim on mazy may to spend christmas, and who, as everyone knew, had been living the two months past on straight moose meat. 'hain't fergot the hooch we-uns made on the tanana, hey yeh?' 'well, i guess yes. boys, it would have done your hearts good to see that whole tribe fighting drunk--and all because of a glorious ferment of sugar and sour dough. that was before your time,' malemute kid said as he turned to stanley prince, a young mining expert who had been in two years. 'no white women in the country then, and mason wanted to get married. ruth's father was chief of the tananas, and objected, like the rest of the tribe. stiff? why, i used my last pound of sugar; finest work in that line i ever did in my life. you should have seen the chase, down the river and across the portage.' 'but the squaw?' asked louis savoy, the tall french canadian, becoming interested; for he had heard of this wild deed when at forty mile the preceding winter. then malemute kid, who was a born raconteur, told the unvarnished tale of the northland lochinvar. more than one rough adventurer of the north felt his heartstrings draw closer and experienced vague yearnings for the sunnier pastures of the southland, where life promised something more than a barren struggle with cold and death. 'we struck the yukon just behind the first ice run,' he concluded, 'and the tribe only a quarter of an hour behind. but that saved us; for the second run broke the jam above and shut them out. when they finally got into nuklukyeto, the whole post was ready for them. 'and as to the forgathering, ask father roubeau here: he performed the ceremony.' the jesuit took the pipe from his lips but could only express his gratification with patriarchal smiles, while protestant and catholic vigorously applauded. 'by gar!' ejaculated louis savoy, who seemed overcome by the romance of it. 'la petite squaw: mon mason brav. by gar!' then, as the first tin cups of punch went round, bettles the unquenchable sprang to his feet and struck up his favorite drinking song: 'there's henry ward beecher and sunday-school teachers, all drink of the sassafras root; but you bet all the same, if it had its right name, it's the juice of the forbidden fruit.' 'oh, the juice of the forbidden fruit,' roared out the bacchanalian chorus, 'oh, the juice of the forbidden fruit; but you bet all the same, if it had its right name, it's the juice of the forbidden fruit.' malemute kid's frightful concoction did its work; the men of the camps and trails unbent in its genial glow, and jest and song and tales of past adventure went round the board. aliens from a dozen lands, they toasted each and all. it was the englishman, prince, who pledged 'uncle sam, the precocious infant of the new world'; the yankee, bettles, who drank to 'the queen, god bless her'; and together, savoy and meyers, the german trader, clanged their cups to alsace and lorraine. then malemute kid arose, cup in hand, and glanced at the greased-paper window, where the frost stood full three inches thick. 'a health to the man on trail this night; may his grub hold out; may his dogs keep their legs; may his matches never miss fire.' crack! crack! heard the familiar music of the dog whip, the whining howl of the malemutes, and the crunch of a sled as it drew up to the cabin. conversation languished while they waited the issue. 'an old-timer; cares for his dogs and then himself,' whispered malemute kid to prince as they listened to the snapping jaws and the wolfish snarls and yelps of pain which proclaimed to their practiced ears that the stranger was beating back their dogs while he fed his own. then came the expected knock, sharp and confident, and the stranger entered. dazzled by the light, he hesitated a moment at the door, giving to all a chance for scrutiny. he was a striking personage, and a most picturesque one, in his arctic dress of wool and fur. standing six foot two or three, with proportionate breadth of shoulders and depth of chest, his smooth-shaven face nipped by the cold to a gleaming pink, his long lashes and eyebrows white with ice, and the ear and neck flaps of his great wolfskin cap loosely raised, he seemed, of a verity, the frost king, just stepped in out of the night. clasped outside his mackinaw jacket, a beaded belt held two large colt's revolvers and a hunting knife, while he carried, in addition to the inevitable dog whip, a smokeless rifle of the largest bore and latest pattern. as he came forward, for all his step was firm and elastic, they could see that fatigue bore heavily upon him. an awkward silence had fallen, but his hearty 'what cheer, my lads?' put them quickly at ease, and the next instant malemute kid and he had gripped hands. though they had never met, each had heard of the other, and the recognition was mutual. a sweeping introduction and a mug of punch were forced upon him before he could explain his errand. how long since that basket sled, with three men and eight dogs, passed?' he asked. 'an even two days ahead. are you after them?' 'yes; my team. run them off under my very nose, the cusses. i've gained two days on them already--pick them up on the next run.' 'reckon they'll show spunk?' asked belden, in order to keep up the conversation, for malemute kid already had the coffeepot on and was busily frying bacon and moose meat. the stranger significantly tapped his revolvers. 'when'd yeh leave dawson?' 'twelve o'clock.' 'last night?'--as a matter of course. 'today.' a murmur of surprise passed round the circle. and well it might; for it was just midnight, and seventy-five miles of rough river trail was not to be sneered at for a twelve hours' run. the talk soon became impersonal, however, harking back to the trails of childhood. as the young stranger ate of the rude fare malemute kid attentively studied his face. nor was he long in deciding that it was fair, honest, and open, and that he liked it. still youthful, the lines had been firmly traced by toil and hardship. though genial in conversation, and mild when at rest, the blue eyes gave promise of the hard steel-glitter which comes when called into action, especially against odds. the heavy jaw and square-cut chin demonstrated rugged pertinacity and indomitability. nor, though the attributes of the lion were there, was there wanting the certain softness, the hint of womanliness, which bespoke the emotional nature. 'so thet's how me an' the ol' woman got spliced,' said belden, concluding the exciting tale of his courtship. '"here we be, dad," sez she. "an' may yeh be damned," sez he to her, an' then to me, "jim, yeh--yeh git outen them good duds o' yourn; i want a right peart slice o' thet forty acre plowed 'fore dinner." an' then he sort o' sniffled an' kissed her. an' i was thet happy--but he seen me an' roars out, "yeh, jim!" an' yeh bet i dusted fer the barn.' 'any kids waiting for you back in the states?' asked the stranger. 'nope; sal died 'fore any come. thet's why i'm here.' belden abstractedly began to light his pipe, which had failed to go out, and then brightened up with, 'how 'bout yerself, stranger--married man?' for reply, he opened his watch, slipped it from the thong which served for a chain, and passed it over. belden picked up the slush lamp, surveyed the inside of the case critically, and, swearing admiringly to himself, handed it over to louis savoy. with numerous 'by gars!' he finally surrendered it to prince, and they noticed that his hands trembled and his eyes took on a peculiar softness. and so it passed from horny hand to horny hand--the pasted photograph of a woman, the clinging kind that such men fancy, with a babe at the breast. those who had not yet seen the wonder were keen with curiosity; those who had became silent and retrospective. they could face the pinch of famine, the grip of scurvy, or the quick death by field or flood; but the pictured semblance of a stranger woman and child made women and children of them all. 'never have seen the youngster yet--he's a boy, she says, and two years old,' said the stranger as he received the treasure back. a lingering moment he gazed upon it, then snapped the case and turned away, but not quick enough to hide the restrained rush of tears. malemute kid led him to a bunk and bade him turn in. 'call me at four sharp. don't fail me,' were his last words, and a moment later he was breathing in the heaviness of exhausted sleep. 'by jove! he's a plucky chap,' commented prince. 'three hours' sleep after seventy-five miles with the dogs, and then the trail again. who is he, kid?' 'jack westondale. been in going on three years, with nothing but the name of working like a horse, and any amount of bad luck to his credit. i never knew him, but sitka charley told me about him.' 'it seems hard that a man with a sweet young wife like his should be putting in his years in this godforsaken hole, where every year counts two on the outside.' 'the trouble with him is clean grit and stubbornness. he's cleaned up twice with a stake, but lost it both times.' here the conversation was broken off by an uproar from bettles, for the effect had begun to wear away. and soon the bleak years of monotonous grub and deadening toil were being forgotten in rough merriment. malemute kid alone seemed unable to lose himself, and cast many an anxious look at his watch. once he put on his mittens and beaver-skin cap, and, leaving the cabin, fell to rummaging about in the cache. nor could he wait the hour designated; for he was fifteen minutes ahead of time in rousing his guest. the young giant had stiffened badly, and brisk rubbing was necessary to bring him to his feet. he tottered painfully out of the cabin, to find his dogs harnessed and everything ready for the start. the company wished him good luck and a short chase, while father roubeau, hurriedly blessing him, led the stampede for the cabin; and small wonder, for it is not good to face seventy-four degrees below zero with naked ears and hands. malemute kid saw him to the main trail, and there, gripping his hand heartily, gave him advice. 'you'll find a hundred pounds of salmon eggs on the sled,' he said. 'the dogs will go as far on that as with one hundred and fifty of fish, and you can't get dog food at pelly, as you probably expected.' the stranger started, and his eyes flashed, but he did not interrupt. 'you can't get an ounce of food for dog or man till you reach five fingers, and that's a stiff two hundred miles. watch out for open water on the thirty mile river, and be sure you take the big cutoff above le barge.' 'how did you know it? surely the news can't be ahead of me already?' 'i don't know it; and what's more, i don't want to know it. but you never owned that team you're chasing. sitka charley sold it to them last spring. but he sized you up to me as square once, and i believe him. i've seen your face; i like it. and i've seen--why, damn you, hit the high places for salt water and that wife of yours, and--' here the kid unmittened and jerked out his sack. 'no; i don't need it,' and the tears froze on his cheeks as he convulsively gripped malemute kid's hand. 'then don't spare the dogs; cut them out of the traces as fast as they drop; buy them, and think they're cheap at ten dollars a pound. you can get them at five fingers, little salmon, and hootalinqua. and watch out for wet feet,' was his parting advice. 'keep a-traveling up to twenty-five, but if it gets below that, build a fire and change your socks.' fifteen minutes had barely elapsed when the jingle of bells announced new arrivals. the door opened, and a mounted policeman of the northwest territory entered, followed by two half-breed dog drivers. like westondale, they were heavily armed and showed signs of fatigue. the half-breeds had been born to the trail and bore it easily; but the young policeman was badly exhausted. still, the dogged obstinacy of his race held him to the pace he had set, and would hold him till he dropped in his tracks. 'when did westondale pull out?' he asked. 'he stopped here, didn't he?' this was supererogatory, for the tracks told their own tale too well. malemute kid had caught belden's eye, and he, scenting the wind, replied evasively, 'a right peart while back.' 'come, my man; speak up,' the policeman admonished. 'yeh seem to want him right smart. hez he ben gittin' cantankerous down dawson way?' 'held up harry mcfarland's for forty thousand; exchanged it at the p.c. store for a check on seattle; and who's to stop the cashing of it if we don't overtake him? when did he pull out?' every eye suppressed its excitement, for malemute kid had given the cue, and the young officer encountered wooden faces on every hand. striding over to prince, he put the question to him. though it hurt him, gazing into the frank, earnest face of his fellow countryman, he replied inconsequentially on the state of the trail. then he espied father roubeau, who could not lie. 'a quarter of an hour ago,' the priest answered; 'but he had four hours' rest for himself and dogs.' 'fifteen minutes' start, and he's fresh! my god!' the poor fellow staggered back, half fainting from exhaustion and disappointment, murmuring something about the run from dawson in ten hours and the dogs being played out. malemute kid forced a mug of punch upon him; then he turned for the door, ordering the dog drivers to follow. but the warmth and promise of rest were too tempting, and they objected strenuously. the kid was conversant with their french patois, and followed it anxiously. they swore that the dogs were gone up; that siwash and babette would have to be shot before the first mile was covered; that the rest were almost as bad; and that it would be better for all hands to rest up. 'lend me five dogs?' he asked, turning to malemute kid. but the kid shook his head. 'i'll sign a check on captain constantine for five thousand--here's my papers--i'm authorized to draw at my own discretion.' again the silent refusal. 'then i'll requisition them in the name of the queen.' smiling incredulously, the kid glanced at his well-stocked arsenal, and the englishman, realizing his impotency, turned for the door. but the dog drivers still objecting, he whirled upon them fiercely, calling them women and curs. the swart face of the older half-breed flushed angrily as he drew himself up and promised in good, round terms that he would travel his leader off his legs, and would then be delighted to plant him in the snow. the young officer--and it required his whole will--walked steadily to the door, exhibiting a freshness he did not possess. but they all knew and appreciated his proud effort; nor could he veil the twinges of agony that shot across his face. covered with frost, the dogs were curled up in the snow, and it was almost impossible to get them to their feet. the poor brutes whined under the stinging lash, for the dog drivers were angry and cruel; nor till babette, the leader, was cut from the traces, could they break out the sled and get under way. 'a dirty scoundrel and a liar!' 'by gar! him no good!' 'a thief!' 'worse than an indian!' it was evident that they were angry--first at the way they had been deceived; and second at the outraged ethics of the northland, where honesty, above all, was man's prime jewel. 'an' we gave the cuss a hand, after knowin' what he'd did.' all eyes turned accusingly upon malemute kid, who rose from the corner where he had been making babette comfortable, and silently emptied the bowl for a final round of punch. 'it's a cold night, boys--a bitter cold night,' was the irrelevant commencement of his defense. 'you've all traveled trail, and know what that stands for. don't jump a dog when he's down. you've only heard one side. a whiter man than jack westondale never ate from the same pot nor stretched blanket with you or me. 'last fall he gave his whole clean-up, forty thousand, to joe castrell, to buy in on dominion. today he'd be a millionaire. but, while he stayed behind at circle city, taking care of his partner with the scurvy, what does castell do? goes into mcfarland's, jumps the limit, and drops the whole sack. found him dead in the snow the next day. and poor jack laying his plans to go out this winter to his wife and the boy he's never seen. you'll notice he took exactly what his partner lost--forty thousand. well, he's gone out; and what are you going to do about it?' the kid glanced round the circle of his judges, noted the softening of their faces, then raised his mug aloft. 'so a health to the man on trail this night; may his grub hold out; may his dogs keep their legs; may his matches never miss fire. 'god prosper him; good luck go with him; and--' 'confusion to the mounted police!' cried bettles, to the crash of the empty cups. the priestly prerogative this is the story of a man who did not appreciate his wife; also, of a woman who did him too great an honor when she gave herself to him. incidentally, it concerns a jesuit priest who had never been known to lie. he was an appurtenance, and a very necessary one, to the yukon country; but the presence of the other two was merely accidental. they were specimens of the many strange waifs which ride the breast of a gold rush or come tailing along behind. edwin bentham and grace bentham were waifs; they were also tailing along behind, for the klondike rush of ' had long since swept down the great river and subsided into the famine-stricken city of dawson. when the yukon shut up shop and went to sleep under a three-foot ice-sheet, this peripatetic couple found themselves at the five finger rapids, with the city of gold still a journey of many sleeps to the north. many cattle had been butchered at this place in the fall of the year, and the offal made a goodly heap. the three fellow-voyagers of edwin bentham and wife gazed upon this deposit, did a little mental arithmetic, caught a certain glimpse of a bonanza, and decided to remain. and all winter they sold sacks of bones and frozen hides to the famished dog-teams. it was a modest price they asked, a dollar a pound, just as it came. six months later, when the sun came back and the yukon awoke, they buckled on their heavy moneybelts and journeyed back to the southland, where they yet live and lie mightily about the klondike they never saw. but edwin bentham--he was an indolent fellow, and had he not been possessed of a wife, would have gladly joined issued in the dog-meat speculation. as it was, she played upon his vanity, told him how great and strong he was, how a man such as he certainly was could overcome all obstacles and of a surety obtain the golden fleece. so he squared his jaw, sold his share in the bones and hides for a sled and one dog, and turned his snowshoes to the north. needless to state, grace bentham's snowshoes never allowed his tracks to grow cold. nay, ere their tribulations had seen three days, it was the man who followed in the rear, and the woman who broke trail in advance. of course, if anybody hove in sight, the position was instantly reversed. thus did his manhood remain virgin to the travelers who passed like ghosts on the silent trail. there are such men in this world. how such a man and such a woman came to take each other for better and for worse is unimportant to this narrative. these things are familiar to us all, and those people who do them, or even question them too closely, are apt to lose a beautiful faith which is known as eternal fitness. edwin bentham was a boy, thrust by mischance into a man's body,--a boy who could complacently pluck a butterfly, wing from wing, or cower in abject terror before a lean, nervy fellow, not half his size. he was a selfish cry-baby, hidden behind a man's mustache and stature, and glossed over with a skin-deep veneer of culture and conventionality. yes; he was a clubman and a society man, the sort that grace social functions and utter inanities with a charm and unction which is indescribable; the sort that talk big, and cry over a toothache; the sort that put more hell into a woman's life by marrying her than can the most graceless libertine that ever browsed in forbidden pastures. we meet these men every day, but we rarely know them for what they are. second to marrying them, the best way to get this knowledge is to eat out of the same pot and crawl under the same blanket with them for--well, say a week; no greater margin is necessary. to see grace bentham, was to see a slender, girlish creature; to know her, was to know a soul which dwarfed your own, yet retained all the elements of the eternal feminine. this was the woman who urged and encouraged her husband in his northland quest, who broke trail for him when no one was looking, and cried in secret over her weakling woman's body. so journeyed this strangely assorted couple down to old fort selkirk, then through fivescore miles of dismal wilderness to stuart river. and when the short day left them, and the man lay down in the snow and blubbered, it was the woman who lashed him to the sled, bit her lips with the pain of her aching limbs, and helped the dog haul him to malemute kid's cabin. malemute kid was not at home, but meyers, the german trader, cooked great moose-steaks and shook up a bed of fresh pine boughs. lake, langham, and parker, were excited, and not unduly so when the cause was taken into account. 'oh, sandy! say, can you tell a porterhouse from a round? come out and lend us a hand, anyway!' this appeal emanated from the cache, where langham was vainly struggling with divers quarters of frozen moose. 'don't you budge from those dishes!' commanded parker. 'i say, sandy; there's a good fellow--just run down to the missouri camp and borrow some cinnamon,' begged lake. 'oh! oh! hurry up! why don't--' but the crash of meat and boxes, in the cache, abruptly quenched this peremptory summons. 'come now, sandy; it won't take a minute to go down to the missouri--' 'you leave him alone,' interrupted parker. 'how am i to mix the biscuits if the table isn't cleared off?' sandy paused in indecision, till suddenly the fact that he was langham's 'man' dawned upon him. then he apologetically threw down the greasy dishcloth, and went to his master's rescue. these promising scions of wealthy progenitors had come to the northland in search of laurels, with much money to burn, and a 'man' apiece. luckily for their souls, the other two men were up the white river in search of a mythical quartz-ledge; so sandy had to grin under the responsibility of three healthy masters, each of whom was possessed of peculiar cookery ideas. twice that morning had a disruption of the whole camp been imminent, only averted by immense concessions from one or the other of these knights of the chafing-dish. but at last their mutual creation, a really dainty dinner, was completed. then they sat down to a three-cornered game of 'cut-throat,'--a proceeding which did away with all casus belli for future hostilities, and permitted the victor to depart on a most important mission. this fortune fell to parker, who parted his hair in the middle, put on his mittens and bearskin cap, and stepped over to malemute kid's cabin. and when he returned, it was in the company of grace bentham and malemute kid,--the former very sorry her husband could not share with her their hospitality, for he had gone up to look at the henderson creek mines, and the latter still a trifle stiff from breaking trail down the stuart river. meyers had been asked, but had declined, being deeply engrossed in an experiment of raising bread from hops. well, they could do without the husband; but a woman--why they had not seen one all winter, and the presence of this one promised a new era in their lives. they were college men and gentlemen, these three young fellows, yearning for the flesh-pots they had been so long denied. probably grace bentham suffered from a similar hunger; at least, it meant much to her, the first bright hour in many weeks of darkness. but that wonderful first course, which claimed the versatile lake for its parent, had no sooner been served than there came a loud knock at the door. 'oh! ah! won't you come in, mr. bentham?' said parker, who had stepped to see who the newcomer might be. 'is my wife here?' gruffly responded that worthy. 'why, yes. we left word with mr. meyers.' parker was exerting his most dulcet tones, inwardly wondering what the deuce it all meant. 'won't you come in? expecting you at any moment, we reserved a place. and just in time for the first course, too.' 'come in, edwin, dear,' chirped grace bentham from her seat at the table. parker naturally stood aside. 'i want my wife,' reiterated bentham hoarsely, the intonation savoring disagreeably of ownership. parker gasped, was within an ace of driving his fist into the face of his boorish visitor, but held himself awkwardly in check. everybody rose. lake lost his head and caught himself on the verge of saying, 'must you go?' then began the farrago of leave-taking. 'so nice of you--' 'i am awfully sorry' 'by jove! how things did brighten--' 'really now, you--' 'thank you ever so much--' 'nice trip to dawson--' etc., etc. in this wise the lamb was helped into her jacket and led to the slaughter. then the door slammed, and they gazed woefully upon the deserted table. 'damn!' langham had suffered disadvantages in his early training, and his oaths were weak and monotonous. 'damn!' he repeated, vaguely conscious of the incompleteness and vainly struggling for a more virile term. it is a clever woman who can fill out the many weak places in an inefficient man, by her own indomitability, re-enforce his vacillating nature, infuse her ambitious soul into his, and spur him on to great achievements. and it is indeed a very clever and tactful woman who can do all this, and do it so subtly that the man receives all the credit and believes in his inmost heart that everything is due to him and him alone. this is what grace bentham proceeded to do. arriving in dawson with a few pounds of flour and several letters of introduction, she at once applied herself to the task of pushing her big baby to the fore. it was she who melted the stony heart and wrung credit from the rude barbarian who presided over the destiny of the p. c. company; yet it was edwin bentham to whom the concession was ostensibly granted. it was she who dragged her baby up and down creeks, over benches and divides, and on a dozen wild stampedes; yet everybody remarked what an energetic fellow that bentham was. it was she who studied maps, and catechised miners, and hammered geography and locations into his hollow head, till everybody marveled at his broad grasp of the country and knowledge of its conditions. of course, they said the wife was a brick, and only a few wise ones appreciated and pitied the brave little woman. she did the work; he got the credit and reward. in the northwest territory a married woman cannot stake or record a creek, bench, or quartz claim; so edwin bentham went down to the gold commissioner and filed on bench claim , second tier, of french hill. and when april came they were washing out a thousand dollars a day, with many, many such days in prospect. at the base of french hill lay eldorado creek, and on a creek claim stood the cabin of clyde wharton. at present he was not washing out a diurnal thousand dollars; but his dumps grew, shift by shift, and there would come a time when those dumps would pass through his sluice-boxes, depositing in the riffles, in the course of half a dozen days, several hundred thousand dollars. he often sat in that cabin, smoked his pipe, and dreamed beautiful little dreams,--dreams in which neither the dumps nor the half-ton of dust in the p. c. company's big safe, played a part. and grace bentham, as she washed tin dishes in her hillside cabin, often glanced down into eldorado creek, and dreamed,--not of dumps nor dust, however. they met frequently, as the trail to the one claim crossed the other, and there is much to talk about in the northland spring; but never once, by the light of an eye nor the slip of a tongue, did they speak their hearts. this is as it was at first. but one day edwin bentham was brutal. all boys are thus; besides, being a french hill king now, he began to think a great deal of himself and to forget all he owed to his wife. on this day, wharton heard of it, and waylaid grace bentham, and talked wildly. this made her very happy, though she would not listen, and made him promise to not say such things again. her hour had not come. but the sun swept back on its northern journey, the black of midnight changed to the steely color of dawn, the snow slipped away, the water dashed again over the glacial drift, and the wash-up began. day and night the yellow clay and scraped bedrock hurried through the swift sluices, yielding up its ransom to the strong men from the southland. and in that time of tumult came grace bentham's hour. to all of us such hours at some time come,--that is, to us who are not too phlegmatic. some people are good, not from inherent love of virtue, but from sheer laziness. but those of us who know weak moments may understand. edwin bentham was weighing dust over the bar of the saloon at the forks--altogether too much of his dust went over that pine board--when his wife came down the hill and slipped into clyde wharton's cabin. wharton was not expecting her, but that did not alter the case. and much subsequent misery and idle waiting might have been avoided, had not father roubeau seen this and turned aside from the main creek trail. 'my child,--' 'hold on, father roubeau! though i'm not of your faith, i respect you; but you can't come in between this woman and me!' 'you know what you are doing?' 'know! were you god almighty, ready to fling me into eternal fire, i'd bank my will against yours in this matter.' wharton had placed grace on a stool and stood belligerently before her. 'you sit down on that chair and keep quiet,' he continued, addressing the jesuit. 'i'll take my innings now. you can have yours after.' father roubeau bowed courteously and obeyed. he was an easy-going man and had learned to bide his time. wharton pulled a stool alongside the woman's, smothering her hand in his. 'then you do care for me, and will take me away?' her face seemed to reflect the peace of this man, against whom she might draw close for shelter. 'dear, don't you remember what i said before? of course i-' 'but how can you?--the wash-up?' 'do you think that worries? anyway, i'll give the job to father roubeau, here. 'i can trust him to safely bank the dust with the company.' 'to think of it!--i'll never see him again.' 'a blessing!' 'and to go--o, clyde, i can't! i can't!' 'there, there; of course you can, just let me plan it.--you see, as soon as we get a few traps together, we'll start, and-' 'suppose he comes back?' 'i'll break every-' 'no, no! no fighting, clyde! promise me that.' 'all right! i'll just tell the men to throw him off the claim. they've seen how he's treated you, and haven't much love for him.' 'you mustn't do that. you mustn't hurt him.' 'what then? let him come right in here and take you away before my eyes?' 'no-o,' she half whispered, stroking his hand softly. 'then let me run it, and don't worry. i'll see he doesn't get hurt. precious lot he cared whether you got hurt or not! we won't go back to dawson. i'll send word down for a couple of the boys to outfit and pole a boat up the yukon. we'll cross the divide and raft down the indian river to meet them. then--' 'and then?' her head was on his shoulder. their voices sank to softer cadences, each word a caress. the jesuit fidgeted nervously. 'and then?' she repeated. 'why we'll pole up, and up, and up, and portage the white horse rapids and the box canon.' 'yes?' 'and the sixty-mile river; then the lakes, chilcoot, dyea, and salt water.' 'but, dear, i can't pole a boat.' 'you little goose! i'll get sitka charley; he knows all the good water and best camps, and he is the best traveler i ever met, if he is an indian. all you'll have to do, is to sit in the middle of the boat, and sing songs, and play cleopatra, and fight--no, we're in luck; too early for mosquitoes.' 'and then, o my antony?' 'and then a steamer, san francisco, and the world! never to come back to this cursed hole again. think of it! the world, and ours to choose from! i'll sell out. why, we're rich! the waldworth syndicate will give me half a million for what's left in the ground, and i've got twice as much in the dumps and with the p. c. company. we'll go to the fair in paris in . we'll go to jerusalem, if you say so. 'we'll buy an italian palace, and you can play cleopatra to your heart's content. no, you shall be lucretia, acte, or anybody your little heart sees fit to become. but you mustn't, you really mustn't-' 'the wife of caesar shall be above reproach.' 'of course, but--' 'but i won't be your wife, will i, dear?' 'i didn't mean that.' 'but you'll love me just as much, and never even think--oh! i know you'll be like other men; you'll grow tired, and--and-' 'how can you? i--' 'promise me.' 'yes, yes; i do promise.' 'you say it so easily, dear; but how do you know?--or i know? i have so little to give, yet it is so much, and all i have. o, clyde! promise me you won't?' 'there, there! you mustn't begin to doubt already. till death do us part, you know.' 'think! i once said that to--to him, and now?' 'and now, little sweetheart, you're not to bother about such things any more. of course, i never, never will, and--' and for the first time, lips trembled against lips. father roubeau had been watching the main trail through the window, but could stand the strain no longer. he cleared his throat and turned around. 'your turn now, father!' wharton's face was flushed with the fire of his first embrace. there was an exultant ring to his voice as he abdicated in the other's favor. he had no doubt as to the result. neither had grace, for a smile played about her mouth as she faced the priest. 'my child,' he began, 'my heart bleeds for you. it is a pretty dream, but it cannot be.' 'and why, father? i have said yes.' 'you knew not what you did. you did not think of the oath you took, before your god, to that man who is your husband. it remains for me to make you realize the sanctity of such a pledge.' 'and if i do realize, and yet refuse?' 'then god' 'which god? my husband has a god which i care not to worship. there must be many such.' 'child! unsay those words! ah! you do not mean them. i understand. i, too, have had such moments.' for an instant he was back in his native france, and a wistful, sad-eyed face came as a mist between him and the woman before him. 'then, father, has my god forsaken me? i am not wicked above women. my misery with him has been great. why should it be greater? why shall i not grasp at happiness? i cannot, will not, go back to him!' 'rather is your god forsaken. return. throw your burden upon him, and the darkness shall be lifted. o my child,--' 'no; it is useless; i have made my bed and so shall i lie. i will go on. and if god punishes me, i shall bear it somehow. you do not understand. you are not a woman.' 'my mother was a woman.' 'but--' 'and christ was born of a woman.' she did not answer. a silence fell. wharton pulled his mustache impatiently and kept an eye on the trail. grace leaned her elbow on the table, her face set with resolve. the smile had died away. father roubeau shifted his ground. 'you have children?' 'at one time i wished--but now--no. and i am thankful.' 'and a mother?' 'yes.' 'she loves you?' 'yes.' her replies were whispers. 'and a brother?--no matter, he is a man. but a sister?' her head drooped a quavering 'yes.' 'younger? very much?' 'seven years.' 'and you have thought well about this matter? about them? about your mother? and your sister? she stands on the threshold of her woman's life, and this wildness of yours may mean much to her. could you go before her, look upon her fresh young face, hold her hand in yours, or touch your cheek to hers?' to his words, her brain formed vivid images, till she cried out, 'don't! don't!' and shrank away as do the wolf-dogs from the lash. 'but you must face all this; and better it is to do it now.' in his eyes, which she could not see, there was a great compassion, but his face, tense and quivering, showed no relenting. she raised her head from the table, forced back the tears, struggled for control. 'i shall go away. they will never see me, and come to forget me. i shall be to them as dead. and--and i will go with clyde--today.' it seemed final. wharton stepped forward, but the priest waved him back. 'you have wished for children?' a silent 'yes.' 'and prayed for them?' 'often.' 'and have you thought, if you should have children?' father roubeau's eyes rested for a moment on the man by the window. a quick light shot across her face. then the full import dawned upon her. she raised her hand appealingly, but he went on. 'can you picture an innocent babe in your arms? a boy? the world is not so hard upon a girl. why, your very breast would turn to gall! and you could be proud and happy of your boy, as you looked on other children?--' 'o, have pity! hush!' 'a scapegoat--' 'don't! don't! i will go back!' she was at his feet. 'a child to grow up with no thought of evil, and one day the world to fling a tender name in his face. a child to look back and curse you from whose loins he sprang!' 'o my god! my god!' she groveled on the floor. the priest sighed and raised her to her feet. wharton pressed forward, but she motioned him away. 'don't come near me, clyde! i am going back!' the tears were coursing pitifully down her face, but she made no effort to wipe them away. 'after all this? you cannot! i will not let you!' 'don't touch me!' she shivered and drew back. 'i will! you are mine! do you hear? you are mine!' then he whirled upon the priest. 'o what a fool i was to ever let you wag your silly tongue! thank your god you are not a common man, for i'd--but the priestly prerogative must be exercised, eh? well, you have exercised it. now get out of my house, or i'll forget who and what you are!' father roubeau bowed, took her hand, and started for the door. but wharton cut them off. 'grace! you said you loved me?' 'i did.' 'and you do now?' 'i do.' 'say it again.' 'i do love you, clyde; i do.' 'there, you priest!' he cried. 'you have heard it, and with those words on her lips you would send her back to live a lie and a hell with that man?' but father roubeau whisked the woman into the inner room and closed the door. 'no words!' he whispered to wharton, as he struck a casual posture on a stool. 'remember, for her sake,' he added. the room echoed to a rough knock at the door; the latch raised and edwin bentham stepped in. 'seen anything of my wife?' he asked as soon as salutations had been exchanged. two heads nodded negatively. 'i saw her tracks down from the cabin,' he continued tentatively, 'and they broke off, just opposite here, on the main trail.' his listeners looked bored. 'and i--i thought--' 'she was here!' thundered wharton. the priest silenced him with a look. 'did you see her tracks leading up to this cabin, my son?' wily father roubeau--he had taken good care to obliterate them as he came up the same path an hour before. 'i didn't stop to look, i--' his eyes rested suspiciously on the door to the other room, then interrogated the priest. the latter shook his head; but the doubt seemed to linger. father roubeau breathed a swift, silent prayer, and rose to his feet. 'if you doubt me, why--' he made as though to open the door. a priest could not lie. edwin bentham had heard this often, and believed it. 'of course not, father,' he interposed hurriedly. 'i was only wondering where my wife had gone, and thought maybe--i guess she's up at mrs. stanton's on french gulch. nice weather, isn't it? heard the news? flour's gone down to forty dollars a hundred, and they say the che-cha-quas are flocking down the river in droves. 'but i must be going; so good-by.' the door slammed, and from the window they watched him take his guest up french gulch. a few weeks later, just after the june high-water, two men shot a canoe into mid-stream and made fast to a derelict pine. this tightened the painter and jerked the frail craft along as would a tow-boat. father roubeau had been directed to leave the upper country and return to his swarthy children at minook. the white men had come among them, and they were devoting too little time to fishing, and too much to a certain deity whose transient habitat was in countless black bottles. malemute kid also had business in the lower country, so they journeyed together. but one, in all the northland, knew the man paul roubeau, and that man was malemute kid. before him alone did the priest cast off the sacerdotal garb and stand naked. and why not? these two men knew each other. had they not shared the last morsel of fish, the last pinch of tobacco, the last and inmost thought, on the barren stretches of bering sea, in the heartbreaking mazes of the great delta, on the terrible winter journey from point barrow to the porcupine? father roubeau puffed heavily at his trail-worn pipe, and gazed on the reddisked sun, poised somberly on the edge of the northern horizon. malemute kid wound up his watch. it was midnight. 'cheer up, old man!' the kid was evidently gathering up a broken thread. 'god surely will forgive such a lie. let me give you the word of a man who strikes a true note: if she have spoken a word, remember thy lips are sealed, and the brand of the dog is upon him by whom is the secret revealed. if there be trouble to herward, and a lie of the blackest can clear, lie, while thy lips can move or a man is alive to hear.' father roubeau removed his pipe and reflected. 'the man speaks true, but my soul is not vexed with that. the lie and the penance stand with god; but--but--' 'what then? your hands are clean.' 'not so. kid, i have thought much, and yet the thing remains. i knew, and made her go back.' the clear note of a robin rang out from the wooden bank, a partridge drummed the call in the distance, a moose lunged noisily in the eddy; but the twain smoked on in silence. the wisdom of the trail sitka charley had achieved the impossible. other indians might have known as much of the wisdom of the trail as he did; but he alone knew the white man's wisdom, the honor of the trail, and the law. but these things had not come to him in a day. the aboriginal mind is slow to generalize, and many facts, repeated often, are required to compass an understanding. sitka charley, from boyhood, had been thrown continually with white men, and as a man he had elected to cast his fortunes with them, expatriating himself, once and for all, from his own people. even then, respecting, almost venerating their power, and pondering over it, he had yet to divine its secret essence--the honor and the law. and it was only by the cumulative evidence of years that he had finally come to understand. being an alien, when he did know, he knew it better than the white man himself; being an indian, he had achieved the impossible. and of these things had been bred a certain contempt for his own people--a contempt which he had made it a custom to conceal, but which now burst forth in a polyglot whirlwind of curses upon the heads of kah-chucte and gowhee. they cringed before him like a brace of snarling wolf dogs, too cowardly to spring, too wolfish to cover their fangs. they were not handsome creatures. neither was sitka charley. all three were frightful-looking. there was no flesh to their faces; their cheekbones were massed with hideous scabs which had cracked and frozen alternately under the intense frost; while their eyes burned luridly with the light which is born of desperation and hunger. men so situated, beyond the pale of the honor and the law, are not to be trusted. sitka charley knew this; and this was why he had forced them to abandon their rifles with the rest of the camp outfit ten days before. his rifle and captain eppingwell's were the only ones that remained. 'come, get a fire started,' he commanded, drawing out the precious matchbox with its attendant strips of dry birchbark. the two indians fell sullenly to the task of gathering dead branches and underwood. they were weak and paused often, catching themselves, in the act of stooping, with giddy motions, or staggering to the center of operations with their knees shaking like castanets. after each trip they rested for a moment, as though sick and deadly weary. at times their eyes took on the patient stoicism of dumb suffering; and again the ego seemed almost burst forth with its wild cry, 'i, i, i want to exist!'--the dominant note of the whole living universe. a light breath of air blew from the south, nipping the exposed portions of their bodies and driving the frost, in needles of fire, through fur and flesh to the bones. so, when the fire had grown lusty and thawed a damp circle in the snow about it, sitka charley forced his reluctant comrades to lend a hand in pitching a fly. it was a primitive affair, merely a blanket stretched parallel with the fire and to windward of it, at an angle of perhaps forty-five degrees. this shut out the chill wind and threw the heat backward and down upon those who were to huddle in its shelter. then a layer of green spruce boughs were spread, that their bodies might not come in contact with the snow. when this task was completed, kah-chucte and gowhee proceeded to take care of their feet. their icebound moccasins were sadly worn by much travel, and the sharp ice of the river jams had cut them to rags. their siwash socks were similarly conditioned, and when these had been thawed and removed, the dead-white tips of the toes, in the various stages of mortification, told their simple tale of the trail. leaving the two to the drying of their footgear, sitka charley turned back over the course he had come. he, too, had a mighty longing to sit by the fire and tend his complaining flesh, but the honor and the law forbade. he toiled painfully over the frozen field, each step a protest, every muscle in revolt. several times, where the open water between the jams had recently crusted, he was forced to miserably accelerate his movements as the fragile footing swayed and threatened beneath him. in such places death was quick and easy; but it was not his desire to endure no more. his deepening anxiety vanished as two indians dragged into view round a bend in the river. they staggered and panted like men under heavy burdens; yet the packs on their backs were a matter of but a few pounds. he questioned them eagerly, and their replies seemed to relieve him. he hurried on. next came two white men, supporting between them a woman. they also behaved as though drunken, and their limbs shook with weakness. but the woman leaned lightly upon them, choosing to carry herself forward with her own strength. at the sight of her a flash of joy cast its fleeting light across sitka charley's face. he cherished a very great regard for mrs. eppingwell. he had seen many white women, but this was the first to travel the trail with him. when captain eppingwell proposed the hazardous undertaking and made him an offer for his services, he had shaken his head gravely; for it was an unknown journey through the dismal vastnesses of the northland, and he knew it to be of the kind that try to the uttermost the souls of men. but when he learned that the captain's wife was to accompany them, he had refused flatly to have anything further to do with it. had it been a woman of his own race he would have harbored no objections; but these women of the southland--no, no, they were too soft, too tender, for such enterprises. sitka charley did not know this kind of woman. five minutes before, he did not even dream of taking charge of the expedition; but when she came to him with her wonderful smile and her straight clean english, and talked to the point, without pleading or persuading, he had incontinently yielded. had there been a softness and appeal to mercy in the eyes, a tremble to the voice, a taking advantage of sex, he would have stiffened to steel; instead her clear-searching eyes and clear-ringing voice, her utter frankness and tacit assumption of equality, had robbed him of his reason. he felt, then, that this was a new breed of woman; and ere they had been trail mates for many days he knew why the sons of such women mastered the land and the sea, and why the sons of his own womankind could not prevail against them. tender and soft! day after day he watched her, muscle-weary, exhausted, indomitable, and the words beat in upon him in a perennial refrain. tender and soft! he knew her feet had been born to easy paths and sunny lands, strangers to the moccasined pain of the north, unkissed by the chill lips of the frost, and he watched and marveled at them twinkling ever through the weary day. she had always a smile and a word of cheer, from which not even the meanest packer was excluded. as the way grew darker she seemed to stiffen and gather greater strength, and when kah-chucte and gowhee, who had bragged that they knew every landmark of the way as a child did the skin bails of the tepee, acknowledged that they knew not where they were, it was she who raised a forgiving voice amid the curses of the men. she had sung to them that night till they felt the weariness fall from them and were ready to face the future with fresh hope. and when the food failed and each scant stint was measured jealously, she it was who rebelled against the machinations of her husband and sitka charley, and demanded and received a share neither greater nor less than that of the others. sitka charley was proud to know this woman. a new richness, a greater breadth, had come into his life with her presence. hitherto he had been his own mentor, had turned to right or left at no man's beck; he had moulded himself according to his own dictates, nourished his manhood regardless of all save his own opinion. for the first time he had felt a call from without for the best that was in him, just a glance of appreciation from the clear-searching eyes, a word of thanks from the clear-ringing voice, just a slight wreathing of the lips in the wonderful smile, and he walked with the gods for hours to come. it was a new stimulant to his manhood; for the first time he thrilled with a conscious pride in his wisdom of the trail; and between the twain they ever lifted the sinking hearts of their comrades. the faces of the two men and the woman brightened as they saw him, for after all he was the staff they leaned upon. but sitka charley, rigid as was his wont, concealing pain and pleasure impartially beneath an iron exterior, asked them the welfare of the rest, told the distance to the fire, and continued on the back-trip. next he met a single indian, unburdened, limping, lips compressed, and eyes set with the pain of a foot in which the quick fought a losing battle with the dead. all possible care had been taken of him, but in the last extremity the weak and unfortunate must perish, and sitka charley deemed his days to be few. the man could not keep up for long, so he gave him rough cheering words. after that came two more indians, to whom he had allotted the task of helping along joe, the third white man of the party. they had deserted him. sitka charley saw at a glance the lurking spring in their bodies, and knew they had at last cast off his mastery. so he was not taken unawares when he ordered them back in quest of their abandoned charge, and saw the gleam of the hunting knives that they drew from the sheaths. a pitiful spectacle, three weak men lifting their puny strength in the face of the mighty vastness; but the two recoiled under the fierce rifle blows of the one and returned like beaten dogs to the leash. two hours later, with joe reeling between them and sitka charley bringing up the rear, they came to the fire, where the remainder of the expedition crouched in the shelter of the fly. 'a few words, my comrades, before we sleep,' sitka charley said after they had devoured their slim rations of unleavened bread. he was speaking to the indians in their own tongue, having already given the import to the whites. 'a few words, my comrades, for your own good, that ye may yet perchance live. i shall give you the law; on his own head by the death of him that breaks it. we have passed the hills of silence, and we now travel the head reaches of the stuart. it may be one sleep, it may be several, it may be many sleeps, but in time we shall come among the men of the yukon, who have much grub. it were well that we look to the law. today kah-chucte and gowhee, whom i commanded to break trail, forgot they were men, and like frightened children ran away. 'true, they forgot; so let us forget. but hereafter, let them remember. if it should happen they do not...' he touched his rifle carelessly, grimly. 'tomorrow they shall carry the flour and see that the white man joe lies not down by the trail. the cups of flour are counted; should so much as an ounce be wanting at nightfall... do ye understand? today there were others that forgot. moose head and three salmon left the white man joe to lie in the snow. let them forget no more. with the light of day shall they go forth and break trail. ye have heard the law. look well, lest ye break it.' sitka charley found it beyond him to keep the line close up. from moose head and three salmon, who broke trail in advance, to kah-chucte, gowhee, and joe, it straggled out over a mile. each staggered, fell or rested as he saw fit. the line of march was a progression through a chain of irregular halts. each drew upon the last remnant of his strength and stumbled onward till it was expended, but in some miraculous way there was always another last remnant. each time a man fell it was with the firm belief that he would rise no more; yet he did rise, and again and again. the flesh yielded, the will conquered; but each triumph was a tragedy. the indian with the frozen foot, no longer erect, crawled forward on hand and knee. he rarely rested, for he knew the penalty exacted by the frost. even mrs. eppingwell's lips were at last set in a stony smile, and her eyes, seeing, saw not. often she stopped, pressing a mittened hand to her heart, gasping and dizzy. joe, the white man, had passed beyond the stage of suffering. he no longer begged to be let alone, prayed to die; but was soothed and content under the anodyne of delirium. kah-chucte and gowhee dragged him on roughly, venting upon him many a savage glance or blow. to them it was the acme of injustice. their hearts were bitter with hate, heavy with fear. why should they cumber their strength with his weakness? to do so meant death; not to do so--and they remembered the law of sitka charley, and the rifle. joe fell with greater frequency as the daylight waned, and so hard was he to raise that they dropped farther and farther behind. sometimes all three pitched into the snow, so weak had the indians become. yet on their backs was life, and strength, and warmth. within the flour sacks were all the potentialities of existence. they could not but think of this, and it was not strange, that which came to pass. they had fallen by the side of a great timber jam where a thousand cords of firewood waited the match. near by was an air hole through the ice. kah-chucte looked on the wood and the water, as did gowhee; then they looked at each other. never a word was spoken. gowhee struck a fire; kah-chucte filled a tin cup with water and heated it; joe babbled of things in another land, in a tongue they did not understand. they mixed flour with the warm water till it was a thin paste, and of this they drank many cups. they did not offer any to joe; but he did not mind. he did not mind anything, not even his moccasins, which scorched and smoked among the coals. a crystal mist of snow fell about them, softly, caressingly, wrapping them in clinging robes of white. and their feet would have yet trod many trails had not destiny brushed the clouds aside and cleared the air. nay, ten minutes' delay would have been salvation. sitka charley, looking back, saw the pillared smoke of their fire, and guessed. and he looked ahead at those who were faithful, and at mrs. eppingwell. 'so, my good comrades, ye have again forgotten that you were men? good! very good. there will be fewer bellies to feed.' sitka charley retied the flour as he spoke, strapping the pack to the one on his own back. he kicked joe till the pain broke through the poor devil's bliss and brought him doddering to his feet. then he shoved him out upon the trail and started him on his way. the two indians attempted to slip off. 'hold, gowhee! and thou, too, kah-chucte! hath the flour given such strength to thy legs that they may outrun the swift-winged lead? think not to cheat the law. be men for the last time, and be content that ye die full-stomached. come, step up, back to the timber, shoulder to shoulder. come!' the two men obeyed, quietly, without fear; for it is the future which pressed upon the man, not the present. 'thou, gowhee, hast a wife and children and a deerskin lodge in the chipewyan. what is thy will in the matter?' 'give thou her of the goods which are mine by the word of the captain--the blankets, the beads, the tobacco, the box which makes strange sounds after the manner of the white men. say that i did die on the trail, but say not how.' 'and thou, kah-chucte, who hast nor wife nor child?' 'mine is a sister, the wife of the factor at koshim. he beats her, and she is not happy. give thou her the goods which are mine by the contract, and tell her it were well she go back to her own people. shouldst thou meet the man, and be so minded, it were a good deed that he should die. he beats her, and she is afraid.' 'are ye content to die by the law?' 'we are.' 'then good-bye, my good comrades. may ye sit by the well-filled pot, in warm lodges, ere the day is done.' as he spoke he raised his rifle, and many echoes broke the silence. hardly had they died away when other rifles spoke in the distance. sitka charley started. there had been more than one shot, yet there was but one other rifle in the party. he gave a fleeting glance at the men who lay so quietly, smiled viciously at the wisdom of the trail, and hurried on to meet the men of the yukon. the wife of a king once when the northland was very young, the social and civic virtues were remarkably alike for their paucity and their simplicity. when the burden of domestic duties grew grievous, and the fireside mood expanded to a constant protest against its bleak loneliness, the adventurers from the southland, in lieu of better, paid the stipulated prices and took unto themselves native wives. it was a foretaste of paradise to the women, for it must be confessed that the white rovers gave far better care and treatment of them than did their indian copartners. of course, the white men themselves were satisfied with such deals, as were also the indian men for that matter. having sold their daughters and sisters for cotton blankets and obsolete rifles and traded their warm furs for flimsy calico and bad whisky, the sons of the soil promptly and cheerfully succumbed to quick consumption and other swift diseases correlated with the blessings of a superior civilization. it was in these days of arcadian simplicity that cal galbraith journeyed through the land and fell sick on the lower river. it was a refreshing advent in the lives of the good sisters of the holy cross, who gave him shelter and medicine; though they little dreamed of the hot elixir infused into his veins by the touch of their soft hands and their gentle ministrations. cal galbraith, became troubled with strange thoughts which clamored for attention till he laid eyes on the mission girl, madeline. yet he gave no sign, biding his time patiently. he strengthened with the coming spring, and when the sun rode the heavens in a golden circle, and the joy and throb of life was in all the land, he gathered his still weak body together and departed. now, madeline, the mission girl, was an orphan. her white father had failed to give a bald-faced grizzly the trail one day, and had died quickly. then her indian mother, having no man to fill the winter cache, had tried the hazardous experiment of waiting till the salmon-run on fifty pounds of flour and half as many of bacon. after that, the baby, chook-ra, went to live with the good sisters, and to be thenceforth known by another name. but madeline still had kinsfolk, the nearest being a dissolute uncle who outraged his vitals with inordinate quantities of the white man's whisky. he strove daily to walk with the gods, and incidentally, his feet sought shorter trails to the grave. when sober he suffered exquisite torture. he had no conscience. to this ancient vagabond cal galbraith duly presented himself, and they consumed many words and much tobacco in the conversation that followed. promises were also made; and in the end the old heathen took a few pounds of dried salmon and his birch-bark canoe, and paddled away to the mission of the holy cross. it is not given the world to know what promises he made and what lies he told--the sisters never gossip; but when he returned, upon his swarthy chest there was a brass crucifix, and in his canoe his niece madeline. that night there was a grand wedding and a potlach; so that for two days to follow there was no fishing done by the village. but in the morning madeline shook the dust of the lower river from her moccasins, and with her husband, in a poling-boat, went to live on the upper river in a place known as the lower country. and in the years which followed she was a good wife, sharing her husband's hardships and cooking his food. and she kept him in straight trails, till he learned to save his dust and to work mightily. in the end, he struck it rich and built a cabin in circle city; and his happiness was such that men who came to visit him in his home-circle became restless at the sight of it and envied him greatly. but the northland began to mature and social amenities to make their appearance. hitherto, the southland had sent forth its sons; but it now belched forth a new exodus--this time of its daughters. sisters and wives they were not; but they did not fail to put new ideas in the heads of the men, and to elevate the tone of things in ways peculiarly their own. no more did the squaws gather at the dances, go roaring down the center in the good, old virginia reels, or make merry with jolly 'dan tucker.' they fell back on their natural stoicism and uncomplainingly watched the rule of their white sisters from their cabins. then another exodus came over the mountains from the prolific southland. this time it was of women that became mighty in the land. their word was law; their law was steel. they frowned upon the indian wives, while the other women became mild and walked humbly. there were cowards who became ashamed of their ancient covenants with the daughters of the soil, who looked with a new distaste upon their dark-skinned children; but there were also others--men--who remained true and proud of their aboriginal vows. when it became the fashion to divorce the native wives. cal galbraith retained his manhood, and in so doing felt the heavy hand of the women who had come last, knew least, but who ruled the land. one day, the upper country, which lies far above circle city, was pronounced rich. dog-teams carried the news to salt water; golden argosies freighted the lure across the north pacific; wires and cables sang with the tidings; and the world heard for the first time of the klondike river and the yukon country. cal galbraith had lived the years quietly. he had been a good husband to madeline, and she had blessed him. but somehow discontent fell upon him; he felt vague yearnings for his own kind, for the life he had been shut out from--a general sort of desire, which men sometimes feel, to break out and taste the prime of living. besides, there drifted down the river wild rumors of the wonderful el dorado, glowing descriptions of the city of logs and tents, and ludicrous accounts of the che-cha-quas who had rushed in and were stampeding the whole country. circle city was dead. the world had moved on up river and become a new and most marvelous world. cal galbraith grew restless on the edge of things, and wished to see with his own eyes. so, after the wash-up, he weighed in a couple of hundred pounds of dust on the company's big scales, and took a draft for the same on dawson. then he put tom dixon in charge of his mines, kissed madeline good-by, promised to be back before the first mush-ice ran, and took passage on an up-river steamer. madeline waited, waited through all the three months of daylight. she fed the dogs, gave much of her time to young cal, watched the short summer fade away and the sun begin its long journey to the south. and she prayed much in the manner of the sisters of the holy cross. the fall came, and with it there was mush-ice on the yukon, and circle city kings returning to the winter's work at their mines, but no cal galbraith. tom dixon received a letter, however, for his men sledded up her winter's supply of dry pine. the company received a letter for its dogteams filled her cache with their best provisions, and she was told that her credit was limitless. through all the ages man has been held the chief instigator of the woes of woman; but in this case the men held their tongues and swore harshly at one of their number who was away, while the women failed utterly to emulate them. so, without needless delay, madeline heard strange tales of cal galbraith's doings; also, of a certain greek dancer who played with men as children did with bubbles. now madeline was an indian woman, and further, she had no woman friend to whom to go for wise counsel. she prayed and planned by turns, and that night, being quick of resolve and action, she harnessed the dogs, and with young cal securely lashed to the sled, stole away. though the yukon still ran free, the eddy-ice was growing, and each day saw the river dwindling to a slushy thread. save him who has done the like, no man may know what she endured in traveling a hundred miles on the rim-ice; nor may they understand the toil and hardship of breaking the two hundred miles of packed ice which remained after the river froze for good. but madeline was an indian woman, so she did these things, and one night there came a knock at malemute kid's door. thereat he fed a team of starving dogs, put a healthy youngster to bed, and turned his attention to an exhausted woman. he removed her icebound moccasins while he listened to her tale, and stuck the point of his knife into her feet that he might see how far they were frozen. despite his tremendous virility, malemute kid was possessed of a softer, womanly element, which could win the confidence of a snarling wolf-dog or draw confessions from the most wintry heart. nor did he seek them. hearts opened to him as spontaneously as flowers to the sun. even the priest, father roubeau, had been known to confess to him, while the men and women of the northland were ever knocking at his door--a door from which the latch-string hung always out. to madeline, he could do no wrong, make no mistake. she had known him from the time she first cast her lot among the people of her father's race; and to her half-barbaric mind it seemed that in him was centered the wisdom of the ages, that between his vision and the future there could be no intervening veil. there were false ideals in the land. the social strictures of dawson were not synonymous with those of the previous era, and the swift maturity of the northland involved much wrong. malemute kid was aware of this, and he had cal galbraith's measure accurately. he knew a hasty word was the father of much evil; besides, he was minded to teach a great lesson and bring shame upon the man. so stanley prince, the young mining expert, was called into the conference the following night as was also lucky jack harrington and his violin. that same night, bettles, who owed a great debt to malemute kid, harnessed up cal galbraith's dogs, lashed cal galbraith, junior, to the sled, and slipped away in the dark for stuart river. ii 'so; one--two--three, one--two--three. now reverse! no, no! start up again, jack. see--this way.' prince executed the movement as one should who has led the cotillion. 'now; one--two--three, one--two--three. reverse! ah! that's better. try it again. i say, you know, you mustn't look at your feet. one--two--three, one--two--three. shorter steps! you are not hanging to the gee-pole just now. try it over. 'there! that's the way. one--two--three, one--two--three.' round and round went prince and madeline in an interminable waltz. the table and stools had been shoved over against the wall to increase the room. malemute kid sat on the bunk, chin to knees, greatly interested. jack harrington sat beside him, scraping away on his violin and following the dancers. it was a unique situation, the undertaking of these three men with the woman. the most pathetic part, perhaps, was the businesslike way in which they went about it. no athlete was ever trained more rigidly for a coming contest, nor wolf-dog for the harness, than was she. but they had good material, for madeline, unlike most women of her race, in her childhood had escaped the carrying of heavy burdens and the toil of the trail. besides, she was a clean-limbed, willowy creature, possessed of much grace which had not hitherto been realized. it was this grace which the men strove to bring out and knock into shape. 'trouble with her she learned to dance all wrong,' prince remarked to the bunk after having deposited his breathless pupil on the table. 'she's quick at picking up; yet i could do better had she never danced a step. but say, kid, i can't understand this.' prince imitated a peculiar movement of the shoulders and head--a weakness madeline suffered from in walking. 'lucky for her she was raised in the mission,' malemute kid answered. 'packing, you know,--the head-strap. other indian women have it bad, but she didn't do any packing till after she married, and then only at first. saw hard lines with that husband of hers. they went through the forty-mile famine together.' 'but can we break it?' 'don't know. 'perhaps long walks with her trainers will make the riffle. anyway, they'll take it out some, won't they, madeline?' the girl nodded assent. if malemute kid, who knew all things, said so, why it was so. that was all there was about it. she had come over to them, anxious to begin again. harrington surveyed her in quest of her points much in the same manner men usually do horses. it certainly was not disappointing, for he asked with sudden interest, 'what did that beggarly uncle of yours get anyway?' 'one rifle, one blanket, twenty bottles of hooch. rifle broke.' she said this last scornfully, as though disgusted at how low her maiden-value had been rated. she spoke fair english, with many peculiarities of her husband's speech, but there was still perceptible the indian accent, the traditional groping after strange gutturals. even this her instructors had taken in hand, and with no small success, too. at the next intermission, prince discovered a new predicament. 'i say, kid,' he said, 'we're wrong, all wrong. she can't learn in moccasins. 'put her feet into slippers, and then onto that waxed floor--phew!' madeline raised a foot and regarded her shapeless house-moccasins dubiously. in previous winters, both at circle city and forty-mile, she had danced many a night away with similar footgear, and there had been nothing the matter. but now--well, if there was anything wrong it was for malemute kid to know, not her. but malemute kid did know, and he had a good eye for measures; so he put on his cap and mittens and went down the hill to pay mrs. eppingwell a call. her husband, clove eppingwell, was prominent in the community as one of the great government officials. the kid had noted her slender little foot one night, at the governor's ball. and as he also knew her to be as sensible as she was pretty, it was no task to ask of her a certain small favor. on his return, madeline withdrew for a moment to the inner room. when she reappeared prince was startled. 'by jove!' he gasped. 'who'd a' thought it! the little witch! why my sister--' 'is an english girl,' interrupted malemute kid, 'with an english foot. this girl comes of a small-footed race. moccasins just broadened her feet healthily, while she did not misshape them by running with the dogs in her childhood.' but this explanation failed utterly to allay prince's admiration. harrington's commercial instinct was touched, and as he looked upon the exquisitely turned foot and ankle, there ran through his mind the sordid list--'one rifle, one blanket, twenty bottles of hooch.' madeline was the wife of a king, a king whose yellow treasure could buy outright a score of fashion's puppets; yet in all her life her feet had known no gear save red-tanned moosehide. at first she had looked in awe at the tiny white-satin slippers; but she had quickly understood the admiration which shone, manlike, in the eyes of the men. her face flushed with pride. for the moment she was drunken with her woman's loveliness; then she murmured, with increased scorn, 'and one rifle, broke!' so the training went on. every day malemute kid led the girl out on long walks devoted to the correction of her carriage and the shortening of her stride. there was little likelihood of her identity being discovered, for cal galbraith and the rest of the old-timers were like lost children among the many strangers who had rushed into the land. besides, the frost of the north has a bitter tongue, and the tender women of the south, to shield their cheeks from its biting caresses, were prone to the use of canvas masks. with faces obscured and bodies lost in squirrel-skin parkas, a mother and daughter, meeting on trail, would pass as strangers. the coaching progressed rapidly. at first it had been slow, but later a sudden acceleration had manifested itself. this began from the moment madeline tried on the white-satin slippers, and in so doing found herself. the pride of her renegade father, apart from any natural self-esteem she might possess, at that instant received its birth. hitherto, she had deemed herself a woman of an alien breed, of inferior stock, purchased by her lord's favor. her husband had seemed to her a god, who had lifted her, through no essential virtues on her part, to his own godlike level. but she had never forgotten, even when young cal was born, that she was not of his people. as he had been a god, so had his womenkind been goddesses. she might have contrasted herself with them, but she had never compared. it might have been that familiarity bred contempt; however, be that as it may, she had ultimately come to understand these roving white men, and to weigh them. true, her mind was dark to deliberate analysis, but she yet possessed her woman's clarity of vision in such matters. on the night of the slippers she had measured the bold, open admiration of her three man-friends; and for the first time comparison had suggested itself. it was only a foot and an ankle, but--but comparison could not, in the nature of things, cease at that point. she judged herself by their standards till the divinity of her white sisters was shattered. after all, they were only women, and why should she not exalt herself to their midst? in doing these things she learned where she lacked and with the knowledge of her weakness came her strength. and so mightily did she strive that her three trainers often marveled late into the night over the eternal mystery of woman. in this way thanksgiving night drew near. at irregular intervals bettles sent word down from stuart river regarding the welfare of young cal. the time of their return was approaching. more than once a casual caller, hearing dance-music and the rhythmic pulse of feet, entered, only to find harrington scraping away and the other two beating time or arguing noisily over a mooted step. madeline was never in evidence, having precipitately fled to the inner room. on one of these nights cal galbraith dropped in. encouraging news had just come down from stuart river, and madeline had surpassed herself--not in walk alone, and carriage and grace, but in womanly roguishness. they had indulged in sharp repartee and she had defended herself brilliantly; and then, yielding to the intoxication of the moment, and of her own power, she had bullied, and mastered, and wheedled, and patronized them with most astonishing success. and instinctively, involuntarily, they had bowed, not to her beauty, her wisdom, her wit, but to that indefinable something in woman to which man yields yet cannot name. the room was dizzy with sheer delight as she and prince whirled through the last dance of the evening. harrington was throwing in inconceivable flourishes, while malemute kid, utterly abandoned, had seized the broom and was executing mad gyrations on his own account. at this instant the door shook with a heavy rap-rap, and their quick glances noted the lifting of the latch. but they had survived similar situations before. harrington never broke a note. madeline shot through the waiting door to the inner room. the broom went hurtling under the bunk, and by the time cal galbraith and louis savoy got their heads in, malemute kid and prince were in each other's arms, wildly schottisching down the room. as a rule, indian women do not make a practice of fainting on provocation, but madeline came as near to it as she ever had in her life. for an hour she crouched on the floor, listening to the heavy voices of the men rumbling up and down in mimic thunder. like familiar chords of childhood melodies, every intonation, every trick of her husband's voice swept in upon her, fluttering her heart and weakening her knees till she lay half-fainting against the door. it was well she could neither see nor hear when he took his departure. 'when do you expect to go back to circle city?' malemute kid asked simply. 'haven't thought much about it,' he replied. 'don't think till after the ice breaks.' 'and madeline?' he flushed at the question, and there was a quick droop to his eyes. malemute kid could have despised him for that, had he known men less. as it was, his gorge rose against the wives and daughters who had come into the land, and not satisfied with usurping the place of the native women, had put unclean thoughts in the heads of the men and made them ashamed. 'i guess she's all right,' the circle city king answered hastily, and in an apologetic manner. 'tom dixon's got charge of my interests, you know, and he sees to it that she has everything she wants.' malemute kid laid hand upon his arm and hushed him suddenly. they had stepped without. overhead, the aurora, a gorgeous wanton, flaunted miracles of color; beneath lay the sleeping town. far below, a solitary dog gave tongue. the king again began to speak, but the kid pressed his hand for silence. the sound multiplied. dog after dog took up the strain till the full-throated chorus swayed the night. to him who hears for the first time this weird song, is told the first and greatest secret of the northland; to him who has heard it often, it is the solemn knell of lost endeavor. it is the plaint of tortured souls, for in it is invested the heritage of the north, the suffering of countless generations--the warning and the requiem to the world's estrays. cal galbraith shivered slightly as it died away in half-caught sobs. the kid read his thoughts openly, and wandered back with him through all the weary days of famine and disease; and with him was also the patient madeline, sharing his pains and perils, never doubting, never complaining. his mind's retina vibrated to a score of pictures, stern, clear-cut, and the hand of the past drew back with heavy fingers on his heart. it was the psychological moment. malemute kid was half-tempted to play his reserve card and win the game; but the lesson was too mild as yet, and he let it pass. the next instant they had gripped hands, and the king's beaded moccasins were drawing protests from the outraged snow as he crunched down the hill. madeline in collapse was another woman to the mischievous creature of an hour before, whose laughter had been so infectious and whose heightened color and flashing eyes had made her teachers for the while forget. weak and nerveless, she sat in the chair just as she had been dropped there by prince and harrington. malemute kid frowned. this would never do. when the time of meeting her husband came to hand, she must carry things off with high-handed imperiousness. it was very necessary she should do it after the manner of white women, else the victory would be no victory at all. so he talked to her, sternly, without mincing of words, and initiated her into the weaknesses of his own sex, till she came to understand what simpletons men were after all, and why the word of their women was law. a few days before thanksgiving night, malemute kid made another call on mrs. eppingwell. she promptly overhauled her feminine fripperies, paid a protracted visit to the dry-goods department of the p. c. company, and returned with the kid to make madeline's acquaintance. after that came a period such as the cabin had never seen before, and what with cutting, and fitting, and basting, and stitching, and numerous other wonderful and unknowable things, the male conspirators were more often banished the premises than not. at such times the opera house opened its double storm-doors to them. so often did they put their heads together, and so deeply did they drink to curious toasts, that the loungers scented unknown creeks of incalculable richness, and it is known that several checha-quas and at least one old-timer kept their stampeding packs stored behind the bar, ready to hit the trail at a moment's notice. mrs. eppingwell was a woman of capacity; so, when she turned madeline over to her trainers on thanksgiving night she was so transformed that they were almost afraid of her. prince wrapped a hudson bay blanket about her with a mock reverence more real than feigned, while malemute kid, whose arm she had taken, found it a severe trial to resume his wonted mentorship. harrington, with the list of purchases still running through his head, dragged along in the rear, nor opened his mouth once all the way down into the town. when they came to the back door of the opera house they took the blanket from madeline's shoulders and spread it on the snow. slipping out of prince's moccasins, she stepped upon it in new satin slippers. the masquerade was at its height. she hesitated, but they jerked open the door and shoved her in. then they ran around to come in by the front entrance. iii 'where is freda?' the old-timers questioned, while the che-cha-quas were equally energetic in asking who freda was. the ballroom buzzed with her name. it was on everybody's lips. grizzled 'sour-dough boys,' day-laborers at the mines but proud of their degree, either patronized the spruce-looking tenderfeet and lied eloquently--the 'sour-dough boys' being specially created to toy with truth--or gave them savage looks of indignation because of their ignorance. perhaps forty kings of the upper and lower countries were on the floor, each deeming himself hot on the trail and sturdily backing his judgment with the yellow dust of the realm. an assistant was sent to the man at the scales, upon whom had fallen the burden of weighing up the sacks, while several of the gamblers, with the rules of chance at their finger-ends, made up alluring books on the field and favorites. which was freda? time and again the 'greek dancer' was thought to have been discovered, but each discovery brought panic to the betting ring and a frantic registering of new wagers by those who wished to hedge. malemute kid took an interest in the hunt, his advent being hailed uproariously by the revelers, who knew him to a man. the kid had a good eye for the trick of a step, and ear for the lilt of a voice, and his private choice was a marvelous creature who scintillated as the 'aurora borealis.' but the greek dancer was too subtle for even his penetration. the majority of the gold-hunters seemed to have centered their verdict on the 'russian princess,' who was the most graceful in the room, and hence could be no other than freda moloof. during a quadrille a roar of satisfaction went up. she was discovered. at previous balls, in the figure, 'all hands round,' freda had displayed an inimitable step and variation peculiarly her own. as the figure was called, the 'russian princess' gave the unique rhythm to limb and body. a chorus of i-told-you-so's shook the squared roof-beams, when lo! it was noticed that 'aurora borealis' and another masque, the 'spirit of the pole,' were performing the same trick equally well. and when two twin 'sun-dogs' and a 'frost queen' followed suit, a second assistant was dispatched to the aid of the man at the scales. bettles came off trail in the midst of the excitement, descending upon them in a hurricane of frost. his rimed brows turned to cataracts as he whirled about; his mustache, still frozen, seemed gemmed with diamonds and turned the light in varicolored rays; while the flying feet slipped on the chunks of ice which rattled from his moccasins and german socks. a northland dance is quite an informal affair, the men of the creeks and trails having lost whatever fastidiousness they might have at one time possessed; and only in the high official circles are conventions at all observed. here, caste carried no significance. millionaires and paupers, dog-drivers and mounted policemen joined hands with 'ladies in the center,' and swept around the circle performing most remarkable capers. primitive in their pleasure, boisterous and rough, they displayed no rudeness, but rather a crude chivalry more genuine than the most polished courtesy. in his quest for the 'greek dancer,' cal galbraith managed to get into the same set with the 'russian princess,' toward whom popular suspicion had turned. but by the time he had guided her through one dance, he was willing not only to stake his millions that she was not freda, but that he had had his arm about her waist before. when or where he could not tell, but the puzzling sense of familiarity so wrought upon him that he turned his attention to the discovery of her identity. malemute kid might have aided him instead of occasionally taking the princess for a few turns and talking earnestly to her in low tones. but it was jack harrington who paid the 'russian princess' the most assiduous court. once he drew cal galbraith aside and hazarded wild guesses as to who she was, and explained to him that he was going in to win. that rankled the circle city king, for man is not by nature monogamic, and he forgot both madeline and freda in the new quest. it was soon noised about that the 'russian princess' was not freda moloof. interest deepened. here was a fresh enigma. they knew freda though they could not find her, but here was somebody they had found and did not know. even the women could not place her, and they knew every good dancer in the camp. many took her for one of the official clique, indulging in a silly escapade. not a few asserted she would disappear before the unmasking. others were equally positive that she was the woman-reporter of the kansas city star, come to write them up at ninety dollars per column. and the men at the scales worked busily. at one o'clock every couple took to the floor. the unmasking began amid laughter and delight, like that of carefree children. there was no end of oh's and ah's as mask after mask was lifted. the scintillating 'aurora borealis' became the brawny negress whose income from washing the community's clothes ran at about five hundred a month. the twin 'sun-dogs' discovered mustaches on their upper lips, and were recognized as brother fraction-kings of el dorado. in one of the most prominent sets, and the slowest in uncovering, was cal galbraith with the 'spirit of the pole.' opposite him was jack harrington and the 'russian princess.' the rest had discovered themselves, yet the 'greek dancer' was still missing. all eyes were upon the group. cal galbraith, in response to their cries, lifted his partner's mask. freda's wonderful face and brilliant eyes flashed out upon them. a roar went up, to be squelched suddenly in the new and absorbing mystery of the 'russian princess.' her face was still hidden, and jack harrington was struggling with her. the dancers tittered on the tiptoes of expectancy. he crushed her dainty costume roughly, and then--and then the revelers exploded. the joke was on them. they had danced all night with a tabooed native woman. but those that knew, and they were many, ceased abruptly, and a hush fell upon the room. cal galbraith crossed over with great strides, angrily, and spoke to madeline in polyglot chinook. but she retained her composure, apparently oblivious to the fact that she was the cynosure of all eyes, and answered him in english. she showed neither fright nor anger, and malemute kid chuckled at her well-bred equanimity. the king felt baffled, defeated; his common siwash wife had passed beyond him. 'come!' he said finally. 'come on home.' 'i beg pardon,' she replied; 'i have agreed to go to supper with mr. harrington. besides, there's no end of dances promised.' harrington extended his arm to lead her away. he evinced not the slightest disinclination toward showing his back, but malemute kid had by this time edged in closer. the circle city king was stunned. twice his hand dropped to his belt, and twice the kid gathered himself to spring; but the retreating couple passed through the supper-room door where canned oysters were spread at five dollars the plate. the crowd sighed audibly, broke up into couples, and followed them. freda pouted and went in with cal galbraith; but she had a good heart and a sure tongue, and she spoiled his oysters for him. what she said is of no importance, but his face went red and white at intervals, and he swore repeatedly and savagely at himself. the supper-room was filled with a pandemonium of voices, which ceased suddenly as cal galbraith stepped over to his wife's table. since the unmasking considerable weights of dust had been placed as to the outcome. everybody watched with breathless interest. harrington's blue eyes were steady, but under the overhanging tablecloth a smith & wesson balanced on his knee. madeline looked up, casually, with little interest. 'may--may i have the next round dance with you?' the king stuttered. the wife of the king glanced at her card and inclined her head. an odyssey of the north the sleds were singing their eternal lament to the creaking of the harness and the tinkling bells of the leaders; but the men and dogs were tired and made no sound. the trail was heavy with new-fallen snow, and they had come far, and the runners, burdened with flint-like quarters of frozen moose, clung tenaciously to the unpacked surface and held back with a stubbornness almost human. darkness was coming on, but there was no camp to pitch that night. the snow fell gently through the pulseless air, not in flakes, but in tiny frost crystals of delicate design. it was very warm--barely ten below zero--and the men did not mind. meyers and bettles had raised their ear flaps, while malemute kid had even taken off his mittens. the dogs had been fagged out early in the after noon, but they now began to show new vigor. among the more astute there was a certain restlessness--an impatience at the restraint of the traces, an indecisive quickness of movement, a sniffing of snouts and pricking of ears. these became incensed at their more phlegmatic brothers, urging them on with numerous sly nips on their hinder quarters. those, thus chidden, also contracted and helped spread the contagion. at last the leader of the foremost sled uttered a sharp whine of satisfaction, crouching lower in the snow and throwing himself against the collar. the rest followed suit. there was an ingathering of back hands, a tightening of traces; the sleds leaped forward, and the men clung to the gee poles, violently accelerating the uplift of their feet that they might escape going under the runners. the weariness of the day fell from them, and they whooped encouragement to the dogs. the animals responded with joyous yelps. they were swinging through the gathering darkness at a rattling gallop. 'gee! gee!' the men cried, each in turn, as their sleds abruptly left the main trail, heeling over on single runners like luggers on the wind. then came a hundred yards' dash to the lighted parchment window, which told its own story of the home cabin, the roaring yukon stove, and the steaming pots of tea. but the home cabin had been invaded. threescore huskies chorused defiance, and as many furry forms precipitated themselves upon the dogs which drew the first sled. the door was flung open, and a man, clad in the scarlet tunic of the northwest police, waded knee-deep among the furious brutes, calmly and impartially dispensing soothing justice with the butt end of a dog whip. after that the men shook hands; and in this wise was malemute kid welcomed to his own cabin by a stranger. stanley prince, who should have welcomed him, and who was responsible for the yukon stove and hot tea aforementioned, was busy with his guests. there were a dozen or so of them, as nondescript a crowd as ever served the queen in the enforcement of her laws or the delivery of her mails. they were of many breeds, but their common life had formed of them a certain type--a lean and wiry type, with trail-hardened muscles, and sun-browned faces, and untroubled souls which gazed frankly forth, clear-eyed and steady. they drove the dogs of the queen, wrought fear in the hearts of her enemies, ate of her meager fare, and were happy. they had seen life, and done deeds, and lived romances; but they did not know it. and they were very much at home. two of them were sprawled upon malemute kid's bunk, singing chansons which their french forebears sang in the days when first they entered the northwest land and mated with its indian women. bettles' bunk had suffered a similar invasion, and three or four lusty voyageurs worked their toes among its blankets as they listened to the tale of one who had served on the boat brigade with wolseley when he fought his way to khartoum. and when he tired, a cowboy told of courts and kings and lords and ladies he had seen when buffalo bill toured the capitals of europe. in a corner two half-breeds, ancient comrades in a lost campaign, mended harnesses and talked of the days when the northwest flamed with insurrection and louis riel was king. rough jests and rougher jokes went up and down, and great hazards by trail and river were spoken of in the light of commonplaces, only to be recalled by virtue of some grain of humor or ludicrous happening. prince was led away by these uncrowned heroes who had seen history made, who regarded the great and the romantic as but the ordinary and the incidental in the routine of life. he passed his precious tobacco among them with lavish disregard, and rusty chains of reminiscence were loosened, and forgotten odysseys resurrected for his especial benefit. when conversation dropped and the travelers filled the last pipes and lashed their tight-rolled sleeping furs. prince fell back upon his comrade for further information. 'well, you know what the cowboy is,' malemute kid answered, beginning to unlace his moccasins; 'and it's not hard to guess the british blood in his bed partner. as for the rest, they're all children of the coureurs du bois, mingled with god knows how many other bloods. the two turning in by the door are the regulation 'breeds' or boisbrules. that lad with the worsted breech scarf--notice his eyebrows and the turn of his jaw--shows a scotchman wept in his mother's smoky tepee. and that handsome looking fellow putting the capote under his head is a french half-breed--you heard him talking; he doesn't like the two indians turning in next to him. you see, when the 'breeds' rose under the riel the full-bloods kept the peace, and they've not lost much love for one another since.' 'but i say, what's that glum-looking fellow by the stove? i'll swear he can't talk english. he hasn't opened his mouth all night.' 'you're wrong. he knows english well enough. did you follow his eyes when he listened? i did. but he's neither kith nor kin to the others. when they talked their own patois you could see he didn't understand. i've been wondering myself what he is. let's find out.' 'fire a couple of sticks into the stove!' malemute kid commanded, raising his voice and looking squarely at the man in question. he obeyed at once. 'had discipline knocked into him somewhere.' prince commented in a low tone. malemute kid nodded, took off his socks, and picked his way among recumbent men to the stove. there he hung his damp footgear among a score or so of mates. 'when do you expect to get to dawson?' he asked tentatively. the man studied him a moment before replying. 'they say seventy-five mile. so? maybe two days.' the very slightest accent was perceptible, while there was no awkward hesitancy or groping for words. 'been in the country before?' 'no.' 'northwest territory?' 'yes.' 'born there?' 'no.' 'well, where the devil were you born? you're none of these.' malemute kid swept his hand over the dog drivers, even including the two policemen who had turned into prince's bunk. 'where did you come from? i've seen faces like yours before, though i can't remember just where.' 'i know you,' he irrelevantly replied, at once turning the drift of malemute kid's questions. 'where? ever see me?' 'no; your partner, him priest, pastilik, long time ago. him ask me if i see you, malemute kid. him give me grub. i no stop long. you hear him speak 'bout me?' 'oh! you're the fellow that traded the otter skins for the dogs?' the man nodded, knocked out his pipe, and signified his disinclination for conversation by rolling up in his furs. malemute kid blew out the slush lamp and crawled under the blankets with prince. 'well, what is he?' 'don't know--turned me off, somehow, and then shut up like a clam. 'but he's a fellow to whet your curiosity. i've heard of him. all the coast wondered about him eight years ago. sort of mysterious, you know. he came down out of the north in the dead of winter, many a thousand miles from here, skirting bering sea and traveling as though the devil were after him. no one ever learned where he came from, but he must have come far. he was badly travel-worn when he got food from the swedish missionary on golovin bay and asked the way south. we heard of all this afterward. then he abandoned the shore line, heading right across norton sound. terrible weather, snowstorms and high winds, but he pulled through where a thousand other men would have died, missing st. michaels and making the land at pastilik. he'd lost all but two dogs, and was nearly gone with starvation. 'he was so anxious to go on that father roubeau fitted him out with grub; but he couldn't let him have any dogs, for he was only waiting my arrival, to go on a trip himself. mr. ulysses knew too much to start on without animals, and fretted around for several days. he had on his sled a bunch of beautifully cured otter skins, sea otters, you know, worth their weight in gold. there was also at pastilik an old shylock of a russian trader, who had dogs to kill. well, they didn't dicker very long, but when the strange one headed south again, it was in the rear of a spanking dog team. mr. shylock, by the way, had the otter skins. i saw them, and they were magnificent. we figured it up and found the dogs brought him at least five hundred apiece. and it wasn't as if the strange one didn't know the value of sea otter; he was an indian of some sort, and what little he talked showed he'd been among white men. 'after the ice passed out of the sea, word came up from nunivak island that he'd gone in there for grub. then he dropped from sight, and this is the first heard of him in eight years. now where did he come from? and what was he doing there? and why did he come from there? he's indian, he's been nobody knows where, and he's had discipline, which is unusual for an indian. another mystery of the north for you to solve, prince.' 'thanks awfully, but i've got too many on hand as it is,' he replied. malemute kid was already breathing heavily; but the young mining engineer gazed straight up through the thick darkness, waiting for the strange orgasm which stirred his blood to die away. and when he did sleep, his brain worked on, and for the nonce he, too, wandered through the white unknown, struggled with the dogs on endless trails, and saw men live, and toil, and die like men. the next morning, hours before daylight, the dog drivers and policemen pulled out for dawson. but the powers that saw to her majesty's interests and ruled the destinies of her lesser creatures gave the mailmen little rest, for a week later they appeared at stuart river, heavily burdened with letters for salt water. however, their dogs had been replaced by fresh ones; but, then, they were dogs. the men had expected some sort of a layover in which to rest up; besides, this klondike was a new section of the northland, and they had wished to see a little something of the golden city where dust flowed like water and dance halls rang with never-ending revelry. but they dried their socks and smoked their evening pipes with much the same gusto as on their former visit, though one or two bold spirits speculated on desertion and the possibility of crossing the unexplored rockies to the east, and thence, by the mackenzie valley, of gaining their old stamping grounds in the chippewyan country. two or three even decided to return to their homes by that route when their terms of service had expired, and they began to lay plans forthwith, looking forward to the hazardous undertaking in much the same way a city-bred man would to a day's holiday in the woods. he of the otter skins seemed very restless, though he took little interest in the discussion, and at last he drew malemute kid to one side and talked for some time in low tones. prince cast curious eyes in their direction, and the mystery deepened when they put on caps and mittens and went outside. when they returned, malemute kid placed his gold scales on the table, weighed out the matter of sixty ounces, and transferred them to the strange one's sack. then the chief of the dog drivers joined the conclave, and certain business was transacted with him. the next day the gang went on upriver, but he of the otter skins took several pounds of grub and turned his steps back toward dawson. 'didn't know what to make of it,' said malemute kid in response to prince's queries; 'but the poor beggar wanted to be quit of the service for some reason or other--at least it seemed a most important one to him, though he wouldn't let on what. you see, it's just like the army: he signed for two years, and the only way to get free was to buy himself out. he couldn't desert and then stay here, and he was just wild to remain in the country. 'made up his mind when he got to dawson, he said; but no one knew him, hadn't a cent, and i was the only one he'd spoken two words with. so he talked it over with the lieutenant-governor, and made arrangements in case he could get the money from me--loan, you know. said he'd pay back in the year, and, if i wanted, would put me onto something rich. never'd seen it, but he knew it was rich. 'and talk! why, when he got me outside he was ready to weep. begged and pleaded; got down in the snow to me till i hauled him out of it. palavered around like a crazy man. 'swore he's worked to this very end for years and years, and couldn't bear to be disappointed now. asked him what end, but he wouldn't say. 'said they might keep him on the other half of the trail and he wouldn't get to dawson in two years, and then it would be too late. never saw a man take on so in my life. and when i said i'd let him have it, had to yank him out of the snow again. told him to consider it in the light of a grubstake. think he'd have it? no sir! swore he'd give me all he found, make me rich beyond the dreams of avarice, and all such stuff. now a man who puts his life and time against a grubstake ordinarily finds it hard enough to turn over half of what he finds. something behind all this, prince; just you make a note of it. we'll hear of him if he stays in the country--' 'and if he doesn't?' 'then my good nature gets a shock, and i'm sixty some odd ounces out.' the cold weather had come on with the long nights, and the sun had begun to play his ancient game of peekaboo along the southern snow line ere aught was heard of malemute kid's grubstake. and then, one bleak morning in early january, a heavily laden dog train pulled into his cabin below stuart river. he of the otter skins was there, and with him walked a man such as the gods have almost forgotten how to fashion. men never talked of luck and pluck and five-hundred-dollar dirt without bringing in the name of axel gunderson; nor could tales of nerve or strength or daring pass up and down the campfire without the summoning of his presence. and when the conversation flagged, it blazed anew at mention of the woman who shared his fortunes. as has been noted, in the making of axel gunderson the gods had remembered their old-time cunning and cast him after the manner of men who were born when the world was young. full seven feet he towered in his picturesque costume which marked a king of eldorado. his chest, neck, and limbs were those of a giant. to bear his three hundred pounds of bone and muscle, his snowshoes were greater by a generous yard than those of other men. rough-hewn, with rugged brow and massive jaw and unflinching eyes of palest blue, his face told the tale of one who knew but the law of might. of the yellow of ripe corn silk, his frost-incrusted hair swept like day across the night and fell far down his coat of bearskin. a vague tradition of the sea seemed to cling about him as he swung down the narrow trail in advance of the dogs; and he brought the butt of his dog whip against malemute kid's door as a norse sea rover, on southern foray, might thunder for admittance at the castle gate. prince bared his womanly arms and kneaded sour-dough bread, casting, as he did so, many a glance at the three guests--three guests the like of which might never come under a man's roof in a lifetime. the strange one, whom malemute kid had surnamed ulysses, still fascinated him; but his interest chiefly gravitated between axel gunderson and axel gunderson's wife. she felt the day's journey, for she had softened in comfortable cabins during the many days since her husband mastered the wealth of frozen pay streaks, and she was tired. she rested against his great breast like a slender flower against a wall, replying lazily to malemute kid's good-natured banter, and stirring prince's blood strangely with an occasional sweep of her deep, dark eyes. for prince was a man, and healthy, and had seen few women in many months. and she was older than he, and an indian besides. but she was different from all native wives he had met: she had traveled--had been in his country among others, he gathered from the conversation; and she knew most of the things the women of his own race knew, and much more that it was not in the nature of things for them to know. she could make a meal of sun-dried fish or a bed in the snow; yet she teased them with tantalizing details of many-course dinners, and caused strange internal dissensions to arise at the mention of various quondam dishes which they had well-nigh forgotten. she knew the ways of the moose, the bear, and the little blue fox, and of the wild amphibians of the northern seas; she was skilled in the lore of the woods, and the streams, and the tale writ by man and bird and beast upon the delicate snow crust was to her an open book; yet prince caught the appreciative twinkle in her eye as she read the rules of the camp. these rules had been fathered by the unquenchable bettles at a time when his blood ran high, and were remarkable for the terse simplicity of their humor. prince always turned them to the wall before the arrival of ladies; but who could suspect that this native wife--well, it was too late now. this, then, was the wife of axel gunderson, a woman whose name and fame had traveled with her husband's, hand in hand, through all the northland. at table, malemute kid baited her with the assurance of an old friend, and prince shook off the shyness of first acquaintance and joined in. but she held her own in the unequal contest, while her husband, slower in wit, ventured naught but applause. and he was very proud of her; his every look and action revealed the magnitude of the place she occupied in his life. he of the otter skins ate in silence, forgotten in the merry battle; and long ere the others were done he pushed back from the table and went out among the dogs. yet all too soon his fellow travelers drew on their mittens and parkas and followed him. there had been no snow for many days, and the sleds slipped along the hardpacked yukon trail as easily as if it had been glare ice. ulysses led the first sled; with the second came prince and axel gunderson's wife; while malemute kid and the yellow-haired giant brought up the third. 'it's only a hunch, kid,' he said, 'but i think it's straight. he's never been there, but he tells a good story, and shows a map i heard of when i was in the kootenay country years ago. i'd like to have you go along; but he's a strange one, and swore point-blank to throw it up if anyone was brought in. but when i come back you'll get first tip, and i'll stake you next to me, and give you a half share in the town site besides.' 'no! no!' he cried, as the other strove to interrupt. 'i'm running this, and before i'm done it'll need two heads. 'if it's all right, why, it'll be a second cripple creek, man; do you hear?--a second cripple creek! it's quartz, you know, not placer; and if we work it right we'll corral the whole thing--millions upon millions. i've heard of the place before, and so have you. we'll build a town--thousands of workmen--good waterways--steamship lines--big carrying trade--light-draught steamers for head reaches--survey a railroad, perhaps--sawmills--electric-light plant--do our own banking--commercial company--syndicate--say! just you hold your hush till i get back!' the sleds came to a halt where the trail crossed the mouth of stuart river. an unbroken sea of frost, its wide expanse stretched away into the unknown east. the snowshoes were withdrawn from the lashings of the sleds. axel gunderson shook hands and stepped to the fore, his great webbed shoes sinking a fair half yard into the feathery surface and packing the snow so the dogs should not wallow. his wife fell in behind the last sled, betraying long practice in the art of handling the awkward footgear. the stillness was broken with cheery farewells; the dogs whined; and he of the otter skins talked with his whip to a recalcitrant wheeler. an hour later the train had taken on the likeness of a black pencil crawling in a long, straight line across a mighty sheet of foolscap. ii one night, many weeks later, malemute kid and prince fell to solving chess problems from the torn page of an ancient magazine. the kid had just returned from his bonanza properties and was resting up preparatory to a long moose hunt. prince, too, had been on creek and trail nearly all winter, and had grown hungry for a blissful week of cabin life. 'interpose the black knight, and force the king. no, that won't do. see, the next move-' 'why advance the pawn two squares? bound to take it in transit, and with the bishop out of the way-' 'but hold on! that leaves a hole, and-' 'no; it's protected. go ahead! you'll see it works.' it was very interesting. somebody knocked at the door a second time before malemute kid said, 'come in.' the door swung open. something staggered in. prince caught one square look and sprang to his feet. the horror in his eyes caused malemute kid to whirl about; and he, too, was startled, though he had seen bad things before. the thing tottered blindly toward them. prince edged away till he reached the nail from which hung his smith & wesson. 'my god! what is it?' he whispered to malemute kid. 'don't know. looks like a case of freezing and no grub,' replied the kid, sliding away in the opposite direction. 'watch out! it may be mad,' he warned, coming back from closing the door. the thing advanced to the table. the bright flame of the slush lamp caught its eye. it was amused, and gave voice to eldritch cackles which betokened mirth. then, suddenly, he--for it was a man--swayed back, with a hitch to his skin trousers, and began to sing a chantey, such as men lift when they swing around the capstan circle and the sea snorts in their ears: yan-kee ship come down de ri-ib-er, pull! my bully boys! pull! d'yeh want--to know de captain ru-uns her? pull! my bully boys! pull! jon-a-than jones ob south caho-li-in-a, pull! my bully. he broke off abruptly, tottered with a wolfish snarl to the meat shelf, and before they could intercept was tearing with his teeth at a chunk of raw bacon. the struggle was fierce between him and malemute kid; but his mad strength left him as suddenly as it had come, and he weakly surrendered the spoil. between them they got him upon a stool, where he sprawled with half his body across the table. a small dose of whiskey strengthened him, so that he could dip a spoon into the sugar caddy which malemute kid placed before him. after his appetite had been somewhat cloyed, prince, shuddering as he did so, passed him a mug of weak beef tea. the creature's eyes were alight with a somber frenzy, which blazed and waned with every mouthful. there was very little skin to the face. the face, for that matter, sunken and emaciated, bore little likeness to human countenance. frost after frost had bitten deeply, each depositing its stratum of scab upon the half-healed scar that went before. this dry, hard surface was of a bloody-black color, serrated by grievous cracks wherein the raw red flesh peeped forth. his skin garments were dirty and in tatters, and the fur of one side was singed and burned away, showing where he had lain upon his fire. malemute kid pointed to where the sun-tanned hide had been cut away, strip by strip--the grim signature of famine. 'who--are--you?' slowly and distinctly enunciated the kid. the man paid no heed. 'where do you come from?' 'yan-kee ship come down de ri-ib-er,' was the quavering response. 'don't doubt the beggar came down the river,' the kid said, shaking him in an endeavor to start a more lucid flow of talk. but the man shrieked at the contact, clapping a hand to his side in evident pain. he rose slowly to his feet, half leaning on the table. 'she laughed at me--so--with the hate in her eye; and she--would--not--come.' his voice died away, and he was sinking back when malemute kid gripped him by the wrist and shouted, 'who? who would not come?' 'she, unga. she laughed, and struck at me, so, and so. and then-' 'yes?' 'and then--' 'and then what?' 'and then he lay very still in the snow a long time. he is-still in--the--snow.' the two men looked at each other helplessly. 'who is in the snow?' 'she, unga. she looked at me with the hate in her eye, and then--' 'yes, yes.' 'and then she took the knife, so; and once, twice--she was weak. i traveled very slow. and there is much gold in that place, very much gold.' 'where is unga?' for all malemute kid knew, she might be dying a mile away. he shook the man savagely, repeating again and again, 'where is unga? who is unga?' 'she--is--in--the--snow.' 'go on!' the kid was pressing his wrist cruelly. 'so--i--would--be--in--the snow--but--i--had--a--debt--to--pay. it--was--heavy--i--had--a-debt--to--pay--a--debt--to--pay i--had-' the faltering monosyllables ceased as he fumbled in his pouch and drew forth a buckskin sack. 'a--debt--to--pay--five--pounds--of--gold-grub-- stake--mal--e--mute--kid--i--y--' the exhausted head dropped upon the table; nor could malemute kid rouse it again. 'it's ulysses,' he said quietly, tossing the bag of dust on the table. 'guess it's all day with axel gunderson and the woman. come on, let's get him between the blankets. he's indian; he'll pull through and tell a tale besides.' as they cut his garments from him, near his right breast could be seen two unhealed, hard-lipped knife thrusts. iii 'i will talk of the things which were in my own way; but you will understand. i will begin at the beginning, and tell of myself and the woman, and, after that, of the man.' he of the otter skins drew over to the stove as do men who have been deprived of fire and are afraid the promethean gift may vanish at any moment. malemute kid picked up the slush lamp and placed it so its light might fall upon the face of the narrator. prince slid his body over the edge of the bunk and joined them. 'i am naass, a chief, and the son of a chief, born between a sunset and a rising, on the dark seas, in my father's oomiak. all of a night the men toiled at the paddles, and the women cast out the waves which threw in upon us, and we fought with the storm. the salt spray froze upon my mother's breast till her breath passed with the passing of the tide. but i--i raised my voice with the wind and the storm, and lived. 'we dwelt in akatan--' 'where?' asked malemute kid. 'akatan, which is in the aleutians; akatan, beyond chignik, beyond kardalak, beyond unimak. as i say, we dwelt in akatan, which lies in the midst of the sea on the edge of the world. we farmed the salt seas for the fish, the seal, and the otter; and our homes shouldered about one another on the rocky strip between the rim of the forest and the yellow beach where our kayaks lay. we were not many, and the world was very small. there were strange lands to the east--islands like akatan; so we thought all the world was islands and did not mind. 'i was different from my people. in the sands of the beach were the crooked timbers and wave-warped planks of a boat such as my people never built; and i remember on the point of the island which overlooked the ocean three ways there stood a pine tree which never grew there, smooth and straight and tall. it is said the two men came to that spot, turn about, through many days, and watched with the passing of the light. these two men came from out of the sea in the boat which lay in pieces on the beach. and they were white like you, and weak as the little children when the seal have gone away and the hunters come home empty. i know of these things from the old men and the old women, who got them from their fathers and mothers before them. these strange white men did not take kindly to our ways at first, but they grew strong, what of the fish and the oil, and fierce. and they built them each his own house, and took the pick of our women, and in time children came. thus he was born who was to become the father of my father's father. 'as i said, i was different from my people, for i carried the strong, strange blood of this white man who came out of the sea. it is said we had other laws in the days before these men; but they were fierce and quarrelsome, and fought with our men till there were no more left who dared to fight. then they made themselves chiefs, and took away our old laws, and gave us new ones, insomuch that the man was the son of his father, and not his mother, as our way had been. they also ruled that the son, first-born, should have all things which were his father's before him, and that the brothers and sisters should shift for themselves. and they gave us other laws. they showed us new ways in the catching of fish and the killing of bear which were thick in the woods; and they taught us to lay by bigger stores for the time of famine. and these things were good. 'but when they had become chiefs, and there were no more men to face their anger, they fought, these strange white men, each with the other. and the one whose blood i carry drove his seal spear the length of an arm through the other's body. their children took up the fight, and their children's children; and there was great hatred between them, and black doings, even to my time, so that in each family but one lived to pass down the blood of them that went before. of my blood i was alone; of the other man's there was but a girl. unga, who lived with her mother. her father and my father did not come back from the fishing one night; but afterward they washed up to the beach on the big tides, and they held very close to each other. 'the people wondered, because of the hatred between the houses, and the old men shook their heads and said the fight would go on when children were born to her and children to me. they told me this as a boy, till i came to believe, and to look upon unga as a foe, who was to be the mother of children which were to fight with mine. i thought of these things day by day, and when i grew to a stripling i came to ask why this should be so. 'and they answered, "we do not know, but that in such way your fathers did." and i marveled that those which were to come should fight the battles of those that were gone, and in it i could see no right. but the people said it must be, and i was only a stripling. 'and they said i must hurry, that my blood might be the older and grow strong before hers. this was easy, for i was head man, and the people looked up to me because of the deeds and the laws of my fathers, and the wealth which was mine. any maiden would come to me, but i found none to my liking. and the old men and the mothers of maidens told me to hurry, for even then were the hunters bidding high to the mother of unga; and should her children grow strong before mine, mine would surely die. 'nor did i find a maiden till one night coming back from the fishing. the sunlight was lying, so, low and full in the eyes, the wind free, and the kayacks racing with the white seas. of a sudden the kayak of unga came driving past me, and she looked upon me, so, with her black hair flying like a cloud of night and the spray wet on her cheek. as i say, the sunlight was full in the eyes, and i was a stripling; but somehow it was all clear, and i knew it to be the call of kind to kind. 'as she whipped ahead she looked back within the space of two strokes--looked as only the woman unga could look--and again i knew it as the call of kind. the people shouted as we ripped past the lazy oomiaks and left them far behind. but she was quick at the paddle, and my heart was like the belly of a sail, and i did not gain. the wind freshened, the sea whitened, and, leaping like the seals on the windward breech, we roared down the golden pathway of the sun.' naass was crouched half out of his stool, in the attitude of one driving a paddle, as he ran the race anew. somewhere across the stove he beheld the tossing kayak and the flying hair of unga. the voice of the wind was in his ears, and its salt beat fresh upon his nostrils. 'but she made the shore, and ran up the sand, laughing, to the house of her mother. and a great thought came to me that night--a thought worthy of him that was chief over all the people of akatan. so, when the moon was up, i went down to the house of her mother, and looked upon the goods of yash-noosh, which were piled by the door--the goods of yash-noosh, a strong hunter who had it in mind to be the father of the children of unga. other young men had piled their goods there and taken them away again; and each young man had made a pile greater than the one before. 'and i laughed to the moon and the stars, and went to my own house where my wealth was stored. and many trips i made, till my pile was greater by the fingers of one hand than the pile of yash-noosh. there were fish, dried in the sun and smoked; and forty hides of the hair seal, and half as many of the fur, and each hide was tied at the mouth and big bellied with oil; and ten skins of bear which i killed in the woods when they came out in the spring. and there were beads and blankets and scarlet cloths, such as i got in trade from the people who lived to the east, and who got them in trade from the people who lived still beyond in the east. 'and i looked upon the pile of yash-noosh and laughed, for i was head man in akatan, and my wealth was greater than the wealth of all my young men, and my fathers had done deeds, and given laws, and put their names for all time in the mouths of the people. 'so, when the morning came, i went down to the beach, casting out of the corner of my eye at the house of the mother of unga. my offer yet stood untouched. 'and the women smiled, and said sly things one to the other. i wondered, for never had such a price been offered; and that night i added more to the pile, and put beside it a kayak of well-tanned skins which never yet had swam in the sea. but in the day it was yet there, open to the laughter of all men. the mother of unga was crafty, and i grew angry at the shame in which i stood before my people. so that night i added till it became a great pile, and i hauled up my oomiak, which was of the value of twenty kayaks. and in the morning there was no pile. 'then made i preparation for the wedding, and the people that lived even to the east came for the food of the feast and the potlatch token. unga was older than i by the age of four suns in the way we reckoned the years. i was only a stripling; but then i was a chief, and the son of a chief, and it did not matter. 'but a ship shoved her sails above the floor of the ocean, and grew larger with the breath of the wind. from her scuppers she ran clear water, and the men were in haste and worked hard at the pumps. on the bow stood a mighty man, watching the depth of the water and giving commands with a voice of thunder. his eyes were of the pale blue of the deep waters, and his head was maned like that of a sea lion. and his hair was yellow, like the straw of a southern harvest or the manila rope yarns which sailormen plait. 'of late years we had seen ships from afar, but this was the first to come to the beach of akatan. the feast was broken, and the women and children fled to the houses, while we men strung our bows and waited with spears in hand. but when the ship's forefoot smelled the beach the strange men took no notice of us, being busy with their own work. with the falling of the tide they careened the schooner and patched a great hole in her bottom. so the women crept back, and the feast went on. 'when the tide rose, the sea wanderers kedged the schooner to deep water and then came among us. they bore presents and were friendly; so i made room for them, and out of the largeness of my heart gave them tokens such as i gave all the guests, for it was my wedding day, and i was head man in akatan. and he with the mane of the sea lion was there, so tall and strong that one looked to see the earth shake with the fall of his feet. he looked much and straight at unga, with his arms folded, so, and stayed till the sun went away and the stars came out. then he went down to his ship. after that i took unga by the hand and led her to my own house. and there was singing and great laughter, and the women said sly things, after the manner of women at such times. but we did not care. then the people left us alone and went home. 'the last noise had not died away when the chief of the sea wanderers came in by the door. and he had with him black bottles, from which we drank and made merry. you see, i was only a stripling, and had lived all my days on the edge of the world. so my blood became as fire, and my heart as light as the froth that flies from the surf to the cliff. unga sat silent among the skins in the corner, her eyes wide, for she seemed to fear. and he with the mane of the sea lion looked upon her straight and long. then his men came in with bundles of goods, and he piled before me wealth such as was not in all akatan. there were guns, both large and small, and powder and shot and shell, and bright axes and knives of steel, and cunning tools, and strange things the like of which i had never seen. when he showed me by sign that it was all mine, i thought him a great man to be so free; but he showed me also that unga was to go away with him in his ship. 'do you understand?--that unga was to go away with him in his ship. the blood of my fathers flamed hot on the sudden, and i made to drive him through with my spear. but the spirit of the bottles had stolen the life from my arm, and he took me by the neck, so, and knocked my head against the wall of the house. and i was made weak like a newborn child, and my legs would no more stand under me. 'unga screamed, and she laid hold of the things of the house with her hands, till they fell all about us as he dragged her to the door. then he took her in his great arms, and when she tore at his yellow hair laughed with a sound like that of the big bull seal in the rut. 'i crawled to the beach and called upon my people, but they were afraid. only yash-noosh was a man, and they struck him on the head with an oar, till he lay with his face in the sand and did not move. and they raised the sails to the sound of their songs, and the ship went away on the wind. 'the people said it was good, for there would be no more war of the bloods in akatan; but i said never a word, waiting till the time of the full moon, when i put fish and oil in my kayak and went away to the east. i saw many islands and many people, and i, who had lived on the edge, saw that the world was very large. i talked by signs; but they had not seen a schooner nor a man with the mane of a sea lion, and they pointed always to the east. and i slept in queer places, and ate odd things, and met strange faces. many laughed, for they thought me light of head; but sometimes old men turned my face to the light and blessed me, and the eyes of the young women grew soft as they asked me of the strange ship, and unga, and the men of the sea. 'and in this manner, through rough seas and great storms, i came to unalaska. there were two schooners there, but neither was the one i sought. so i passed on to the east, with the world growing ever larger, and in the island of unamok there was no word of the ship, nor in kadiak, nor in atognak. and so i came one day to a rocky land, where men dug great holes in the mountain. and there was a schooner, but not my schooner, and men loaded upon it the rocks which they dug. this i thought childish, for all the world was made of rocks; but they gave me food and set me to work. when the schooner was deep in the water, the captain gave me money and told me to go; but i asked which way he went, and he pointed south. i made signs that i would go with him, and he laughed at first, but then, being short of men, took me to help work the ship. so i came to talk after their manner, and to heave on ropes, and to reef the stiff sails in sudden squalls, and to take my turn at the wheel. but it was not strange, for the blood of my fathers was the blood of the men of the sea. 'i had thought it an easy task to find him i sought, once i got among his own people; and when we raised the land one day, and passed between a gateway of the sea to a port, i looked for perhaps as many schooners as there were fingers to my hands. but the ships lay against the wharves for miles, packed like so many little fish; and when i went among them to ask for a man with the mane of a sea lion, they laughed, and answered me in the tongues of many peoples. and i found that they hailed from the uttermost parts of the earth. 'and i went into the city to look upon the face of every man. but they were like the cod when they run thick on the banks, and i could not count them. and the noise smote upon me till i could not hear, and my head was dizzy with much movement. so i went on and on, through the lands which sang in the warm sunshine; where the harvests lay rich on the plains; and where great cities were fat with men that lived like women, with false words in their mouths and their hearts black with the lust of gold. and all the while my people of akatan hunted and fished, and were happy in the thought that the world was small. 'but the look in the eyes of unga coming home from the fishing was with me always, and i knew i would find her when the time was met. she walked down quiet lanes in the dusk of the evening, or led me chases across the thick fields wet with the morning dew, and there was a promise in her eyes such as only the woman unga could give. 'so i wandered through a thousand cities. some were gentle and gave me food, and others laughed, and still others cursed; but i kept my tongue between my teeth, and went strange ways and saw strange sights. sometimes i, who was a chief and the son of a chief, toiled for men--men rough of speech and hard as iron, who wrung gold from the sweat and sorrow of their fellow men. yet no word did i get of my quest till i came back to the sea like a homing seal to the rookeries. 'but this was at another port, in another country which lay to the north. and there i heard dim tales of the yellow-haired sea wanderer, and i learned that he was a hunter of seals, and that even then he was abroad on the ocean. 'so i shipped on a seal schooner with the lazy siwashes, and followed his trackless trail to the north where the hunt was then warm. and we were away weary months, and spoke many of the fleet, and heard much of the wild doings of him i sought; but never once did we raise him above the sea. we went north, even to the pribilofs, and killed the seals in herds on the beach, and brought their warm bodies aboard till our scuppers ran grease and blood and no man could stand upon the deck. then were we chased by a ship of slow steam, which fired upon us with great guns. but we put sail till the sea was over our decks and washed them clean, and lost ourselves in a fog. 'it is said, at this time, while we fled with fear at our hearts, that the yellow-haired sea wanderer put in to the pribilofs, right to the factory, and while the part of his men held the servants of the company, the rest loaded ten thousand green skins from the salt houses. i say it is said, but i believe; for in the voyages i made on the coast with never a meeting the northern seas rang with his wildness and daring, till the three nations which have lands there sought him with their ships. 'and i heard of unga, for the captains sang loud in her praise, and she was always with him. she had learned the ways of his people, they said, and was happy. but i knew better--knew that her heart harked back to her own people by the yellow beach of akatan. 'so, after a long time, i went back to the port which is by a gateway of the sea, and there i learned that he had gone across the girth of the great ocean to hunt for the seal to the east of the warm land which runs south from the russian seas. 'and i, who was become a sailorman, shipped with men of his own race, and went after him in the hunt of the seal. and there were few ships off that new land; but we hung on the flank of the seal pack and harried it north through all the spring of the year. and when the cows were heavy with pup and crossed the russian line, our men grumbled and were afraid. for there was much fog, and every day men were lost in the boats. they would not work, so the captain turned the ship back toward the way it came. but i knew the yellow-haired sea wanderer was unafraid, and would hang by the pack, even to the russian isles, where few men go. so i took a boat, in the black of night, when the lookout dozed on the fo'c'slehead, and went alone to the warm, long land. and i journeyed south to meet the men by yeddo bay, who are wild and unafraid. and the yoshiwara girls were small, and bright like steel, and good to look upon; but i could not stop, for i knew that unga rolled on the tossing floor by the rookeries of the north. 'the men by yeddo bay had met from the ends of the earth, and had neither gods nor homes, sailing under the flag of the japanese. and with them i went to the rich beaches of copper island, where our salt piles became high with skins. 'and in that silent sea we saw no man till we were ready to come away. then one day the fog lifted on the edge of a heavy wind, and there jammed down upon us a schooner, with close in her wake the cloudy funnels of a russian man-of-war. we fled away on the beam of the wind, with the schooner jamming still closer and plunging ahead three feet to our two. and upon her poop was the man with the mane of the sea lion, pressing the rails under with the canvas and laughing in his strength of life. and unga was there--i knew her on the moment--but he sent her below when the cannons began to talk across the sea. as i say, with three feet to our two, till we saw the rudder lift green at every jump--and i swinging on to the wheel and cursing, with my back to the russian shot. for we knew he had it in mind to run before us, that he might get away while we were caught. and they knocked our masts out of us till we dragged into the wind like a wounded gull; but he went on over the edge of the sky line--he and unga. 'what could we? the fresh hides spoke for themselves. so they took us to a russian port, and after that to a lone country, where they set us to work in the mines to dig salt. and some died, and--and some did not die.' naass swept the blanket from his shoulders, disclosing the gnarled and twisted flesh, marked with the unmistakable striations of the knout. prince hastily covered him, for it was not nice to look upon. 'we were there a weary time and sometimes men got away to the south, but they always came back. so, when we who hailed from yeddo bay rose in the night and took the guns from the guards, we went to the north. and the land was very large, with plains, soggy with water, and great forests. and the cold came, with much snow on the ground, and no man knew the way. weary months we journeyed through the endless forest--i do not remember, now, for there was little food and often we lay down to die. but at last we came to the cold sea, and but three were left to look upon it. one had shipped from yeddo as captain, and he knew in his head the lay of the great lands, and of the place where men may cross from one to the other on the ice. and he led us--i do not know, it was so long--till there were but two. when we came to that place we found five of the strange people which live in that country, and they had dogs and skins, and we were very poor. we fought in the snow till they died, and the captain died, and the dogs and skins were mine. then i crossed on the ice, which was broken, and once i drifted till a gale from the west put me upon the shore. and after that, golovin bay, pastilik, and the priest. then south, south, to the warm sunlands where first i wandered. 'but the sea was no longer fruitful, and those who went upon it after the seal went to little profit and great risk. the fleets scattered, and the captains and the men had no word of those i sought. so i turned away from the ocean which never rests, and went among the lands, where the trees, the houses, and the mountains sit always in one place and do not move. i journeyed far, and came to learn many things, even to the way of reading and writing from books. it was well i should do this, for it came upon me that unga must know these things, and that someday, when the time was met--we--you understand, when the time was met. 'so i drifted, like those little fish which raise a sail to the wind but cannot steer. but my eyes and my ears were open always, and i went among men who traveled much, for i knew they had but to see those i sought to remember. at last there came a man, fresh from the mountains, with pieces of rock in which the free gold stood to the size of peas, and he had heard, he had met, he knew them. they were rich, he said, and lived in the place where they drew the gold from the ground. 'it was in a wild country, and very far away; but in time i came to the camp, hidden between the mountains, where men worked night and day, out of the sight of the sun. yet the time was not come. i listened to the talk of the people. he had gone away--they had gone away--to england, it was said, in the matter of bringing men with much money together to form companies. i saw the house they had lived in; more like a palace, such as one sees in the old countries. in the nighttime i crept in through a window that i might see in what manner he treated her. i went from room to room, and in such way thought kings and queens must live, it was all so very good. and they all said he treated her like a queen, and many marveled as to what breed of woman she was for there was other blood in her veins, and she was different from the women of akatan, and no one knew her for what she was. aye, she was a queen; but i was a chief, and the son of a chief, and i had paid for her an untold price of skin and boat and bead. 'but why so many words? i was a sailorman, and knew the way of the ships on the seas. i followed to england, and then to other countries. sometimes i heard of them by word of mouth, sometimes i read of them in the papers; yet never once could i come by them, for they had much money, and traveled fast, while i was a poor man. then came trouble upon them, and their wealth slipped away one day like a curl of smoke. the papers were full of it at the time; but after that nothing was said, and i knew they had gone back where more gold could be got from the ground. 'they had dropped out of the world, being now poor, and so i wandered from camp to camp, even north to the kootenay country, where i picked up the cold scent. they had come and gone, some said this way, and some that, and still others that they had gone to the country of the yukon. and i went this way, and i went that, ever journeying from place to place, till it seemed i must grow weary of the world which was so large. but in the kootenay i traveled a bad trail, and a long trail, with a breed of the northwest, who saw fit to die when the famine pinched. he had been to the yukon by an unknown way over the mountains, and when he knew his time was near gave me the map and the secret of a place where he swore by his gods there was much gold. 'after that all the world began to flock into the north. i was a poor man; i sold myself to be a driver of dogs. the rest you know. i met him and her in dawson. 'she did not know me, for i was only a stripling, and her life had been large, so she had no time to remember the one who had paid for her an untold price. 'so? you bought me from my term of service. i went back to bring things about in my own way, for i had waited long, and now that i had my hand upon him was in no hurry. 'as i say, i had it in mind to do my own way, for i read back in my life, through all i had seen and suffered, and remembered the cold and hunger of the endless forest by the russian seas. as you know, i led him into the east--him and unga--into the east where many have gone and few returned. i led them to the spot where the bones and the curses of men lie with the gold which they may not have. 'the way was long and the trail unpacked. our dogs were many and ate much; nor could our sleds carry till the break of spring. we must come back before the river ran free. so here and there we cached grub, that our sleds might be lightened and there be no chance of famine on the back trip. at the mcquestion there were three men, and near them we built a cache, as also did we at the mayo, where was a hunting camp of a dozen pellys which had crossed the divide from the south. 'after that, as we went on into the east, we saw no men; only the sleeping river, the moveless forest, and the white silence of the north. as i say, the way was long and the trail unpacked. sometimes, in a day's toil, we made no more than eight miles, or ten, and at night we slept like dead men. and never once did they dream that i was naass, head man of akatan, the righter of wrongs. 'we now made smaller caches, and in the nighttime it was a small matter to go back on the trail we had broken and change them in such way that one might deem the wolverines the thieves. again there be places where there is a fall to the river, and the water is unruly, and the ice makes above and is eaten away beneath. 'in such a spot the sled i drove broke through, and the dogs; and to him and unga it was ill luck, but no more. and there was much grub on that sled, and the dogs the strongest. 'but he laughed, for he was strong of life, and gave the dogs that were left little grub till we cut them from the harnesses one by one and fed them to their mates. we would go home light, he said, traveling and eating from cache to cache, with neither dogs nor sleds; which was true, for our grub was very short, and the last dog died in the traces the night we came to the gold and the bones and the curses of men. 'to reach that place--and the map spoke true--in the heart of the great mountains, we cut ice steps against the wall of a divide. one looked for a valley beyond, but there was no valley; the snow spread away, level as the great harvest plains, and here and there about us mighty mountains shoved their white heads among the stars. and midway on that strange plain which should have been a valley the earth and the snow fell away, straight down toward the heart of the world. 'had we not been sailormen our heads would have swung round with the sight, but we stood on the dizzy edge that we might see a way to get down. and on one side, and one side only, the wall had fallen away till it was like the slope of the decks in a topsail breeze. i do not know why this thing should be so, but it was so. "it is the mouth of hell," he said; "let us go down." and we went down. 'and on the bottom there was a cabin, built by some man, of logs which he had cast down from above. it was a very old cabin, for men had died there alone at different times, and on pieces of birch bark which were there we read their last words and their curses. 'one had died of scurvy; another's partner had robbed him of his last grub and powder and stolen away; a third had been mauled by a baldface grizzly; a fourth had hunted for game and starved--and so it went, and they had been loath to leave the gold, and had died by the side of it in one way or another. and the worthless gold they had gathered yellowed the floor of the cabin like in a dream. 'but his soul was steady, and his head clear, this man i had led thus far. "we have nothing to eat," he said, "and we will only look upon this gold, and see whence it comes and how much there be. then we will go away quick, before it gets into our eyes and steals away our judgment. and in this way we may return in the end, with more grub, and possess it all." so we looked upon the great vein, which cut the wall of the pit as a true vein should, and we measured it, and traced it from above and below, and drove the stakes of the claims and blazed the trees in token of our rights. then, our knees shaking with lack of food, and a sickness in our bellies, and our hearts chugging close to our mouths, we climbed the mighty wall for the last time and turned our faces to the back trip. 'the last stretch we dragged unga between us, and we fell often, but in the end we made the cache. and lo, there was no grub. it was well done, for he thought it the wolverines, and damned them and his gods in one breath. but unga was brave, and smiled, and put her hand in his, till i turned away that i might hold myself. "we will rest by the fire," she said, "till morning, and we will gather strength from our moccasins." so we cut the tops of our moccasins in strips, and boiled them half of the night, that we might chew them and swallow them. and in the morning we talked of our chance. the next cache was five days' journey; we could not make it. we must find game. '"we will go forth and hunt," he said. '"yes," said i, "we will go forth and hunt." 'and he ruled that unga stay by the fire and save her strength. and we went forth, he in quest of the moose and i to the cache i had changed. but i ate little, so they might not see in me much strength. and in the night he fell many times as he drew into camp. and i, too, made to suffer great weakness, stumbling over my snowshoes as though each step might be my last. and we gathered strength from our moccasins. 'he was a great man. his soul lifted his body to the last; nor did he cry aloud, save for the sake of unga. on the second day i followed him, that i might not miss the end. and he lay down to rest often. that night he was near gone; but in the morning he swore weakly and went forth again. he was like a drunken man, and i looked many times for him to give up, but his was the strength of the strong, and his soul the soul of a giant, for he lifted his body through all the weary day. and he shot two ptarmigan, but would not eat them. he needed no fire; they meant life; but his thought was for unga, and he turned toward camp. 'he no longer walked, but crawled on hand and knee through the snow. i came to him, and read death in his eyes. even then it was not too late to eat of the ptarmigan. he cast away his rifle and carried the birds in his mouth like a dog. i walked by his side, upright. and he looked at me during the moments he rested, and wondered that i was so strong. i could see it, though he no longer spoke; and when his lips moved, they moved without sound. 'as i say, he was a great man, and my heart spoke for softness; but i read back in my life, and remembered the cold and hunger of the endless forest by the russian seas. besides, unga was mine, and i had paid for her an untold price of skin and boat and bead. 'and in this manner we came through the white forest, with the silence heavy upon us like a damp sea mist. and the ghosts of the past were in the air and all about us; and i saw the yellow beach of akatan, and the kayaks racing home from the fishing, and the houses on the rim of the forest. and the men who had made themselves chiefs were there, the lawgivers whose blood i bore and whose blood i had wedded in unga. aye, and yash-noosh walked with me, the wet sand in his hair, and his war spear, broken as he fell upon it, still in his hand. and i knew the time was meet, and saw in the eyes of unga the promise. 'as i say, we came thus through the forest, till the smell of the camp smoke was in our nostrils. and i bent above him, and tore the ptarmigan from his teeth. 'he turned on his side and rested, the wonder mounting in his eyes, and the hand which was under slipping slow toward the knife at his hip. but i took it from him, smiling close in his face. even then he did not understand. so i made to drink from black bottles, and to build high upon the snow a pile--of goods, and to live again the things which had happened on the night of my marriage. i spoke no word, but he understood. yet was he unafraid. there was a sneer to his lips, and cold anger, and he gathered new strength with the knowledge. it was not far, but the snow was deep, and he dragged himself very slow. 'once he lay so long i turned him over and gazed into his eyes. and sometimes he looked forth, and sometimes death. and when i loosed him he struggled on again. in this way we came to the fire. unga was at his side on the instant. his lips moved without sound; then he pointed at me, that unga might understand. and after that he lay in the snow, very still, for a long while. even now is he there in the snow. 'i said no word till i had cooked the ptarmigan. then i spoke to her, in her own tongue, which she had not heard in many years. she straightened herself, so, and her eyes were wonder-wide, and she asked who i was, and where i had learned that speech. '"i am naass," i said. '"you?" she said. "you?" and she crept close that she might look upon me. '"yes," i answered; "i am naass, head man of akatan, the last of the blood, as you are the last of the blood." 'and she laughed. by all the things i have seen and the deeds i have done may i never hear such a laugh again. it put the chill to my soul, sitting there in the white silence, alone with death and this woman who laughed. '"come!" i said, for i thought she wandered. "eat of the food and let us be gone. it is a far fetch from here to akatan." 'but she shoved her face in his yellow mane, and laughed till it seemed the heavens must fall about our ears. i had thought she would be overjoyed at the sight of me, and eager to go back to the memory of old times, but this seemed a strange form to take. '"come!" i cried, taking her strong by the hand. "the way is long and dark. let us hurry!" "where?" she asked, sitting up, and ceasing from her strange mirth. '"to akatan," i answered, intent on the light to grow on her face at the thought. but it became like his, with a sneer to the lips, and cold anger. '"yes," she said; "we will go, hand in hand, to akatan, you and i. and we will live in the dirty huts, and eat of the fish and oil, and bring forth a spawn--a spawn to be proud of all the days of our life. we will forget the world and be happy, very happy. it is good, most good. come! let us hurry. let us go back to akatan." and she ran her hand through his yellow hair, and smiled in a way which was not good. and there was no promise in her eyes. 'i sat silent, and marveled at the strangeness of woman. i went back to the night when he dragged her from me and she screamed and tore at his hair--at his hair which now she played with and would not leave. then i remembered the price and the long years of waiting; and i gripped her close, and dragged her away as he had done. and she held back, even as on that night, and fought like a she-cat for its whelp. and when the fire was between us and the man. i loosed her, and she sat and listened. and i told her of all that lay between, of all that had happened to me on strange seas, of all that i had done in strange lands; of my weary quest, and the hungry years, and the promise which had been mine from the first. aye, i told all, even to what had passed that day between the man and me, and in the days yet young. and as i spoke i saw the promise grow in her eyes, full and large like the break of dawn. and i read pity there, the tenderness of woman, the love, the heart and the soul of unga. and i was a stripling again, for the look was the look of unga as she ran up the beach, laughing, to the home of her mother. the stern unrest was gone, and the hunger, and the weary waiting. 'the time was met. i felt the call of her breast, and it seemed there i must pillow my head and forget. she opened her arms to me, and i came against her. then, sudden, the hate flamed in her eye, her hand was at my hip. and once, twice, she passed the knife. '"dog!" she sneered, as she flung me into the snow. "swine!" and then she laughed till the silence cracked, and went back to her dead. 'as i say, once she passed the knife, and twice; but she was weak with hunger, and it was not meant that i should die. yet was i minded to stay in that place, and to close my eyes in the last long sleep with those whose lives had crossed with mine and led my feet on unknown trails. but there lay a debt upon me which would not let me rest. 'and the way was long, the cold bitter, and there was little grub. the pellys had found no moose, and had robbed my cache. and so had the three white men, but they lay thin and dead in their cabins as i passed. after that i do not remember, till i came here, and found food and fire--much fire.' as he finished, he crouched closely, even jealously, over the stove. for a long while the slush-lamp shadows played tragedies upon the wall. 'but unga!' cried prince, the vision still strong upon him. 'unga? she would not eat of the ptarmigan. she lay with her arms about his neck, her face deep in his yellow hair. i drew the fire close, that she might not feel the frost, but she crept to the other side. and i built a fire there; yet it was little good, for she would not eat. and in this manner they still lie up there in the snow.' 'and you?' asked malemute kid. 'i do not know; but akatan is small, and i have little wish to go back and live on the edge of the world. yet is there small use in life. i can go to constantine, and he will put irons upon me, and one day they will tie a piece of rope, so, and i will sleep good. yet--no; i do not know.' 'but, kid,' protested prince, 'this is murder!' 'hush!' commanded malemute kid. 'there be things greater than our wisdom, beyond our justice. the right and the wrong of this we cannot say, and it is not for us to judge.' naass drew yet closer to the fire. there was a great silence, and in each man's eyes many pictures came and went. the end produced from images generously made available by the library of congress) all about the klondyke gold mines. [illustration: decoration] published by the miners' news publishing co., liberty street, new york. copyrighted by the miners' news publishing co. location of the yukon mines. [illustration: map of the yukon gold diggings.] sitka appears at the southeast corner of this map, and northeast of it is juneau, the usual fitting out place for miners going to the yukon. the arrows show the route of miners bound for the yukon. steamboats can carry them from juneau as far as ty-a. then they must pack their loads through chilkoot pass and boat them through a chain of lakes and down the lewis river to the yukon. it is about miles from juneau to the klondyke river. the two other most important centres of yukon mining were forty mile creek, where there were two big mining camps, forty mile and fort cudahy, and circle city. all these camps have now been practically deserted in the great rush for the klondyke. _the ever reliable and always trustworthy new york sun publishes the map as given above._ table of contents map of the location of the yukon mine gold--the search for it, past and present klondyke and california-- - the geology of the yukon the "mother lode" and the glacial deposits the great gold discovery--how the first authentic news reached us the gold fever spreading--the stories of some miners millions of gold panned out--poor yesterday--rolling in wealth to-day arrival of the second treasure ship from the klondyke a few of the prizes won some grapes of eschol stories--richer than sinbad's valley of diamonds the stampede for the gold--thousands join the exodus where the gold is found--how it is reached and mined some large nuggets--there are more where they came from millions upon millions in sight--william stanley's graphic story how to get there--choice of two routes from san francisco to the mines--ocean route perils of the trip--encounters with ice and snow in the passes the canadian government's attitude--an international question dawson not a tough town--the civilization of a mining camp fears of starvation--danger of going to the mines without food supply cost of living in dawson the climate and the mosquitoes--short summer--heat and cold contrasts capital required by miners--some things indispensable in an outfit a woman's outfit valuable expert advice--a mining engineer's warnings and suggestions the new york journal expedition to klondyke sailors get gold craze--desert their ships in alaskan ports to dig for fortunes only three deaths in a year--the healthiest region in the world is the klondyke canadian mining laws--regulations imposed by the dominion upon placer mining some things worth knowing explanatory and important the klondyke. gold. the search for it past and present. since the dawn of history man has attached to gold a value greater than that of any of the metals. indeed, the value of every product of mother earth, of the fields, the forest or the mine has been fixed by its worth in gold. hence the quest of gold has inspired mankind to acts of heroism, to a search for knowledge, and to a resignation to hardship and privation that have given to the explorer and prospector a character scarcely second to that of the heroes of the battlefield or the leaders of the world's senates. the history of the human race, even the record of the discovery of continents, is largely a history of the search for the yellow treasure in its hiding places in the earth or among the elements of nature. columbus' voyage, which gave to the world america, with its california and now its klondyke, was but a search for gold. chemistry is only the offspring of alchemy, and while adventurous spirits were daring the main, suffering the torments of the tropics and the gloom of the wilderness, the hut and the cave of the hermit--man's first laboratories--were the scene of other labors and privations, and all in the search for gold, gold, whether in the ground, the water or the air. but it has remained to our own day to witness this quest extended to the region of eternal snow and rewarded among the glacial mountains of the frozen north. klondyke and california. and . as we are inclined to measure everything by comparison the discoveries in the klondyke region and the already world-wide excitement created thereby naturally recall the discovery of gold in california, the memorable year ' , and suggests a comparison of the facts and conditions existing in and surrounding the two regions and the development of their respective resources. in ' california was scarcely nearer to the civilization of the then existing states of the union than klondyke is to-day. though the climate of california, when reached, was salubrious in the extreme, the hardships of an overland trip of more than three thousand miles or the scarcely less trying voyage "around the horn," were quite as apt to deter the "tenderfoot" from attempting to seek fortune among the sierras as are the extreme cold and possible privations that must be considered by the gold-hunters among the alaskan mountains. but there were brave spirits in ' , who, defying every danger, flocked to the promised land, and realized not only their wildest dreams of wealth, but laid the foundation of one of the proudest among our galaxy of states. the population of the country by the census of , a year later, was but , , . if there were thousands among those , , who poured into california in ' , how much greater the influx into the region of the klondyke will be if the same ratio of enterprise and adventure characterizes the , , americans of the present day. the first news of the discovery of gold in california was months in getting to "the states," and it was even months later before the gold fever had become really epidemic in the east. with the telegraph and cable of to-day the news from the yukon has already encircled the globe and quickened the pulse of mankind in every land and latitude. there have been gold excitements at stated periods from the eldorado of the spaniards down to johannisburg, but none that has arisen so suddenly and spread so rapidly as that created by the tidings from klondyke. nor would it seem that the future of this excitement can be even conjectured. and perhaps the reason for this may be found in the fact that instead of the fables of an eldorado, the reports from the yukon have been shewn to be authentic and trustworthy. the geology of the yukon region. the "mother lode" and the glacial deposits. under the caption "how the gold came to klondyke placers," professor george frederick wright, of oberlin college, author of "man in the glacial period" and other geological works, has contributed to the new york journal an interesting article in which he says: "the discovery of gold in large quantities on the yukon river is by no means unexpected. eleven years ago, the last word i heard as i left juneau was the pledge of a returning tourist to meet his friend the next summer and prospect in the yukon region. "the great mass of gold-bearing quartz at the treadwell mine, near juneau, was what might be expected, and at the same time what might be the limitation of the supply. for more than ten years that mine has furnished more than a million dollars of gold annually, but it is not like ordinary quartz mines. it is rather a great, isolated mass of quartz with gold disseminated all through it. while its worth is great, its length is limited. "little is known about the geology of the yukon river, where the klondyke mines have been found. being placer mines, the gold may have been transported many miles. the means of transportation are both glaciers and rivers. the klondyke region is on the north side of the st. elias alps. alaska was never completely covered with glacial ice. the glaciers flowed both north and south from these summits. dawson and professor russell both report well defined terminal moraines across the upper yukon valley. the source of the klondyke gold, therefore, is from the south. "placer mines originate in the disintegration of gold-bearing quartz veins, or mass like that at juneau. under sub-aerial agencies these become dissolved. then the glaciers transport the material as far as they go, when the floods of water carry it on still further. gold, being heavier than the other materials associated with it, lodges in the crevasses or in the rough places at the bottom of the streams. so to speak, nature has stamped and "panned" the gravel first and prepared the way for man to finish the work. the amount of gold found in the placer mines is evidence not so much, perhaps, of a very rich vein as of the disintegration of a very large vein. "the "mother lode" has been looked for in vain in california, and perhaps will be so in alaska. but it exists somewhere up the streams on which the placer mines are found. the discovery of gold in glacial deposits far away from its native place is familiar to american geologists. "i have encountered placer mines in glacial deposits near aurora, in southeastern indiana; in adams county, in southern ohio, and near titusville, in western pennsylvania, where, i see, there is a new excitement. but in all these cases the gold had been brought several hundred miles by glacial ice from canada or the region about lake superior. these gold mines were near the edge of the glacial region, where there had been much assorting action of both ice and water. "it is evident, however, that in alaska the transportation of the gold has not gone so far. the difficulties of this transportation into the klondyke region and the shortness of the season will continue to be great drawbacks to working the mines. the pass north of chilcoot is , feet above sea level and but a few miles back from the ocean. there is no possibility of a road over it. but from taku inlet, near juneau, readier access can be had. this route was followed by schwatka and mr. hayes, of the united states geological survey, a few years ago, and has been partially surveyed with reference to a railroad line, and reported to be available. the only other way is by a river which is open to navigation only a short time each year and is a great way around. "the general climatic conditions on the north side of the mountains are much better than those on the south side. on the south side the snowfall is enormous, but on the north side the air is dryer. schwatka and hayes went in the summer down the yukon valley about to the klondyke region, and from there struck off west, passing to the north of mount st. elias and down the copper river. they had dry weather all the time, in which camping was pleasant, while russell the same season was driven back by inclement weather from ascending st. elias on the south side. it is therefore not impossible that explorations southwest of the present gold fields may be carried on with comparative ease. but at present that whole region is bare of means of subsistence. "there is imminent danger that many will get in there before winter with insufficient means and starve. an english missionary and his wife have been in that general region for many years, and report the people as being so near the verge of starvation that they do not dare both to winter in the same village lest they should produce a famine. so they live in separate villages during the winter. eventually the reindeer which sheldon jackson is introducing into the lower yukon region will be available both for transportation and food, being much superior to dogs in that they can procure their own food. but for the present every necessity must either be packed over the chilcoot pass or brought around by way of the yukon. "as to the ultimate yield of the mines or the prospect of finding more, we have nothing but conjecture to go upon. the geologists who have visited the region were not the ones who discovered the gold. what the prospectors have found points to more. the unexplored region is immense. the mountains to the south are young, having been elevated very much since the climax of the glacial period. with these discoveries and the success in introducing reindeer alaska bids fair to support a population eventually of several millions. the united states must hold on to her treaty rights with great britain for the protection of our interests there. if england accomplishes her unreasonable designs she would shut us off from all communication with the klondyke region except by way of the yukon." the great gold discovery. how the first authentic news reached us. placer mining had been going on at circle city and the settlement of forty mile for some time, and news of the wonderful productiveness of the mines there had reached the united states, but the gold fever did not become pronounced until the arrival in san francisco, on the th of july of this year, of the steamer excelsior with forty miners and gold dust valued at over $ , . these forty miners were the first to bring the story of the almost fabulous richness of the new klondyke mines near the upper yukon. one of these miners, j. c. hestwood, who brought home $ , worth of gold as the result of two months' work, had this story to tell: "circle city and forty mile have suffered the usual fate of mining camps which have petered out, only these camps have not petered out. when gold was found in such astonishing quantities on the tributaries of the klondyke the whole population of those camps moved bodily to the junction of the klondyke and yukon rivers, where dawson city is established. this district, the richest placer country in the world, was discovered by an old hunter named mccormick, who has a squaw for a wife and several half-breed children. mccormick went up in the spring of to the mouth of the klondyke to fish, as salmon weighing ninety pounds are caught where this stream meets the yukon. the salmon didn't run as usual and mccormick, hearing from the indians of rich placers nearby where gold could be washed out in a frying pan, started in to prospect. "near what is now dawson city he struck very rich pay dirt in a side hill. as soon as news of his discovery spread men from circle city and forty mile rushed in. the richest claims are in bonanza creek, which empties into the klondyke three miles above dawson city. there are three claims in that district, each feet long, extending clear across the creek on which it is located. no one can file an additional claim until he has recorded his abandonment of his old claim. "in the adjoining bunker district there are claims. the two districts have been well prospected, but further up the klondike is much territory which has never been travelled over. "old miners declared that the north side of the yukon was worthless, so no prospecting was done until mccormick started in. there is no claim-jumping, as the canadian laws are rigid and well enforced. the rich pay dirt is only struck near bed rock and this generally lies from eighteen to twenty-five feet below the surface. "the method of mining is to remove the surface mass, which is eighteen inches thick, and then build a fire which burns all night. in the morning the gravel is shaved down about two feet. this is shovelled out, and another fire is built, and in this slow and laborious way the ground is removed to bedrock. this work can be carried on all winter, except when the mercury falls below degrees. "dawson city is a booming town of about , inhabitants and is growing every week. provisions were scarce and dear last winter, and all supplies are costly. an ordinary -cent pocket knife sells for $ , and shoes bring from $ to $ . a dog-sledgeload of eggs was brought in last winter from juneau. about half were spoiled, but the whole lot sold readily at $ per dozen. flour sold as high as $ a pound." mr. hestwood showed many small nuggets from the new bonanza creek district, where his mine is situated. the gold is the color of brass, and is worth $ to $ an ounce. it isn't as pure gold as found elsewhere on the yukon. the gold fever spreading. the stories of some miners. the stories of the returned miners, telegraphed from san francisco all over the country and to the ends of the earth on the evening of the th of july, were what started the gold fever, and the craze to go in search of the precious metal that is now raging from one end of the country to the other. soon after the arrival of the excelsior, the half million dollars worth of yellow dust, which ranged in size from a hazelnut to fine bird-shot and kernels of sand, was poured out on the counter at selby's smelting works on montgomery street and then shovelled with copper scoops into the great melting pot. those who saw the gold in one heap said no such spectacle had been seen since the days of ' , when miners used to come down from the placer districts and change their gold for $ pieces. the luckiest of these miners are mr. and mrs. t. s. lippey, who left here in april, . they brought back $ , . they went in by way of juneau over the divide, and mrs. lippey was the first woman to go over this trail. she is a small, wiry woman, with skin tanned to the color of sole leather. she seemed none the worse for the hardships of yukon life. she is a good rifle shot, and brought with her the antlers of a moose which she had shot. hollinshead and stewart, two miners, who had been at work for a year, had , ounces, worth about $ , . other tenderfeet had done better, for in a few weeks some of them had cleaned up from $ , to $ , . several of the men had bought claims on time, paying a small sum down and agreeing to pay all the way from $ , to $ , in three to six months. most of them cleaned up enough gold in a month to pay for their claims and still have a good sum left over. when the men arrived in san francisco they found the united states mint closed for the day, and so they carried their sacks of gold to the office of selby's smelting works. they were weather-beaten and roughly dressed, but the spectators forgot their appearance when they began to produce sacks of gold dust ranging from $ , to $ , in value. some of the sacks were regular buckskin bags, well made; others were of canvas, black and grimy from long handling with dirty fingers. as fast as the bags were weighed they were ripped open with a sharp knife and the contents were poured out on the broad counter. then some of the miners produced from bundles and coat pockets glass fruit jars and jelly tumblers filled with gold dust and covered with writing paper, carefully secured with twine. it seems that the supply of gold bags ran out and this was the only way to bring the treasure down. when all the gold dust was poured out it made a nice heap, on which the spectators gazed as though fascinated; but the smelting men calmly scraped it up and cast the yellow dust into a big pot, which was wheeled into the smelting room. a letter from one of the officials of the alaska commercial company, at circle city, gives this account of the great rush to the new diggings: "the excitement on the river is indescribable, and the output of the new klondyke district is almost beyond belief. men who had nothing last fall are now worth a fortune. one man has worked forty square feet of his claim and is going out with $ , in dust. one-quarter of the claims are now selling at from $ , to $ , . the estimate of the district is given as thirteen square miles, with an average of $ , to the claim, while some are valued as high as $ , , each. a number of claims have been purchased for large sums on a few months' credit, and the amount has been paid out of the ground before it became due. "at dawson sacks of gold dust are thrown under the counters in the stores for safekeeping. the peculiar part of it is that most of the locations were made by men who came in last year, old-timers not having had faith in the indications until the value of the region was assured, whereupon prices jumped so high that they could not get in. some of the stories are so fabulous i am afraid to repeat them for fear of being suspected of the infection. "there are other discoveries reported a little beyond and on the stewart river, but these have not yet been verified." millions of gold panned out. poor yesterday--rolling in wealth to-day. the san francisco correspondent of the new york sun, who saw the arrival of the excelsior, sent to his paper by wire a graphic description of the sensation created. he said: "san francisco has not been stirred by any mining discovery since the opening up of the great bonanzas on the comstock lode in nevada, nearly thirty years ago, as it has been by the stories of two score sun-tanned and hard-featured miners who have returned from the new klondyke camp on the yukon river in far alaska. these stories would have excited derision were it not that all these men were able to furnish ocular proof of their tales with pounds of yellow gold. not one of the party went into this camp last fall with anything more than his outfit and a few hundred dollars. not one came out with less than $ , , a dozen cleaned up from $ , to $ , , while half a dozen averaged from $ , to $ , . scores of them left claims that they valued at $ , to $ , , , which are now being worked by their partners or by hired laborers. they are not boasters nor boomers. in fact, they are careful to warn any one about venturing into the yukon country unless he is young, vigorous and brave, able to bear hardships, and has from $ to $ , for outfit and current expenses after reaching the new gold fields. perhaps it is these very conservative views which have made their talk take such powerful hold on the popular imagination. all returned miners agree that the best way to reach the new gold fields is by way of juneau. the journey is mainly by land over a snow-covered trail, down numerous streams and across lakes. the only very dangerous place is chilicoot pass, which is dreaded because of the sudden snowstorms that come up without warning and that have proved fatal to many adventurous miners. the distance is miles, and it takes an average of twenty-five days to cover it. dawson city has now a population of nearly , . it is beautifully situated on the banks of the yukon near the mouth of the klondyke river, and seems destined to become the mining centre of the northwest territory. the people now live in shanties, each built of a few strips of weather boarding and canvas. there is a sawmill in operation day and night, but it cannot supply the demand for its products. lumber sells at the mill for $ per thousand, but when delivered at mines the price jumps to $ . one of the peculiar features of the new camp is the lack of shooting, due to the fact that the canadian government does not permit men to carry firearms. police disarm miners when they enter the district, so that there is not any of the lawlessness and crime which marked early placer mining in california. there is much gambling, and play is high. an old miner, alexander orr, who spent eight winters in alaska, but will not return, said: "dawson is not like most of the large mining camps. it is not a tough town; murders are almost unknown. the miners are a quiet, peaceable kind of men, who have gone there to work and are willing that everybody else shall have an equal chance with themselves. a great deal of gambling is done in town, but serious quarrels are the exception. as a gambling town i think it is equal to any i have ever seen, and this, by the way, is always the test of a mining camp's prosperity. stud poker is the usual game. they play $ ante, and often bet $ or $ on the third card." orr sold out his claim for $ , , and the men who bought it made the purchase money in four months. perhaps the best idea of what has been done in the new camp can be gained from the following short interviews with returned miners: william kulju said: "i brought down just , ounces of dust and sold it to smelting works. i worked at eldorado creek, near dawson, and was in that country about a year, and had a couple of dollars and a pack last summer when i went in. i sold my claim for $ , , part cash and the balance to be paid as it is taken out. now, i am taking a trip to the old country--finland--and am coming back next year." fred lendeseen: "i went to alaska two years ago, and when i left there six weeks ago i brought $ , in gold dust with me. i have had considerable experience in mining, and say without hesitation that alaska is the richest country i have ever seen. i have interest in a claim near dawson and am going back in the spring." greg stewart: "i had a partner and i sold out my interest for $ , and put my money back again at interest in mines. my partner had , ounces of dust, but it fell short four ounces on the way down. the dust will go over $ an ounce, but we are all waiting for returns from the smelting works. i brought a few hundred ounces with me, but i get interest of per cent. on short loans. i expect to return next spring." john marks: "i brought $ , in gold dust with me, but i had to work for every bit of it. there is plenty of gold in alaska--more, i believe, than the most sanguine imagine--but it cannot be obtained without great effort and endurance. the first thing for a poor man to do when he reaches the country is to begin prospecting. as snow is from two to five feet deep prospecting is not easy. snow must first be shoveled away, and then a fire built on the ground to melt the ice. as the ground thaws the shaft must be sunk until bed rock is reached. the average prospector has to sink a great many shafts before he reaches anything worth his while. if gold is found in sufficient quantities to pay for working, he may begin drifting from the shaft, and continue to do so as long as he finds enough gold to pay." albert fox: "i and partner went into the district in and secured two claims. we sold one for $ , . i brought ounces, which netted $ , . everybody is at dawson for the present. the district is apt to be overrun. i wouldn't advise anyone to go there this fall, for people are liable to go hungry before spring. about went over the summit from juneau, miles, so there may not be food enough for all." robert kooks: "i've been four years in alaska. i had a half interest in a claim on eldorado creek, and sold out to my partner for $ , . i bought a half interest in a claim on the bonanza, below the discovery claim, and my share is worth easily $ , . i brought $ , in gold dust, and shall return in the spring, after rest and recreation." j. b. hollinshead: "i was in the diggings about two years, and brought out about , ounces, which i suppose will bring $ an ounce. i'm not sure about going back, though i have a claim on gold bottom creek, fifteen miles from bonanza. it is less than a year since i located my claim. my dust will bring over $ , ." m. s. norcross: "i was sick and couldn't work, so i cooked for mr. mcnamee. still i had a claim on the bonanza, but didn't know what was in it, because i couldn't work it. i sold out last spring for $ , and was satisfied to get a chance to return to my home in los angeles." thomas flack: "my dust will bring more than $ , . i have an interest in two claims on the eldorado. one partner sold out for $ , and another for $ , . i had an offer of $ , , but refused it just before i came out." thomas cook: "it is a good country, but if there is a rush there's going to be a great deal of suffering. over , men are there at present, and , more will be in before snow falls. i've been at placer mining for years in california and british columbia, and the mines at dawson are more extensive and beyond anything i ever saw. last year i did very well at dawson. i have a claim worth about the average, they say from $ , to $ , , on bear creek, across the divide from the bonanza." con stamatin: "i was mining on shares with a partner. he's still there. we worked on alexander mcdonald's ground in eldorado for forty-five days and took out $ , . we got per cent. and the other half went to mcdonald. then we divided our share, and i came away." all miners unite in saying that the only fear for the coming winter is the lack of supplies. the alaska commercial company promises, however, to send in all that is needed. living is high now, as may be seen from these quotations of prices when the miners started for home: flour, $ per hundredweight; (following are the prices per pound) moose ham, $ ; caribou meat, cents; beans, ; rice, ; sugar, ; bacon, ; potatoes, ; turnips, ; coffee, ; dried fruits, ; tea, $ ; tobacco, $ . ; butter, a roll, $ . ; eggs, a dozen, $ . ; salmon, each, $ to $ . ; canned fruits, cents; canned meats, ; liquors, per drink, ; shovels, $ . ; picks, $ ; coal oil, per gallon, $ ; overalls, $ . ; underwear, per suit, $ to $ . ; shoes, $ ; rubber boots, $ to $ . miners who have reached san francisco do not act like people who have suddenly jumped from poverty to comparative wealth. they are level headed. they went to the best hotels, and they are living on the fat of the land, but they do not throw money away, and not one started in to paint the town red. they have worked so hard that they appreciate the value of money. what they delight in most are theatres and other amusements. they say no one knows how to enjoy these if he has not spent a year in alaska. three-quarters of the miners will return in the spring when they are well rested." arrival of the second treasure ship from the frozen klondyke. when the first stories of the fruitfulness of the "far off land" came to the ears of the children of israel there were many doubters, but when those who had been sent to spy out the land came back later bearing great bunches of grapes there were none that doubted. so when the excelsior arrived in san francisco, on the th of july, many may have doubted the truth of the stories told of the richness of the new gold fields, but when, three days later, the portland steamed into seattle with gold to the value of over $ , , , brought from the region of the upper yukon, no one who saw with their own eyes the gold, and who heard with their own ears the tales of mineral riches unsurpassed, could doubt that on the banks of the klondyke had been discovered the world's greatest gold fields. an eye witness of the scenes of the portland's arrival thus tells the story in the new york journal: gold in boxes, gold in bags, gold in blankets, fine gold and coarse gold, gold nuggets and gold dust, the yellow treasure of the klondyke diggings, came from the far north. a ton and a half of gold was a part of the load of the steamer portland from st. michael's, alaska, and with the , pounds of gold were the several owners, sixty-eight miners, some with $ , , some with $ , , some with $ , , a few with $ , and over, but all with gold. with the product of their work for a season in the new "diggings," the richest in surface gold ever discovered, these miners had made the long voyage from dawson city, the new golden town, , miles down the yukon to st. michael's, and at st. michael's had boarded the portland with their treasure, bound for homeland and intent upon changing their dust and their nuggets into the minted, milled coin of their country. on the voyage the gold was stored in the captain's state room. the little safe in the corner was packed full of bags of gold, and the remainder that the safe would not hold was placed in three boxes. when the steamer came to the port the miners put their bags on their shoulders and walked down the gang plank in the presence of a vast throng of seattle people assembled to see the great pile of treasure from the rich fields of the far north. a miner with only $ , in his bag easily carried his fortune. twenty thousand dollars in two bags is a good load for any stalwart man, no matter if he has worked where the mercury falls to sixty degrees below zero. two men used all their strength in carrying a strapped blanket, in which was about $ , . the few with the big fortunes, $ , and over, had to hire help to get their precious possessions to a safe place of storage in seattle. the greater part of the ton and a half of gold was taken from the ground during three winter months. last fall some green strangers, "tenderfeet," fresh from the comforts of civilization, were so absurd as to give no heed to the advice of the old miners. the pioneers of the yukon mines, the men who know circle city and forty mile creek and all the surrounding country, said there was no use looking for gold "over yonder on the klondyke." but the foolish strangers went "over yonder on the klondyke." during the fall the news reached the older diggings of the amazing discoveries of gold by these absurd tourists from the south, and from all the country round about came the rush to klondyke. when gold is waiting to be lifted out of the ground cold is not to be considered. during the dark winter days the temperature, or degrees below zero, the quest for dust and nuggets was pursued continually. the product of the work of some of these winter miners, defiant of the cold, is shown in the treasure brought to the united states by the portland and the excelsior. the greatest fortune gained by any of the company of miners is the honeymoon treasure of clarence berry, of fresno, cal. he brought $ , in dust and nuggets. in young berry went to the yukon country, and for several years he prospected along forty-mile creek and other placer fields without success. last summer he returned to california, married, and took his bride with him to the north. instead of remaining in alaska he went over the boundary line into british possessions, and on the klondyke he struck the richest pocket that was discovered. he said that the principal part of his $ , came from three hundred "box lengths." a "box length" is fifteen feet long and twelve feet wide. in one length he found a pocket of $ , . in another length was a nugget weighing thirteen ounces, next to the largest found in the diggings. mr. berry deemed his fortune sufficient for the present, and is taking his bride to his home in fresno, where, in the july temperature of above, she may find compensation for the below of january on the yukon. one of the foolish strangers who gave no consideration to the advice of the old miners is frank phiscater. last autumn he went from borada, mich., to alaska and thence to klondyke. he was one of the first to discover gold in the fabulously rich placers of the new el dorado. he employed nine men and in three months' time took out from two claims $ , . he still owns the claims, but having nearly $ , made in less than twelve months he deems himself entitled to a trip to michigan. a few of the prizes won. they have made their pile and brought it home. clarence j. berry $ , w. stanley , f. phiscater , f. g. h. bowker , t. s. lippy , k. b. hollingshead , r. mcnulty , wm. kulju , joe mamue , james mcmann , albert galbraith , neil macarthur , d. macarthur , ber. anderson , robert krook , fred lendesser , alexander orr , john marks , thomas cook , m. s. norcross , j. ernmerger , con stamatin , albert fox , greg stewart , j. o. hestwood , thomas flack , louis b. rhoads , fred rice , some grapes of eschol stories. richer than sinbad's valley of diamonds. among the portland's passengers was william stanley, of seattle, formerly a blacksmith, who went into the country two years ago last spring. he returned with $ , in gold nuggets and dust. his claim is on the bonanza creek, emptying into the klondyke five miles above dawson city, the headquarters of the camp. clarence berry, formerly a farmer of fresno, cal., brought back seven sacks, containing $ , . clarence berry, of los angeles, went to the yukon in . "my luck was bad for three years. last fall i came out and married, and when i went back i heard of the klondyke. i was early on the ground, locating, with other parties, three claims on eldorado creek. we struck it rich. that's all there is to tell. "last winter i took out $ , in thirty box lengths. another time the second largest nugget ever found in the yukon was taken out of my claim. it weighed thirteen ounces and was worth $ . i have known men to take out $ , a day from a drift claim. of course the gold was found in pockets, and those finds, you can rest assured, were very scarce. i would not advise a man to take in an outfit that would cost less than $ . "the country is wild, rough and full of hardships for those unused to the rigors of arctic winter. if a man makes a fortune he is liable to earn it by severe hardships and sufferings, but then grit, perseverance and luck will probably reward hard work with a comfortable income for life." henry anderson, a native of sweden and well known on the lound, sold a one-half interest in his claim on eldorado creek and has come back to seattle with $ , spot cash, the proceeds of the sale. t. j. kelly and son, of tacoma, went in last year and made $ , . the son is in charge of the claim and the father was among the portland's passengers. frank keller, of los angeles was one of the portland's passengers. he went in last year, mined during the winter, and last year sold the claim for $ , . william sloat, formerly a dry-goods merchant, of lanimo, b. c., sold his claim for $ , , and, with the gold he took from the mine, came back on the portland. another man named wilkenson, of the same city, sold his claim for $ , . frank phiscater, of baroda, mich., returned with $ , , the result of his labors in miles. capt. strickland, of the canadian mounted police, who is en route to ottawa on official business, is among the arrivals. he says: "when i left dawson city about a month ago there were about claims staked out and between , and , people. we can safely say that there was $ , , in gold mined last winter. wages in mines were $ a day, and the sawmill paid laborers $ a day with claims now staked, but will afford employment for about , , i believe. if a man is strong and healthy and wants to work he can find employment at good wages. several men worked on an interest, or what is termed a lay, and during the winter realized from $ , to $ , . the mines are from to miles from alaska boundary." j. kellar, who pronounced it the richest gold country in the world, said: "it was degrees below zero last winter, and the ground was frozen to the depth of forty feet. the snow doesn't fall to any great depth, three feet being the greatest, and that was light and fleecy frost. all the gold is taken out of gravel by thawing in the summer. there are nine months of winter. we left dawson city on a river steamer on june , and were eight days reaching st. michael's, , miles. the weather in klondyke was warm and sultry, much warmer than it seemed, and mosquitos were in myriads. they are in the water one drinks. they give a man no rest day or night. i am satisfied to stay away from klondyke, although i did well. "it is a horrible country to live in, but it is extremely healthy. every man is on his good behavior, and, for a mining country, has as good, orderly, law-abiding citizens as i ever saw. at present there is no prospecting going on, all men in the country being employed at $ or $ a day, or are working on their own claims. there is a big country open to prospectors." tom cochrane, a grocery clerk, staked one of the klondyke miners with $ worth of supplies eighteen months ago. his dividend received on the portland was $ , . victor lord, a western washington logger, spent four years in the yukon. he made $ , last winter in six weeks on the klondyke, working a claim on shares. he will return after spending the summer here. alexander menzie, of arizona, was a miner before he went into the klondyke this spring. he located two claims on indian creek, and after three weeks' work brought out $ , . "i have mined for thirty years in california, arizona and nevada," he said to-night. "the klondyke country is richer than any placer district in the world. i own two claims on indian creek and will return in the spring in time to sled over the mountains into klondyke from dyea." harry olson received $ , for his interest in a claim on eldorado. his wealth is in sacks, like that of the others. he is a california farmer, and left for his old home, from which he departed three years ago. the miners left dawson city june and were seven days on the trip by steamer down the yukon to st. michael's. after another week's rest they sailed on july on the steamship portland. inspector strickland says that complete order is maintained in the camp by the canadian mounted police. little disorder prevails, but this may have changed since the departure of the portland party, as the alaska commercial company sent , gallons of whiskey into the camp on june . there is a great scarcity of lumber and the single sawmill is kept busy day and night supplying the camp with lumber. the camp is a typical specimen of the frontier mining village, without regular streets. it straggles up the klondyke for three miles, and then the houses are found at intervals of a quarter of a mile. the stampede for the gold. thousands join the exodus. to say that the news from the north brought by passengers of the excelsior and confirmed by those of the portland swept over the pacific coast with the rapidity of a prairie fire would be to make use of an inadequate simile. in less than forty-eight hours hundreds were busy arranging their affairs so as to depart by the first steamer for the new eldorado. on the th of july, only four days after the arrival of the excelsior, the offices of the alaska commercial company in san francisco were besieged by men, and even women, all anxious to secure a passage, and on the same day it was stated by an officer of the company that their steamers would not be able to carry one-tenth of those desirous of starting from that port alone. the same official estimated that before the end of the month the number of those who would set out from san francisco would reach fully , . hundreds with means sufficient to buy tickets and outfits fairly tumbled over each other to secure these. others sought capital by offering one-half their winnings to those who would stake them. syndicates were speedily formed, "grub stakes" offered and parties of tens, twenties and even hundreds organized for the venture. the reported danger of famine, even the warnings of returned miners seemed to deter no one. while such was the craze in san francisco, the excitement was no less in seattle, tacoma, portland and all along the pacific coast. nor did it end here. the same excitement swept eastward and prevailed to a greater or less extent everywhere. the press of the county gave publicity to every scrap of news, corps of correspondents were organized and "hurried to the front," and even the "special artist on the spot" was not "left out in the cold," whatever he may suffer when he reaches a latitude where the mercury coquettes with the s. and s. below zero. all sorts of advertisements from all sorts of people, offering almost any terms and conditions to a backer, appeared, and, as we write, are still appearing in the daily papers. the one subject of conversation in the swell clubs, no less than on the street corners, is the news from alaska, and the region of the klondyke and the yukon river have suddenly become as familiar geographical designations as brooklyn or the hudson. perhaps no more reliable authority could be given as to the great resources of the klondyke and the excitement prevailing in and about that region than capt. francis tuttle, commander of the revenue cutter bear. writing to a friend in new york from st. michael's on the yukon river, the captain says: "the days of ' in california are a mere side show compared with the excitement in the yukon country. imagine my astonishment on reaching here yesterday to run across a man who, last september, was discharged as a deck hand from a steamer on puget sound. the fellow made his way into alaska, worked seven months on the klondyke and has now reached st. michael's with $ , in gold. i could hardly believe my senses, but there was his gold, sure enough. "as i write st. michael's is full of miners awaiting an opportunity to get down to puget sound and to california. nearly every other man of them has $ , worth of dust, and there is not a man here with less than $ , . the latter are referred to as 'poor fellows' who have been hard hit with bad luck, and it seems to be real sympathy that the more fortunate ones show for these $ , fellows. "the deck hand, with his $ , , had the largest amount of gold of any one in the crowd. the whole business is almost incredible, yet one must believe what he sees. "it is enough to turn the mind of any person, and particularly when one learns with what comparative ease this gold is mined." as we write several steamers having already departed from various pacific ports, are on their way to the yukon, all freighted to their fullest capacity with gold hunters, provisions and mining outfits. others are following as rapidly as they can be outfitted, and scarcely a seaworthy craft available for the purpose can be found that has not already been brought into requisition. this stream of humanity that has suddenly turned northward and is being constantly swollen as it proceeds on its way is made up of all classes of men and from every condition in life. the experienced and rugged miner is accompanied by the "tenderfoot." the soft-handed clerk falls in line with the tanned and strong-muscled out-of-door laborer. even the professional man has abandoned his comfortable office for the miner's hut. the first steamer to leave numbered among her passengers the venerable poet of the sierras, joaquin miller. another steamer, sailing from seattle on july , carried north ex-governor mcgraw, who for many years was president of the first national bank, of seattle; governor of washington for four years ending january last, and later a candidate for united states senator to succeed w. s. squire. among his companions du voyage were general m. e. carr, formerly brigadier general of the state militia, and whose law practice is the largest in the state of washington, and captain a. j. balliet, at one time yale's greatest oarsman and football player, who also leaves a handsome law practice to seek gold on the yukon. where the gold is found. how it is reached and mined. dr. william h. dall, one of the curators of the national museum, is familiar with the region of country in which the klondyke gold fields are located, through having been on several geological expeditions to the region in alaska adjoining the gold district, and says that in his opinion the reports from there probably are not exaggerated. "when i was there," he says, "i did not find gold, but knew of it being taken out in profitable quantities for fifteen years or more. it was first discovered there in . in , when i was up in that country, the first party of prospectors who have made mining profitable, started out. the gold is found on the various tributaries of the yukon, and i have been within a comparatively short distance of the klondyke fields. i made one trip to circle city, just over the boundary of canada. "the gold bearing belt of northwestern america contains all the gold fields and extends into that part of british columbia known as the northwestern territory and alaska. the yukon really runs along in that belt for or miles. the bed of the main river is in the lowlands of the valley. "the yellow metal is not found in paying quantity in the main river, but in the small streams which cut through the mountains on either side. these practically wash out the gold. the mud and mineral matter is carried into the main river, while the gold is left on the rough bottoms of these side streams. in most cases the gold lies at the bottom of thick gravel deposits. the gold is covered by frozen gravel in the winter. during the summer, until the snow is all melted, the surface is covered by muddy torrents. when the snow is all melted and the springs begin to freeze the streams dry up. at the approach of winter, in order to get at the gold the miners find it necessary to dig into the gravel formation. "formerly they stripped the gravel off until they came to the gold. now they sink a shaft to the bottom of the gravel and tunnel along underneath in the gold bearing layer. the way in which this is done is interesting, as it has to be carried on in cold weather, when everything is frozen. "the miners build fires over the area where they wish to work and keep these lighted over that territory for the space of twenty-four hours. then, at the expiration of this period, the gravel will be melted and softened to a depth of perhaps six inches. this is then taken off and other fires built until the gold-bearing layer is reached. when the shaft is down that far other fires are built at the bottom, against the sides of the layer, and tunnels made in this manner. "blasting would do no good, on account of the hard nature of the material, and would blow out just as out of a gun. the matter taken out containing the gold is piled up until spring, when the torrents come down, and is panned and cradled by these. it is certainly very hard labor. "i see many reasons why the gold fields should be particularly rich. the streams which cut through the mountains have probably done so for centuries, wearing them down several hundred feet and washing out the gold into the beds and gravel. "it is a country in which it is very hard to find food, as there is practically no game. before the whites went into the region there were not more than natives. they have hard work to support themselves, on account of the scarcity of game." an interesting letter telling of the recent trip of the steamer excelsior has been written by captain j. f. higgins, of the steamer, to a friend. he says: "the word klondyke means deer river, and the stream is called the reindeer river on the charts. it empties into the yukon fifty miles above the big river. the geographical position of the juncture is degrees minutes north latitude, degrees minutes west longitude. bonanza creek dumps into the klondyke about two miles above the yukon. eldorado is a tributary of the bonanza. there are numerous other creeks and tributaries, the main river being three hundred miles long. "the gold so far has been taken from bonanza and eldorado, both well named, for the richness of the placers is truly marvellous. eldorado, thirty miles long, is staked the whole length and as far as worked has paid. "one of our passengers who is taking home $ , with him has worked one hundred feet of his ground and refused $ , for the remainder, and confidently expects to clean up $ , and more. he has in a bottle $ from one pan of dirt. his pay dirt while being washed averaged $ an hour to each man shovelling in. two others of our miners who worked their own claim cleaned up $ , from one day's washing. "there is about fifteen feet of dirt above bed rock, the pay streak averaging from four to six feet, which is tunnelled out while the ground is frozen. of course, the ground taken out is thawed by building fires, and when the thaw comes and water rushes in they set their sluices and wash the dirt. two of our fellows thought a small bird in the hand worth a large one in the bush, and sold their claims for $ , , getting $ , down, the remainder to be paid in monthly instalments of $ , each. the purchasers had no more than $ , paid. they were twenty days thawing and getting out dirt. then there was no water to sluice with, but one fellow made a rocker, and in ten days took out the $ , for the first instalment. so, tunnelling and rocking, they took out $ , before there was water to sluice with. "of course, these things read like the story of aladdin, but fiction is not at all in it with facts at klondyke. the ground located and prospected can be worked out in a few years, but there is an immense territory untouched, and the laboring man who can get there with one year's provisions will have a better chance to make a stake than in any other part of the world." some large nuggets. there are more where they came from. the largest nugget yet found was picked out by burt hudson on claim six of the bonanza, and is worth a little over $ . the next largest was found by j. clements, and was worth $ . the last four pans clements took out ran $ , , or an average of $ each, and one of them went $ . bigger pockets have been struck in the cariboo region and in california, but nowhere on earth have men picked up so much gold in so short a time. a young man named beecher, came down afoot and by dog sledge, starting out early in march. he brought $ , to $ , with him. he was purser on the weare last summer, and went in after the close of navigation in october or september. about dec. he got a chance to work a shift on shares, and in sixty days made his stake, which is about $ , . he has purchased a claim or two. you will find more gold in circulation in dawson than you ever saw in all your life. saloons take in $ , to $ , each per night. men who have been in all parts of the world where gold is mined say they never saw such quantities taken in so short a time. the diggings around circle city and in the older places are rich enough to satisfy any ordinary demand, but they have all, or nearly all, been temporarily left for the new fields. there are probably men working in the mines outside circle city, but there would have been , had not the new strike been made. should the new field play out, which is a thing impossible, the older diggings would be returned to and with profit. however, the new finds are not going to play out. there is enough in sight to confirm the belief that these new diggings cannot be exhausted in ten years. of course, comparatively little gold is being taken out now, for the streams are too high, but there is much that was drifted and piled up last winter that is not yet washed. millions upon millions in sight. william stanley's graphic story. the new york journal prints this story of william stanley: stanley is one of the fortunate ones who returned from the klondyke on the portland. in addition to his present fortune he is interested with his son and two new yorkers in claims which, he says, will yield $ , , . stanley is a married man; he has a wife and several children. during his absence in the far north the family struggled to eke out an existence, for everything that stanley had went to pay his expenses to the gold fields. stanley is well on in years. he was not accustomed to hardships; for years he conducted a little book store in an out-of-the-way business corner. to-day people who used to help him by giving to cents cannot realize that he is wealthy. here is his story: "i went to the yukon as a last resort. i was getting old and i had no money and i knew that i would never get any unless i took it out of the ground. it was a year ago last march that i left seattle. i am free to confess that my family was at that time in destitute circumstances. i made for the yukon. i had never before been there. i knew nothing of mining and nothing of the hardships of the country, and, in fact, was as great a "greeny" as ever set foot in the great gold country of the northwest. my son, samuel stanley, went with me. he was as ignorant as his father. "while we were on the steamship alki, which took us to dyea, we met two young men, charles and george worden. they were residents of sackett's harbor, n. y., and had come west in search of gold. their mother lives back in the old home, so they informed me. we became very intimate with the wordens. they knew little, if anything, about the country, and one day in conservation one of us suggested that we form a company and do our work on the syndicate plan, each man to share and share alike. we wandered through the yukon districts for several months and were getting discouraged, because there seemed to be nothing for us. we met other men who were getting rich, but we grew poorer as the days came and went. once we had about concluded to go back. "it was in the latter part of last september that we befriended a man who gave us a tip as to the riches of the klondyke. we were willing to believe anything, and made for the klondyke at once. at that time we were en route for forty mile creek. we were then at sixty mile. "the first thing we did when we reached the klondyke was to spend a little time at the mouth of the stream. we were there just twenty-four hours when the little steamer ellis arrived with excited miners aboard. they had just heard the good news, and on their arrival they made a rush for the richest spots on bonanza and eldorado creeks. "we went to eldorado creek and made locations on what were called claims twenty-five, twenty-six, fifty-three and fifty-four. i think it was in october that we made our locations. we worked claims twenty-five and twenty-six, and were very soon satisfied that we had a fine thing, and went to work to make preparations for a long winter of experiences and hardships. we got all we wanted before spring. every man put in his time sinking prospect holes in the gulch. "i tell the simple truth when i say that within three months we took from the two claims the sum of $ , . a remarkable thing about our findings is that in taking this enormous sum we drift up and down stream, nor did we cross-cut the pay streaks. "of course, we may be wrong, but this is the way we are figuring, and we are so certain that what we say is true that we would not sell out for a million. in our judgment, based on close figuring, there are in the two claims we worked, and claims no. and no. , $ , to the lineal foot. i say that in four claims, we have at the very least $ , , , which can be taken out without any great work. "i want to say that i believe there is gold in every creek in alaska. certainly on the klondyke the claims are not spotted. one seems to be as good as another. it's gold, gold, gold all over. it's yards wide and yards deep. i say so, because i have been there and have the gold to show for it. all you have to do is to run a hole down, and there you find plenty of gold dust. i would say that our pans on the eldorado claims will average $ , some go as high as $ , and, believe me, when i say that, in five pans, i have taken out as high as $ and sometimes more. i did not pick the pans, but simply put them against my breast and scooped the dirt off the bed rock. "of course, the majority of those on the klondyke have done much figuring as to the amount of gold the klondyke will yield. many times we fellows figured on the prospects of the eldorado. i would not hesitate much about guaranteeing $ , , , and should not be surprised a bit if $ , , , or even $ , , , was taken out. "some people will tell you that the klondyke is a marvel, and there will never be a discovery in alaska which will compare with it. i don't believe it. i think that there will be a number of new creeks discovered that will make wonderful yields. why, bear gulch is just like eldorado. bear gulch has a double bed rock. many do not know it, but it's a fact, and miners who are acquainted with it will tell you the same thing. "the bed rocks are three feet apart. in the lower bed the gold is as black as a black cat, and in the upper bed, the gold is as bright as any you ever saw. we own no. claim, below discovery, on bear gulch, and also nos. and on last chance gulch, above discovery. we prospected for three miles on last chance gulch, and could not tell the best place to locate the discovery claim. the man making a discovery of the creek is entitled by law to stake a claim and take an adjoining one, or, in other words, two claims; so you see he wants to get in a good location on the creek or gulch. hunker gulch is highly looked to. i think it will prove another great district, and some good strikes have also been made on dominion creek. indian creek is also becoming famous. "what are we doing with all the money we take out? "well, we paid $ , spot cash for a half interest in claim , eldorado. we also loaned $ , each to four parties on eldorado creek, taking mortgages on their claims, so you see we are well secured. "no, i do not want any better security for my money than eldorado claims, thank you. i only wish i had a mortgage on the whole creek. "we had a great deal of trouble in securing labor in prospecting our properties. old miners would not work for any price. we could occasionally rope in a greenhorn and get him to work for a few days at $ a day. six or eight miners worked on shares for us about six weeks, and we settled. it developed that they had earned in that length of time $ , each. that was pretty good pay, wasn't it? we paid one old miner $ for three hours' work and offered to continue him at that rate, but he would not have it, and he went out to hunt a claim of his own. my son, samuel, and charles worden are in charge of our interests in alaska. george worden and i came out, and we will go back in march and relieve them. then they will come out for a spell. george goes from here to his home in new york state to make his mother comfortable. "i am an american by birth, but of irish parents. i formerly lived in western kansas, but my claim there was not quite as good as the one i staked out on the eldorado creek." how to get there. choice of two routes. there are two routes either of which can be taken to the klondyke. the best but the most expensive is by steamer from seattle to st. michael's, and then by river boat up the yukon , miles to dawson city. by this route it takes thirty-five to forty days, and the fare is $ . the steamers permit only pounds of baggage for each passenger. two steamers that will leave before the river is closed by ice cannot carry more than passengers each. the other route is by land by way of juneau. the passenger goes from seattle to juneau. there at this season all packs must be carried on the back or on mules. when snow falls sledges can be used and the trip can be made much more easily. the distance is miles. this trip is thus described: "leaving juneau you go to dyea by way of lime canal, and from there to lake lindermann, thirty miles on foot, or portage, as we call it. the lake gives you a ride of five or six miles, and then follows another long journey overland to the headwaters of lake bennett, which is twenty-eight miles long. on foot you go again for several miles, and then the caribou crossing of the river furnishes transportation for four miles to tagish lake, where another twenty-one-mile boat ride may be had. "this is followed by a weary stretch of mountainous country, and then marsh or mud lake is reached. you get another boat ride of twenty-four miles, and then go down the creek for twenty-seven miles to miles canon and to white horse rapids. "this is one of the most dangerous places on the entire route, and should be avoided by all strangers. the stream is full of sunken rocks and runs with the speed of a mile race. passing white horse rapids the journey is down the river for thirty miles to lake labarge, where thirty-one miles of navigable water is found. another short portage and lous river is reached, where you have a -mile journey, which brings you to fort selkirk. "at this point polly and lous rivers come together, forming the yukon. from that point on is practically smooth sailing, though the stranger must be exceedingly careful." for some time past a number of local and english companies have been studying the lay of the land between chilkat and circle city with a view to establishing a quicker, and more practicable way of transportation to the gold fields along the yukon. goodall, perkins & co., of new york have made a thorough investigation of the matter, and capt. chas. m. goodall of that firm says: "the rich find in the klondyke district will probably result in some better means of transportation, though the roughness of the country and the limited open season will not justify anybody in building a railroad for any distance. recently we sent several hundred sheep and cattle to juneau, and from there to the head of navigation by the steamer alki. mr. dalton, who discovered the trail across the country from the chilkat river to fort selkirk, is taking live stock to the mines. his route lies from the head of navigation through chilkoot pass and along the trail, which is over prairie several hundred miles, to the yukon river, near fort selkirk. at this time of year the prairie is clear and bunch grass grows on it in abundance. "i believe this will ultimately be the popular route. people could go over it in wagons, as the prairie is level. stations could be established, as was done on our plains in ' . it would be easy to go down the yukon in boats from where dalton's trail strikes it to dawson city and other mining camps. "the plan to build a traction road over chilkoot pass from dyea, the head of navigation after leaving juneau, to lake linderman, is not a good business proposition. it has been talked of, and the rest of the plan is to have steamers to ply from lake linderman through the other lakes to the yukon. but to do this two portages would have to be made on account of the falls in the river, and these would be enormously expensive. "a british company has had in contemplation for some time the construction of a railroad from the head of navigation on taku inlet, near juneau, to teslin, or aklene lake, and thence down some small rivers to the yukon and the mines. even by this route there would be need of portages. the natural way to take in freight, unless the hurry be great, is by st. michael and up the yukon. to establish even a wagon road over dalton's trail on the prairie, a railroad over the divide from dyea to lake linderman, or a railroad as planned by the english company, concessions would have to be secured from the british government." from san francisco to the mines. ocean route. miles. to st. michael's , to circle city , to forty mile , to klondyke , overland route. miles. to juneau (by steamer) , juneau to chilkat juneau to dyea juneau to head of navigation juneau to summit of chilcoot pass juneau to head of lake linderman juneau to foot of lake linderman juneau to head of lake bennet juneau to foot of takish lake juneau to head of lake marsh juneau to head of canyon juneau to head of white horse rapids juneau to tahkeena river juneau to head of lake lebarge juneau to foot of lake lebarge juneau to hotalinqua river juneau to big salmon river juneau to little salmon river juneau to five fingers rapids juneau to rink rapids juneau to white river juneau to stewart river juneau to sixty-mile post juneau to lawson city juneau to forty-mile post juneau to circle city forty-mile to diggings at miller creek circle city to diggings at birch creek klondyke to diggings perils of the trip. encounters with the ice and snow in the passes to the upper yukon. a letter, written to the san francisco examiner by edgar a. mizner, gives a graphic picture of life in the klondyke region and the hardships and perils that the miner may expect to meet and undergo. he is at present the agent of the alaska commercial company there. he set out from seattle for the yukon in march last. he had had mining experience before, having been frozen in one winter on the pend d'oreille. mizner mountain, over against the kootenai country, is named for him, his prospecting pick being the first to find pay ore there. from a camp on the ice of lake bennett he wrote on may : "it is nearly two months since i left you, and if i have not forgotten you altogether it's not the fault of the trip, for surely it's the devil's own. the man who wants the yukon gold should know what he is going to tackle before he starts. if there is an easy part of the trip i haven't struck it yet. "eight of us made the trip from juneau to dyea, miles, on the little steam launch alert. the steamer mexico reached dyea the same morning with men. as she drew so much water she had to stay about three miles off shore and land her passengers and freight as best she might in more or less inaccessible places on the rocky shores. "then up came the twenty-two-foot tide and many poor fellows saw their entire outfits swept into the sea. the tide runs there like the fundy race. at dyea there were but two houses, a store and, of course, a saloon. so when we landed on the beach and got out on the snow and ice we had to "rustle" for ourselves. we have kept on "rustling" for ourselves from that on. "we camped the first night at dyea. it is a most enjoyable thing, this making camp in the snow. first you must shovel down from three to six feet to find a solid crust. then you must go out in the snow up to your neck to find branches with which to make a bed, and then comes the hunt for a dead tree for firewood. dinner is cooked on a small sheetiron stove. "always keep an eye on the 'grub,' especially the bacon, for the dogs are like so many ravenous wolves, and it is not considered just the proper thing to be left without anything to eat in this frostbitten land. at night it is necessary to tie up the sacks of bacon in the trees or build trestles for them. but to the trip. "the second day we went up dyea canon. it is only three miles long, but seems fully thirty. this is true of all distances in this country. about one hundred pounds is about all a man wants to pull in this canon, as the way is steep and the ice slippery. so camps must be made short distances apart, as you have to go over the trail several times in bringing up your outfit. remember, an ordinary outfit weighs from to pounds, and some of them much more. "but the summit of chilcoot pass--that's the place that puts the yellow fear into many a man's heart. some took one look at it, sold their outfits for what they would bring and turned back. this pass is over the ridge which skirts the coast. it is only about , feet from base to top, but it is almost straight up and down--a sheer steep of snow and ice. there is a blizzard blowing there most of the time, and when it is at its height, no man may cross. for days at a time the summit is impassable. an enterprising man named burns has rigged a windlass and cable there, and with this he hoists up some freight at a cent a pound. the rest is carried over on the backs of indians. we were detained ten days waiting our turn to have our outfits carried over and for favoring weather. "after going about three miles up a dark canon a whirling snow storm struck us. but having risen at such an unconscionable hour we would not turn back. our pride was near the end of us. i hope i may never experience such another day. the air was so filled with snow that at times it was impossible to see ten feet. it was all we could do to keep our feet against the wind which howled down the mountain. my beard became a mass of ice. "the trail was soon obliterated and we were lost. but we stumbled on and by a rare chance we came upon the handle of a shovel which marked our cache. there was nothing to do but fight our way back to camp. the storm did not abate in the slightest. in fact, it raged for four long days. it was nearly dark when with knocking knees we got back to camp, more dead than alive. "the next day ten men made up a party to go on the same trip back for their outfits. the day after that they were found huddled in a hole dug in a drift eating raw bacon. after another day of rest we put masts on our sleds, rigged sails and came across lake linderman and over linderman portage. we are now camped on the head of lake bennet." another letter written by mr. mizner from forty mile city, as late as june th, is quite as interesting. he says: "the trip was an interesting one, but very dangerous. many men lost their boats and everything they had, and there are rumors of men having been drowned. shortly after leaving lake laborge we came upon a party who had just rescued two young fellows from rocks in the middle of the rapids. they could not save their outfit or their demolished boat, and all they had went down the river with the rushing flood. one of the young men had everything but his shirt stripped from him by the swirl. we took him in charge and landed him at klondyke. "the big canyon between mud lake and lake laborge is a grand and impressive place. the river above is a quarter of a mile wide, but in the canyon it narrows to fifty feet. the walls rise on either side, sheer and smooth, full seventy-five feet. down rushes the water with a frightful roar, rolling the waves at least ten feet high. like everybody else, we went down ahead to take a look before shooting these rapids. from the cliff view the task seems impossible, but there is no other way, and shoot you must. so, with wilson at the oars to hold her straight, i took the steering paddle, and we made for the mouth of the gorge. "it was all over in about thirty seconds. we were through in safety, but it was the most hair-raising thirty seconds i ever experienced. there was quite enough thrill in it for a lifetime. over the terrifying roar of the water we could faintly hear the cheer put up by the undecided hundred or more men who lined the cliffs above us. up came the ice-cold water against us in tubfuls. we were wet through. so was everything else in the boat, and the boat itself half full of water. but we were soon bailed and dried--and safe. "then we went on to the white house rapids, and here we let our boat through with long ropes. two days later we shot the five finger rapids and the rink rapids without any trouble. the last four days of the trip we fixed up our stove in the boat, and only went ashore twice for wood. the mosquitoes on the shore are numbered by the million and are fierce as bull terriers, but in the middle of the river they troubled us but little. "the sun sinks out of sight now about . p. m., and comes up again about a. m. about midnight, however, it is almost as light as noonday. there is no night. at dawson there is a little sawmill and rough houses going up in all directions, but for the most part it is a city of tents. on the shore of the river are hundreds of boats, and others are getting in every day. "the klondyke has not been one particle overrated. i have seen gold measured by the bucketful. just think of a man taking $ out of one pan of dirt. mrs. wilson panned out $ out of one pan in one of the mines i am to take charge of. this, without doubt, is the richest gold strike the world has ever known. "of course all the claims in the klondyke district are taken up now, and there are hundreds of men who own claims valued from $ , to $ , , . but with all these men in the country many miles of new ground will be prospected, and from the lay of the country i think other gold fields are certain to be located." canadian government's attitude. an international question as to miner's rights. the fact that the klondyke placer diggings, as thus far prospected and developed, are well east of the st meridian, which forms the boundary line between alaska and the dominion of canada has attracted no little attention among our northern neighbors, and many contradictory reports as to what attitude the ottawa government will assume as to the rights of miners who are not british subjects, have come to us. that the canadian government has the right to prohibit all but british subjects from working these diggings cannot be questioned. but, as the new york sun puts it, it would be preposterous to suppose that the dominion would really attempt to exercise its right of exclusion. gold fields all over the world are open to miners without regard to nationality. canadians to-day are free to work in the yukon diggings on our side of the boundary. the dominion will do well enough in collecting its revenues and customs duties on the new industry, and on the collateral industries certain to spring up among the population that will flock there. already it has a customs officer for the district. american miners have rushed in large numbers from forty-mile creek and other points to the new klondyke, bonanza creek, eldorado creek, or other regions, and they have staked out their claims. the dominion would have its hands full in dispossessing these men, and there would be plenty of reason for retaliation on our part. we do, it is true, exclude chinese immigration, but it would be dangerous for the dominion to put mongolians and americans on the same footing in an exclusion policy. american miners who have written to the department of state asking protection for their klondyke claims have no reason to worry; and, in fact, it maybe surmised that their anxieties, rather than any indications given by the ottawa government, are the source of the absurd rumor of exclusion. dawson not a tough town. the civilization of a mining camp. ladue, who is a veteran prospector, and has seen all the tough mining camps on the pacific coast, gives this interesting description of the new city of dawson, which promises to have , inhabitants before spring: "it may be said with absolute truth that dawson city is one of the most moral towns of its kind in the world. there is little or no quarreling and no brawls of any kind, though there is considerable drinking and gambling. every man carries a pistol if he wishes to, yet it is a rare occurrence when one is displayed. the principal sport with mining men is found around the gambling table. there they gather after nightfall, and play until the late hours in the morning. they have some big games, too. it sometimes costs as much as $ to draw a card. a game with $ , as stakes is an ordinary event. but with all of that there has not been decided trouble. if a man is fussy and quarrelsome he is quietly told to get out of the game, and that is the end of it. "many people have an idea that dawson city is completely isolated and can communicate with the outside world only once in every twelve months. that is a big mistake, however. circle city, only a few miles away, has a mail once each month, and there we have our mail addressed. it is true the cost is pretty high, $ a letter and two for a paper; yet by that expenditure of money we are able to keep in direct communication with our friends on the outside. "in the way of public institutions our camp is at present without any, but by next season we will have a church, a music hall, a schoolhouse and a hospital. the last institution will be under direct control of the sisters of mercy, who have already been stationed for a long time at circle city and forty-mile camp. "nearly a score of children were in dawson city when i left, so i donated a lot and $ for a school. no one can buy anything on credit in dawson. it is spot cash for every one, and payment is always gold dust. very few have any regular money." all experts estimate that the minimum supply of provisions which a man should take to klondyke is , pounds, though several say they wouldn't venture in without at least one ton, as the season over the juneau route closes up by september . the rush promises to be unprecedented, and a large number of prospectors, after being landed at juneau, will find it impossible to get their supplies transported. like all other great mining rushes, this promises to be full of disappointments. a new route to the klondyke will be opened next spring. it is overland from juneau to fort selkirk, on the yukon, and is entirely by land. captain goodall, of the pacific coast steamship company, inspected it this summer, and reported it practicable. it is about miles long, and it crosses the divide over chilkat pass, which is lower and more easily crossed than the chilkoot pass. no lakes or rivers are on the route, but the trail runs over a high level prairie. old pioneer dalton, after whom the trail is named, is now driving a band of sheep on the trail to dawson city, where he expects to arrive in august, with fresh meat for the miners. this dalton trail is well adapted for driving stock, but for men the tramp is too long. "dawson is not like most of the mining camps. it is not a 'tough' town. murders are almost unknown. "the miners are a quiet and peaceable kind of men, who have gone there to work, and are willing that everybody else shall have an equal chance with themselves. a great deal of gambling is done in the town, but serious quarrels are an exception. as a gambling town i think it is equal to any that i have ever seen; and this, by the way, is always the test of a mining camp's prosperity. stud poker is the usual game. they play $ and oftentimes $ or $ on the third card." l. b. roads said: "i am located on claim , above the discovery on bonanza creek. i did exceedingly well up there. i was among the fortunate ones, as i cleared about $ , , but brought only $ , with me. i was the first man to get to bed rock gravel and to discover that it was lined with gold dust and nuggets. the rock was seamed and cut in v-shaped streaks, caused, it is supposed by glacial action. in those seams i found a clay that was exceedingly rich. in fact, there was a stratum of pay gravel four feet thick upon the rock, which was lined with gold, particularly in these channels or streaks. the rock was about sixteen feet from the surface. the discovery made the camp. it was made on october , , and as soon as the news spread everybody rushed to the diggings from circle city, forty-mile, and from every other camp in the district. "some of the saloons here take in $ per day in dust and nuggets. beer is fifty cents per drink. i have quit drinking. logs are worth $ per , , and lumber $ per , . most people live in tents, but cabins are being put up rapidly. "we have the most orderly mining community in the world. there is no thief, no claim jumping, no cheating or swindling in the many gambling houses. the greenhorn gets an honest game and every man's hand is above-board. if any funny work is attempted we run the offender out." fears of starvation. if twenty or thirty thousand go to the mining camp, as now seems probable, starvation will result, as it will be absolutely impossible to feed more than ten thousand people with the supplies that are now on the way. in another season boats can be built and arrangements made for laying down an unlimited supply of food, but now the alaska commercial company has only three vessels, while the other two lines only run to juneau. yukon river steamers are sent up in small sections and put together on the river. they draw only three or four feet of water, but with even this light draught they often become stranded on the sand bars in the upper waters of the yukon. by the juneau waters it is impossible to carry in any large quantity of provisions, as every pound of supplies must be carried on indian's backs over chilkoot pass and by frequent portages that separate the lakes and streams on this overland route. after sept. this juneau route is impassible to all except indians, because of fierce storms which only indians and experienced travellers can face. the alaska commercial company is very fearful that starvation will occur in the new camp this winter. president louis sloss said to-day that his company would do the best it could to feed those who rushed into the klondyke, but he said that probably it would be impossible to get in more than , tons of food before ice closed the yukon river. the company has tons on the way to st. michael's, but the river usually freezes over about the middle of september. they have only three boats, as one of the best boats was wrecked last spring. the supply will not suffice for more than the number of people already at the mining camp; so, if , or , should rush in, carrying only a small supply of food, the stores will be compelled to limit sales to each purchaser, and those not able to find work will starve. joe ladue, who owns the town site of dawson city, emphasized mr. sloss's warning. he said no one had any idea of the amount of food required by hearty men doing hard manual work in extreme cold weather. he said the suffering was keen last winter because the men could not secure a variety of food, which their systems craved. the transportation companies sent large amounts of whiskey, which found no great sale. then they rushed in stoves, picks, shovels and other hardware, but the last thing they seemed to think of delivering was food, which was needed more than anything else. especially the men needed such things as evaporated potatoes, which relieve the solid diet of bacon and beans; but it will be hopeless to try to land any of these luxuries, or even dried fruits, which are indispensable. a returned new yorker said: "'the only thing i fear is a famine the coming winter. the united efforts of the alaska commercial company and the north american transportation and trading company cannot transport over , tons of freight up the river this season, and not until next february can stuff be freighted over from dyea, juneau and other points down along the southern coast. there was great suffering last winter, and, though no one starved, food rates and rates for everything in the supply line were beyond belief. flour was $ a hundred weight at one time and beef from $ to $ a pound. moose hams sold for about $ , or $ per pound. ordinary shovels for digging brought $ and $ apiece, and other stuff of that kind could not be obtained. "'wages, however, were proportional; $ per hour was common wages, and even now in these long days a man can command $ . per hour up here, or from $ to $ per day. the river steamers cannot keep crews this summer, for all run away to the mines as soon as they get in that region. indians are all the help that can be kept, and even they are doing something in the line of locating claims. "'the man who goes in this winter over the chilkat and chilkoot passes, or the man who goes in this summer by this steamboat route, should take in two years' grub. i understand that steamboat companies will not carry grub or merchandise for any man, and that they are making a flat passenger rate of $ for any port from seattle to dawson. this means that they will get several thousand people in there this season, and if they do not get enough grub in, grub will be high. not less than , newcomers came over this spring and how many will come by boat we can only conjecture.'" cost of living in dawson. the only cheap thing is ice and fresh air. laborers, it is asserted, are paid as high as $ a day, but the advice is given that no man can afford to go to the new camp without from $ to $ , with which to support himself and insure the possibility of returning in case of adversity. living, of course, comes high. the region produces little or no fruit or vegetables. the meat of the caribou and the moose is sometimes scarce, and there are seasons when no salmon can be obtained. here is a list of prices that prevailed in dawson city when the miners started away: flour, per lbs $ . moose ham, per lb . caribou meat, per lb beans, per lb rice, per lb sugar, per lb bacon, per lb butter, per roll . eggs, per doz . better eggs, per doz . salmon, each $ . to . potatoes, per lb turnips, per lb tea, per lb . coffee, per lb dried fruits, per lb canned fruits lemons, each oranges, each tobacco, per lb . liquors, per drink shovels . picks . coal oil, per gal . overalls . underwear, per suit $ . to . shoes . rubber boots $ to . based on supply and demand the above quoted prices may vary several hundred per cent. on some articles at any time. the climate and the mosquitoes. short summer--heat and cold contrasts. there is a short, hot summer of less than four months, with practically no spring or autumn. the ice begins to break up in the rivers about may , and navigation commences on the yukon about the first week in june. it begins to get very cool by the latter part of september, and is almost winter weather by the st of october. the winter is very cold and dry, with not more than three feet of snow. there is only about three inches of rainfall during the winter and not more than a foot or ten inches the whole year around. it is a country in which it is very hard to find food, as there is practically no game. before the whites went into the region there were not more than natives. they had hard work to support themselves on account of the scarcity of game. the thermometer sometimes goes down to degrees below zero in january and february. the cold, however, is not so intense as may be imagined, and degrees there could not be compared with the same here. the dress is mostly of furs in the winter, that used by the natives, and unless there is a sharp wind blowing one may keep fairly comfortable. after this there is scarcely a let up before the middle of the following march. just before reaching lake linderman the famous chilcoot pass is encountered, and woe to the traveller who is caught in one of the snow storms, which spring up with the suddenness of an april shower and rage for days. they are frozen simoons. nature has provided at the pass a protection against these terrific outbreaks in the shape of an immense overhanging rock. at the top of the pass it was the custom in former years for the indians to corral the wild sheep and goats, which were to be found in large numbers in all the surrounding mountains. the species now is practically extinct. this route, by the way of juneau, is a fine trip of , miles or so. for an individual it is more costly, but for a party it is cheaper. at the head of lake linderman is a saw mill, where prospectors are permitted to prepare the lumber for the boats necessary to complete the journey to the camp. this work generally consumes five or six days, but if the prospector is in a hurry he can purchase a boat, the average price being $ . then he floats on and on for hundreds of miles and finally reaches the gold and the miners and the arctic circle. capital required by miners. some things indispensable in an outfit. mr. william van stooten, the mining engineer and metallurgist, gives his views in the new york herald as to the necessary outfit required by miners contemplating a trip to the klondyke diggings. he says: "i should place the minimum amount at $ . it would not be safe to start out with less. but you had better make it a thousand if possible, for with the present rush it is likely that prices will be trebled or even quadrupled. even the indians will charge more for their assistance. still, if a man is stranded on the way he will probably find it easy to make a living almost anywhere in the gold bearing portion of the yukon basin. he can earn $ or $ a day digging the ground for men with good claims. and with the rise in prices these wages may also go up. bear in mind, however, that the price of living must increase in proportion." "what would you consider the proper outfit for a miner in starting out?" "well, the matter of clothing must be left to individual taste, needs and means. but the miners usually adopt the native costume. the boots, usually made by the coast indians, are of several varieties. the water boot is of seal and walrus skin, while the dry weather or winter boot is of all varieties of styles and material. the more expensive have fur trimmed legs, elaborately designed. they cost from $ to $ a pair. trousers are often made of siberian fawn skin and the skin of the marmot, or ground squirrel. the parka, or upper garment, is usually of marmot skins, trimmed with wolverine around the hood and lower edge, the long hair from the sides of the wolverine being used for the hood. this hair is sometimes five or six inches in length, and is useful in protecting the face of the wearer. good, warm flannels can be worn under the parka, and the whole outfit will weigh less than the ordinary clothes worn in a country where the weather gets down to zero. the parka is almost cold proof. but it is expensive, ranging in price from $ to $ . blankets and fur robes are used for bedding. lynx skins make the best robes. good ones cost $ . but cheaper robes can be made of the skins of bear, mink, red fox and the arctic hare. the skins of the latter animal make warm socks to be worn with the skin boots. dress is only one item. every miner must take his own food with him. here is a list of provisions made out by an expert as sufficient to last a man for one month:-- twenty pounds of flour, with baking powder; twelve pounds of bacon, six pounds of beans, five pounds of desiccated vegetables, four pounds of butter, five pounds of sugar, four cans of milk, one pound of tea, three pounds of coffee, two pounds of salt, five pounds of corn meal, pepper, mustard. the following utensils would not be too many:-- one frying pan, one water kettle, one yukon stove, one bean pot, two plates, one drinking cup, one teapot, one knife and fork, one large and one small cooking pan. the following tools are necessary for boat building: one jack plane, one whipsaw, one hand saw, one rip saw, one draw knife, one axe, one hatchet, one pocket knife, six pounds assorted nails, three pounds oakum, three pounds of pitch, fifty feet of five-eighths rope. other necessaries would be a tent, a rubber blanket, mosquito netting and matches. it is also desirable to take along a small, well filled medicine chest, a rifle, a trout line and a pair of snow glasses to provide against snow blindness. the entire outfit can be obtained in juneau, where one can be sure of getting just what is needed, without any extra weight, which is a matter of great importance, as many hard portages are to be encountered on the trip. hitherto prices in juneau have been reasonable. of course one cannot say what may be the result of the present rush in the way of raising prices." a woman's outfit. a woman who has "been there," says that in the matter of dress a woman going to the mines should take two pairs of extra heavy all-wool blankets, one small pillow, one fur robe, one warm shawl, one fur coat, easy fitting; three warm woollen dresses, with comfortable bodices and skirts knee length flannel-lined preferable; three pairs of knickers or bloomers to match the dresses, three suits of heavy all-wool underwear, three warm flannel night dresses, four pairs of knitted woollen stockings, one pair of rubber boots, three gingham aprons that reach from neck to knees, small roll of flannel for insoles, wrapping the feet and bandages; a sewing kit, such toilet articles as are absolutely necessary, including some skin unguent to protect the face from the icy cold, two light blouses or shirt waists for summer wear, one oilskin blanket to wrap her effects in, to be secured at juneau or st. michaels; one fur cape, two pairs of fur gloves, two pairs of surseal moccasins, two pairs of muclucs--wet weather moccasins. she wears what she pleases en route to juneau or st. michaels, and when she makes her start for the diggings she lays aside every civilized travelling garb, including shoes and stays, until she comes out. instead of carrying the fur robe, fur coat and rubber boots along, she can get them on entering alaska, but the experienced ones say take them along. the natives make a fur coat, with hood attached, called a "parka," but it is clumsy for a white woman to wear who has been accustomed to fitted garments. leggings and shoes are not so safe nor desirable as the moccasins. a trunk is not the thing to transport baggage in. it is much better in a pack, with the oilskin cover well tied on. the things to add that are useful, but not absolutely necessary, are chocolate, coffee and the smaller light luxuries. valuable expert advice. a mining engineer's warnings and suggestions. the new york herald is authority for the statement that few persons in the mining world are more intimately acquainted with all its features than mr. william van stooten, mining engineer and metallurgist. besides being president of the south american developing company, which works the gold mines of ecuador, he has relations with all the great gold mines of the world. to mr. van stooten it appears that the gold discoveries in the klondyke regions are the most important that have ever been made. "of course," he says, "there is a tendency to exaggeration in these matters which must always be discounted. it is well to bear in mind that the author of munchausen was what was known in his day as a mining adventurer. herr rapp was a german who went over to england to develop the copper mines there. the nature of his business may have stimulated his imagination to the marvellous flights of that bit of fiction. but after making all possible allowances for exaggeration there is an obvious residuum of truth in the reports that come from the yukon basin. and that residuum indicates something more extraordinary than anything recalled by a backward glance at the facts of 'forty-nine.' "no such specifically large amounts of gold were taken out by individuals during any similar period of california gold hunting. two months of work in the water has realized more than any six months heretofore known in the history of gold mining. we know that ladue, the alaska trader, has actually taken in fabulous wealth in the natural course of his business. "we had long been aware that there was gold in the yukon basin, but the total output for the last ten years before the klondyke developments amounted to not more than a million dollars' worth at the utmost. now, within two months, five millions have been taken out of the klondyke regions. it took the first eight months of work in california to pan out that amount under infinitely more favorable conditions of climate and weather. that is a straw worth noting. "there are just two ways at present, each of which has its advantages and its disadvantages. you may go by way of the pacific ocean and the yukon river. from seattle to st. michael's takes two weeks. in the right season it takes two weeks more to sail up the yukon from st. michael's to circle city. as the waters along the way are very shallow only flat-bottom side-wheelers can accomplish the voyage. above circle city the waters become too shallow even for this sort of craft. it is three hundred miles from circle city to the scene of the latest discoveries. these hundred miles can only be covered by walking. dog sleds draw all the necessary munitions. reindeer, as well as dogs, have been tried successfully, and probably the deer will eventually supersede the canines. "the other route, by way of juneau, involves a tramp of seven hundred miles to the klondyke. but in the warm season it is possible to traverse a large part of the distance in canoes through the congeries of lakes, all connected by more or less navigable streams." "when would you advise prospective gold diggers to start by either st. michael's or juneau?" "under all circumstances they should wait until the approach of next spring. it is too late in the season to think of going now. it is true that the distance from juneau to the klondyke can be made in sleds and snowshoes. but if the voyagers arrive on the spot after the middle of september they will find it entirely impossible to do any prospecting. the creeks are frozen and covered with snow. no clew to the presence of gold can be found. now, even if the diggers arrive in june it may take them weeks or months to locate a desirable claim. but, once located, they can continue their work even in the depth of winter. great fires are built around the claim, which are kept continually burning. thus the ground is thawed out for digging during the winter months and is made ready for the reappearance of the sun and the inflowing of the waters. then the dirt can be treated in pans or long toms. owing to these peculiar difficulties it is likely that the place will continue one for poor man's mining and will be not be monopolized by capital." "you advise people to wait until spring. but don't you think the cream of the claims will be skimmed next year?" "not at all. one hundred thousand people might disperse themselves in the yukon gold-bearing grounds and hardly know of the presence of neighbors. there may be other diggings over this vast area quite as good as the klondyke diggings. as in all the gold mining regions, diggings everywhere vary considerably in value. it is not improbable even that the late comers will take up the abandoned washings of the earlier men and do well with them. this frequently happened in california. as settlements grow up and the facilities for comfortable living and effective work increase, it is possible that gold may be found in places where it was never dreamed of. there is no doubt that eventually a number of valuable ledges will be found, but the bulk of the gold will come from placers. this is nature's process for concentrating gold from the quartz ledges. you know, however, what is the natural course of development in newly discovered gold fields?" "well, here it is. first come the men with pans to gather in the riches that lie on the surface. it is possible for an active man to wash out a cubic yard, or pounds of pay dirt in a day. "next follow associations of miners using 'long toms' and cradles. "the third stage takes the form of hydraulic mining, by means of water brought from long distances. "fourth, and last, comes quartz mining under ground. "this is the sequence that has always occurred. but it may take years before the final stage is reached in the yukon, owing to the difficulties already pointed out." the new york journal expedition to klondyke. the new york journal, in keeping with its usual liberality and enterprise, has sent out a large expedition at its own expense. the journal says: "to investigate the riches of the yukon gold fields and to tell the tale of nature and human nature in the new ophir of the far north for the journal, a company of five distinguished writers have been sent to the gold fields. edward h. hamilton, chief of the journal bureau, is admirably equipped for his task. his writings have given him a high repute and his letters will discover to the world the life at klondyke, as well as tell the sordid tale of the gains of the diggers. charles gregory yale is one of the prominent mining experts of the west. for several years he has been statistician of the mint at san francisco and assistant in the california state mining bureau. he is a facile writer, having had a long experience as editor of the "mining and scientific press," of san francisco. edward j. livernash is a lawyer and journalist, a careful investigator and an able descriptive writer. joaquin miller, the gray poet of the sierras, will sing for the journal a new song of the st. elias alps. mrs. norman brough, known to readers by her pen name, "helen dare," will have the opportunity to write of a woman's experience digging gold in the placers and housekeeping in a sunless land, with the thermometer at below zero." sailors get gold craze. desert their ships in alaskan ports to dig for fortunes. the gold fever has struck the hardy mariner at last, and desertions are numerous from ships up north. shippers expect soon to hear of craft being tied up in alaskan ports just as they were in san francisco harbor in ' , when crews deserted wholesale to dig gold in the rich placers. when the steamship pueblo arrived, capt. debney reported that the mates of the al-ki and the topeka had both left their ships in juneau. other steamer captains before they left recently said they would be lucky if they managed to keep enough men to work ship after they reached the northern ports. capt. debney says that when the portland reached st. michael's on her last trip up one of the firemen, who had made friends with some of the miners aboard, handed in his resignation and asked for a ticket up the yukon. it was refused him on the ground that he was a deserter. he twice offered money without avail. the miners held the ship for twelve hours. at the expiration of that time the company put up a notice that the portland would start on her return trip at a certain hour. the miners held a meeting and appointed a committee of twelve to wait on the company's agent. the committee filed into the agent's office, where each man drew a revolver and laid it on the agent's table. they demanded that a ticket be given the fireman at once, and the agent complied. the fireman went with the party up the yukon. capt. debney reports that the queen, which sailed from puget sound several days ago, passed the american port officials all right, but when the vessel reached victoria the customs officials decided that she was overloaded and took fifteen of the miners ashore. they are now stopping at the victoria hotel at the expense of the pacific steamship company, and will be sent north on a later vessel. capt. debney has received a letter from his son, who is agent for the alaska commercial company at dawson. he reports that there are now at dawson thirty-five saloons, one theatre, eight dance houses, three general stores, five bakeries, five restaurants, two barber shops, one candy maker and three laundries. only three deaths in a year. the healthiest region in the world is the klondyke. f. g. bowker, of dawson, says there was nobody there to die until less than a year ago, and that since then there have been but three deaths in that whole district as far as is known. of the three deaths one occurred just before the steamer excelsior left dawson. a man who had just sold his claim for $ , passed away in his bunk with his head resting on the sack of coin which represented the success of his search for wealth. in the graveyard at forty mile, which has served for all that section for some years past, there are only thirty or forty graves. few die within reach of settlements without medical aid and spiritual advice. there are missions of several protestant denominations, as well as russian and roman catholic missions, at frequent intervals throughout the country. funerals are not as ostentatious as in the civilized world, but everything that is necessary is reverentially done by rough but kindly miners. the tale about confiscation of dead men's effects by friends and neighbors is branded as a malicious lie. it is one of the unwritten laws of the yukon that these shall be turned over to the government and disposed of according to statute laws. canadian mining laws. regulations imposed by the dominion upon placer mining. as the klondyke diggings, as thus far developed and staked, are upon canadian territory it is important to bear in mind the regulations imposed by the dominion government on placer mining. they are as follows: "bar diggings" shall mean any part of a river over which the water extends when the water is in its flooded state and which is not covered at low water. "mines on benches" shall be known as bench diggings, and shall for the purpose of defining the size of such claims be excepted from dry diggings. "dry diggings" shall mean any mine over which a river never extends. "miner" shall mean a male or female over the age of eighteen, but not under that age. "claims" shall mean the personal right of property in a placer mine or diggings during the time for which the grant of such mine or diggings is made. "legal post" shall mean a stake standing not less than four feet above the ground and squared on four sides for at least one foot from the top. "close season" shall mean the period of the year during which placer mining is generally suspended. the period to be fixed by the gold commissioner in whose district the claim is situated. "locality" shall mean the territory along a river (tributary of the yukon) and its affluents. "mineral" shall include all minerals whatsoever other than coal. . bar diggings. a strip of land feet wide at highwater mark and thence extending along the river to its lowest water level. . the sides of a claim for bar diggings shall be two parallel lines run as nearly as possible at right angles to the stream, and shall be marked by four legal posts, one at each end of the claim at or about high water mark; also one at each end of the claim at or about the edge of the water. one of the posts shall be legibly marked with the name of the miner and the date upon which the claim is staked. . dry diggings shall be feet square and shall have placed at each of its four corners a legal post, upon one of which shall be legibly marked the name of the miner and the date upon which the claim was staked. . creek and river claims shall be feet long, measured in the direction of the mineral course of the stream, and shall extend in width from base to base of the hill or bench on each side, but when the hills or benches are less than feet apart the claim may be feet in depth. the sides of a claim shall be two parallel lines run as nearly as possible at right angles to the stream. the sides shall be marked with legal posts at or about the edge of the water and at the rear boundary of the claim. one of the legal posts at the stream shall be legibly marked with the name of the miner and the date upon which the claim was staked. . bench claims shall be feet square. . in defining the size of claims they shall be measured horizontally, irrespective of inequalities on the surface of the ground. . if any person or persons shall discover a new mine and such discovery shall be established to the satisfaction of the gold commissioner, a claim for the bar diggings feet in length may be granted. a new stratum of auriferous earth or gravel situated in a locality where the claims are abandoned shall for this purpose be deemed a new mine, although the same locality shall have previously been worked at a different level. . the forms of application for a grant for placer mining and the grant of the same shall be according to those made, provided or supplied by the gold commissioner. . a claim shall be recorded with the gold commissioner in whose district it is situated within three days after the location thereof if it is located within ten miles of the commissioner's office. one day extra shall be allowed for making such record for every additional ten miles and fraction thereof. . in the event of the absence of the gold commissioner from his office for entry a claim may be granted by any person whom he may appoint to perform his duties in his absence. . entry shall not be granted for a claim which has not been staked by the applicant in person in the manner specified in these resolutions. an affidavit that the claim was staked out by the applicant shall be embodied in the application. . an entry free of $ shall be charged the first year and an annual fee of $ for each of the following years: . after recording a claim the removal of any post by the holder thereof or any person acting in his behalf for the purpose of changing the boundaries of his claim shall act as a forfeiture of the claim. . the entry of every holder for a grant for placer mining must be renewed and his receipt relinquished and replaced every year, the entry fee being paid each year. . no miner shall receive a grant for more than one mining claim in the same locality, but the same miner may hold any number of claims by purchase and any number of miners may unite to work their claims in common on such terms as they may arrange, provided such agreement be registered with the gold commissioner and a fee of $ paid for each registration. . any miner or miners may sell, mortgage or dispose of his or their claims provided such disposal be registered with and a fee of $ paid to the gold commissioner, who shall thereupon give the assignee a certificate of his title. . every miner shall during the continuance of his grant have the exclusive right of entry upon his own claim for the miner-like working thereof and the construction of a residence thereon, and shall be entitled exclusively to all the proceeds realized therefrom, but he shall have no surface rights therein, and the gold commissioner may grant to the holders of adjacent claims such rights of entry thereon as may be absolutely necessary for the working of their claims upon such terms as may to him seem reasonable. he may also grant permits to miners to cut timber thereon for their own use upon payment of the dues prescribed by the regulations in that behalf. . every miner shall be entitled to the use of so much of the water naturally flowing through or past his claim and not already lawfully appropriated, as shall in the opinion of the gold commissioner be necessary for the working thereof, and shall be entitled to drain his own claim free of charge. . a claim shall be deemed to be abandoned and open to occupation and entry by any person when the same shall have remained unworked on working days by the grantee thereof or by some person in his behalf for the space of seventy-two hours unless sickness or other reasonable cause may be shown to the satisfaction of the gold commissioner, or unless the grantee is absent on leave given by the commissioner, and the gold commissioner, upon obtaining evidence satisfactory to himself that this provision is not being complied with, may cancel the entry given for a claim. . if the land upon which a claim has been located is not the property of the crown it will be necessary for the person who applies for entry to furnish proof that he has acquired from the owner of the land the surface right before entry can be granted. . if the occupier of the lands has not received a patent thereof the purchase money of the surface rights must be paid to the crown and a patent of the surface rights will issue to the party who acquired the mining rights. the money so collected will either be refunded to the occupier of the land when he is entitled to a patent there or will be credited to him on account of payment of land. . when the party obtaining the mining rights cannot make an arrangement with the owner thereof for the acquisition of the surface rights it shall be lawful for him to give notice to the owner or his agents or the occupier to appoint an arbitrator to act with another arbitrator named by him in order to award the amount of compensation to which the owner or occupier shall be entitled. some things worth knowing. some of the miners who have recently returned from the mines say that those who wait until the spring before going to alaska will make a mistake, as there is room on the yukon and around dawson city for , miners. during the winter months they can occupy themselves taking out the frozen earth, and thus have it ready for washing in the summer. * * * * * the most trustworthy estimates agree that over $ , , , in nuggets and gold dust has been the value of the output of the alaska mines during the year. * * * * * it is estimated by many that in the mines already being worked on the klondyke alone there is over $ , , worth of gold in sight, and that this will all be mined in a year. * * * * * a new field, rich in gold, and that has not yet been worked, has been discovered near the mouth of the tananar river, which is a tributary of the yukon, and is the second largest river in alaska. * * * * * there is hardly any darkness in alaska in the summer season. one can see to read at o'clock at night and at in the morning. * * * * * both the chilkoot and white passes are practically on the boundary between the united states and canadian territories. they are in the same latitude and are only twenty or thirty miles apart. after reaching the head of navigation, the juneau parties bound for the yukon turn west through the mountains by chilkoot pass. if they used the white pass they would turn east and circumvent the mountain on the east side. the white pass has not been utilized by mining parties, the chilkoot being the usual route, and the chilkat pass, further north, being used to a much less extent. * * * * * there is no abatement of the klondyke fever in seattle, and it appears to be extending all over the northwest. hundreds are being liberally grubstaked and experienced miners are in active demand. from $ to $ is given them and they share half their finds. * * * * * the first mining company to file articles of incorporation is the alaska and yukon exploration and trading company, limited. the capital stock is $ , , fully subscribed. * * * * * every claim within miles of the klondyke is taken up, and nearly , people are at the new diggings. those who got in late have gone further to the northeast of the klondyke, looking for new locations, and the matter of hunting gold in alaska has resolved itself into a proposition of finding a mother lode and new pockets. * * * * * there is an enormous demand for miners' outfits in seattle and in san francisco, and the outfitters' employees are working night and day. * * * * * it is believed that it will take all the steamers and idle sailing vessels on the pacific coast, from san francisco to seattle, to carry the gold-seekers now preparing to start for the new eldorado of the northwest, and thousands will be forced reluctantly to wait until next spring, owing to lack of transportation facilities. * * * * * the steamship people are amazed at the number of "tenderfeet" who have been struck by the craze. there has never been anything equal to it, they say, and the end is not yet. the cashier of the alaska company says that if they had sufficient boats on hand there would be, in his opinion, at least , people go up the yukon this fall. there are not enough provisions now in dawson to feed those already there, and only a limited supply can be transported there before the winter blockade begins. * * * * * an outfitting firm in seattle received a cablegram from london, england, asking if , men could be outfitted there. the alaskan and british american gold field fever has struck texas. reports from many places indicate preparations for a rush to the northwest. inquiries are being made at every railroad office concerning routes and rates of transportation. * * * * * a pinch of gold dust pays for a drink in dawson city. as the barkeeper takes the pinch out of the miner's bag barkeepers with broad thumbs receive the highest wages. * * * * * perhaps the most interesting reading in the milling record is the letters written by men in the klondyke to friends in juneau. here is one from "casey" moran: dawson, march , . "friend george: don't pay any attention to what any one says, but come in at your earliest opportunity. my god! it is appalling to hear the truth, but nevertheless the world has never produced its equal before. well, come. that's all. your friend. "casey." * * * * * if you don't start for the pacific coast for the mines before the st of september, do not start until the th of next april. * * * * * may, june and july are the months in which work with pan and cradle can be done. during the rest of the year king frost reigns. * * * * * the klondyke mean temperature is: spring, degrees above zero; summer. above zero: autumn, above zero; winter, below zero. there are, of course, extremes above and below these figures. * * * * * to hold a claim three months' work annually must be done on it. in default of this the land reverts to the government. * * * * * the laws of canada are severe on claim jumpers and on those who interfere with the rights of legitimate claimants. explanatory and important. the mining news publishing company was formed for the purpose of furnishing reliable information regarding the alaska gold fields to all who may be interested. this book, "all about the klondyke," is the first of a series to be issued as fast as news is received and mines are developed. reliable correspondents, now in the mines, will keep us informed regarding all matters of interest, and everything of importance that is published anywhere regarding mining or the alaska gold field will be verified and published for the benefit of our patrons. bogus companies and fraudulent syndicates will be investigated and, when necessary, exposed and warning given to the public regarding them. there are already in the field more than one "syndicate" or "company"' formed by impecunious and irresponsible persons whose object is to sell shares in mines, or stock in enterprises, that promise to carry men to the mines and to furnish them with outfits and claims on payment of certain specified sums. the standing and character of all companies and syndicates should be carefully investigated before any one intrusts money to them. the exodus to the mines must cease in august owing to the impossibility of reaching the gold fields during the alaskan cold season, and after august no one will sail for alaskan ports until about the th of april next. there is, therefore, plenty of time for intending prospectors and miners to inform themselves thoroughly regarding everything necessary to know about the mines, routes of travel, outfit, etc., and for investors, who are not going to the mines, to satisfy themselves regarding the reliability of the mining companies that are and will be advertising their alluring and seductive money-making schemes. there are some companies, now formed and forming, that agree to furnish outfit, transportation and food to those who will contract to mine on shares when they reach the mines. there are others that offer opportunity to individuals and to clubs of men--ten or more--who will subscribe from $ to $ , , to benefit in one-half of the profits, and who agree to have a substitute sent to represent the individual or club subscribers. these are legitimate and reliable and much profit may come to those who invest with them. the mining news publishing company has no financial or other interest or connection with any mining company or syndicate and is, therefore, in a position to give unbiased and reliable advice regarding any of them. its purpose--besides the publishing of news to protect, warn and advise the public. we will furnish any one with the prospectus of companies that are safe and solvent, and that we know to be worthy and financially strong. ten cents in stamps should be sent when inquiring for such a prospectus, either of a mining company selling shares, or of a grub-stake or outfitting syndicate. correspondents who desire confidential advice regarding any company or syndicate will receive the best information at our command. a fee of $ will be charged for answering such letters. improvements in means of transportation, routes and trails to the mines will go on from time to time. changes in cost of provisions and mining supplies, and in modes of mining will take place. regarding all this we shall be promptly informed and will, at all times, be in possession of the latest information. questions regarding routes, cost of outfit, transportation, or regarding any other matter connected with mining or the mines, will be answered by letter, written by experienced miners in our employ here, for a fee of $ enclosed with each query. address "the mining news publishing company, liberty street, new york." in search of el dorado _three books of_ _travel and description_ siberia. a record of travel, climbing and exploration. by samuel turner, f.r.g.s. with about illustrations and maps. demy vo, cloth, = s.= net. travels of a naturalist in northern europe. by j. a. harvie-brown, f.r.s.e., f.z.s., author of "fauna of the moray basin," "a vertebrate fauna of orkney," &c.,&c. with maps and many illustrations. vols. royal vo, cloth, =£ s.= net. russia under the great shadow. by luigi villari, author of "giovanni segantini," "italian life in town and country," &c. with illustrations. demy vo, cloth, = s. d.= net. london: t. fisher unwin. [illustration: yours very sincerely alexander macdonald.] in search of el dorado a wanderer's experiences by alexander macdonald f.r.g.s. with an introduction by admiral moresby illustrated second impression london: t. fisher unwin , adelphi terrace. mcmvi first edition second impression [_all rights reserved_] to my mother introduction "good wine needs no bush," but because a man does not always himself see the full scope of what he has written, an introduction may have its uses for author and readers alike. and to me--the adventure of whose own career has reached the inexorable _finis_--these true stories of gold and gem seeking have an interest beyond the mere record of peril and achievement, though, in the words of sir philip sidney, it "stirs the heart like a trumpet-blast" when brave men come to grips with dangers which (like the treasure-guarding dragons of fairy-tales) yield not only their hoard, but their own strength, as reward to the conqueror. and these are true romances--no fiction with its _deus ex machina_ at the psychological moment, but the unadorned risks, escapes, and failures of adventurers on the quest of those strange commodities, seemingly haunted by death and fear, from their secrecy in the recesses of the earth till they shine with a sinister light in the crowns of kings or make rough, for better handling, the sword-grips of warriors. the quest of "el dorado" begins with the history of man, and in pursuit of the glittering phantom have "many souls of heroes gone down into hades," only that others might step into their empty places in the ranks. for whatever is found, always just beyond reach flits what is not found--what never will be, be it the golden city of manoa, with its palace of the inca, "all the vessels of whose house and kitchen are of gold, and in his wardrobe statues of gold which seemed giants, and ropes, budgets, chests and troughs of gold," or the mysterious jewels of the wisdom of solomon, or the genie-guarded gems of the arabian nights. the instinct of delight in this adventure which has dazzled the mind of man from time immemorial is universal: it is a relish of youth which persists into the old age of the world; it warms the coldest blood; and our author, who has himself followed the mirage and felt the fascination so keenly, is able to transmit the magic of the search to his readers. whether toiling over the chilcoot pass, hunger-pinched, and desperate with cold and exhaustion, or thirst-tormented in the burning deserts of central australia, the indomitable desire that drives him forward with his comrades, drives us also on this modern odyssey, where the siren sings on beaches of dead men's bones, and perils as terrible as any man-devouring cyclops lie in wait for the wanderers. the author, leaving his book to the verdict of the public, is once more an explorer in the australian deserts, collecting who knows what strange experiences for future use, so i may, in his absence, characterise him as a born leader of men, a very prudent odysseus; for what lesser qualities could have held together so strangely assorted a band as the rough-hewn mac and stewart and the gentleman adventurer phil morris? reticence is perhaps unavoidable, but one would willingly see and hear more of the central figure than his own modesty allows him to give us. yet, as i said before, it is not only the adventure which gives a charm to these studies of wild life. they are little epics of comradeship--impressions of men to whom gold and jewels are much, but to whom loyalty is the one thing better. it is good to see the yellow gleam in the washings, and the milky fire of the australian opal is worth the perils endured, but there is also the abiding knowledge that quite other and less elusive treasures reward the quest--courage, endurance, and above all--"the manly love of comrades." and to me--to whom some of these studies recall in keenest remembrance scenes which i shall never behold again with my living eyes--there is another point of view and one of wider interest. such men, in working out their own destiny, are evolving also the imperial destiny of the mother-country. they break the path, and other feet follow. there is the march of an army behind them, for they are the vanguard of civilisation--the first spray of the tide that, however slowly it flows, does not ebb. it is well, since the change must come, that these men, of good home-spun stuff, honest and kindly in thought and deed, should be among the forerunners of the race that will abide where it has set its feet. scotland need not be ashamed of her sons as they stand before us in these true stories of daring and endurance, and speak with their enemies in the gate. the inexhaustible mineral and gem deposits of new guinea are only glanced at, but the description of those marvellous tropical forests, through whose deep ravines rush the gold-bearing torrents, from which "mac" was able to wash out thirty pounds worth in one day, proves what possibilities england possesses in that great island, and sheds light on the policy of a time, now happily past, when i had hoisted the flag, in , and thus taken formal possession of eastern new guinea. i reported to my chief, and his reply has a curious interest in view of many later developments. "have we not enough tropical possessions, without requiring more? enough issues to sap the strength of our englishmen, without giving government patronage to the infliction of new wounds on our body? enough circumstances in which there must be a subjected race alongside of our english proprietors, without putting the government stamp on a new scheme which will help to demoralise us, and weaken our moral sense as a nation?" such were the views of the little englanders thirty years ago. such seem strangely out of date when explorers of the alexander macdonald type are tapping the remotest sources of commerce in the interests of the old country. so i leave the little band to the reader--very human, compound of great generosities and small failings, travellers, like ourselves, on "the great trail" that leads to the mountains of the moon, and beyond, but always _men_, and knit together by so strong a bond that each might well say of the other, with walt whitman-- "bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade." j. moresby. admiral rtd. blackbeck, _april , _. preface i desire to assure all readers of this book that the scenes here depicted, and the events described, may be taken as faithful representations from life. i would also add that the geographical descriptions throughout are accurate in detail; my knowledge is borne of long and varied experience in the countries of which i write. a friendly critic, on reviewing my mss., said that the book might be misunderstood because of its containing the remarks and conversations of my companions, which he considered could not very well have been remembered by the writer. on this point, however, i beg to differ, and i feel that i shall have the sympathy of my fellow-wanderers on my side. when a man has travelled for many years with the same companions, and has shared danger and sorrow and gladness with them, surely it is not too much to assume that he must ultimately know their temperaments well, and would scarcely need to draw upon his imagination when recalling their various remarks on striking incidents. at the conclusion of our western australian journey the outbreak of the south african war caused a temporary disbandment of my party, all of whose members served at the front with the australian contingents during the campaign. as a result it will be observed that in the third part of this volume the narratives partake somewhat of a general nature, and are also more or less disconnected. finally let me say in extenuation of any brusqueness or crudity of expression which may be noticeable, that i write as a traveller whose hand has more often gripped the rifle and sextant than the pen. alexander macdonald. elcho park, perth. _march , ._ contents page introduction vii preface xiii part i the frozen north under the shadow of the white pass shooting the white horse rapids the land of the thron-diucks the finding of "gold bottom" creek the perils of the trail the tent at caribou crossing across the chilcoot pass part ii under the southern cross the five-mile rush sinking for gold we "strike" gold camp-fire reminiscences the "sacred" nugget into the "never never" land el dorado! where the pelican builds its nest part iii promiscuous wanderings in the australian back-blocks on the opal fields of white cliffs prospecting in british new guinea in the gum-land of wangeri with the pearlers of north-western australia list of illustrations portrait of the author _frontispiece_ a party of miners going in by the skagway or white pass trail _facing p._ the chilcoot pass " klondike-bound miners and their outfits on lake linderman " after the rapids " pan-washing in skookum gulch " gold-bottom creek " dawson city " on the safe side of the pass again--mac, self, stewart " stewart preparing our first meal " "discovery" shaft--on gold " stewart finds the ground hard " no. claim--just struck gold " our shaft " nuggety dick and silent ted " happy jack and dead-broke sam " ready for the rush " a breakdown in the rush " our last view of the -mile working " taking our position " a native camp " el dorado! " an extinct volcano we camped on " the only creatures that can exist in the n.w. interior " an emu's nest " "leichardt's tree" " the last trace found of the great explorer who attempted to cross the interior and was never heard of again. a famous mine in the gulf country " boring for opal indications " the belle of the bush--a salvation army convert in white cliffs " the dingoe or native dog " crocodile jaws " the gum-diggers' swimming-pool " ready to go down " part i the frozen north "and, as his strength failed him at length, he met a pilgrim shadow-- 'shadow,' said he, 'where can it be this land of el dorado?' 'over the mountains of the moon, down in the valley of the shadow, ride, boldly ride,' the shade replied 'if you seek for el dorado.'" under the shadow of the white pass i have stumbled upon a few "tough" corners of the globe during my wanderings beyond the outposts of civilisation, but i think the most outrageously lawless quarter i ever struck was skagway in the days of its early infancy. now, i am told, skagway is a flourishing township, boasting of the orthodox amount of "broad" streets and "palatial" buildings for an american "boom" camp. this may be, though--unless the geographical features of the district have altered--i can hardly credit it. when i was there the embryo city balanced itself precariously along the lower slopes of the white pass, and a good percentage of the population had to be content with huts built on piles within the tidal limit of the lynn canal. in short, there was no room to build anything, and skagway existed simply because it marked the entry to the yukon's frozen treasure. its permanent residents were, for the most part, sharpers of the worst type; indeed, it seemed as if the scum of the earth had hastened here to fleece and rob, or, failing those gentle arts, to murder the unwary voyagers to or from the golden north. there was no law whatsoever; might was right, the dead shot only was immune from danger. it was late autumn in the year when the first news of klondike riches burst upon the world, when i, with my companion mac, arrived at the head of the lynn inlet, _en route_ for the land of snows and nuggets. our ship, the _rosalie_, carried a goodly number of passengers, but they were mainly of the ruffian "store and saloon-keeper" variety, and few, if any, of them ever got beyond the pass. the true gold-miner is proverbially poor, and as yet his kind had not been numerous on the trail. as for myself, i was enterprising if nothing else, and my companion made up for my deficiencies in other respects. he was a ferocious individual without a doubt, my worthy henchman; without him my early journeyings would have ended before they had well begun, but, being a hardened traveller, he knew how to adapt himself to circumstances, and how to come off best in a scrimmage, both of which traits were brought fully out before we had been long in the villainous little camp of skagway. our first twenty-four hours' experiences may be worth relating. we were the only representatives of old england in these uncouth parts at this period, a fact which had not made us any more beloved by the aggressively hostile yankees on board the _rosalie_. times without number they told me how the "great american nation" could wipe the british isles off the face of the earth at a moment's notice, and how a "free-born american" was equal to a dozen britishers, and how we two would be swallowed alive by these same men should we dare say a word to the contrary. we bore a good deal of this sort of thing in silence, though occasionally throughout the protracted voyage my fiery aide-de-camp retaliated angrily, and did considerable damage among his tormentors, who proved to be warlike only in their speech. but this is a digression, and though i could write pages on that momentous cruise--we ran aground five times, and were practically wrecked twice--i must desist and continue my narrative. the first man we saw after being dumped on the muddy shores of skagway bay was a short, red-headed individual, with ruddy countenance to match, who fairly bristled with weapons of the most bloodthirsty description. he approached mac and me as we stood hesitatingly by the water's edge looking around for some habitation wherein we might find refuge for the first night of our sojourn in a strange land. "hallo, stranger!" he saluted, affably, firing a huge revolver unpleasantly close to my ear in a most nonchalant manner. "hallo!" i said without enthusiasm, feeling cautiously in the rear of my nether garments to make sure that my own gun was where it ought to be. he seemed somewhat hurt at the stiffness of my rejoinder, and toyed suggestively with his revolver for some moments without speaking. meanwhile mac proceeded unconcernedly along the beach to where a huge hulk lay moored, whose broad beam bore the legend in giant letters--"skagit hotel. recently of san francisco. finest accommodation in town." i was preparing to follow in my comrade's footsteps, marvelling at the enterprise which had brought the old dismasted schooner so opportunely to such a region; but my friend with the gun was not to be put off. "say, stranger," he growled, stepping before me, "you don't know who i am, i reckon----" "i don't," i interrupted, shortly, "and i am not over anxious to make your acquaintance either." he glared at me savagely for an instant, then broke out into a hearty laugh. "for a darned englisher you are mighty pert," he said, "an' i won't slaughter you--just yet. still, for your future benefit i may tell you that my handle is soapy sam, an' i've planted considerable men like you in my time. i'm a bad man, i is, but your ignorance saves ye." the conversation was being uncomfortably prolonged; yet i dared not make any movement. "what's the damage, soapy?" i asked contritely. "i suppose you are collecting toll in your polite way?" he lowered his weapon and grinned. "every tenderfoot as lands in this here city has to play poker with me or fight," he acknowledged smilingly. i realised my position at once. it was painfully clear to me that the "fight" would be all on one side, and could only end in one way so long as soapy held the "drop," and it was also clear that the alternative was to submit to wholesale robbery. a loud shout at our back made us both turn with alacrity, and behold there stood mac with his long winchester repeater levelled fairly at soapy samuel's head. the wily individual had scented danger, and had made a _détour_ expressly for my benefit. "say when," he murmured calmly, from behind his artillery, "and i'll blow the deevil into vulgar fractions." i stepped out of range of fire without delay. soapy's fingers twitched on the stock of his lowered revolver as his ferret-like eyes blinked down the muzzle of the deadly tube, which never wavered a hair's breadth. then his weapon dropped from his nerveless hand, and slowly his arms were upraised towards the sky, and he smiled an exceedingly sickly smile. "you've got the pull on me this time, partner," he said. "i caves." at this moment a hoarse chorus of cheers rang out from the vicinity of the skagit hotel. the inmates had assembled on the upper deck to witness the discomfiture of their common enemy. "shoot him!" they roared; "he killed old smith." but mac was not disposed to make himself public executioner. "ye'd better vanish, soapy," he grunted. [illustration: a party of miners going in by the skagway or white pass trail.] "never mind the cannon ye dropped; it'll just suit me. quick, fur i'm getting nervish." soapy fled, slipping and stumbling through the snow in his intense haste. but when he had placed a good hundred yards between him and his conqueror, he turned and waved his hand cheerily. "i bear no ill-will, boys," he shouted; "i was clean bested. but," and he turned towards the _skagit_, "i'll have it out with you afore long, and don't forgit it." a yell of derision greeted him in return. apparently the _skagit_ dwellers meant to take all chances with a light heart. mac grounded his rifle with a grunt of satisfaction. "this is the deevil's ain country we've struck," he grumbled. "it's a blessed thing i got insured afore i left auld scotland." i agreed with him heartily, and together we sought the hospitable shelter of the stranded hotel, where we were welcomed effusively by the proprietor thereof, a merry-faced irishman of the name of o'connor. "we're chock full up, but we'll gladly make room for you, boys," he said. "it wouldn't be safe to allow you to go up among soapy's gang." i expressed my gratitude for his tender solicitude, then made sundry inquiries as to the prospects of crossing the pass within the next day or so. "you want to cross the pass?" he echoed, in amazement. "why, you won't be able to do that until next spring. the snows are on, and the trail is blocked with hundreds of dead horses anyhow." i had heard this statement so often of late that i was in nowise taken aback. "we certainly did not come here for the good of our health," i said. "we'll try the chilcoot pass if the skagway route is impossible. dyea is not very far from here, i think?" "only about four miles round about," he replied. "it is at the head of the inlet you would see before your ship branched in here. a mighty miserable place it is, for the winds sweep right down from the sea almost constantly." "we didn't expect to find roses growing on the track," snorted mac, impatiently. "we'll try and get round to dyea in the morning." but now another difficulty arose. there were no boats to be had stout enough to withstand the heavy gales which, as we had just been told, blew ceaselessly up the funnel-like entrance to the chilcoot valley, and even if there had been, our outfit of flour and miscellaneous foodstuffs was rather an unwieldy factor to be considered. "it's a maist ungodly country," commented mac gloomily. "there seems to be nae room for anybody but thieves an' murderers, and it' very funny that there's no' an honest gold-miner among the lot." our fellow-passengers nearly all had found congenial quarters further back in the city, and one or two had erected their tents on the beach, forgetting in their haste to found a home that the tide would wash over their camp site about twelve o'clock that same night. yet no one cared to inform them on the matter, and mac watched their progress with undisguised joy, and howled with delight when one of his old enemies began to haul timber from the hillside for the purpose of building a substantial edifice on the sinking sands. "they might know that the old _skagit_ couldn't have walked up here," laughed our host. "but they'll find out their mistake soon enough, i reckon," and he chuckled, long and loudly. having partaken of dinner, mac and i sallied forth to visit the scattered array of huts and tents which constituted the town. "look out for soapy sam," warned a swarthy-visaged man in picturesque attire. "he's a nasty sort of skunk to meet, even in the daytime, as you already know. if ye get into trouble just yell on me--black harry is my handle--and i'll be with you in a couple of shakes." i thanked the dusky warrior, who indeed looked as if he could give a very good account of himself when necessary, and with the butt of my revolver clutched tightly in my hand, i walked citywards with mac, who gravely whistled selections from a hymn entitled, "there is a happy land." on our arrival in klondike avenue, as the main thoroughfare was elegantly styled, not a solitary individual was to be seen. the weather was bitterly cold, and the denizens of the camp, with commendable good sense, avoided all danger of frostbite by keeping within the shelter of their wigwams. the deserted avenue was therefore a most dreary spectacle, and the gathering shadows of night hanging over the grim pass in the background did not tend to enliven the gloom of the scene. "and to think that for the last fortnight i hae heard nothing but stories o' american grit, american hardiness, american--everything," soliloquised mac, sarcastically; "yet every deevil o' them is frichtened o' catchin' cold--but hallo! what's this?" he directed my gaze towards a flaring poster nailed to a tree. we approached, and read the rude notice. "in the skagit hall to-night. grand concert. miss caprice, of new york, the world-famed variety actress, will hold the camp in thrall. leave your guns at home, and come early to avoid the rush. n.b.--poker tables have been fixed up for the convenience of the audience." the last clause gave the key to the whole concern. miss caprice--whoever that might be--was merely an extra attraction. appended was a weird diagram purporting to be a sketch of the aforesaid miss caprice in the intricacies of one of her dance specialities. mac shuddered and looked pained. "this is maist decidedly no place for a white man," he asserted, with a sigh. then we turned and headed back for the _skagit_, where in the later hours the world-famed artiste was billed to disport herself. as we passed by a large log structure set back among the trees, i was surprised to hear a husky voice call out to us, and while we hesitated the door of the hut swung open, and soapy sam appeared and beckoned mysteriously. he apparently had discarded his armoury, but i was not disposed to trust much to appearances, at which our old enemy looked considerably aggrieved. "i bear no grudge, boys," he said. "no man can say that soapy sam went back on his word. you downed me fair." "then what is it?" i inquired suspiciously. "ye must admit, soapy, ma man," added mac drily, "that your reputation even among yer ain folk is no' just rosy." but soapy was evidently determined not to be offended by anything we might say. he approached with hands extended in token of good faith, and, noting this, we stayed our progress and waited wonderingly to hear what he wished to speak. he did not enlighten us much, however. "i say, boys," he whispered when he came near, "can you both swim?" mac nodded. "but it wouldna be a pleasant diversion in this weather," he remarked, with a shudder. "then don't go near the _skagit_ to-night," said soapy impressively. "there's a storm rising, and i shouldn't wonder if the old barge bursts her moorings before morning." he was gone in an instant, and mac and i gazed at each other in dismay. "what can he mean?" i said. "heaven knows," growled mac; "but we'll likely find out before very long. he's a gey slippery customer, is soapy, an' no' easily understood, i'm thinkin'." we continued on our course meditating deeply, but, no solution of the mysterious warning presenting itself, it escaped our minds utterly in the noisy excitement that prevailed on our return to the _skagit_. o'connor, the proprietor, was all agog with the importance of his position as master of ceremonies; he was busily superintending the placing of a rickety old piano when we made our appearance, and he immediately seized on mac for a song during the evening, a favour which was most promptly refused. "miss caprice an' me wouldna suit on the same programme," was the worthy diplomatist's excuse. "get black harry an' soapy sam--" "soapy sam is barred this circus," sternly interrupted o'connor. "i'm running a concert to-night, not a funeral undertaking establishment." assuredly soapy sam's prowess was no mean factor to be considered. at p.m. prompt--as advertised--the entertainment began. the room was crowded with truly all sorts and conditions of men, and the air reeked with tobacco smoke. the piano manipulator--a bewhiskered and groggy-looking personage in top-boots--took his place with stately grace as befitted the dignity of his office. he ran his fingers clumsily over the keys as if seeking for some lost chord or combination, which, however, he did not find, and then he rattled out an ear-shattering melody in which the audience, after a moment's pause, joined lustily. in the midst of the uproar thus let loose a gaudily-bedecked creature of the female persuasion, wearing a grin that almost obliterated her features, appeared on the raised stage at the end of the saloon, and joined in the pandemonium, her shrill voice screaming out the touching information that there would be "a hot time in the old town to-night," which coincided with the item on the programme. this was miss caprice--a type of the "noble and enduring" women whom recent "klondike" novelists have portrayed so tenderly in their "realistic" romances. heaven forbid that the respectable british public should be thus deceived. there was no woman with any claim to the name on the long trail in these days. it would be impossible to describe the course of that memorable "concert." it continued in spasms--or turns, which i believe is the correct term to use--far into the night, with occasional interruptions in the shape of fights and wordy altercations among the poker players, diversions which lent pleasurable variety to the entertainment, though now and again it seemed as if a funeral or two would surely result therefrom. but all smoothed off harmoniously under the influence of miss caprice's moving melodies, which always were turned on at opportune moments. mac said that her voice was like unto the buzzing of a steam saw in cross-grained wood, but perhaps he was prejudiced, or his artistic senses a trifle too fine. anyhow, she pleased the multitude mightily, and they roared out their appreciation boisterously at the conclusion of each of her vocal exercises, and implored her to continue her soothing ditties unendingly. the too free use of the flowing bowl was probably accountable for the warmth of their approval; but miss caprice, having indulged in equal degree with her admirers, was getting less and less able to trill forth sweet sounds for their edification, and matters were fast beginning to assume a by no means inviting aspect. several times during the progress of events mac and i endeavoured to make an unobtrusive exit, but all to no purpose. slowly the time dragged on its weary course, then suddenly i became aware that the old _skagit_ was rising with the incoming tide. she swayed cumbrously once or twice, and her rotten timbers creaked and groaned dismally under the strain, but no one seemed to consider these indications worthy of attention, and the roystering chorus went on without interruption. at intervals i could hear vague voices calling excitedly without, and i guessed that the men who had built their homes in the sand were having a bad time. another half-hour passed. by this time the taste of the audience had reached the sentimental stage, and they loudly clamoured for a song suited to their altered temperament. the accompanist, however, persisted in playing the "hot time" tune to everything, so he was discharged with ignominy by the scornful prima donna, who announced in broken accents that she would give a rendering of "ashtore" without musical assistance, which was most unwise on her part. still, she persisted at her task, and got to the end of the first verse without mishap; but as she screamed out the last wailing notes of the chorus the old _skagit_ gave a sudden lurch, and sent her reeling head foremost into the centre of the room. "what's the matter with the darned barge?" howled several indignant voices among the crowd, but no answer was forthcoming. the _skagit_ at that moment was seized with convulsions, and rolled and pitched in a most unaccountable manner. "howlin' blazes!" yelled black harry. "the happy home must have broken loose." the rush that followed is beyond description. mac and i, being less affected by the motion of the hulk than the majority, reached the deck first. away far back to the right the lights of skagway shimmered out over the smooth waters of skagway bay. to the left the faint illuminations of healy's store at dyea shone at the head of the chilcoot inlet, along which great seas were rolling in from the main channel. we had drifted out with the ebbing tide, and we were now being borne onwards by the uninterrupted ocean gales. if we escaped being dashed to pieces against the rocky bluffs of the peninsula, we might be driven ashore on the mud banks at dyea; but it was certain that the _skagit_ could not return to her wonted anchorage that night. loud and deep were the curses that now arose from all on board. "it's soapy sam's work," howled o'connor. "he must have cut the moorings. he said he would do it." then i remembered soapy's warning, but held my peace, and while the men raved, and threatened, and prayed in turn, the old _skagit_ dashed on her new course, buffeted by the great seething rollers crowding in from the sea, and spinning like a top in the swirling waters. crash! at last we had struck, and the surging waves swept over the deck in a copious flood, and the night was filled with the shrieks of the frenzied band, who feared the worst; but it was only a sand bar after all, the first of a series of similar obstacles that bar the dyea channel at high water. "we could never have got round here ourselves," muttered mac, as we stood watching the slowly-receding waves. "it is a fact that it's a gey ill wind that blaws naebody good." in a short space the _skagit_ lay high and dry where she had been deposited, and for the first time we learned that the dyea bar stretches out three miles from the village. but i was satisfied. as mac had implied, the _skagit_ had unconsciously done us a service of no mean order in transporting our outfit nearer the chilcoot pass. with calm contentment he and i sought peaceful slumber in the humble quarters allotted to us earlier in the day, while the rest of the ship's company--including miss caprice--started to climb the dividing mountain ridge to skagway on the trail of the elusive soapy. shooting the white horse rapids it was a month later when we reached the shores of lake linderman _en route_ for the frozen north. the chilcoot pass had presented an almost impassable barrier to our advance; a light film of snow clung to the bare rocks and filled the numberless crevices of the "summit"--that last grim climb, where the dyea trail mounts all but perpendicularly upwards to the blizzard-swept glacier cap of the pass--and no room for foothold could be traced. it would be impossible to describe that frightful climb. when we reached the top and saw far below the twisting line of indian "packers," who seemed to stick like flies to the white wall, we could not understand how the ascent had been accomplished. crater lake, on the "other" side, was covered with a broad sheet of ice which was not sufficiently strong to bear our sleighs, or weak enough to allow of a passage being broken for our portable canvas boat. here we were delayed many days, laboriously dragging our outfit to a less lofty and more congenial climate. long lake, deep lake, and mud lake were successfully negotiated in turn; their waters glistened cold and cheerless, surrounded by the great snowy peaks that were rapidly opening out into the magnificent yukon valley. far down in the hollow, seemingly in a sunnier and well-timbered spot, nestled lake linderman, and beyond, the yukon channel could be traced between the ever-widening mountain ranges. we had packed sleighs in our outfit, not expecting to use them until we reached the klondike river, and how successful they might prove should it be necessary to force a trail across the frozen waters was a matter for conjecture. [illustration: the chilcoot pass.] at this time linderman's shores were the scene of much bustle; many intending voyagers were building their boats in feverish haste, for they knew that the elements must soon lay firm grip on the waters, and render their work useless. major walsh, the canadian administrator of the yukon territory, had just made his appearance from over the skagway trail, and he was all eagerness to proceed. he immediately bought--at fabulous prices--the boats that were built, and, without a day's delay, set sail northwards with his staff. two days after the major's departure, i succeeded in purchasing a twenty-feet "dorie" from a disheartened miner who had decided to return to dyea, and wait for the ensuing spring. i need not detail our journeyings for the next few days. linderman was sailed over within two hours, then the half-mile porterage between it and lake bennet was accomplished after much labour. this latter lake is twenty-eight miles in length, its northern extremity narrowing down to a deep and swift-flowing channel, which extends but a few hundred yards before expanding into a broad, shallow lake or lagoon, colloquially known as "caribou crossing." the current here is sluggish, and the water abounds in shoals and sandbanks, which at that time were a sore trial to the adventuresome navigator with his precious freight of flour and other necessaries. tagash lake forms the next link in the great lake chain of the yukon, and it stretches full twenty-nine miles, then contracting to a fierce-flowing stream by which the canadian customs offices are now stationed. beyond this is marsh lake, and here it was that our troubles began. not a breath of wind stirred the waters of the lake, and our crudely-built dorie, containing , pounds of flour and , pounds of miscellaneous foodstuffs, ploughed slowly through the wide expanse to the accompaniment of much wheezing and groaning of oars, and an endless string of forcible expletives that burst from the lips of my stalwart companions, who provided the motive power of the ungainly craft. the favouring wind had died away, and, unaided by the sails, we could make but little headway over the still water. the weather had become strangely cold considering the earliness of the season, and i was almost benumbed as i sat in the steersman's perch, directing the course by sundry sweeps of a great-bladed indian paddle, which i wielded with both hands. "keep it up, boys," i encouraged. "we are more than half-way through the lake." "twa miles an 'oor," grunted mac between his efforts. "this is the worst boat i ever pulled." stewart, his companion, another brawny scot who had joined me at dyea, rested his oar for a moment to breathe a sympathetic swear word of much intensity; then together they bent to their labours, and the rasp of the oars, and the brief swish of the eddying pools created, alone broke the deadly quiet. towards nightfall i was surprised to notice here and there large sheets of ice on the lake surface, and occasionally our heavily-laden boat would grind against these obstacles, shouldering them off with much effort: then my oarsmen's long sweeps would rend and split them as they passed alongside. it was very plain that the yukon headwaters were fast freezing over. "we'll have to keep going all night, boys," i said, "for we'll be ice jammed if we camp anywhere around here." the fierce torrent issuing from the end of the lake and rushing towards the dread white horse rapids would in all probability be free from ice--if we could reach that far. strenuously my companions pulled at their oars. the gloom deepened, then the stars came out, and by their feeble light i could distinguish far ahead a scintillating field of ice. the sight caused me almost to despair--we had been sailing since early morning, and were tired and very hungry. before i could get the head of our boat turned inshore, it had crashed through several flaking sheets, and immediately after i realised that we were hopelessly in an ice maze from which there seemed no exit. "we'll gang straight on," said mac, with determination, and he levered powerfully with his oar against the frosted masses. a quarter of an hour passed, then the up-turning stem of the dorie went thud against an immovable barrier, and i knew that we were indeed ice-jammed beyond the possibility of forcing a passage with the oars. nor could we return, for the ice-pack we had negotiated for miles was now seemingly welded together in one solid mass. cautiously mac put his moccasined foot over the prow and bore heavily on the glittering ice; it neither strained nor yielded. with a fervent malediction he jumped on "shore," and felt the edge of the sheet. "it's mair than twa inches," he said sorrowfully. "hoo can we get through this?" very sadly we got out of our boat, and, taking the cooking utensils, the tent, and some flour and coffee, sought a sheltered spot among the dense timber on the lake side. soon we had almost forgotten our woes, and were regaling ourselves with copious draughts of coffee and much hard damper. from our tent door we could see our boat stuck fast amid the ice. how we were to get it free i could not well imagine. in the morning, however, we awoke with renewed energy and more hopeful hearts. "we cannot have far to go, boys," i said. "we'll cut down a couple of trees and use them to break a passage." after breakfast we lost no time in making the effort. armed with the heavy logs, we re-embarked, and soon the ponderous hammers had begun their work and a passage was slowly made towards the yukon. with great reluctance our boat moved ahead, leaving a trail of glittering ice boulders. mac leaned over the bow and opened the channel, while stewart and i belaboured the masses that closed in on either side. about midday we neared the end of the lake, and the channel beyond appeared a rippling, crackling flood of jagged ice-floes. we felt the suction of the current long before we had reached the limit of the ice-field. the sheets became thinner and broke away readily, so that the oars came again into play, and we crashed onward impetuously on the bosom of an irresistible stream. at last we were free, and our boat dashed madly into the narrow egress, bumping, grinding, and rocking against the detached fragments of ice that appeared everywhere. with a great effort we managed to slow our craft before coming into contact with a sharp jutting rock that reared high in the middle of the stream, and then we found that it required all our energies to evade the miniature icebergs that rushed alongside. these floating dangers looked harmless enough, yet they were fully six inches deep in the water, and contact with them would result in much damage to the planks of our dorie. several times, indeed, we were almost overturned by colliding with unusually large floes. in another hour we had nearly navigated the extent of miles's canyon, and only several hundred yards ahead i noticed major walsh's flotilla, buffetting the seething waters cumbrously, while the men at the oars strained every muscle to escape the perils that abounded in their course. "we're not far away from the white horse, boys," i said to my sturdy henchmen, who were working away like galley slaves. they ceased their labours for a moment to look round, and at once our vessel swung about and drifted dangerously near the rocky river steeps. "we maun keep a way on her," said stewart. "let's ken when we're through," said mac, and their oars cleft the water like the paddle floats of a fast river steamer. the current was flowing at the rate of ten miles an hour, and to keep a steering way on our unwieldy barge was, as may be understood, no easy matter. frantically i swung my paddle and strove my utmost to avert the calamity that every moment seemed to threaten us. we were rapidly gaining on major walsh's outfit. he had four boats in all, three of them being clumsy barges laden entirely with provisions. these latter were manned by several members of the north-west mounted police, who worked their oars from difficult-looking perches among the flour sacks. the police boats, however, steered a very erratic course, sometimes being carried forward almost on their beam ends. i guessed that the heavily freighted craft had become unmanageable; certainly the steersmen seemed to have no control. yet i had little time to notice those ahead, for our own "clipper" required every attention. "keep her going, boys," i yelled, as i worked my steering paddle with a will, evading rocks, boulders, and ice floes in turn. suddenly the white dashing surf of the rapids came into view, the river narrowed to a fraction of its former width, and over the cataract a jagged sea of the dangerous floes crackled and roared into the abyss beyond. i saw the major's first boat fly like an arrow from the bow into the heart of the boiling foam; it careened dangerously on taking the sweep, then righted itself and disappeared into the flying mists. "steady, mac!" i cried, as our craft entered the race. the dense spray almost obscured the great deflecting rock, and we rushed seemingly to destruction. then, before my eyes, there appeared an awful spectacle. faster than i can write the words--one, two, three--each of major walsh's three boats reared high in the sleety mist and overturned one after the other as they took the curve. "let her go, boys," i bellowed. "bend to it." the crucial moment had arrived; we were enveloped in foam, and were dashing straight towards the torrent-deflecting bluff. i leaned far back over the stern of our half-submerged boat, and with a mighty stroke of the paddle swung her head round, and we grazed death by barely half a dozen inches. [illustration: after the rapids.] [illustration: klondike-bound miners and their outfits on lake linderman.] a moment more and we were floating in almost placid waters. beside us bobbed three smashed boats. major walsh stood sorrowfully on shore assisting dripping men from the water. "it's all over, boys," i said to my crew; "you can ease off now," and i steered for the beach and lent my aid in the work of rescue. the half-drowned canadians were dragged ashore gasping and almost senseless, and while we scanned the grim waters anxiously for a trace of one still missing, his body was tossed at our feet by the relentless waves. soon after, the sand was littered with sacks of flour, and beans, and miscellaneous foodstuffs. several camps were in evidence around this melancholy spot, erected by men who had lost their all in the rapids, and were only waiting a chance to return to civilisation. they eagerly accepted the major's offer to purchase their scanty outfits, and without loss of time that intrepid old indian fighter had embarked again for the north. to him it was a race with the elements, but the elements won after all, and compelled him to make his winter camp at big salmon river, forty miles further north, where we overtook him a few days later. "it's no use my lads, you can't do it!" he said, on my reiterating my intention of proceeding onwards. "why, the river's frozen solid from here to st. michael's." "then we'll put skids under the old boat and make her into a sledge," quoth mac, drily, and i hailed the suggestion with encouragement. we duly arrived at dawson city after many days and weeks of ceaseless struggle with the elements on that long and terrible icy trail, and our coming was received with rejoicings by the few half-starved miners who at that time peopled the "city." we had proved the feasibility of an over-ice route to dyea. the land of the thron-diucks the klondike valley in that winter was the scene of many stirring incidents. owing to the non-arrival of the canadian government commissioner and his police no law or order prevailed. to make matters worse the utmost bitterness existed between the canadian and american sections of the community, each of whom claimed the rich gold-bearing territory as being within their country's boundary. quarrels more or less serious were consequently of every-day occurrence. however, the following incident involves no harrowing description of these fierce skirmishes--though it might have led to a most sanguinary encounter with the _true_ owners of the land. accompanied by "cap." campbell and "alf" mackay, two well-known miners, my party set out on a prospecting expedition into the mountains flanking the upper reaches of the klondike river. we had one dog, a powerful mastiff, named dave, which had proved an invaluable companion to me on our earlier prospecting journeys. previous to this we had been very successful in our quest for the yellow metal, having located three creeks rich in the precious golden sand. but our eagerness seemed likely to cost us dear, for our store of foodstuffs had become wonderfully small, and we were many days' journey from our camp on skookum gulch, where were our headquarters. the return journey proved to be more difficult than we had anticipated; the weather had been very severe for the last few days, and the snow on the hillside was hard and dangerously slippery. "we'll try a short cut over the mountains, boys," said mackay, as we strove vainly to reach the frozen river far beneath. the klondike takes many twists in its erratic course, and it so happened that if we could cross a mountain spur we should strike the trail only a few miles from eldorado creek. "we'll make the attempt," i said, and mac and stewart concurred with emphatic ejaculations. one sleigh carried the possessions of the whole party, and it was tugged along by our combined efforts, including the assistance of dave, who struggled in his harness in the leader's position. at last we surmounted the great glacier-capped ridge and gingerly made a trail through a narrow ice-bound gulch issuing from the crystal dome and marking a long line of gigantic ice boulders far into the wooded slopes beyond. we slid, and clambered, and buffeted with the snow wreaths and intervening ice fields for over an hour, and then the gully led us across a thickly-timbered flat well sheltered from the elements by the surrounding mountains. at this stage we were, to judge by the lay of the country, but a few miles from the main channel; but the afternoon was far advanced and darkness was quickly closing over the valley, so that further progress was rendered difficult. we were looking about for a suitable camping ground when mac, who had been closely examining the landscape, gave a howl of delight. "injuns!" he roared, "i see injun hooses!" sure enough there appeared, nestling among the drooping pines, a straggling array of indian huts and several totem poles. before i could restrain them, my henchmen dropped their sleigh ropes and rushed impetuously towards the supposed settlement, but their moccasined feet stuck deeply in the soft snow under the trees, and, using my snowshoes to good effect, i succeeded in rounding up the doughty pair before they had gone far. "it's an indian village," i explained, "and not a circus." "i ken weel what it is," indignantly howled mac. "hiv i no seen injuns afore? when i wis oot on the pampas o' sooth america--" but i listened no further, and stewart condoled with his comrade in well chosen words of sympathy. "this is nae country for us, mac," said he. "a lot o' injun hooses, wi'--wi' chunks o' caribou hangin' inside, an' we maunna touch them!" he almost wept at the thought. "howlin' blazes, boys!" shouted the captain, "them injuns'd make ye into mince pies at oncet; ye wur committin' sooicide!" but mackay smiled broadly and winked reassuringly at mac, whereupon that gentleman began to chuckle audibly. "we've nae floor, an' nae bacon, an' nae beans--nae naething," he said meaningly. "if you have no 'jeckshuns,'" added mackay, addressing me with much deliberation, "we'll camp a leetle furrer down." i had no objections whatever. if i had, it might not have mattered much, for my warlike retainers seemed on the verge of mutiny. so we proceeded on our way, cautiously and silently, keeping in the densest shadows, and as far distant from the village as we could conveniently get. ten minutes later our tent was fixed and our camp fire blazing brightly; and stewart, with a lugubrious countenance, busied himself preparing the last of our hoarded stores. our fare was certainly meagre and unsatisfying, and unfortunately the keen air had given us extremely healthy appetites. i am inclined to think, when i recall the matter, that my share, as doled out by stewart, with many a sigh at its diminutive proportions, was unnecessarily meagre, and purposely served so by that wily individual in order to destroy any conscientious scruples i might have. if that was his purpose it succeeded admirably, for when my humble repast was finished i felt hungrier than ever, and had not the ghost of a scruple left. "talkin' about injun villages," began mackay, when the cooking utensils had been cleared away, "i've niver seen wan yet that hadn't a winter storehouse of dried salmon and cariboo somewheres handy." "ye're a man efter ma ain heart," beamingly interrupted mac, and stewart murmured: "dried cariboo!" and smacked his lips. "as i was discoursin'," continued mackay, "them injuns hiv always got rations hid away in their wigwams." "likewise a few tommy-hawks an' an assortment o' clubs," grimly edged in the captain. no one seemed anxious to say anything in a direct sort of way, although the general meaning was plain enough. "to cut it short, boys," i ventured to remark, "you are in favour of visiting the village to-night?" "fur reasons which it ain't necessary to shout out loud--precisely," answered mackay. after that further speech was superfluous, and we made hurried preparations for our marauding journey. the indians at this time were very hostile towards the white invaders of their country, and there was little reason to hope that they would either barter or sell any of their stores to us. there is a proverb which states that "necessity knows no law," and as we were in rather a sad plight we agreed with it to the letter; there may have been room for some slight condonation of our errors of reason at such a time. about eight o'clock that night we sallied out, leaving mac with the dog in charge of the sleigh, with instructions to clear out lively should he hear a revolver shot. the worthy mac was much disgusted with his lot, and gave vent to his annoyance in no stinted terms. "it wis ma idee at first," he grumbled, "an' it's gey hard fur a man tae be sacrifeeced tae wait here a' the time." "you've got the healthiest job, my friend," said the captain, "an' you ought to be durned well pleased." the moon shone brilliantly, illuminating the open snow patches and shooting down through the heavy foliage myriad rays of dancing light. i remember well how we had hoped for darkness, and how nervously we crept along seeking the shelter of the deepest shadows. a death-like stillness reigned; the thermometer in camp had registered degrees below zero, and we knew that the mercury would keep falling till midnight. our faces were quickly framed in icicles, and a thin dazzling frost draped us from head to foot. we presented truly ghost-like figures, but we were too much engrossed with other matters to notice our strange appearance. soon we arrived within sight of the village, and stealthily we manoeuvred from tree to tree until we were but a few yards distant from the largest logged structure. and still not a sound was heard; the frosted edifices showed no sign of life within. "seems to me we're in luck," chuckled mackay, gazing on the desolate scene with evident enjoyment. "the population has evidently gone out huntin' bear or moose deer, or some sich quodroo-ped, and thar shid therefore be no call fur any skirmish. put up your guns, boys," he added, "there's nary soul in the village." we were all greatly relieved at this, yet it was with a feeling of deep humiliation that i approached the most imposing of the houses and began to investigate the best and surest means of forcing an entry. i had seen a few indian buildings in my travels, but this one was unlike any design i had ever witnessed. there appeared to be two heavily-barricaded wooden windows in the usual places, but search as we might, no door could be found. "we'll try another," said mackay, loath to acknowledge that the peculiar structure was beyond his comprehension. we examined each one--there were six in all--but they were alike in every particular, save that the one which had first received our attention was larger than the others, and had a very imposing totem pole in its foreground. "the first was the most likely, boys," i said, "we'll go back to it." and back we went. stewart was now working up something approaching a righteous wrath against the "heathen sort o' buildin's." "i'll shin mak' a door," he said, with emphasis, bracing his shoulders; then something caught his eye on the rough planking walls, and he beckoned to me mysteriously before applying his energy towards their demolition. "what is it?" asked mackay impatiently. "come and hold a match," i said. he did so, while i laboriously spelled out a series of chinook characters which had evidently been cut deep into the wood through the agency of some sharp instrument, most probably a tomahawk. the result was rather mystifying, for, translating into english, i read twelve names ending with the words, "_chief of the thron-diucks_." eleven of the names were simply unpronounceable, but the last entry had a decidedly english appearance; it required no translation, and read: "_king james the first, chief of the thron-diucks_." "we've struck the king's house," said mackay with a laugh. "the old skunk and i hev niver agreed, so i hope he doesn't come along now." "i thought he called himself 'james the second,'" said the captain slowly. but stewart would wait no longer. "staun clear, a'm comin'!" he cried, and his voice rang with shivering distinctness through the air. with a short rush he threw himself against the wooden barrier; the stout timbers bent and quivered, but resisted the shock, and from within came a harsh, tearing sound, terminating in a muffled crash, as of something falling heavily. again and again stewart acted as a battering ram, but only vague echoes rewarded his efforts; the logs were evidently unusually firmly founded. the noises created by these various onslaughts--and ultimately we had simultaneously applied all our energies without avail--had a most demoralising effect upon us, and after each attack we waited breathlessly until the echoes had died away. assuredly, if the indians were within several miles of us, they could not fail to hear the diabolical din we were creating. we had been over an hour at our depredating labours, and i was beginning to wish i had never sanctioned the expedition; then the indefatigable stewart made a discovery. we had hitherto neglected to examine the barricaded holes which seemingly served as windows, deeming them too securely fastened for our nefarious purpose; they were closed from the inside, and were too high in any case to be within reach of stewart's impetuous shoulder, but now our strong man had but lightly pressed the window-guard, and behold! it swung open. his hearty "hurroo" drew my attention. "for heaven's sake shut up!" i whispered angrily. but mackay made even more noise by exploding into a loud laugh, which resounded weirdly over the tree-tops. "good fur you, stewart!" he cried; "now we're right." the captain, like myself, was not very enthusiastic over our night's exploit. "let's get it over quickly, boys," he said. "give me a lift-up, stewart." but stewart had reserved to himself the honour of first entry, and was even then dangling midway through the aperture, and squirming his way forward vigorously. the opening was very small, not more than two feet square, and as i watched my companion scrambling in, i thought that if the level of the floor was lower than the surface without, which is usually the case with indian huts, considerable difficulty might be experienced in making an exit! stewart, however, was apparently troubled by no unpleasant anticipations, and soon a crash, followed by an ejaculation of much fervour, heralded his arrival on the other side of the stoutly-timbered wall. "are you there?" cried mackay, preparing to follow. "whaur did ye think a wis?" came the somewhat surly reply, and the doughty warrior's voice sounded almost sepulchral as it floated out of the darkness. then he added enticingly, "come in, ma man, come in, an' bring a licht wi' ye, fur it's pitch dark, an' an' awfu' smelliferous." to me the insinuating tone of my comrade's voice sounded suspicious, but neither mackay nor the captain noticed anything unusual. "i'll be with you in a jiff, stewart, old man," said the former gentleman, vainly striving to get his head and shoulders through the aperture. but his body was somewhat rotund and made rather a tight fit in the narrow entrance. "push, ye beggars!" he gasped, and the captain and i went to his assistance, only to see him jerk suddenly forward and disappear with a clatter inside, while stewart's voice spluttered out in firm protest, "come awa' in, ma man, an' dinna block up the ventilator." for some minutes longer i waited in suspense, while mackay struck match after match and spoke never a word, and stewart kept up a continual flow of mysterious grunts and sundry forcible expletives. i had a small piece of candle in my pocket, and this i lit; then, with the captain's aid, i thrust my head through the window and surveyed the interior. mackay quickly seized the piece of tallow from my hand, and held it aloft, and then i saw what had baffled the usually fluent descriptive powers of the worthy stewart and his fiery companion. the room was bare save for the presence of several shelves roughly built up in the centre of the floor and reaching almost to the roof, and on each of these shelves a massive oblong box rested, the sides of which were heavily inlaid with silver or some similar metal. the whole structure presented an appearance not unlike a chinese pagoda in miniature; the meaning of the arrangement was more than i could understand. the noises which we had at first heard had evidently been occasioned by the uppermost cases falling from their resting-places, for stewart was examining with much interest one of several of the strange receptacles which were lying on the heavily-logged floorway. as i gazed in mute wonder on the extraordinary scene, i was quickly made aware that a wonderfully-powerful odour pervaded the room. it assailed my nostrils and my eyes, causing me to choke and blink, and finally withdraw my head into the pure air. "it's the thickest perfume i've iver struck," groaned mackay, and he staggered against the weird-looking pagoda. i heard a shuffling rattle, and looking in a second time, saw the spidery monument sway, then fall with a dull hollow crash, scattering its curious freight in all directions. at the same time a yell from stewart all but shattered my little remaining nerve, and he came leaping wildly across the fallen boxes towards the narrow egress. "a'm comin' oot!" he bellowed; then mackay, forcing up behind, and making strenuous endeavours to preserve his usual _sangfroid_, said weakly, "i guess i need a breath of air also, boys." to make matters worse, the captain, who had been warily prospecting around, now came rushing back, gesticulating energetically. "the whole tribe is quite close, and comin' fur us!" he announced in a loud whisper when he came near. here was a predicament. the two eager individuals whose heads were thrust appealingly out of the window, groaned in anguish, for they could not get out without assistance, struggle as they might. "you had better stay right where you are, boys, and we'll come in too," i said to them hurriedly, for the shuffling of many snowshoes now reached my ears, and there was no time to effect a rescue. "heaven knows what's goin' to be the end o' this," muttered the captain as he swung his lank frame through the opening. it took some time for him to wriggle inside, and then i attempted the acrobatic performance necessary to make an entry. i was just a little late, for, looking around before making the final duck inwards i saw a number of wild-looking figures approaching quickly over the snow. the moon then encountered a belt of dense, fleecy clouds, and a welcome darkness enveloped the landscape just as stewart, with a grunt of satisfaction, tugged me ingloriously into the odoriferous realms from which he had been so desperately anxious to escape, and shut the heavy barricade. a few minutes passed, during which time we were all but stifled by the pungent air; then our miseries were forgotten in the danger that threatened. snowshoes hissed and skidded around our shelter, and deep, guttural exclamations in the chinook tongue sounded on every side. and as i pieced together the various monosyllabic utterances, i refrained from translating them to my companions, although i had a dim idea that both stewart and mackay had fully decided that, whatever it might be, the strange structure in which they were was certainly no storehouse for dried caribou or salmon. we had been barely five minutes in the dismal room, yet the time seemed an age. the indians contented themselves with circling round each house in turn, keeping several yards distant from them, for a reason which was now painfully apparent to me. i could stand it no longer. "boys," i said, "we've got to get out of this, lively, for the indians will probably patrol about till sunrise, and half an hour will just about finish me." "an' me," groaned mackay. the captain, however, was not satisfied. "look here, boys," he said, "i don't hitch on to yer meaning a bit. are the injuns afraid to go into their houses, or--i'm hanged if i can make out thish yer circus. is this an injun village, or is it not?" he demanded. there was no need to hide it from him further. "no, captain," i replied, "it's not." "then what place is this?" he asked slowly; and stewart answered him in dolorous tones-- "a graveyaird, cap'n--an injun graveyaird." so it was. the cases contained but the dust of long-deceased warriors, wrapped in blankets which were impregnated with a sickly-smelling scent made by the indians from the roots of certain plants. in the darkness i could not see the captain's face, and for some moments he said nothing, then he spoke, musingly: "james the first" said he, "yes, i might have known, for it is james the second who is now chief of the thron-diucks." the swishing of snowshoes again sounded ominously near. we waited till the indians had passed; then stewart, swinging open the barricade, mackay scrambled up, and was shot forward into the snow with our combined effort. "hurry up, boys," he cried, when he had recovered himself; "they are at the end, and are just turning to come back." breathing heavily, stewart was next propelled into the open; then came my turn, the captain being the tallest, waiting to the last; but tall as he was he could only reach his head and a part of his shoulder through the window, for the floorway was sunk considerably. no time was to be lost. with a howl, stewart gripped the outstretched arm, mackay the exposed shoulder, and both pulled as if for dear life. despite the need for silence, the captain was but human. "howlin' tarnation, you're twistin' my neck off!" he yelled, as he was yanked like a sportive fish on to the glistening snow. "run, ye deevils, run!" roared stewart, himself setting the example. there was much need. scarcely twenty yards away fully a score of tall, bemuffled warriors were speeding towards us, silent and grim, like a raging nemesis. on the impulse of the moment i discharged my revolver as a signal to mac to move ahead; then with a wholesome fear in our hearts we set a course for the camp, where dave, aroused by the revolver shot, was baying loud and fiercely, and skipped over the intervening snow-wreaths at an uncommonly lively rate. whether the indians followed us, or whether they remained to make good the work of our desecrating hands, we never learned, but i rather think they waited to rebuild the tombs of their ancestors. they were certainly not in evidence when we overtook mac, and we gave a simultaneous shout of relief. "whaur's the cariboo ye wis gaun tae fetch?" asked that gentleman in an outburst of righteous indignation. "say nae mair, mac. say nae mair," eloquently pleaded stewart, gripping a rope and feverishly assisting the sleigh on its onward progress. "if you had suffered what i hae suffered this nicht----" his voice failed him, and mac simmered down at once. "was it as bad's that?" said he commiseratingly. "we'd better keep going all night, boys," mackay hastily remarked, with a furtive glance behind. "and to-morrow," he added, more cheerfully, "we'll have a good blow-out at skookum gulch." and so it came to pass. [illustration: pan-washing in skookum gulch.] the finding of "gold bottom" creek as the season advanced the ground hardened so that with our primitive fire-burning methods we could barely thaw more than eighteen inches of gravel in the short day, and even this occasioned tedious labour. the depth of bedrock was sixteen feet, and the frost had penetrated far beyond this level, so that our tunnelling operations along the line of the wash proceeded very slowly indeed. the miners around had begun to flock into dawson to frequent the saloons and gamble away their hardly-earned gold, all declaring that it was too cold to work--the thermometer registered degrees below zero--and soon skookum gulch was almost deserted. "cap." campbell and "alf" mackay alone remained to keep us company. my knowledge of the chinook tongue had been of considerable service to me, and the indians inhabiting the upper thron-diuck valley occasionally visited our camp, bringing many presents of dried salmon and caribou, all of which mac and stewart accepted with voluble thanks. then one day "king james," the chief of the tribe, paid us the honour of a call. "why you dig, mis'r mac?" he interrogated, apparently much mystified to see us excavating the ground. "fur gold, ye heathen," howled stewart, popping his head above the shaft. king james did not understand the full significance of the remark, but smiled indulgently when i translated it, and solemnly inclined his head towards the speaker. "you squaw," he said, "you squaw to mis'r mac." which meant that he considered stewart somewhat presumptuous in addressing a chief of the thron-diucks. after much talk had been indulged in, king james appeared to realise that we were really searching for gold, and had no idea of carrying away or shifting the course of his river; and his dry old face spread out in a broad grin when i explained that much gold, in our country, was equivalent to many squaws. suddenly he turned and strode solemnly towards his sleigh, which was guarded by several richly-robed squaws and half a dozen youthful warriors; and after groping among the bearskin rugs for some time he came back to me, displaying in his greasy palm a beautiful specimen of alluvial gold: it was large and flat, with smooth surface and water-worn edges; it must have weighed at least three ounces. i gazed in bewilderment; the indians rarely looked for gold, which to them was not even so valuable as silver, and the latter metal they used only for making ornaments. mac and stewart were soon by my side, and while we examined the specimen with undisguised interest, king james lit his pipe--a former present from myself--and puffed leisurely, eyeing me the while with a half-amused expression. "what think o' that, mis'r mac?" he asked at length. "it's good stuff, king james," i strove to answer in his language, and with a sigh i offered it back. my surprise was great when he waved it aside right royally, and placing his grimy hand on my shoulder in quite a fatherly manner, he spoke out several sentences rapidly. "hold hard, king james," i cried. "i cannot follow you if you talk in that fashion. come into my tent and have some 'baccy." he smiled benignly, and spoke a few words to the sleigh attendants, who immediately unhitched the dogs and proceeded to build a fire near at hand; then he followed me to my camp and ensconced himself by the stove. i still carried the nugget in my hand, but obeying the old chief's directions, i now placed it in a bottle with my other specimens and sat down beside him. stewart meanwhile turned his attention to culinary matters, and while the billies boiled, king james and i conversed earnestly on matters dear to the indian heart. he was no lover of the white men who had invaded his domain and driven his people to seek the refuge of the mountain fastnesses, and he intimated plainly enough that he should not be sorry to see dawson city speedily deserted by the white intruders. as for gold, the idea of grown men seeking for the yellow metal aroused his keen amusement, and he was very incredulous about my statements as to its value in the wigwams of the white people. after the subject of his woes had been gone into at great length, and our hearty sympathies enlisted, he remained silent for a time as if absorbed in thought. then his eyes surveyed the mining implements and firearms in the tent, and finally rested upon my nugget collection with a newly-awakened sparkle of interest. "you come wi' me, mis'r mac," he said thoughtfully, after a long pause, "heap big bear on thron-diuck; you come wi' king james----" i shook my head vigorously; we were not very anxious to shoot big game at that time, but his hospitality would not be denied. "me show you whar big gold come from. me show you gold bottom," he hastened to add: "too much gold for white men in dawson--me show _you_, mis'r mac." stewart was so astounded at the old chief's last words, spoken in broken english, that he nearly chopped his fingers with the axe instead of the solidified flour he was preparing to bake. "i'll gang," he bellowed. "an' me," growled mac, who, like his comrade, had only understood the last sentence. king james smoked stolidly for a few moments, then patted stewart patronisingly on the back. "you good squaw," he said, gazing at the half-baked flour with much approval, "you come wi' me." the appellation "squaw" by no means pleased the fiery stewart, and he would have burst out angrily had i not restrained him. "yes, i guess we'll go with you, king james," i replied. "i want to see gold bottom creek badly, and i don't anticipate any evil effects from too much gold." and so the compact was made, and old "leatherskin," as stewart promptly dubbed him, smiled softly when i explained to him the workings of my big game rifle, and went into a transport of delight on being presented with a serviceable colt revolver and a box of cartridges. suddenly his face clouded, and he said anxiously-- "only you come, mis'r mac; only you an' squaws." i restrained my companions with difficulty from rushing at him to choke back the objectionable epithet; then an idea struck me. i wanted "cap" campbell and mackay, my adjoining burrowers in the frozen gravel, to accompany me; they had shared with us the plodding uncertainty of things at skookum gulch, and i wanted them to reap some of the benefits attached to the discovery of the mysteriously-famed "gold bottom" before the district was rushed. i could hardly doubt that king james's information was correct, and the specimen given me was sufficient for even the most incredulous-minded person. the inducement was very real indeed, but the chief would only allow mis'r mac an' squaws. "all right, king james," i said, "but i have two more squaws." he eyed me with a look that was fast changing from one of mere friendliness to one of much respect. "you great man, mis'r mac," he grunted. "four squaws? ugh!" when he saw the brawny giants that mac hastily called in, his surprise was unbounded. "good squaws," he chuckled. "what in tarnation does the old skunk mean?" said mackay, and campbell's anger was rising visibly. "look here, boys," i said. "king james has told me of a creek that is lined with gold, and this is a sample"--i showed them the specimen received. "he asks me to go and take charge of the lot, but only myself and squaws. you had better be squaws for once in your lives. _savez?_" they did "_savez_," and made every effort to show their cordiality to the king, who appreciated their advances with tolerant grace, but grinned expansively when he saw their well-filled cartridge-belts. stewart made a triumphant success of his cooking that day, and in honour of the occasion he filled the little "doughboys" with pieces of dried apricots and peaches, and, indeed, everything in that line our larder afforded. so luxurious a repast did he provide that king james sighed regretfully when he rose to go. "you come to-morra', mis'r mac!" he cried when he was rolled up in his sleigh blankets, like, as mac said, an egyptian mummy. "right!" i answered, waving him goodbye. but he had not finished. "be sure bring cook squaw," he murmured contentedly. the long whips cracked and the dogs bounded forward; the shriek of the sleigh-runners effectually drowned stewart's vehement curses; and the king departed. next morning we started out for the indian camp. mac and stewart had the tents struck, and it with the blankets packed in neat rolls on our sleigh soon after sunrise. our rather small store of flour and other necessaries found ample space on the same conveyance, and to this load dave was harnessed. campbell and mackay did not delay us; they were up betimes and had their dog-sleigh ready with ours. the temperature this morning registered degrees below zero, and even while we were engaged tying the sleigh ropes, long icicles formed at our chins and dripped from our eyelashes. "are you ready, boys?" i cried to my freshly-acquired squaws. "right!" they responded with one voice. "gee up, dave," said mac, and with a bound and a shriek our sleigh led the way towards the klondike's unknown source. we were not much concerned about leaving our properties on skookum gulch; it was not likely that any one would "jump" our claims; the weather was too cold for the tender feet of dawson to venture out around the creeks. soon we left the dome in the distance behind, and swiftly we crashed through the powdered snow and blown ice on the main river. no white man, at this time, had explored the head waters of the klondike. in the earlier season i had attempted the task, but was repelled by the deep gorges and grim cañons that marked the river's channel for many miles when near an outlying spur of the "rockies." now we forced a trail far beyond my furthest travel, tracing here and there the track of the old chief's sleigh where the runners had cut deep through the blistered ice. our visages were soon framed in icicles, and our cheeks rendered stiff by a thin film, as of glass, which caused us much pain. mac and stewart ambled beside the staggering dogs, occasionally helping them over obstacles and badly-blown patches. for once they were forced to march in silence, for their mouths were sealed as if by iron bands. the grand cañon was entered soon after midday, and the majestic powers of old king frost had so metamorphosed the dark gorge that we made our trail over the frozen torrent almost nervously. the great stalactites and dripping ice cones shut out the sky completely, and we forged ahead in a vague eerie shadow reflected from the translucent pillars. here and there the roar of the flood echoed from giant clefts in the ice, and caused the glassy walls to quiver and crackle; then again came the oppressive calm, broken only by the dull rumble of the rushing torrent full fifty feet below. it is impossible to picture the grandeur of an alaskan cañon when the elements hold it in thrall; there is nothing like it in the whole world. nevertheless, we were not sorry when we emerged into the comparatively open country beyond, and picked up afresh the track of king james's sleigh which we had been unable to trace in the gorge. our destination could not now be far distant, for the frowning peaks of the rockies loomed directly ahead, and the valley was rapidly becoming lost in the minor ranges that appeared; we were surely near the mystic source of the golden klondike. the dogs never slackened their trot, though now and then they staggered and stumbled over large ridges of blistered ice, which cut their paws cruelly. our moccasins were being quickly reduced to shreds, and our clothing generally had become stiff with the frost and rent in great holes by contact with the brittle, flaking ice. few white men would have dreamed of making such a journey on such a day. i contented myself with that reflection, though probably the miners in their snug huts at dawson would have dubbed us colossal fools for venturing so far back into the indian territory; but gold was always an irresistible incentive. "i reckon," said campbell, coming up from behind, and grimacing frightfully as he spoke, while the ice shivered on his face with the effort, "this is not much of a picnic, is it?" it was some minutes before i could reply, and while i strove to coax the muscles of my mouth to relax without doing serious injury to my features, stewart's hoary visage shook itself clear of its icy sheath with a crackling, splintering sound, and his voice rang out-- "i see the injun camp! hurroo! d----!" the last expression was given in a most sorrowful tone as he felt the blood trickle on his cheeks and freeze into icy appendages. "you've got to think a lot before speaking in this country," i sympathised, but he would not open his mouth again. rounding a bluff, we saw, nestling in the shadow of a great pine-forest, an array of mud huts and tepees covered with caribou skins. many fires were blazing in the vicinity, fed lavishly with logs drawn from the wooded slope behind. a number of king james's subjects superintended operations with unmoved faces; it was a routine to which they had long become accustomed--for bear-fires were very necessary indeed in these parts; bruin had not yet reconciled himself to his winter slumber, and, as i have noted, the klondike valley was infested with various species of his kind. with a sigh of thankfulness i signalled to mac to draw up alongside the largest fire, and he needed no second bidding. a few moments more and we were all eagerly thawing ourselves before the blaze. even the dogs crept as close as the burning logs allowed, and warmed their poor frozen bodies on all sides, turning continually, as if on a revolving toast-rack. from the most imposing hut now came rushing towards us king james, with numerous squaws; and while the king congratulated me effusively on my safe arrival, the squaws beamed coquettishly on my companions, who felt in no wise complimented by their attentions. "they tak' us fur squaws, stewart!" howled mac, more in sorrow than in anger; then i heard them both with much deliberation calculate out the value of the queen squaw's dress as she stood by them, speaking words of welcome in a tongue they could not understand. "it's a rale guid beaver," i heard mac say. "an' what a bonny silver-tip cloak," burst in stewart. "an' the moccasins," continued the first speaker, "are faur ow'r guid fur an injun tae wear." at this juncture i turned anxiously; i thought it very necessary. "for heaven's sake, mac," i said, "leave the squaw's beavers and moccasins alone. we'll get murdered if old king james----" "wha's touchin' their belangin's?" interrupted mac indignantly; but despite his righteous outburst, i knew that he and his doughty comrade would have had little qualms about appropriating the bonny beavers and moccasins also. their logic was vague, but conclusive enough to satisfy themselves. however, with much grumbling they unharnessed dave, and started to erect the tent in a sheltered spot, campbell and mackay having already got their smaller canvas home fixed up. "it's fair disgracefu'," muttered mac, as he pulled on the guy-rope, "tae think o' livin' near injuns! we're comin' faur doon in the world surely." "ye're richt there," spoke stewart mournfully; "bit, man, did ye ever see sic a bonnie beaver?" next morning, when the dim grey light was beginning to appear, we set out to explore the creek containing "too much gold." king james's sleigh led the trail, for which i was truly thankful. the dangerous nature of the route from the indian camp was all too apparent. miniature glaciers hung perilously over each mountain ridge, and formed a sight well fitted to unnerve any man but an indian; and when we crawled over their glassy surfaces, and slid down on the "other" side, it seemed to me that we were running risks enough for all the gold in klondike. we had not gone very far, however, before king james drew up his dogs in the bed of a deep chasm that traced directly from an enormous ice-field overhead. i looked around and saw the frozen channel of the thron-diuck about a hundred yards below; the king had taken us by a "short cut" over the mountains rather than follow the much easier route by way of the main river. for a moment i thought that he had purposely meant us to lose our bearings, but he soon dispelled that fear. "gold bottom here, mis'r mac," he said. "you dig." he measured about a four-feet length on the snow, meaning, i suppose, that we should find bedrock at that level. "you find much gold, mis'r mac, too much gold----" "hold hard!" i interrupted; "i guess we'll deserve all we get. this is the devil's own part of the world we've struck." king james grinned incredulously, but kept silence; and arranging his sleigh rugs, he whipped up his long line of dogs and sped back over the trail we had just traversed. we watched him till his sleigh, careering dangerously, rushed down into the valley beyond. the mining instincts of campbell and mackay now overcame their dislike of our chill and uncompromising surroundings. [illustration: gold-bottom creek.] "it looks likely country," said campbell, "and i shouldn't wonder if that glacier has worn down quite a lot of gold." we were not long in pitching our tents and building several fires to thaw off the icicles that clung to our faces; then we felt much more enthusiastic over our prospects. the timber was plentiful, and close at hand; we were far indeed from the madding crowd. "we'll make a start, boys," i said; "we'll see whether old leather-skin spoke correctly." my two companions were rather disconsolately surveying the scene. "too much gold!" muttered mac in derision. "no vera likely. it wad tak' hundreds o' thoosands o' pounds tae pey me fur ma sufferin's in this god-forsaken country." all day long we kept great logs burning over the frozen gravel silted up on the edge of the channel. slowly we excavated the "dirt" in fragments, picking energetically at it after each fire had been cleared away. the icy body of the creek had evidently long since been formed, for not a drop of water flowed beneath; and after sinking a few feet we came to a level where the frozen mass contracted from the old river-bed, leaving a clear dry space in which a man could almost stand upright. we at once abandoned our shaft, and crawled into the strange cavern formed. the gravel over which the torrent had flowed was dry, and hard as flint. we had reached bedrock on the true channel of the stream, and with water still flowing overhead! a yet unfrozen fluid gurgled in the heart of the great ice column above; the effect was wonderfully beautiful. "i guess we'll stick to the shaft, boys," said mackay; "this looks uncanny," and he scrambled out; the idea of working underneath the flowing stream was too much for him, though he was a veteran miner. campbell and i soon followed his example, leaving mac and stewart, who were not easily daunted, to survey the wonders of nature at their leisure. they at once commenced picking the frozen channel, and the thud! thud! of the blows came to our ears, as we stood by the fire above, as the sonorous notes of a deep-toned bell. already the murky gloom of an alaskan night was fast closing over, though it was yet but two o'clock in the afternoon. thud! thud! thud! went the pickaxes below, and i marvelled at the persistence of my companions, for i knew they could make little impression on the flinty sands. suddenly the echoes ceased, and the sounds of a wordy altercation rumbled up towards us; a few minutes later mac popped his head out of the shaft and beckoned me mysteriously, then disappeared again. wonderingly i let myself down through the narrow aperture and wriggled into the cavern. a strange sight met my gaze. a lighted stump of candle was stuck in the ground, and its pale light, reflected against the glistening roof, gave the scene a somewhat unearthly appearance. stewart was kneeling on the gravel, examining carefully a flat, pebble-shaped stone; beside him was heaped quite a number of similar fragments, and these were evidently the results of my companions' labours, for many hollows in the channel showed where the pebbles had been extracted. when i entered, mac was feverishly rubbing one of the pieces against his moccasined leg. "what kind o' stane dae ye ca' that?" he asked eagerly, handing his prize to me. "i've tell't him it's ironstane," broke in stewart in a convinced tone of voice, "but mac aye likes tae be contrairy." the specimen given me was a rough and rusty-looking pebble, very much water-worn. at first glance it certainly looked like ironstone, and its weight proved it to be either of that nature or--i dared not hoped the alternative. i took my sheath knife and endeavoured to scrape the edges, but they were hard as flint. "a kent it was ironstane," grumbled stewart, yet i was not satisfied. i held the specimen close to the candle-flame for several minutes until it was heated throughout, then i again tried my knife on the edges. the effect was astounding; the rusty iron coat peeled off as mud, and lo! a nugget of shining gold was brought to view. with a howl of delight stewart started up, cracking his head against the crystal ceiling in his haste. "gold!" he shouted, and grabbed at the handful of stones he had collected. "mak' some mair," he said. but there was no need to doubt further; every rusty-coloured pebble unearthed was in truth a fine alluvial specimen of the precious metal, and when scraped each tallied in every characteristic with king james's nugget. the iron coating was but a frozen mud cement which had formed over the irregularities of surface with vice-like tenacity. the bed of the creek was indeed gold bottomed; the king had not stated wrongly. campbell and mackay soon joined us; they had become alarmed at my prolonged absence. "this beats bonanza and el dorado hollow," was the first individual's comment. "well, i'm jiggered!" feebly murmured mackay, gazing blinkingly around. the light danced and shone on the yellow fragments, and sparkled on the crystal dome. the sight was truly gorgeous. even the fabled aladdin's cave could hardly have surpassed the splendours of that alaskan icy vault. it was plain to us that the depth of "pay gravel" could not be more than a few inches at most; the steep declivity of the channel was a sure proof of that fact, and our "find" would not, therefore, take long to work out. it promised, however, to be the richest strike in the klondike valley. the gold being so close to the mother lode, which was, unfortunately, covered by the glacier, was all of a coarse nature; none of the pieces collected came under the pennyweight limit, and one specimen we computed to be at least five ounces.... such is the record of one of our prospecting trips to the glacier streams of the upper klondike, and "gold bottom creek" from that time occupied an honoured place in every miner's reference book. the perils of the trail all through that dread winter no news reached civilisation from the frozen el dorado, no communication had been established with the great mushroom city of the far nor'-west, and only the wildest sort of speculation could be indulged in as to the fate of the pioneer inhabitants of the klondike valley. only too late was the knowledge forced upon the almost fanatical gold-seekers that the iron grip of an arctic winter was upon them, effectually barring retreat and sealing the narrow gates of the country against all further expeditions from the outside. they had lived on in the steadfast belief that the "great american nation" would send in supplies in good time to prevent any likelihood of starvation. but so ignorant was the world regarding the nature of the northern land that many companies continued even at that time in seattle and san francisco to outline in the press their plans for sending stores to dawson in the "coming" winter--this in november, when the elements had already a vice-like grip of the country. several expeditions really started, but so ludicrous were their equipments that they without exception failed to penetrate beyond the coastal barriers--the grim old chilcoot and the murderous skagway trail. and so in the "promised land" the chill november blasts were hushed and the deadly quiet of a december frost reigned supreme. the majority of the miners worked out on the creeks, but when the intense cold forced them to cease their labours they flocked into dawson and idly frequented the saloons, bragging of their riches to their less favoured comrades, and cursing the ungodly nature of the country in forcible language. at this time very few had more than three months' provisions, and the majority were at their last bag of flour. the stores would sell nothing unless at fabulous prices. everything commanded one dollar a pound. even salt, that cheap but necessary commodity, had the same value. baking powder was unpurchasable--there being none. before long one hundred dollars was offered and refused for a sack of rolled oats. the restaurants for a time supplied "meals" at exorbitant charges, yet one by one they had to give out for want of supplies. the end came when seven dollars was asked and given freely for a meagre portion of bacon and beans--the staple food of the arctics. only a few days did this establishment--"dawson's last hope"--hold out, and then the familiar legend, "no supplies," was posted on the logged doorway. it was only then that the real state of affairs was impressed upon the unthinking people. many tragedies were enacted in that northern mining camp during the weeks that followed. a kind of panic prevailed. short rations was the rule, and starvation only too frequent. there seemed nothing but death ahead for all. on short rations, with the thermometer averaging forty-five below zero! who could view such a prospect with equanimity? thefts of goods were often attempted, and almost invariably death by revolver bullet was the end of the poor hungry would-be thief's career, for the necessaries of life were more strictly guarded than gold. gold could not buy them. many would have given their all gladly for a sack of flour. long before christmas all work was suspended. the population took to their log-huts, and barricaded every nook and cranny in vain endeavour to keep out the cold. daylight appeared at ten o'clock in the morning, and night closed over the camp soon after three. the "city" seemed deserted, all but for the presence of a few dog-sleighs, which were constantly employed in carrying timber from the mountain-side. the strong men who had dared the elements and dragged the gold from the unwilling soil now gave way utterly. the keen air whetting their appetites rendered their existence on short rations a long-drawn-out agony. the weaker element soon fell ill, and then a reign of terror began. fever became prevalent, and the little cemetery soon had to be extended to accommodate the many victims to its fury. a "roll-up" of the miners was by unanimous consent held to reason out the dangerous situation, and it was decided as a last desperate resource to attempt the long overland route to dyea across the treacherous chilcoot pass. until the arrival of my party over the ice none had dreamed that such a journey was practicable. during the heart of an arctic winter, to march seven hundred miles over ice and unfathomed snows! the idea seemed absurd, yet it now became the only hope of life to all. that "roll-up" is pictured clearly before me now, and never again do i expect to be present at a more cruelly dramatic gathering. starvation showed plainly on every face; each white frosted visage was seamed and furrowed as if by a load of care. they were indeed a motley crowd, comprising representatives of all nationalities. to me fell the questionable honour of leadership. i was supposed to know the valley of the yukon better than any present, nearly all of whom had entered by way of st. michael's. "all right, boys," i said, in answer to their request, "my party will make the trail for you as far as big salmon river. then major walsh may be able to advise us what to do." and so the strange company began its long and deadly march. half a dozen dog teams headed the column, after which came men pulling their own sleighs, and at the rear wearily trudged the multitude who carried their all in packs bound with straps to their shoulders. it was a strange and pitiable spectacle at the start; what would it be at the finish? the stewart river was reached in four days, and here the "blown" ice was almost insurmountable. it piled up in great blistering sheets, the elevations in some places exceeding a height of twenty feet. over these obstacles the dog-sleighs crashed, breaking a way for the long trailing human caravan. moccasins were cut into shreds, and clothing soon became tattered and torn. the thermometer had now dropped to fifty degrees below zero, and many became frost-bitten. not a few lost the use of their arms, and marble-hued noses were common indeed. sometimes i would get well ahead of the main party, and from a convenient point watched them approach and pass. a stranger sight could not be imagined. the staggering line of dogs came first; over their lowered heads the long whips cracked, and the poor brutes bounded forward with nerve and life in every motion. then the weary sleigh-pullers passed in solemn array, shoulders bent and bodies leaning forward. their sleighs were pulled along to the accompaniment of the harsh grinding sound emitted from the iron runners on the frozen snow. lastly, the "packers" straggled in indian file, and they were surely a sight to be viewed with mingled feelings. tall men, short men, stout men--and they were few--and thin men followed in miscellaneous order. some were lame, and limped painfully; some had their heads bandaged, many wore nose coverings, and a few were minus the nose altogether. strange it was to see at intervals, when this almost weird procession lagged to the rear, how strenuously they would endeavour to recover ground, and when with one accord they broke into a run the spectacle offered would have been laughable had it not been so seriously, so truly a race for life. [illustration: dawson city.] salmon river was reached at last. five men had died on the trail and two were seriously ill, though they dragged themselves along, helped occasionally by the dog-sleighs. here i formally gave over my responsible charge to campbell and mackay, and having been entrusted with mails and despatches for the coast, with barely a halt pushed on ahead with mac and stewart. our stores had diminished greatly beyond my calculations, and it was evident that an extreme effort must be made to increase our rate of travel. yet despite our utmost endeavours, when we entered upon the snowy wastes of marsh lake we pulled a sleigh on which reposed a few furs, a bag of mineral specimens, and about as much flour as would make one good square meal. for the last several days our progress had been severely hampered by the increasing depth and softness of the snow filling the valley of the yukon as we approached nearer the dreaded pass. our daily march since leaving the northern capital had rarely fallen below twenty-eight miles, until the unfrozen white horse rapids had stayed our advance and caused us to make a wide _détour_; but now, do what we might in our semi-famished condition, we could barely travel twenty miles in as many hours, and full eighty miles yet intervened between us and the sea. on this day we had been on the trail since sunrise, and the darkening shadows of night were already beginning to creep over the billowy wastes, though it was but two hours after noon. "we are near the end of the lake, boys," i shouted encouragingly, as i noticed the failing efforts of my companions. "we must try and reach tagash river to-night." mac groaned dismally, and dave emitted a plaintive howl as he struggled in his harness. then stewart, who had grown wofully cadaverous of late, stopped and addressed his compatriot. "i mind, mac," said he, "that there used to be an injun village aboot here." "i hae a disteenct recollection o' the place," returned mac shortly, bending to his labours afresh. "we are passing that same village now," i cried cheerily. "that makes ten miles since our last halt." the sleigh stopped with a jerk; half a dozen log-huts with a like amount of totem poles, were plainly observable among the dense timber on shore. "them injuns must have something for eating in they houses," spoke mac thoughtfully, gazing at the rude structures intently. "but we have nothing to barter, and we know they won't sell," i broke in impatiently. he made no reply to my remark, but turned to stewart, who was evidently in a fit of deep mental abstraction: "what's your idea, stewart, ma man?" he asked insinuatingly, and that individual responded promptly. "i am wi' ye, mac, every time, but i hope it's no' a graveyard like the last we tackled." they threw down their sleigh-ropes simultaneously, and were half-way to the village before i had recovered myself. "hold hard!" i roared. "what----" mac's substantial figure spun round at once. "we'll be back in a meenit," he whispered mysteriously. i loosened dave from his harness, and hastened after the doughty pair, expecting every instant to hear sounds of deadly strife, but all remained silent as a tomb, and i shuddered with painful recollections. i found them cavorting around the largest edifice in the group in a manner that under different circumstances would have seemed ludicrous. "there's naebody in the hooses," cried stewart gleefully. "the whole tribe must have gone out moose-hunting." not infrequently a village is entirely deserted in this way, and i heaved a sigh of relief. "but they may be back at any time," i said, glancing fearfully round. mac shrugged his shoulders; "i think, stewart," he remarked in a most matter-of-fact tone, "i think the door is the weakest place after all." i swallowed my scruples at a gulp, and became interested in the proceedings at once. strangely enough, for the moment we all seemed to have forgotten how very similarly our first escapade of the kind had opened. crash! mac's broad shoulder butted the barricaded doorway right ponderously, but though the heavy logs quivered and bent, they resisted the shock. and now stewart braced himself for the attack, and together they hurled themselves against the wavering supports. there was a resounding echo as the entire structure gave way, and with many chuckles of delight the adventurous couple disappeared within, while i remained outside, my rifle at full cock, listening for the tramp of moccasined feet that would herald the indians' return. i heard mac strike match after match, muttering discontentedly the while, and stewart's dissatisfied grunts filled me with dismay. was our depredating raid to go unrewarded? "there's jist the sma'est bit o' caribou ye could imagine in the hale hoose," snorted mac indignantly. "it wis high time the deevils went huntin', i'm thinkin'." "let's try the other hooses," counselled stewart. at that moment dave gave a long, low growl, and immediately an indescribable chorus of yells issued from the forest near at hand. then, to my horror, i perceived numerous dark forms speeding towards me. instinctively i levelled my rifle, then by an extreme effort of will lowered it again. we were surely in the wrong. "come on, boys," i cried, "we must run for it." "haud on till i get that bit o' caribou," murmured mac desperately. a moment more, and we made a wild burst in the direction of the sleighs, pursued by a number of stalwart warriors, whose vengeful shouts inspired our failing steps with an unwonted activity. "let's stop and fecht the deevils," implored mac, as we grabbed the ropes of our sadly-light conveyance, and even at that juncture he examined his stolen piece of caribou with critical interest. "it's no' fit for human use," he protested angrily. "i'm no' goin' to run for nothing." but the yelling horde at our heels made him think better of it, and muttering sundry maledictions he hitched on to the rushing sleigh, and lumbered manfully alongside his gloomy compatriot. fear did certainly lend wings to our flight, and by the time we had reached the outlet leading to tagash lake, our pursuers were far in the rear, the obscuring darkness probably being much in our favour. and then, as we hastened over the shelving ice on the connecting river, we beheld a sight that drew from us ejaculations of sheer chagrin. a great fire blazed on the shores of the frozen stream, illuminating in the background a solidly-built logged erection, and showing clearly the outlines of a giant union jack fastened to a tree close by. not a soul was in sight, but i could fancy the comfortable group inside the generous dwelling whiling away the time before a glowing stove or indulging in a luxurious dinner. "it's a government station," i said drearily. "it must have been put here just before the ice closed in." we halted for an instant, and gazed wistfully at the snug police camp. here surely we might obtain some little stores for our urgent needs, but how dared we ask? the indians were british subjects, and would indeed be treated with more consideration than we might expect, for it is the policy of the canadian authorities to protect, even to the outside extreme, the rights of their dusky subjects. then, again, we had been long on the trail, and our clothing was rent and ragged. the police might judge us by appearances, and then--i did not care to think what might happen. many thoughts flitted through my mind as we stood there hesitatingly, and my worthy companions, by their silence, showed that they too were thinking deeply. the unmusical cries of our pursuers jarred on our meditations with seemingly awakening vigour. "they've got our trail," i said sadly. "we'd better get along." "civilisashun be d----d," fervently, if ambiguously, muttered mac and stewart almost with one voice, and we staggered out into the bleak, snowy plains of tagash lake, and pursued a dogged course southward. the tent at caribou crossing it was midnight before we halted, and then we camped on the middle of the frozen lake, and near the entrance to the big windy arm; and here, after a most miserable night, we were forced to abandon the greater part of the stolen venison as being in itself but little satisfying to our urgent needs. we started again before daybreak, steering by compass in the darkness. indeed, it was absolutely necessary that we should keep moving if we would prevent the blood from freezing in our veins. our plight was surely an unenviable one, and as we stumbled on through the ever-deepening snow, mac and stewart cursed the country endlessly in choice vernacular; and even dave, struggling desperately in his harness, found opportunity to give his verdict in hoarse, muffled growls of deep displeasure. "we'll bile the first injun we meet," said stewart solemnly, after several hours had passed in silence, and he shook his head clear of its encompassing deposits of frosted snow and ice, and gazed at our meagre sleigh-load with pensive eyes. "i'm no sae sure that injun is guid for eatin' ony mair than mummy caribou," rejoined mac after much thought. "i mind," he continued ruminatively, "o' eatin' snake sausages in sooth america, an' they were wonderfu' paleetable, but injun?" he shook his ice-enclustered head doubtfully. the day was already drawing to a close; the sun had risen at ten o'clock, and its short arc in the heavens was almost completed. the time at which one usually expects to fortify the inner man had passed in grim silence, and the darkening shadows were creeping over the billowy white waste. "we must reach caribou crossing to-night, boys," i said. "we dare not camp again on the open lake in case a blizzard gets up and wipes us out." the blackness of night enveloped us completely, and the tingling sensation in our cheeks warned us that the frost intensity was far below the zero scale. our moccasins sunk through a powdery fleece so crisp, that it crushed like tinder beneath us, and the steel sleigh-runners whistled harshly over the sparkling beady surface. the stars twinkled and shone brilliantly, and great streaks of dazzling light shot at intervals across the northern sky; the night effects were indeed splendid beyond description, yet we were too much engrossed with more practical matters to wax enthusiastic over astronomical glories. suddenly the sharp hiss-s of a sleigh reached our ears, then out of the darkness came the sound of laboured breathing and smothered growls, as of dogs straining under an undue load. obeying a common impulse our sorely-tried caravan came to a halt, dave whining piteously and pawing the ground impatiently, while my companions peered into the night earnestly, then turned and gazed at me in silence. the hurrying sleigh was fast approaching on a course that would lead it but a few yards to our left. i was on the point of stepping forward to intercept the advancing dog-team which was now showing dimly in the starlight, when one of the two men who accompanied it spoke, and his voice sounded distinctly in the still air. "i thought i heard something," said he. "what could you hear?" answered his companion gruffly. "there can't be any one nearer than the station at tagash, and it's far enough off yet, worse luck." "all the same," reiterated the first speaker, "i'm sure i heard sleigh-runners skidding over the snow. it's mebbe some poor devils coming out from dawson." they were almost beside us now, and i wondered that we had not been noticed. "you'll remember, corporal," came the tones of the doubtful one in hard, official accents, "that on no account can i give out any supplies. i have my own men to provide for." for the same reason that we had hurried past the station at tagash river, i had no desire to bring my party to official notice now; so, inwardly cursing the niggardly captain, i decided to let the team pass without soliciting relief. it was clearly a government "outfit" for the benefit of the men at tagash. at a jerky trot the four leading dogs swept by us, swaying wildly as they pulled in their traces. four more dogs followed, then a heavily-laden sleigh came creaking and groaning through the snow, the runners sunk deep and churning up clouds of vapour which almost hid from view the plump sacks of flour on board. the men came after at an amble, their faces muffled so that they, apparently, could neither turn to the right nor left. i could scarcely restrain my companions at this point from breaking into a vehement denunciation of the police captain and his corporal. they would, indeed, have stormed the sleigh cheerfully, and meted out no gentle treatment to the owners thereof. with energetic pantomimic gestures i implored them to be calm; the team was fast being swallowed up in the gloom, but before it had disappeared from our penetrating gaze a broken sentence floated back to our ears: "pity ... had to leave so much ... caribou crossing ... back to-morrow.... d----d klondikers." for five minutes more we waited in silence, during which time mac and stewart were effervescing to an alarming climax, then we gave full vent to our joy. "ho! ho! ho!" laughed my companions. "pity left so much at caribou! d----d klondikers! ho! ho! ho!" dave, too, seemed to understand the situation, and promptly proceeded to bark out his appreciation; but his exuberance was too noisy, so it was hurriedly checked. "get under way, boys," i said, when my henchmen had recovered their equanimity, "for we'll need to look lively before the trail is blotted out." we had not spoken a word about the matter, yet there existed a perfect understanding between us. if anything edible had been left at caribou crossing we were determined to commandeer it. the well-weighted sleigh had made an easily-observable trail; in the dim starlight the twin furrows formed by the runners glittered and shone like the yeasty foam from a ship's propeller. we carefully directed the prow of our snow-ship into these well-padded channels, and with renewed energy forged ahead, thinking longingly of what might await us at caribou. soon the shadows on either side of the lake drew nearer and nearer, and the steep, wooded shores of the dreary waterway narrowed inwards, so that the feathery fronds of the stately pine-trees were plainly discernible; we were approaching the entrance to caribou crossing. five minutes later we had passed through the narrow channel--it was barely twenty yards across--and were speeding silently over the deep drifts of snow which were wreathed in giant masses on the surface of the frozen lagoon. the hitherto heavily-marked trail now appeared blurred and indistinct, and the dense forests lining the "crossing" threw a shadow on the track which effectually neutralised the vague glimmer of the stars, so that we had literally to feel for the deep sleigh channels. "if i'm spared to come oot o' this," groaned mac, as he crawled gingerly on all fours across the drifts, "i'll never speak o' ma sufferin's, for naebody could believe what i hae endured." "i hae traivelled faur," supplemented stewart, lifting up his voice in pathetic appeal, "but i've never been sae afflicted." having now introduced the subject of their woes they proceeded to comfort one another in well-chosen words of sympathy. "you'll suffer a considerable amount more if you don't find the trail soon," i broke in by way of getting their attention more concentrated on the very urgent matter on hand. but stewart would have one word more: "i'll mak' a fine moniment tae ye, mac, ma man," he said with a sigh, adding lugubriously, "puir, puir mac." "i'll hae yer life for that, ye deevil," roared that irate gentleman, getting to his feet suddenly, and in consequence floundering to the waist in the chilly wreaths. again i essayed to interfere. "seems to me, boys," i said, "that you'd better reserve your energy----" a loud bark interrupted my further speech, and mac immediately bellowed, "dave has got the trail; come on, stewart, an' we'll hae a glorious feast o' government stores very soon." i thought he was anticipating over-much, but i took care to say nothing to discourage the pair, who now, side by side, were crawling rapidly over the snow, tracing a new series of markings which led into the heart of the thick foliage on shore. i followed after my comrades with alacrity, but the drifts were very wide and deep, and i sunk to the neck in their icy folds, and was almost frozen before i managed to extricate myself. "are you following the trail, boys?" i cried, "or is it a bear track you are tracing up?" they were too much engrossed in their sleuth-hound operations to notice my inquiry, but as i had reached the shelter of the timber where the snow was but thinly laid, i now groped my way more quickly forward, and overtook the keen-eyed couple as they stopped short and emitted a simultaneous howl of delight. "got it! got it!" they yelled in unison, and dave made the wooded slopes resound with his deep-mouthed bark. "got what?" i interrogated, when opportunity offered, for nothing but absolute blackness surrounded us. "licht a match," joyously spoke mac. somewhat mystified i struck a sulphur match and held it aloft, and by its sputtering flame i saw before me a × tent, on the roof of which was painted in huge black letters, "n.w.m.p." "we certainly have got it," i said with much satisfaction, "and we'll see what's inside without delay." "scotland yet!" roared stewart, in an ecstasy of delight, performing a few steps of the highland fling as delicately as his heavily-padded moccasins would permit. mac was more practical; he proceeded to execute what appeared in the gloom to be a solemn ghost dance, but in reality he was searching for the "door" end of the tent. "haud yer noise, ye gomeril!" he said shortly, addressing his pirouetting companion, "an' when ye've feenished capering ye'll mebbe get a candle off the sleigh." the candle was quickly forthcoming, and the flap of the tent discovered; it was laced tightly with long strips of caribou hide, and so was not easily located in the darkness. we were not long in forcing an entry, the board-like canvas was rooted up from the snow where it had frozen fast, several hoary branches were pushed away from the inside wall, then we boldly took possession. at first survey our "find" seemed disappointing, the tent was almost empty; only a few very dilapidated-looking sacks were piled within, and the dripping icicles from the ridge gave a most frigid aspect to a dismal enough scene. mac, however, was not discouraged. "there maun be something for eatin' in they bags," he said cheerfully, which was logic of the clearest nature; then he proceeded to explore their contents, and while thus engaged stewart gathered together some branches and started a bright blaze at the doorway. "there's flour in this ane!" announced mac joyfully, "an' beans in anither!" he supplemented; then his delighted cries were frequent. "we've got a wee thing o' maist everything that's guid," he summed up finally, issuing out into the ruddy glow of the fire, where the billies, filled with rapidly-melting snow, were fizzling away merrily. the good news affected stewart visibly. "a'll mak' a gorgeous re-past the nicht, ye deevils," said he, "a'll mak' a rale sumshus feast." the keen edge of our appetite was dulled as a preliminary by copious draughts of coffee and the remnants of the morning's damper, then operations were begun for the "gorgeous feast." mac obligingly acted as cook's assistant, and chopped off from the solidified contents of the sacks the requisite amount of flour and other ingredients necessary--and i fear many that were not altogether necessary in the strict sense of the word, for beans, and flour, and rolled oats, and rice did not seem to me to be a correct combination. but i was a novice in these arts and feared to speak, and the manufacture of the "sumshus repast" went on apace. the night was far advanced, yet for once on the long dreary march from dawson we were in no hurry to court slumber, although we had travelled over thirty miles that day. i think stewart sized up my own thoughts rather clearly when he said, during a lull in his artistic labours, "what fur should we gang awa' early the morn'? it wad be a rael pity tae leave this mag-nificent camp." "we might wait just a little too long, stewart," i replied, and visions of an angry captain and his stalwart followers floated unpleasantly before my eyes. it was near midnight when the gurgling billy was lifted from its perch amid the glowing logs, and stewart gingerly fished from its interior a round steaming mass, neatly enclosed in an old oatmeal sack and tied at the top. with deft fingers its author undid the wrappings, and lo! a rubicund pudding of cannon-ball-like aspect greeted our expectant visions, and was hailed with loud acclamation. "ever see a puddin' like that, mac?" demanded stewart, gazing at it tenderly, and his cautious compatriot somewhat sadly replied-- "only aince, stewart, an' that wis when we found gold bottom creek, an' ye nearly killed king jamie o' the thronducks wi' indegestion." the compliment was just a trifle vague, and was regarded with suspicion by the prime conspirator, but he said no more, and we attacked the "puddin'" in silence, and with a vigour borne of many days' travel on short rations. despite its heterogeneous nature, stewart's culinary creation proved a veritable triumph to his art; at any rate it quickly disappeared from view, even dave's share being rather grudgingly given. never, since we had entered the country, had we fared so well, and when coiled up in our blankets close to the blazing fire, we felt indeed at peace with all mankind--including the police captain. all night long we kept the flames replenished, and dreamily gazed at each other through the curling smoke, for our unusual surfeit had banished sleep from our eyes. and but a few yards away from the burning logs the air was filled with dancing frost particles that seemed to form a white wall around us, for our thermometer, hung on a branch near by, registered forty-two degrees below zero. the long hours of darkness dragged slowly on, and it was nearly eleven o'clock in the morning before the faint light of day gradually dispelled the murky gloom, yet still we lolled laggard-like by the fire, starvation did not force us on this morning, and we had not rested these last six hundred miles. about noon, however, we decided to get up and have breakfast, and after many abortive attempts we succeeded in unwinding our bodies from the blankets in which they were swathed like egyptian mummies. "it wis a gorgeous banquet," ruminated mac, as he busied himself with the sleigh and made fast thereon various little sacks appropriated from the tent. "there's nae man," responded stewart with eloquence, "kin teach me onything aboot cooking--especially puddens." i now thought it advisable to examine the markings on the snow where the trail had given us so much trouble on the night before. i could not yet understand why a tent and stores should have been left at caribou crossing, one of the most gloomy spots throughout the whole course of the yukon. "be lively with the breakfast, boys," i said, "for i am inclined to think the climate thirty miles further south will be healthier for us to-night." and i made my way out to the edge of the forest. i reached the lakeside without difficulty; the keen frost of the preceding hours had given a thick crust to the deep snow-drifts intervening; i then made a careful scrutiny of the various sleigh-runner channels which were plainly evident, and which united at the point where we had to diverge into the wood. a double trail led southward towards lake bennet, but a single one only continued its course to tagash station. at once the meaning was plain. two sleighs had started from bennet station, and the drifts on caribou proving unduly deterrent, one sleigh load had been temporarily abandoned. i remembered the two teams of dogs in the sleigh we had met. everything was clear in an instant. "yes, we'll certainly be healthier in a more southerly latitude to-night," i said to myself as i turned to go back to my companions. the enticing odour of an unusually appetising breakfast greeted my nostrils, and brought back a feeling of serene contentment. but my happiness was shortlived. i had barely reached the camp fire when i became vaguely conscious of some disturbing element in the air. i listened intently, then faintly sounded the tinkle of sleigh bells in the distance, and now and again the sharp crack of a dog-whip smote the keen air. there was no need to explain matters; even dave whined knowingly, and backed voluntarily into his harness. "jist oor luck," grumbled stewart, grabbing the cooked bacon and thrusting it into one of the billies. "it's a blessed thing," quoth mac, philosophically, "that we had such a magnee----" "are you ready, boys?" i interrupted. the bells sounded sharply now, and i could hear the irascible captain cursing on the dogs. "i'm staunin' by the ingines," grunted mac. "there's naething left," said stewart, "unless we tak' the tent." "then full speed ahead," i cried; "we'll camp somewhere near the head of lake bennet, to-night." with a sharp jerk the sleigh bounded forward, keeping the shelter of the timber for the first few hundred yards, then sweeping into the open at the entrance to lake bennet, we forced a trail towards lake linderman at an unusually rapid rate. across the chilcoot pass the snow was falling in thick, blinding sheets when we reached lake linderman, and struggled up the first precipitous climb leading to the dreaded chilcoot. a death-like stillness lingered in the valley; the towering mountain peaks enclosing the chain of lakes had formed ample protection from the elements; but soon we ascended into a different atmosphere, where the wind burst upon us with dire force, and dashed the snow in clouds against our faces. in vain we laboured on; my comrades sank at times to their necks in the snow, even the sleigh was half buried in the seething masses, and rolled over continuously. i alone had snow-shoes, and for the first time in the seven hundred miles' trail we had traversed i strapped the long indian "runners" to my moccasins, and endeavoured to pad a track for the following train, but the attempt proved futile. two hours after leaving the lake we had barely progressed a mile, and the air was becoming dark and heavy with the increasing fury of the gale, which tossed the white clouds aloft, and showered them over our sorely-tried caravan. never had we dreamed of encountering such weather. we had come from the silent klondike valley, where the tempests were hushed by the frost king, who reigned with iron hand. at two in the afternoon we reached timber limit, and here a few stunted trees showed their tips above the snow, but beyond the bleak surfaces of deep and long lakes appeared bare and forbidding, and the loud shriek of the gathering gale warned us to venture no further that day. we hurriedly scooped a hole in the snow, and lined it with our furs; then the sleigh was mounted as a bulwark against the drifts, and we lay down in our strange excavation, exhausted and utterly disheartened. mac at length broke the silence. "we might have a fire o' some sort," he said, looking round. very gingerly he and his companion crawled towards the tree-tops, and broke off the tough green branches. after much coaxing the unwilling wood ignited, and we clustered joyfully round the pungent smoke--for there was little else--and endeavoured to infuse some warmth into our frozen bodies. the thick blackness of night was rapidly closing over, and the storm showed no signs of diminishing; so we obtained what timber we could from the tree-tops, and stored it in our shelter to feed the feeble fire through the long dreary night. then we thawed some snow, and boiled a "billy" of coffee, and the warm fluid helped to sustain us greatly; but still the wind howled and the snow pattered down on our faces with relentless force, and the drifts from the edge of our pit ever and anon deluged us. how we passed that night is beyond description. we huddled near to each other for warmth, while our dog beside us groaned and shivered violently despite all our efforts to protect him from the icy blasts. morning at last arrived, but no welcome light appeared; the air continued murky and dense with flying snow. ten o'clock, eleven, and twelve passed, and we were beginning to despair of getting a start that day. then the gloom merged into a dull grey haze, and we could distinguish faintly through the driving mists the glacier peaks flanking long lake. we had thawed snow and made coffee for breakfast, but notwithstanding that fortification we felt ill-prepared to renew our battle with the elements. "we'll make another try, boys," i said, after a brief survey around. "we may reach the summit to-day, but the chances are against it." dave was again harnessed to the sleigh, and with three separate ropes attached we straggled forward on different tracks, and pulled as if for dear life. slowly we forged ahead over deep lake, staggering, stumbling, and floundering wildly. even dave sank in the yielding track, and his efforts to extricate himself would have been amusing--under different circumstances. as we proceeded the gale increased, and almost hurled us back, and i noted with alarm the heavy gathering clouds that seemed to hang between us and the pass; they spread rapidly, and with them came fresh blasts that whistled across the white lake surface, and tore it into heaving swells even as we looked. i prayed for light, but the gloom deepened and the snow fell thicker and faster. at length we reached the cañon leading to crater lake, and with every nerve strained we fought our way forward literally foot by foot. the snow-wreaths here were of extraordinary depths, and several times my companions would disappear altogether, actually _swimming_ again to the surface, for only such a motion would sustain the body on the broken snow. at three o'clock we had travelled but two and a half miles, and the storm was yet rising. had we been provided with food our position would not have caused us much alarm, but coffee had been our lot for forty-eight hours, and now raw coffee alone must be our portion, for we were above timber limit, and so could have no fire. starvation from cold and hunger combined promised to be rather a miserable finish to our labours. the deep breathing of my companions betrayed their sufferings; their weakened frames could ill endure such buffetings. at every other step they would sink in the vapoury snow, while poor dave's muffled howls were pitiful to hear. "we'll have to camp again, boys," i shouted. but where could we camp, and preserve our already freezing bodies? as i have said, we were beyond timber limit; only the dull, drifting snow appeared on every side, and the darkness was quickly hiding even that from view. i relinquished my sleigh rope, and battled forward against the blizzard alone. my snow-shoes skimmed rapidly over the treacherous drifts, but the extreme exertion was too much for me, and i had to come to a halt. the air in such a latitude, and at a , -feet altitude, is keen enough even when there is no blizzard raging. in the few hundred yards i had sped ahead i had left my comrades hopelessly behind; they were blotted from my sight as if by an impenetrable pall. suddenly, through a cleft in the driving sleet, i caught a glimpse of a blue glistening mass close before me. i remembered that i was in the vicinity of the large glacier at "happy camp," but the glacier had evidently "calved," for it was formerly well up the mountain side. i staggered over to it, and felt its glassy sides with interest; then i noticed a great cavity between the giant mass and the mountain-ledge. it was indeed a calved glacier, and in its fall it had formed a truly acceptable place of shelter. i cried loudly to my companions, but only the shriek of the blizzard was my reply. i was afraid to leave my "find" in case i might not discover it again, so i drew my colt navy and fired rapidly into the air. the sound seemed dull and insignificant in the howling storm, but a feeble bark near at hand answered back, and through the mists loomed my doughty henchmen with their sleigh-ropes over their shoulders, and crawling on all fours beside the dog. they had been forced to divide their weight over the snow in this strange fashion, and even as it was they sank at intervals with many a gasp and splutter into the great white depths. "happy camp!" i cried. "this is an end o' us a' noo," mac wearily groaned, staggering into the ice cavern. "happy camp" was the name derisively applied to the vicinity in the summer. it was then the first halting stage after crossing the pass, and as no timber existed near, no fires could be made, and hence the name. but what it was like at this time, in midwinter, is beyond my powers to describe. imagine a vast glittering field of ice stretching from the peaks above to the frozen stream below, and a small idea of its miseries as a camping-ground is at once apparent. yet it was a welcome shelter to us at such a time, and we dragged the sleigh into the dark aperture thankfully, and, wrapping ourselves in our blankets, listened to the moaning of the storm outside. at each great rush of wind the walls of our cave would quiver and crackle, and far overhead a deep rumbling broke at intervals upon our ears. our glacier home was certainly no safe retreat, for it was gradually, yet surely, moving downwards. my companions recognised their perilous position immediately they heard the well-known grinding sound, but they said nothing--they were evidently of opinion that we were as safe inside as out, and, as stewart afterwards grimly said, "it would hae been an easier death onywey." the cold was very intense, and we shivered in the darkness for hours without a word being spoken. to such an extremity had we been reduced that mac and stewart assiduously chewed the greasy strips of caribou hide which did duty as moccasin laces, while i endeavoured, but with little success, to swallow some dry coffee. if we could only have a fire, i reasoned, we might live to see the morning, but without it there seemed little hope. we had all grown apathetic, and indeed were quite resigned to a horrible fate. i was aroused from a lethargic reverie by the piteous cries of dave, who remained still harnessed. i patted his great shaggy head, and pulling my sheath-knife, cut the traces that bound him. as i did so my hand came in contact with the sleigh, and at once a new idea flashed over me. "get up, boys!" i cried. "we've forgotten that the sleigh will burn." in an instant they were on their feet. one thought was common to us all--we must have a fire, no matter the cost. mac lighted a piece of candle, and stuck it on the hard ground. then he and stewart attacked the sleigh energetically, and in a few moments the snow-ship that had borne our all for seven hundred miles was reduced to splinters. eagerly we clustered round as the match was applied, and fanned the laggard flame with our breaths until it burst out cheerily, crackling and glowing, illuminating the trembling walls of the cavern, and causing the crystal roof to scintillate with a hundred varying hues. sparingly mac fed the flame; if we could only keep it alive till morning the blizzard might have abated. piece by piece the wood was applied, and the feeble fire was maintained with anxious care. hour after hour passed, and still the blizzard howled, and the swirling snow-drifts swept to our feet as we bent over our one frail comfort, and protected the wavering flame from the smothering sleet. at various times throughout the weary hours i fancied i could hear a faint moaning without our shelter, but the inky blackness of the night obscured all vision, and after aimlessly groping in the snow for some minutes after each alarm, i had to crawl back benumbed and helpless. "it must have been the wind," said stewart. "there's nae man could cross the pass last night," spoke mac. dave lay coiled up on my blanket apparently fast asleep. the noble animal had had nothing to eat for two days, and i feared he would not wake again. suddenly, however, he started up, growling hoarsely. the moaning sound again reached our ears, prolonged and plaintive. then came the sharp whistle of the blizzard, clear, decisive. there could be no mistake. assuredly some unfortunate was out in the cruel storm. our four-footed companion struggled to his feet with an effort, and swaying erratically, he rushed from the cave whining dolefully. we gazed at each other in silence; we dreaded the discovery we were about to make. "keep the fire alight as a guide to us, mac," i said, and stewart and i went out into the storm. and now dave's deep-mouthed barks penetrated the dense mists, and we crawled towards the cañon in the direction of the sound; but we had not far to go. a few yards from our retreat i felt dave's furry body at my knees, and then my hand came in contact with a human form half buried in the drifts. "it's a man, stewart," i said, and he answered with a groan of sympathy. we extricated the stiff, frozen body from the engulfing snow and dragged it tenderly towards the light we had left; and there, in that miserable spot, we strove to bring back the life that had all but fled. "we have nothing to gie him," said mac hopelessly; "an' the fire's gone oot." "there should be some coffee," i answered, "and the furs and my long boots will burn." soon our treasured possessions smouldered and flamed; boots, moccasins, silver-tipped furs--all that we had that would simmer or burn was sacrificed, and a piece of ice from the wall was thawed and slowly boiled. when the hot fluid was forced between his lips the rescued man opened his eyes and looked around. soon he had recovered sufficiently to speak a few words. he had ventured across the chilcoot, despite all warnings from the miners at sheep camp. he had wandered over crater lake all day, not knowing where the valley lay owing to the dense mists prevailing. "the blizzard has been blowing on the pass for two days," said he; "your light attracted me last night, but i could not reach it." such was the tale of the poor victim of the pass; he died before morning, despite our struggles to save him, and we felt that we could not survive him long. no light appeared at ten o'clock, nor was there any promise of the blinding storm abating. our fire had gone out, and we sat in darkness beside the lifeless body we had saved from the snows. "we'll make another try, boys," i said. "we may as well go under trying, if it has to be." our load was small enough now; the pity was we had not lightened it sooner. i strapped the small mail-bag to my shoulders; my comrades carried all further impedimenta, and, leaving the dead man in his icy vault we staggered into the darkness and forced an erratic track towards the chilcoot pass. crater lake was reached in two hours; i could only guess we had arrived at it by the evenness of the surface, the air was so dense that objects could not be distinguished even a few feet distant. i tried to fix a bearing by compass, but the attempt was futile, the needle swaying to all points in turn, owing to the magnetic influences around. then we _felt_ for the mountain-side on the left, and staggered over the blast-blown rocks and glaciers along its precipitous steeps. as we neared the summit the howl of the blizzard increased to a shrill, piercing whistle, but we now were sheltered by the pass, and the fierce blast passed overhead. all this time we forced onward through a murky gloom with our bodies joined with ropes that we might not lose one another. at three in the afternoon i calculated that we were near the crucial point at which the final ascent can be negotiated, and we left the white shores of crater lake and clambered up into the rushing mists where the blizzard shrieked and moaned alternately, and hurled huge blocks of glacier ice and frozen snow down into the crater valley. the top was reached at last, and no words of mine can describe the inferno that raged on that dread summit. we lay flat on our faces and writhed our way forward through a bubbling, foaming mass of snow and ice. our bodies were cut and bruised with the flying _débris_, and our clothing was torn to rags. the blizzard had now attained an extraordinary pitch, the mountain seemed to rock and tremble with its fury, and inch by inch we crawled towards the perpendicular declivity leading to the "scales"--full eight hundred feet of almost sheer descent. cautiously we manoeuvred across the great glacier that rests in the devil's cauldron--a cup-shaped hollow in the top of the notorious pass--and at once the blaze of a fire burst before our eyes, illuminating the apparently bottomless depths beyond. the ice-field on which we lay overhung the rocks to a dangerous degree, and i realised that we must make the descent from some other part of the semicircular ridge. we crept back hurriedly, and as we stood gasping in the "cauldron" before making a _détour_ to find a possible trail, a mighty rumbling shook the pass, and we clutched at the snow around, which flew upwards in great geyser-like columns, almost smothering us in its descending showers. the overlapping ice had plunged into the valley, carrying with it hundreds of tons of accumulated snow; we escaped the powerful suction by a few yards only. [illustration: on the safe side of the pass again. mac--self--stewart.] when we approached the edge a second time a smooth, unbroken snowsteep marked the trail of the glacier, and to it we consigned ourselves, literally sliding down into the black depths. we were precipitated into an immense wreath of snow covering the scales for over a hundred feet. the fire had been blotted out with the icy deluge, but luckily, as we learned later, the fire-feeders had abandoned their post long before the avalanche had come down. three hours later we arrived at sheep camp, and entered the mascotte saloon, where the assembled miners were clustered round a huge stove in the centre of the room, listening to the ominous shriek of the gale outside. no one dared venture out that night, but in the morning the four days' blizzard had spent itself, and we formed a party to explore the damage done. a light railway that had been laid to the scales was completely demolished, and half down to sheep camp the channel of the chilcoot river was filled with enormous ice boulders. an avalanche had also fallen on crater lake during the night, and when we had painfully climbed the now bare summit the frozen plateau beyond was rent for nearly a mile with enormous gashes over ten feet in width, and the ice cleavage showed down as far as the eye could reach. part ii under the southern cross the five-mile rush it was a very hot day in september when we arrived at perth, western australia, and hastened to put up at the nearest hotel to the station, which happened to bear the common enough title of the "royal." we had come up with the mail train from albany, where the p. & o. steamers then called, and even westralia's most ardent admirers would hesitate to claim comfort as one of the features of the colony's railway system. so we arrived, after a long night's misery, dusty and travel-stained. no one attempts to keep clean in the land of "sand, sin, and sorrow," for the simple reason that, according to the nature of things there, such a luxurious state of æsthetic comfort can never be attained. the streets were sandy, and as a natural sequence the atmosphere was not of ethereal quality. the people were sandy and parched-looking, and we found the interior of the hotel little better than the outside, so far as the presence of the powdery yellow grains was concerned. in the darkened bedrooms the hum of the festive mosquito was heard, and my companions chuckled at the sound. "it's a lang time since i heard they deevils," said mac; then he proceeded, "noo, oot on the pampas----" "d--n the pampas!" roared stewart, as he clutched wildly at one of the pests that had been quietly resting on his cheek for full half a minute. "ye've pushioned that onfort'nate beast," mac retorted, with unruffled serenity; "noo, can ye no let the puir thing dee in peace?" we remained but a short time in perth; it is a neatly-laid-out little city with streets running off at right angles to each other, and containing a fair sprinkling of fine buildings, among which may be mentioned the general post office and lands offices, and they are palatial edifices indeed. the botanical gardens are small, yet very pretty; and here, instead of the usual garden loafer, may be found many weary-eyed and parchment-skinned gold-diggers from the "fields," whose one idea of a holiday lies in a visit to perth or fremantle, where they stroll about or recline on the artificially-forced grass plots of these towns, and wile the weary hours away. the swan river at perth forms an exquisite piece of scenery, which redeems the environs of the sandy city from utter ugliness. innumerable black swans swim hither and thither on its placid waters, and by the sloping banks, well fringed with rushes, many notable yachting clubs have their pavilions. there is nothing in this capital of the western colony to attract. even to the casual observer it is plain that the bustling, oriental-looking town is essentially a gateway to the goldfields, and little more. fremantle, on the other hand, is the port, and chief engineering and commercial centre. at this period i was, like most erratic travellers, without a definite object in view. in a certain hazy way i thought that we should visit the mining districts at once, as we had done in other and more impracticable countries; yet i was aware that the known westralian goldfields were by no means so new as the "finds" in north-west canada, and in consequence the ground might be over-pegged or long since rushed. "the countrie is big enuff," said mac when i mentioned my doubts, "an' we'll mebbe find anither gold bottom creek faurer oot than onybody has gaed." "we're better diggin' holes, even if they are duffers," spoke stewart, "than makin' oorsel's meeserable at hame." which argument in a sense settled the matter, and i forthwith purchased tickets for kalgoorlie, with the intention of penetrating thence towards the far interior. it is a weary journey eastward from perth, and one that cannot be too quickly passed over. the single narrow-gauge line has been laid without any attempt at previous levelling, and the snorting little engine puffs over switchback undulations ceaselessly, at a speed that averages nearly sixteen miles an hour. it is a fortunate circumstance for the fresh enthusiast from "home" that the "kalgoorlie mail" leaves perth in the evening. the discomfort experienced in the midnight ride is bad enough, but he is mercifully spared from viewing the "scenery" along the route, which would assuredly have a most demoralising effect: western australia must be taken gradually. the coolgardie "rush" may be fresh in the minds of most people. the township now stands almost deserted, bearing little trace of former glory; and yet it is but a few years since the railway was pushed out to this remote settlement. southern cross, two hundred miles nearer the coast, was formerly the terminus of all traffic, and the hardy pioneers of coolgardie daringly ventured on foot from this point, as did also the vast numbers who "followed the finds." very insidiously kalgoorlie has risen to high eminence as a mining centre; it accomplished the eclipse of its sister camp some time ago, and by reason of its deep lodes it is likely to retain its supremacy indefinitely. to the individual miners a new strike or location is considered to be "played out" when limited liability companies begin to appear in their midst, as only in rare cases can fossickers succeed in competition with machinery. however, the flat sand formations around kalgoorlie have proved one of the exceptions to this rule, and the alluvial digger may still sink his shallow shaft here with every hope of success, and even in the proved "deep" country surface indications are abundant. when my little party stepped from the train at kalgoorlie, we saw before us a scattered array of wooden and galvanised-iron houses, white-painted, and glistening dully in the sunlight through an extremely murky atmosphere. on closer acquaintance the heterogeneous erections resolved themselves into a wide principal thoroughfare, aptly named hannan's street, after the honoured prospector of the camp's main reef, and a number of side paths that bore titles so imposing that my memory at once reverted to the fanciful names distinguishing the crude log shanties of dawson, where there were: yukon avenue, arctic mansions, arcadian drive, and eldorado terrace. here, in keeping with the latitude of the city, more salubrious, if equally fantastic, were the various designations of the alleys and byways. in the near distance we could see the towering tappet heads of the widely-known great boulder mine, and the din created by the revolving hammers of the ever-active stamping machinery assailed our ears as an indescribable uproar. but beyond the dust and smoke of these nature-combating engines of civilisation, the open desert, dotted with its stunted mulga and mallee growths, shimmered back into the horizon. here and there a dump or mullock heap showed where the alluvial miner had staked his claim, but for the most part the landscape was unbroken by any sign of habitation. "there's a lot of room in this country, boys," i said, as we stood unobserved in the middle of the street and took in the scene. "it's a deevil o' a funny place," mac ventured doubtfully. "it's a rale bonnie place," reproved stewart, whom the inexpressible gloom peculiar to the interior country had not yet affected. "i'm thinkin'," he continued, with asperity, "that ane or twa men o' pairts like oorsel's were jist needed at this corner o' the warld." "in ony case," mac now agreed, "it's better than being meeserable at hame." instead of seeking the hospitality of one of the numerous hotels close by, we decided to begin our campaign in earnest right away, and get under canvas as a proper commencement. so we prospected around for a good camping site, and that same night we slept in our tent, erected about a mile distant from the township. there was no water in our vicinity, and next morning stewart set out with two newly-purchased water-bags to obtain three gallons of the very precious fluid at a condensing establishment we had noticed on the previous night, where, at sixpence a gallon, a tepid brackish liquid was sparingly dispensed. it should be understood that water, in most parts of western australia, is more difficult to locate than gold, and when obtained it is usually as a dense solution, salt as the sea, and impregnated with multitudinous foreign elements extremely difficult to precipitate. "there's aye something tae contend wi' in furrin countries," mac philosophised, as he leisurely proceeded to build a fire for cooking operations. "in alaska there wis snaw, an' chilkoots, an' mony ither trifles; bit here there's naething much objeckshunable let alane the sand an' want o' watter." i agreed with him if only for the sake of avoiding an argument. "there may be a few--insects along with the sand, mac," i hazarded cheerfully, and then i went into the tent to arrange the breakfast utensils. "insecks!" cried he derisively after me. "wha cares fur insecks, i shid like tae ken? what herm is there in a wheen innocent muskitties, fur instance? insecks! humph!" the absurdity of my remark seemed to tickle him vastly, and as he broke the eucalyptus twigs preparatory to setting a match to the pile he had collected, he continued to chuckle audibly. then suddenly there was silence, a silence so strange that i felt impelled to look out of the tent and see what had happened; but before i had time to set down the tinware cups i held in my hands, his voice broke out afresh. "insecks!" i heard him mutter. "noo a wunner----; bit no, that canna be, fur snakes hiv'na got feet, an' this deevil's weel supplied i' that direction. it's a bonnie beast, too. i wunner if it bites?" i gathered from these remarks that the valiant mac had made the acquaintance of some unknown species of "insect" with which he was unduly interested. "if it's an inseck," came the voice again, "this countrie maun be an ex-tra-ord'nar'----haud aff! ye deevil. haud off! i tell ye." i hastened outside just in time to see my companion ruthlessly slaughter a large-sized centipede, which had evidently refused to be propitiated by his advances. "it's a vera re-markable thing," said he, looking up with a perfectly grave countenance, "hoo they--insecks--persist in bringin' destruckshun on themsel's. i wis just pokin' this onfort'nate beast wi' a stick--in a freen'ly wey, ye ken--an' the deevil made a rin at me, wi' malishus intent, i'm thinkin', an' noo he's peyed the penalty o' his misguided ackshun." [illustration: stewart preparing our first meal.] "in future, mac," i warned, "you'd better not attempt to get on friendly terms with these--insects; a bite from a centipede might kill you." "i'll gie ye best about the insecks," he returned thoughtfully, applying a match to the pile, "bit ye'll admit," he added, after some moments' pause, "that it's maist ex-tra-ord'nar' tae see insecks o' sich onnaitural descripshun rinnin' aboot on the face o' the earth." i fully concurred, much to his satisfaction, and just then stewart arrived, perspiring under his watery load. "dae ye mean tae tell me," howled the new-comer, addressing no one in particular, "that ye hiv'na got the fire ken'l'd yet?" "ca' canny, stewart, ca' canny," sternly admonished the guilty one. "there's been a narrow escape here, ma man, a verra narrow escape." stewart's ruddy face blanched slightly, then slowly regained its colour when the slain centipede was pointed out. "ye've raelly had a providenshul escape, mac," said he. "noo, staun aside an' let me get on wi' the cookin'." our first breakfast in camp was an unqualified success; it was not a very elegant repast, certainly, but the traveller must learn to forego all luxuries and enjoy rough fare, and we had already served our apprenticeship in that direction. stewart, however, had lost none of his art in matters culinary, and, as he himself averred, could cook "onything frae a muskittie tae an injun," so we had every reason to be contented. "if we wur only camped aside a second gold bottom!" sighed mac, getting his pipe into working order. "it's a bonnie countrie," mused his companion, "wi' a bonnie blue sky abune, an' what mair could a man want?" "i think we have had no cause to complain, so far, boys," was my addition to the conversation, "and i'll go into the township in an hour or so and make investigations as to the latest strikes. to-morrow we may make a definite camp." and so the early day passed while we rested and smoked, and recalled our grim experiences in the land of snows. "it's mebbe wrang tae mak' compairisons," grunted mac, "bit gie me the sunshine an' the floo'ers----" "an' the centipedes!" stewart slyly interpolated. "d--n centipedes!" roared mac; then he recovered himself. "mak' nae mair allushuns, ma man," said he with dignity. "an' hoo daur ye spile ma poetic inspirashun?" the sun was now well overhead and shooting down intense burning rays; the sky was cloudless, and not a breath stirred the branches of the dwarfed eucalyptii on the plains. "it's a g-glorious day," murmured stewart, mopping his perspiring forehead. mac chuckled: "wait till ye see some o' the insecks the sun'll bring out," said he, "ye'll be fairly bamfoozled." at this moment i was surprised to notice a man, armed with pick and shovel, approaching rapidly in our direction. as he came near i saw that he bore, strapped to his shoulders, a bundle of wooden pegs which had evidently been hastily cut from the outlying timber. "some energetic individual thinks we have made a find at this camp," i thought; but i was mistaken. the stranger made as if to pass a good way off our tent; then he hesitated, looked back, apprehensively, it seemed to me, and came quickly towards us. "what in thunder does yer mean by campin' here, mates?" he demanded hurriedly, grounding his shovel impatiently and letting his eyes roam in an unseeing manner over the surrounding country. i had barely time to explain that ours was only a temporary camp, when, without a word, he shouldered his shovel and sped onwards into the brush. "maist onmainnerly behaviour," mac snorted wrathfully. "noo, if i meet that man again, i'll----" he stopped suddenly. "ho, ho!" he chuckled, "there's mair o' them comin'; i begin tae smell a rat." we now observed what had caused the sudden flight of our visitor. rushing from every shanty near the township, and issuing from the main street in a chaotic mass, a perfect sea of men bearing axes and picks and shovels came surging down on us. as we looked the fleeter members of the "rush" forged quickly ahead, so that the spectacle soon appeared as a medley army advancing desperately at the double in indian file. there was no need to be in ignorance as to what it meant; we had seen the same thing often enough in alaska when strikes on the upper klondike were frequent. "get the tent down, boys," i said, "and follow on when you're ready. i'll represent this camp and see that it is not last on the programme." even before i had finished speaking, my companions were tugging wildly at the guy ropes, and loosening the wall pegs of the tent. "we'll no be faur ahint," growled mac from beneath the canvas folds which in his zeal he had brought down upon himself. "ye shid let me gang first," grumbled stewart, "fur ye ken weel that i can sprint wi' ony man." i seized an axe and shovel and awaited the approach of the van-leader of the struggling line of humanity, who was fast drawing near: not knowing the destination of the rush, it was necessary that i should follow some one who did. i had not long to wait. a lean, lanky true son of the bush, with nether garments held in position by an old cartridge belt, burst through the brushwood a few yards wide of us. his leathery face showed not the slightest trace of emotion, and though the heat was sweltering not a drop of perspiration beaded on his forehead. heaven knows how often he may have taken part in a rush and been disappointed. "mornin', boys," he said genially. "fust-class exercise, this," and he passed at a regular swinging pace, with eyes fixed straight ahead, steering a direct course. "he gangs like clockwork," said mac admiringly, gazing after him; "bit haud on. what's this comin'?" the second runner was now coming forward at a rate that was rapidly annihilating distance; he had passed the bulk of the others since he had joined the race, and i had been much interested in watching his progress. "guid lor'," ejaculated stewart, stopping in his work of rolling up the tent, and gazing at the approaching runner in dismay. "did ye ever see onything like that in a' yer born days?" there was ample excuse for his astonishment. the fleeing figure was hatless, and otherwise ludicrously garbed--for westralia. what stewart called a "lang-tailie coat" spread out behind him like streamers in a breeze, a "biled" collar had, in the same gentleman's terse language, "burst its moorings" and projected in two miniature wings at the back of his ears, and a shirt that had once been white, bosomed out expansively through an open vest. yet, notwithstanding his cumbrous habiliments, he had well outdistanced his nearest "hanger-on," and it was plain that the wiry sandgroper still in front would have to screw on more speed if he meant to keep his lead long. with lengthy strides the strangely-garbed runner shot past; in his hand he gripped a spade, which tended to make his appearance the more wonderful, but that he meant business was very evident. "fur heaven's sake, pit aff the coat!" howled stewart, and mac toned down the impertinence of the remark by adding stentoriously-- "ye'll rin lichter withoot it, ma man." the individual addressed slowed up at once. "thanks for the idea, boys," said he good-naturedly, and he promptly discarded the objectionable emblem of civilised parts and threw it carelessly into a mulga bush. then noting that he was a good way in advance of the main army, he mopped his streaming face and gave the information, "there's been a big strike at the five mile, boys, wherever that may be. i am letting the first man steer the way on purpose." "ye're a daisy tae rin," admiringly spoke mac, seizing the tent and a packet of miscellaneous merchandise, while stewart feverishly gathered up the remainder of our meagre belongings. he of the "biled shirt" now set down to work again, making a pace which i, who had joined in the chase, found hard indeed to emulate; and my companions, heavily laden as they were, hung into our rear like leeches. far behind we could hear the sand crunch under hundreds of feet, and the mallee shrubs crackling and breaking, but hardly a word was spoken. mile after mile we crashed through the endless brush and over the monotonous iron-shot plains. mac puffed and blowed like some huge grampus, and stewart's deep breathing sounded like the exhaust expirations of an overworked steam engine. "keep her gaun, mac; keep her gaun," this personage would splutter when his more portly comrade showed signs of flagging, which well he might, considering that he clutched in his arms a weight of nearly forty pounds. "wha's stoppin'? ye inseegneeficant broken-winded donkey engine!" retorted his aggravated compatriot, rolling along manfully. but the race was nearly over. half a mile further on the land dipped ever so slightly, and in the gentle hollow formed about a dozen men rushed madly about, pacing off prospectors' claims, and driving rude pegs at the boundary corners. the sight had an exhilarating effect on mac and stewart, and with wild shouts they quickly drew up the little distance they had lost, and would have passed my white-shirted pacemaker and myself were we not compelled for very shame to keep our lead if we died for it. "by jove!" panted he of the strange garments, "these beggars behind can run." and mac at his heels chivalrously grunted between his breaths, "i've never had a harder tussle tae keep up ma deegnity--no never." a few minutes more, and we reached the field of operations. the men there were too busy marking off their properties to give us much attention. i noticed swiftly that our first visitor of the few words had his claim neatly pegged, and was sitting in the middle of it, complacently smoking. he must have received special information of the find or he could not have got away so much before the others. our second passing acquaintance--he of the emotionless countenance who had steered our quartet unknowingly--had got in a hundred yards ahead of us, and he was now coolly cutting pegs with which to mark his chosen area. "it's a deep alluvial leader, mate," he said to me. then he added obligingly, "i guess i knows the lie of the kintry, an' if ye hitch on at the end o' my boundaries, ye'll likely sink on it, plumb." the advice of an experienced miner should always be accepted; and while mac and stewart were felling several small trees for use as marking-posts, i proceeded to line off the direction of our claim as suggested by the angle of my adviser's corner channels. i performed this work with much care, knowing how slim are one's chances of holding any gold-bearing area at a rush unless the holder's title is beyond dispute according to official regulations. the straggling body of men was now beginning to appear on the crest of the undulation which marked the only visible natural boundary of the valley; in less than three minutes the madly-striving crowd would be upon us, and we should be assuredly swamped by its numbers so that no pegs could be driven. then i noticed the man who had doffed his fashionable coat to oblige stewart, standing dejectedly near by; his sleeves were rolled up, displaying splendidly-formed muscles, and he held his shovel loosely in his hand as if uncertain what to do with it. "better get your pegs fixed quickly," i advised. but he shook his head rather sadly. "i haven't got an axe," he said, "and--and i'm new to this sort of thing." mac had by this time obtained the four blazed posts necessary to denote our "three-men square," and stewart promptly began to smite them into position in their proper places. "if ye'll alloo me," said mac, "i'll get the bitties o' sticks fur ye; i'd be vera sorry tae a bonnie rinner like you left in the cauld." but there was no time now. "shift out our posts instead, mac," i instructed, "we'll make a four-men lot of it and divide afterwards." our white-shirted associate looked at me gratefully, and held out his hand. "my name is philip morris," he said. "i am an englishman, just out from the old country." a swaying mob of perspiring and fiery-eyed men of all nationalities now flooded the valley as a tumultuous sea of humanity, and scattered in twos and fours throughout its entire length. "you've struck a circus for a start, morris," i said. "i think we'll all remember the five-mile rush." sinking for gold next morning the five-mile flat was the scene of extraordinary activity. tents sprung up like mushrooms in all directions, and the thud, thud of picks sounded incessantly. it was almost pitiful to witness the feverish eagerness with which most of the diggers tried to bottom on their claims. the depth of the lead at discovery shaft was given out to be only forty feet, but the strata encountered before that level was reached had been of a flinty impervious nature, necessitating the use of much giant powder. at least the original prospectors, who were camped near to us, gave me that information in a fit of generosity when they learned that i had some little experience of geological formations. they even allowed me to descend their shaft--most unheard-of thing--and compute the angle and dip of the lode for the benefit of the general assembly; a privilege which was duly appreciated, as it enabled me to calculate the proper position in our own claim at which to sink. the lode, so called, proved to be an auriferous wash, or alluvial gutter, the bed of an extremely ancient watercourse, probably silted up long before the time of the pharaohs. our newly-acquired companion, who had already won the good graces of both mac and stewart, astonished me greatly, while i was expounding my theories on these matters for his special edification, by making several courteous corrections to my statements, so that i was forced to tread more cautiously; and when i had finished, he capped my argument with a lucid technical discourse and much scientific addenda. "you certainly know a fair-sized amount for an inexperienced man," i said, with some irritation; but he hastened to explain. "my knowledge is purely theoretical," he replied. "perhaps i should not have spoken." his admirable good sense appealed to mac's idea of fairness. "i'm thinkin'," began that gentleman, gazing at me reproachfully, "i'm thinkin' that oor freen phil-ip is a vera modest man, a vera modest man indeed." "i'm o' the opeenion," cried stewart, from the interior of the tent, "that if he keeps awa' frae tailie coats, and dresses rashunal, he'll be a rale orniment tae ony camp." the young man was much moved by these expressions of good-will; but when i asked him to mark off his allotment on our too large mining territory, he stubbornly refused. "if it had not been for your kindness i should have no claim to any corner of the ground," he said. i explained, however, that mac, stewart, and myself would not be allowed by law to possess a four-men holding, and therefore there was no kindness on my part in giving him back his own. yet still he hesitated. "i am all alone, boys," he said at last, "and i don't think i could do much damage to the ground by myself. might i come in with you?" this was a _dénoûement_ i had not anticipated, though in some unaccountable manner i felt drawn to the stranger; still, the vision of his coat-tails fluttering in the wind could not be dispelled. "what do you say, mac?" i asked, expecting a gruff rejoinder in the negative; but the answer agreeably surprised me. [illustration: "discovery" shaft--on gold.] "he's a man o' pairts like oorsel's, a modest man, an' a golologist forbye," replied mac, grandiloquently; "it wud be sinfu' tae refuse him oor guid company." then stewart, who had been paying great attention, rushed from the tent and added his testimony. "tailie coat or no tailie coat," he shouted, "he's a guid man, as i kin testeefy, an' me an' mac'll be prood tae hae him wi' us. forbye," he continued, "he's a breetisher, an' tho' he isna scotch, me an' mac'll look ower that fau't wi' muckle tolerashun." "i wis aboot tae re-mark----" began mac, but stewart had not completed his peroration. "haud yer tongue, mac," said he sternly; "ye ken weel yer nae speaker like me." then he resumed the flow of his eloquence: "an' noo," he said, "on behauf o' mac--wha is a man o' disteenction tho' he disna look it--an' in conformeety wi' ma ain incleenations, i hae pleesure in signifyin' oor muckle approval o' yer qualities." the candidate for admission to our illustrious company looked gratified, as well he might, and straightening his tall form he endeavoured to make suitable reply to the expectant couple. "gentlemen!" said he, and at the word mac hitched up his nether garments and looked solemn, while stewart coughed discreetly. "gentlemen," repeated "tailie coat" in a voice that seemed to issue from his boots, "it is with considerable feeling of elation that i have heard your extemporaneous----" "haud on!" howled mac in horror; "ye'll dae, ma man, ye'll dae. come on, stewart." and as they walked sorrowfully apart stewart's voice floated back plaintively, "noo, mac, hoo am i gaun tae keep up oor digneety efter that--ex-tem-por-anee----! he's deceived us, mac; he's a lamb in sheep's ooter gairments, he is." "well, phil," i said, when they had disappeared within the tent, "i think we'll get along all right." "i feel at home already," he replied, looking towards the tent in grim amusement, "and enthusiastic enough to swing a pick with either mac or stewart, and that means much, i think." "it does," i agreed with significance, and we went off to mark the site of our prospective shaft. it was nearly midday before we commenced to excavate the ground, and by that time most of the miners around had penetrated several feet of the top sandy formation in their various claims. but haste is not always advisable under such circumstances, and i preferred to make as sure as possible of the lode's position within our pegs before sinking, and so obviate any necessity for laborious "driving" when bedrock was reached. we were fortunately in the "shallowest" ground, being within a hundred yards of the forty-feet level strike, which meant, judging by the dip or inclination of the auriferous wash, that we should probably find bottom about fifty feet down. as for the numbers below us, they might have to sink over a hundred feet, and even then miss the golden leader, so elusive are these subterranean channels. the usual size of prospectors' shafts on any goldfield is five feet six inches long, by two feet six inches wide, and this just permits of sufficient room for one man to wield a pick. the aim of every miner on an unproved field is to get down to bedrock with the least possible labour, which is also the speediest method. a shaft can be widened afterwards when it has been found worth while, but it is always well to refrain from shovelling out two or three tons of granite-like substance, as is done by most "new chums," merely for the sake of having more elbow-room during the trying process of sinking. after our experience with the frozen gravel at klondike, it almost seemed like child's play to dig out the comparatively loose sand conglomeration which formed the topmost layer in the line of our descent. there was no fire-burning necessary here, but nature, nevertheless, had made the balance even, for the auriferous levels in alaska were rarely half as deep as even the shallow gutter we were now searching for. and again, in frozen ground the surface formations are naturally the hardest, whereas in most other workings that order is reversed. "it's a pleesure tae work i' this grund," was mac's statement, when, after scarcely two hours' labour, he stood nearly waist deep in the new shaft. with much foresight, that wily individual had volunteered to sink the first few feet alone. "i'm just burstin' wi' surplush energy," he explained to stewart, "an' you can dae twa or three fit o' the easy stuff when i'm feenished." "it's rale conseederate o' ye, mac," said stewart feelingly, with thoughts on the nature of things at skookum gulch, and he went inside the tent to try if anything edible could be gathered together for lunch, a matter on which he said he had "graive doots." our new comrade, whom we had already begun to address as "phil," quickly showed himself to be a very worthy addition to our party. after exploring the scrub for timber suitable for banking-up purposes, and drawing back a goodly load, he politely insisted on mac taking a spell while he swung the pick. "i can see," he said diplomatically, "that you would soon work yourself to death out of sheer consideration for others." "dae ye think sae?" grunted he in the shaft cautiously, pausing in his labours. "i do, indeed," reiterated phil with much earnestness. then mac laid down his weapon, and leaning back lazily in his excavation made further circuitous inquiry. "ye've never dug holes afore, phil?" said he; and receiving a negative answer, he supplemented, "an' ye ken that ironstane is a wee bit--weel, i'll say solid?" "yes, i can understand that much," admitted phil wonderingly. "weel," continued mac, lowering his voice, "i've come on a bed o' it the noo, an' i'm jist makin' the tap o't clean an' tidy fur stewart when he comes. he thinks he can equal me at onything, an' i've got tae check that fause impreshun. dae ye savy?" "mac," said phil with decision, "he'll be a smart man that gets the better of you." "i've traivelled a bit," returned the schemer shortly, "an' stewart's sometimes ill tae pit up wi'. i'll gie ye a bonnie saft bit tae practeese on efterwards," he added after a pause. a little later stewart announced that he had got some rice and "tinned dog" cooked. "i houp ye'll excuse the rice," said he, "it's a bit podgy, fur there wis vera little watter tae bile it in." "ye're looking rale worried-like, stewart," said mac sympathetically, as he gulped down his portion of the roasted grains. "it's exerceese ye're needin', i'm thinkin'." "mebbe it is," sighed stewart dolorously. "weel," spoke mac again, "ye can try an' wear doon the shaft a bit in the efternoon, an' me an' phil 'll gang into the city an' get some tasty bits o' provisions. i'm vera concerned aboot ye, ma man." it was indeed very necessary that we should obtain supplies without delay, for our stores consisted only of the remnants carried so hurriedly from our previous camp. already, the first flush of excitement having died away, representatives from the different claims were hurrying towards the township on a similar mission. enthusiasm and an empty stomach seldom agree. but here a difficulty arose. phil's wardrobe was painfully small; his once spotless shirt was now yellow with sand, and almost torn into shreds, and the rest of his limited apparel was in such a state of disrepair, owing to his scramble through the brush, that, as mac said, he looked "hardly respeectable." "ye can hae ma jecket," said stewart magnanimously, "seein' that it wis on ma account ye pit aff the tailie coat." phil accepted the offer promptly. "there's a wonderful change in my appearance since i left the old country a few short weeks ago," said he, surveying his dilapidated garb ruefully. "i shid think sae," grinned mac. "it wud be a rale treat tae see ye walk doon peecadeely in they claes." and they departed. "dae ye tell me that mac has gaun doon five fit?" asked stewart, when we were alone. "i believe he has," i replied, "but in this country it is easy to dig near the surface where the sand has not even solidified." "easy or no' easy," responded stewart impressively, baring his strong right arm, "what mac can dae, i'll dae. wha pu'd harder than i did gaun tae klonduk?" he demanded, making a digression, but i waived the question. "let me know when you have had enough of the shaft," i said, "and i'll relieve you." "umph!" he grunted, ignoring my remark in turn, "five feet! whaur's the pick?" and he strode off to emulate his comrade's achievement. a few moments later a series of sharp metallic echoes issued from the shaft mouth, intimating that stewart had attacked a hard unyielding substance. then, not wishing to be present when he desisted from his labours, i made my way stealthily to the adjoining claim and entered into conversation with its owner; but still the unsympathetic ring of steel meeting some kindred element reached my ears, and i sorrowed for the unfortunate stewart right deeply. the wiry sandgroper whom i interviewed was not one of the bustling kind. i found him enjoying a siesta under the scant shade of the solitary mulga bush on his domain, and scaring the numberless flies away by his vigorous snores. it was almost impossible to realise that he was the valiant runner of the day before. "mornin', mate," said he, rubbing his eyes, after i had hustled him gently. it was late afternoon, but that was a small matter, and i did not trouble to correct him; and we talked together on mining subjects for about an hour. "i ain't wan o' them cusses," he said, "that tries to git disappinted early. my tactics is: git thar in the fust place--at which you'll allow i is no slouch, nuther?" i made the necessary allowance, and he proceeded. "in the second place, thar ain't no call to be desp'rit'ly excited; thishyer life won't change worse'n a muskitter whether we does git to bottom on a spec. three or four days sooner or later." i ventured to remark that his reasonings did him credit. "i does philosophise a bit, mate," he agreed languidly. then there followed a long silence, during which i missed the regular thuds of stewart's pick, and wondered where that persistent gentleman had gone. suddenly a noise as of thunder startled me; it was succeeded by an explosion that shook the ground under our feet. "by the great howlin' billy!" ejaculated my leather-skinned companion, "somebody's fired your shaft." i looked in time to see great boulders of jagged ironstone, and a dense volume of sand, hurled from the mouth of the narrow pit where stewart had been working. filled with a vague fear i rushed to the scene of the disturbance, where the sand-clouds were fast settling, and just as i arrived i beheld stewart calmly coming out towards me from behind phil's timber pile, where he had been sheltered. my surprise was so great that for the moment speech failed me, and i looked vacantly at the shaft and at my companion in turn. then he took pity on me, and condescended to explain. "it's a' richt. i'm nae pheenix," he announced cheerfully, and he led me to the mouth of the shaft, which no longer retained its oblong contour, but was ragged and rent with the upheaval. "i wis lookin' fur ye aboot an hour since," he continued further, "tae get yer opeenion concernin' a sort o' irin furmashun what wis gi'en me sair trouble, bit as i could'na see ye, i kent ye could rely on ma guid jidgement tae dae what i thocht best----" "but i was not aware that we had any gelignite or giant powder in our possession," i interrupted. "nae mair we had," said he, "bit i kept ane or twa extra speecial cartreedges what we used fur burstin' glashiers oot in alaskie--as samples, ye ken--an' i pit them a' in. they've made a vera bonnie hole," he wound up; "that's the best o' they labour-savin' devices." on examination it was found that the ironstone bar had been completely shattered, and little trouble was experienced in removing the remaining fragments. the cavity wherein it had rested was fully five feet deep, so that mac's plot for outwitting his rival had proved a signal failure. it was six o'clock when we descried mac and phil returning from kalgoorlie, laden with stores; darkness was rapidly closing over the valley, so that their forms could not be distinguished until they were quite close. then stewart uttered a howl of rage. "they've brocht back the tailie coat," he cried feebly, and in strutted mac, wearing not only that hateful garment, but also having perched on his head at a rakish tilt a highly-burnished silk hat. "we fund the hat a wee bit faurer on than the coatie," said he, doffing his glossy headgear and gazing at it admiringly. "if ye've ony regaird fur ma feelin's, ye'll pit them baith awa' at aince," stewart implored, much affected. his compatriot gazed at him commiseratingly. "ye've been workin' ow'er hard the day, ma man," said he, "yer nerves are in a gey bad state, i'm thinkin'. hoosomever," he added sternly after brief thought, "it's ongratefu' on your pairt tae despise the gairment, fur i promised phil that ye shid hae it, purvided ye had sunk aboot three feet the day. which," he climaxed, nonchalantly, "i hae nae doot ye hae dune?" stewart beamed. "i apologeese, mac," he said, "noo gie me the coatie." "hoo muckle hae ye sunk?" demanded the generous giver, much taken aback. "full five feet," came the smiling answer. "mac, ma vera dear freen, ye've made a ser'us mistak' this time." mac stood as if transfixed, gazing appealingly at phil, who seemed equally amazed; then he turned without a word and rushed out to the shaft. when he came back a moment later, he stripped off the coat and handed it to stewart. "i'm prood o' ye, ma man," he said with an effort; "ye're an indiveedual o' muckle strategy." then phil joined in with commendable tact. "you've still got the hat, mac," laughed he, "it's a fair divide." [illustration: stewart finds the ground hard.] we "strike" gold for over a week sinking operations on the five-mile flat were continued with unabated vigour, and then a hush of expectation seemed to fall over the community, for the miners in the shallow ground at the head of the lead were nearing bottom, and the vast array who had pegged along the supposed course of the auriferous wash ceased their labours and waited in tremulous eagerness for reports from nos. , , , , , and , below discovery. there was good reason for anxiety. if these claims bottomed on pipe-clay deposits or other barren clayey formations, little hope could be entertained for those who had followed their line of guidance. the direction of the golden channel certainly could not be ascertained by judging the lie of the country on the surface, for it was almost absolutely flat, and bore not the slightest resemblance to the original country far beneath. practical tracing from claim to claim was the only method by which a miner could safely calculate, and that meant that those a little way off the first proved shaft, and all following claim-holders, must either be possessed of a vast amount of hope and energy or an equal amount of patience. it is not unusual, also, to find a deep lead suddenly "fizzle" out with little warning; and again, it seldom fails to create consternation and disappointment at an anxious time by shooting off at right angles, or diverging into numerous infinitesimal leaderettes. so it was that when the first flush of excitement had died away attention was turned to those claims mentioned, and for the time all work was suspended. we, at no. , were still several feet above the level at which we had calculated to find bottom. since stewart so peremptorily burst out the ironstone bar we had encountered nothing but a series of sand formations, which we managed to crash through at the rate of five feet each day, and now our shaft measured fully forty-one feet in depth. my companions worked like trojans in their efforts to reach gold-paying gravel before their neighbours. neither stewart nor mac had the slightest fear of our shaft proving a duffer, and their extreme confidence was so infecting that phil forswore many of his pet geological theories in order to fall into line with their ideas. "after all," he said to me, "geological rules seem to be flatly contradicted by the arrangement of the formations here, and only the old adage holds good, that an ounce of practice is worth a ton of theory." "it looks that way," i answered, "yet i do not like the look of these enormous bodies of sandstone. if i were to go by my experience in other countries, i should promptly forsake this ground and look for more promising tracts." we were standing by the windlass pulling up the heavy buckets of conglomerate material which mac was picking below with much gusto. the glare of the sun reached barely half-way down the shaft, and the solitary worker was beyond our gaze, but well within hearing, nevertheless, for his voice rumbled up from the depths in strong protest. "i'll no hae mae idees corrupted wi' sich fulish argiment. naitur has wyes o' her ain, an' whaur golologists think gold is, ye may be sure there's nane; bit whaur it raelly is, there ignorant golologists insist it insna. there's nae pleasin' some fouk." we kept silence, and, after waiting vainly for our comment, mac again attacked the solid sandstone with sullen ferocity. the air was close and sultry, and the dumps thrown up from the many shafts around glistened in the intense light and crumbled off into the heat haze as filmy clouds of dust. the entire landscape seemed as a biographic picture, and affected the eyes in similar degree. it was a typical westralian day. thud! thud! went mac's pick, and now and then came a grunt of annoyance from that perspiring individual as an unusually refractory substance would temporarily defy his strength. we leaned against the windlass barrel, awaiting his call of "bucket!" which would intimate that further material was accumulated below, and ready for discharge into the outer air. few men were about, unless at no. shaft, where there was much activity. on the adjoining lot our friend of the leathery skin--who rejoiced in the title of "emu bill"--dozed under the shade of a rudely-erected wigwam. "it's a bit warm," ventured phil. he was not quite sure of his ground, and did not wish to exaggerate. "it's d--d hot!" rolled a well-known voice from the depths, and stewart within the tent sang gaily an adaption from "greenland's icy mountains." when quiet was restored i looked again towards no. , and at that moment a red handkerchief fluttered to the top of a tiny flagpole surmounting the windlass, and hung limp. a moment later a long, hoarse cheer swept the flat from end to end, and, as if by magic, each claim appeared fully manned, and a sea of faces turned in our direction. no. had signalled, "on gold." "staun by the windlass! i'm comin' up!" roared mac, who had vaguely heard the sound-waves pass overhead and was wondering what had happened. "gold struck on no. , mac!" i shouted, and phil, who had not quite understood, staggered in amazement, loosening with his feet a quantity of sand and rubble which descended with much force on mac's upturned face, and interrupted a second passionate appeal to "staun by the windlass!" "i'll hae yer life fur that, ye deevil!" he spluttered. "ye did it on purpose." then stewart came upon the scene in great haste. "i tell't ye sae! i tell't ye sae!" he cried, and for the especial benefit of his isolated companion he bellowed down, "they've got gold at number twa, mac! oceans o't!" mac was then half-way to the surface, with one foot resting in the empty bucket attached to the cable, and both hands gripping the strong wire rope, which strained and rasped as it slowly coiled on the wooden drum. he was no light weight, and phil and i felt our muscles twitch as we held against the windlass arm at each dead centre, for there was no ratchet arrangement attached to prevent a quick rush back, and our heavy bucket-load made the safety of his position somewhat doubtful by swaying the rope impatiently, and indulging in other restless antics. however, when he came near the light and saw how matters stood he became quiet as a lamb; but the sight of his face smeared with the grime so recently deposited upon it, and wearing an intensely savage expression, was too much for our gravity, and our efforts faltered. "hang on, ye deevils!" pathetically implored he, as he felt himself tremble in the balance. then seeing stewart's face peering down upon him, he besought his aid. "staun by the winlass, stewart, ma man," he entreated, "or i'll never see auld scotland again." but stewart was at that moment seized with a paroxysm of laughter. the appeal was vain, and his comrade, being now near _terra firma_, and comparatively safe, again addressed him. "git oot o' ma sicht, ye red-heided baboon!" said he. "nae wuner they couldna work the winlass wi' you staunin' aside them." it is an unwritten law on most goldfields throughout the world where the individual miner tries his luck that a flag be at once hoisted over every shaft that bottoms on paying gravel. it is a pretty custom, and a generous one to the less fortunate diggers, who judge by the progressing line of flags whether their own remote claims may have a chance of intercepting the golden channel. as it happened in this case, no. shaft could hardly have failed to pick up the lead, which had been traced in its direction to the boundaries of discovery claim. still, there was much rejoicing when the red symbol went up, and for the rest of the day a renewed activity was in force to the uttermost end of the flat. even "emu bill," as our near neighbour was picturesquely styled, felt called upon to do a little work; but, as he took care to explain, he did it only to satisfy mining regulations, which demand that a certain amount of labour must be performed each day. "you'll notice," said he, "that , , and hiv tacked on d'reckly in line--as they thought--an' you'll furrer notice thishyer propperty, no. , an' yer own, no. , hiv not exzactly played foller the leader." which was true; for emu bill's claim had taken only a diagonal guidance from its predecessor, and ours continued the altered route, while those following varied considerably between the two angles thus given. "when you sees a flag floatin' on no. , boys," continued he meditatively, "it's time to pack up your traps, an', as i said afore, i believe in waitin' events an' jedgin' accordin'." "hoo lang hae you been diggin' holes in this countrie, leatherskin?" stewart politely inquired. and he of the weary countenance chewed his quid reflectively for several minutes ere he made reply. "i reckon over a dozen years," he said at length, "in which time i perspected coolgardie an' kalgoorlie wi' old pat hannan when there was nothin' but niggers within' a couple of hundred miles of us." "a'm o' the opeenion," announced mac, "that what mr. leatherskin disna ken aboot the vagaries o' his ain playgrun' is no worth menshun." "seven is supposed to be a lucky number," spoke phil, "and i think it will prove so with us." after which emu bill went back to slumber, and phil went down to labour in the shaft. "you've got tae mind," instructed mac, who manipulated his descent, "when you want the bucket jist lift up yer voice tae that effeck, and i'll drap it doon gently on the end o' the rope." phil promised, and was speedily lowered into the darkness, and mac, neglecting his post at once, came round into the tent, where stewart and myself were trying hard to find a half-hour's oblivion in the realms of dreamland, and the myriad flies buzzing everywhere were trying equally hard, and with greater success, to prevent our succumbing to the soft influence. mac's entrance at this moment was particularly distasteful to his comrade, who was just on the verge of sweet unconsciousness, and whose essayed snores were beginning to alarm the flies besieging his face. "go awa' oot this meenit, mac," said he, opening his eyes, "and tak' yer big feet aff ma stummick at aince." just then a far-away cry of "bucket" was vaguely heard, and calmly ignored by the new-comer. "stewart, ma man," he began, sitting down on a portion of the weary one's anatomy, "i wis wantin' tae get yer idees on one or twa maitters o' scienteefic interest." "get out, mac!" i ordered. but he seemed not to hear, and another hoarse call for "bucket" passed unobserved. "i wis wantin', for instance," he continued earnestly, "tae speak wi' ye ser'usly on metapheesical quest-shuns----" "let me alane!" stewart howled, writhing in torment. but his visitor was not to be shaken off. five minutes later a stentorian yell from the shaft intimated that phil's patience was being unduly strained, and mac reluctantly desisted from expounding further the intricacies of science, and rose to go. as may be understood, the bottom of a narrow and deep pit is not the most pleasant of places in which to idle away the time, and phil, after digging as much as the limited area of operations would allow, was filled with wrath at the neglect of his associate, and cursed that worthy gentleman with fervour between his shouts. "bucket!" he roared, for the twentieth time, and mac, who was then scrambling towards the windlass, inwardly commented on the unusual savageness of the voice. "he's a wee bit annoyed," he murmured. "i'll better try an' propeetiate him." so he leaned his head over the shaft mouth and whispered in winning tones, "are ye vera faur doon, pheel-up?" "lower away the bucket, you flounder-faced mummy!" came the prompt reply, which penetrated the darkness in sharp staccato syllables. mac looked pained. "noo, if that had been stewart," he muttered grimly, "i wud a kent weel what tae dae, bit being the golologist----" he shook his head feebly, and reached for the hide bucket, which was lying near. then, forgetting in the flurry of the moment to hitch it on to the rope, he let it descend at the fastest speed the law of gravity would permit. "staun frae under!" he yelled, realising too late what he had done; but in such a narrow space there was no room for dodging, and the leathern receptacle struck the unfortunate man below with more force than was agreeable. "ye brocht it on yersel'," consolingly spoke mac. "it's a veesitation o' providence fur miscain' me sae sairly." the words that greeted his ears were eloquent and emphatic, and he marched into the tent in high dudgeon. "gang an' pull the golologist oot o' the shaft," said he to stewart. "he's in the position o' a humourist, an' he canna see throo't." perhaps there are few who could have smiled and looked pleasant under similar circumstances; but the "golologist" was of a forgiving nature, and his enmity dissolved when he reached the surface. "you'll admit, mac," he said, after allowances had been made on both sides, "that i had some slight cause for grumbling, and in your magnanimity you might have spared me your last forcible addition to the argument." "that wis a mistak'," mac replied apologetically. "i had the baggie in ma haun, meanin' tae send it doon in orthodox manner; bit yer injudishus remarks made me nervish, and doon it drappit, sudden-like." after these explanations peace reigned again; but stewart's rest had been so rudely broken that he now thought to work off his lassitude by an hour's graft with the pick. we had arranged ourselves into shifts, which went on and off alternately, or otherwise, as we thought fit; but it was my plan to reach bedrock without delay, so the shaft was never allowed to remain long unoccupied. leaving mac and phil to attend to culinary matters, i went out with stewart, and, after lowering him into the stygian gloom, kept watch by the windlass until the night closed over and phil announced that tea was ready. [illustration: no. claim--just struck gold.] two more days passed uneventfully. the hourly-expected bulletin of good news from no. was being long deferred, and vague fears were beginning to be expressed that all was not satisfactory there. it was known that nos. , , and had put on extra shifts in the last few nights, and the depths of their sinkings must at this time have exceeded fifty feet. we at no. awaited developments with keen interest. it was natural that we should hope for the worst at no. , for, as emu bill had said, we were on an entirely different tack, and might cease our labours when the gaudy emblem appeared over that claim. in these two days progress had been very slow with us, for a hard bar of conglomerate quartz had intervened at the -foot level, and we dared not use gelignite in case the heavy discharge might bring the upper walls inward and render our whole work useless. it is always precarious to use blasting powder of any description at the deep levels of an alluvial shaft, and the more so when the upper formations have proved to be of non-cohesive nature. so we were compelled to laboriously pick the unyielding mass where we might, and otherwise drill and shatter it with hammers. on the morning of the third day after the flag had been raised at no. the emu seemed to awake from his lethargy in earnest, and set to work with right good-will to make up for lost time. "you wasn't wrong in takin' my advice arter all, mate," he said to me, when i appeared to inquire the reason of his unwonted activity. "there's no flag up at no. yet," i answered tentatively. "no, nor won't be, nuther," he returned with evident satisfaction. "i tell you what, mate," he continued impressively, "the first flag that goes up will be at your own shaft, no. , so you'd better get your flagpole ready. the man what says i don't know this country is a liar, every time." yet still the men at the shafts in question continued to dig deeper and deeper. "we hasn't reached bottom yet," they said, in answer to all questions, and on that point they appeared decided. "i'll go up and pint out the evil o' their ways," emu bill said, coming over to us after midday. "i don't believe in no man exartin' hissel' to no good." then he addressed himself to mac far below: "i say, scottie, you're going to strike it first, and good luck to you, you hard-working sinner." "same to you, leatherskin, an mony o' them," a voice from the depths replied gruffly, for the "hard-working sinner" had but imperfectly understood. leaving phil in charge of the windlass, i accompanied emu bill to the shafts he now considered doomed. "look at the stuff they're takin' out," said he, drawing my attention to a heap of white and yellow cement-like substance; "the beggars have gone clean through the bedrock and don't know it." the men at the windlass eyed us savagely as we came near, and i experienced for a moment a malicious joy when i noticed our uncommunicative visitor among them. "we don't want no more opinions," one of their number cried; "we knows we hasn't struck bottom yet." "mates," said emu bill, with dignity, "i hiv sunk more duffers than thar be years in my life--an' i'm no chicken--an' i tells ye straight, you've not only struck bottom, but you've gone three or four feet past it. if you means to tunnel through to ole england, that's your business, but if not, you'd better give it best." without further words, we retraced our steps, my companion fuming inwardly because of his brusque reception. yet his advice must have had due effect, for that evening the unfortunately-placed shafts were being dismantled and late in the night the all too sanguine owners struck their camps and departed for other fields. their disappointment was keen. they had missed fortune by only a few yards. next morning all the flat knew that nos. , , and had duffered out, and, as a result, there was a great exodus of those who had been guided by these locations; but, on the other hand, rejoicings were the order of the day with the miners who believed nos. and to mark the true continuation of the lead, which had last been proved at the second workings. our claim was then the cynosure of all eyes, for the emu's shaft was yet barely six feet deep, and we were supposed to be close on the dreaded bottom. i was convinced that we should know our luck immediately the ironstone bar was penetrated, and that obstruction was not likely to hinder us much longer. "i'll be the man that'll see gold first," mac announced confidently, as he shouldered his pick after breakfast and prepared to take first shift. "i've got a rale bonnie flag to pit up when ye're ready," said stewart, displaying an imposing-looking union jack which had done service at klondike, and which he had been surreptitiously repairing for some days past. phil was silent. "i sincerely hope we may not be disappointed," he said at length. like me, he could not understand the presence of the refractory formation so close upon auriferous wash--if the latter really existed in our claim. "geological rules don't count in this country, phil," i suggested hopefully; then mac departed, grumbling loudly at what he was pleased to call my "job's comfortings." for the best part of the forenoon i listened to the thudding of the pick with an anxious interest, for any stroke now might penetrate to the mysterious compound known as the cement wash; but the blows still rung hard and clear, and i grew weary waiting. it was not necessary to send the bucket below often. though mac smote the flinty rock with all his strength, and a vigour which few could have sustained, the result of his labours was almost infinitesimal. every half-hour stewart would receive from his perspiring companion a blunted pick, hoisted up on the end of the cable, while a fresh one was provided to continue the onslaught. mac seemed tireless, and stewart above, at a blazing fire, practised all his smithy art to keep the sorely-used tools in order; while ever and anon a hoarse voice would bellow from the underground, "mak' them hard, stewart, ma man. mind that it is no butter a'm diggin'." "you must come up, mac," i said, when one o'clock drew near, but he would not hear of it. "i ken i hivna faur tae gang noo," he cried. "i can hear the sound gettin' hollow." another ten minutes passed, and now i could distinctly note a difference in the tone of the echoes ringing upwards. thud! thud! thud! went the pick, and mac's breath came in long deep gasps, that made stewart rave wildly at the severe nature of his comrade's exertions. then suddenly there was a crash, followed by a shout of joy. mac had bottomed at last. for several moments complete silence reigned; then a subdued scraping below indicated that mac was collecting some of the newly-exposed stratum for analysis. "what does it look like?" i whispered down. there are few indeed who could withstand a touch of the gold fever at such a critical time, and i was impatient to know the best or the worst; either report would have allayed the indescribable feeling that possessed me then. the most hardened goldseeker is not immune from the thrill created when bottom has been reached; at that moment he is at one with the veriest novice who eagerly expects to view gold in its rough state for the first time. my companion did not at once gratify my longing for knowledge, and when he replied, phil, stewart, and myself were peering down into the shaft awaiting intelligence with breathless interest. "i think," he muttered, in tones that struck upon our ears as a knell of doom, "i raelly think--ye micht keep yer heids oot o' the licht." "mac!" i admonished, "remember this is no time for pleasantries." "weel, weel," he responded apologetically, "i wis wantin' tae gie correct infurmashun, bit the glint aff stewart's pow mak's a' thing coloured." stewart promptly drew back his head with a howl of rage. "mak' nae mair refleckshuns!" he cried indignantly. there came a creak at the windlass rope as mac put his foot into the half-filled bucket and prepared to ascend; then his voice rolled up to us again. "wha's makin' refleckshuns? i was only makin' menshun o' the bonnie auburn----" "shut up, mac," phil interrupted, and mac obligingly cut short his soliloquy and roared-- "staun by the windlass, ye deevils, i'm comin' up wi' specimens!" if he had had cause at one time to comment on the slow and uncertain nature of his upward flight, he assuredly had no room for complaint in that direction on this occasion. all three of us went to the windlass and yanked our comrade to the surface at a rate that caused him much consternation. then i seized the bucket, which contained a few pounds of an alarmingly white-looking deposit, and hurried with it into the tent, where the gold-pan, freshly scrubbed, lay waiting beside a kerosene tin half filled with muddy water. on closer examination the samples looked decidedly more promising; little granules of quartz were interspersed with the white cement, and a sprinkling of ironshot particles were also in evidence. we had struck an alluvial wash: that was clear enough, and now the question was--would it prove to be auriferous? without speaking we commenced to crush the matrix into as fine a powder as possible, and when that operation was completed, the whole was emptied into the gold-pan. "it looks just like sugar," stewart broke out, "an' no near so dirty as klonduk gravel." "get your flag ready," i said, "we'll know our luck in a few minutes." i now filled the pan with water, and began to give it that concentric motion so familiar to those who search for the yellow metal. gradually, very gradually, the water was canted off, carrying with it the bulk of the lighter sands, and finally the residue was left in the form of some ounces of black ironstone powder, which, because of its weight, had remained, and about an equal amount of coarse quartz grains that had escaped crushing. "but i don't see any gold," said phil despondingly. "ye're faur too impatient," mac reproved. "ye didna expec' tae see it floatin' on tap o' a' that stuff surely?" i tilted the pan obliquely several times in order to make the contents slide round in the circular groove provided, and as it slowly moved under the gentle pressure of the little water remaining, it left a glittering trail in its wake, which caused my three companions to break out in a whoop of delight. some sixty seconds later the union jack floated bravely above our windlass, and was hailed with a thunder of applause. camp-fire reminiscences for many weeks work went on merrily. one after another the various claims reached paying gravel, and flags of all designs and colours soon marked the course of the lead for fully half a mile, after which distance the golden vein effectually eluded discovery; it had apparently disappeared into the bowels of the earth. for the first few days succeeding our location of the auriferous wash we contented ourselves in dollying the more easily disintegrated parts of the white conglomerate, and collecting the solid and cumbrous blocks excavated into sacks, each of which when filled weighed over a hundred pounds. these i meant to send to some crushing battery when several tons had been raised. the water for dollying as well as for all other purposes was obtained from a deep shaft sunk near at hand by a speculative individual, who considered that water might ultimately pay him as generously as gold, and as he charged eightpence a gallon for the brackish fluid, and had an unlimited demand for it at that, he probably found it a less troublesome and much more lucrative commodity than even a moderately wealthy claim on the five-mile lead. as it so happened, however, when other claims began to copy our tactics and dolly portions of their wash, it was made evident that the water bore was not equal to the strain, and once or twice it ran dry at a most critical time. after a careful computation of its capacity we saw that it could only be drawn upon for domestic purposes in future, and even then there was every probability of the supply giving out if a good rainfall did not soon occur to moisten the land and percolate to the impervious basin tapped by the bore in question. [illustration: our shaft.] at this time a public battery, owned by a limited company, was doing yeoman service to the dwellers on an alluvial field some five miles south of us; and after much consideration we, in common with the most of the miners, arranged to despatch our golden gravel thither, as being the only way out of a difficulty. public batteries exist all over those goldfields, for, owing to the absence of water, a prospector can rarely do more than test samples of his find, and thereby estimate its value; and these public crushing plants are, therefore, a very necessary adjunct to his success. the time passed pleasantly enough now that the trying uncertainty of the first fortnight was no longer with us, and the auriferous channel was being slowly and surely tunnelled and cut in every conceivable direction. work was pursued in matter-of-fact fashion. the glamour of the goldseeker's life had departed with the risk. yet when the practical and perhaps sordid work of the day was done, and we gathered together around one or other of the numerous camp fires, it seemed as if a new world had descended upon us when daylight gave place to the mystic glimmer of the lesser stars and the steadfast radiance of the glorious southern cross. only the world-wanderer who has slept beneath all skies can truly appreciate the grandeur of the southern constellations. the bushman has grown to love them from his infancy; they have been his companions on many a weary journey, and he regards them with an almost sacrilegious familiarity. but to the traveller from other lands these shining guideposts in the heavens arouse a feeling akin to reverence, and later, when he ventures into his grim desert land and trusts his life to their constancy, his admiration, were it possible, increases tenfold. there is, of course, one great reason for the stranger's attachment to the sky sentinels of an australian night other than their calm, clear brilliance. in no other country is the wanderer brought so close, as it were, to the luminaries of night. in canada, alaska, america, india, or china, or, indeed, in any portion of the globe, by reason of climatic or other conditions, one must perforce sleep under canvas, and in some cases where the cold is severe--as in alaska--the shelter of a heavily-logged hut is almost a necessity. but in the inland parts of australia, where rain seldom falls, and where no pestilence taints the atmosphere, the sky alone usually forms the traveller's roof. many times have i gone to sleep in the great silent interior with only my coat for a pillow, and coaxed myself into slumber while watching for the advent of a favourite star, or tracing the gradual course of the southern cross. to me the stars of the south have a peculiar significance. when i gazed at them, even while divided from civilisation by over a thousand miles of dreary arid sand plains, i felt comforted, for though compass and sextant may fail, the stars will still show the way. i recall our evenings spent at the five-mile camp with deepest pleasure. there only did i meet and talk with the typical men of the west, and the simple, true-hearted, restless spirits of the island continent who have pushed the outposts of their country far into the desert. it was my one experience of a western australian mining camp, and afterwards, during our weary wanderings in the far interior, we often longed for the company of the generous-minded men who used to gather round our fire and review their early experiences with such vivid effect. emu bill, i have already mentioned, but there were several others whom we came to know during the later days of our sojourn at the golden flat, and they had all their own peculiar characteristics, with a sterling honesty of purpose as the keynote of their lives. "old tom," i remember, possessed an interest in the claim next to ours; not much of an interest it was, either, for he was too old a man to have come in nearly first in the rush. he had simply been promised a percentage of returns in no. for doing all the work thereon; and as at first the presence of gold there was much doubted, it was no great generosity on the part of the owner of the lot to promise slight reward and no wages for labour done. yet for once old tom scored in a bargain, and his labours were not, as he cheerfully said they had ever been, wholly vain. old tom must have been a splendid specimen of manhood in his day; now he was nearly seventy years of age, and his bent shoulders detracted somewhat from his great stature, while his slightly-bowed legs--whose deviation from the perpendicular, he insisted, had been caused by much walking--gave to him a more frail appearance than was justified. his knowledge of his own country was extensive, but he had fallen into the strange belief that the world began at australia, and that europe, asia, and other portions of the globe were merely remote colonies or dependencies of his own land. "i hiv walked all over australia, mates," he used to say; "i know the world well." "you ought to see london, tom," i said, one night, after he had been recounting his travelling experiences; but he shook his head. "it's too far to walk," he replied sadly; "old tom's walking days are nearly over. but," and he brightened considerably, "i've heard tell that lunnon is full o' people, an' there wouldn't be no room for an old man like me to peg his claim." it was one of his fixed ideas that the whole world was but a goldfield on which all men had to try their luck. and the sea had its terrors for him, as it has for nearly all bushmen, although most of them get accustomed to it sooner or later. with old tom it would be never. "i went on a ship once," he admitted, "when i was a young 'un, an' the mem'ry o't will never leave me." he shuddered at the recollection of his sufferings. "i kin walk 'bout as fast as a ship, anyway," he added with much satisfaction, "an' a hundred miles more or less don't make much difference when old tom is on the wallaby." at another time, when news of kitchener's brilliant successes in the soudan had reached us, i read out to him from an old home newspaper details of the capture of omdurman. there were many around the fire that night, and all listened eagerly to the thrilling narrative except old tom; he gazed listlessly into the glowing fire, and smoked his pipe unmoved. "have you no interest in these things, tom?" i asked. "it's a long time since i've been in the eastern colonies," he answered slowly, "an' i hiv lost my bearin's among them names. soudan is in queensland, isn't it? or mebbe it is west'ard in noo south wales?" poor old tom! he had fought the aborigines times without number, and taken his life in his hands on many a lone trail, yet he would have been surprised had anyone said that he was more than usually venturesome. he knew no fear, and acted his weary part in life nobly and well. [illustration: nuggety dick and silent ted.] "silent ted" was another of our camp-fire comrades; he was, as his name implied, not a talkative individual. long years spent in the bush had served to dry up the vials of his speech. yet he was not morose or taciturn by nature; he simply seemed too tired to give expression to his thoughts. his eyes were ever fixed and emotionless as the desert sands--sure evidence of the bushman who has lived in the dreary wilderness beyond the darling. he had been a long time in striking gold, and we all thought his shaft was likely to prove a duffer; but despite our gloomy prophecies he joined our evening circle night after night, and smoked his pipe cheerful as usual, though that was not saying much. "i forgot to tell you, mates," he broke out one evening, to our great surprise, "that i struck bottom yesterday." he meant to say more, but his mouth closed with a click in spite of himself, and in reply to our congratulations he handed round for examination two fine specimens of alluvial gold which he had taken from his first day's tests, and when they had been inspected by the community and returned to him, he passed them on to his neighbour with a sigh; he had apparently already forgotten their existence. the devil-may-care fossicker, also, was well represented, and his species rejoiced in cognomens so euphonious and varied that i could never remember the correct titles to bestow upon their several owners, and only realised my mistakes when greeted with reproachful glances. among our acquaintances were, "dead broke sam," a proverbially unfortunate miner in a perpetual state of pecuniary embarrassment; "lucky dave," who always "came out on top;" "happy jack," who seemed to find much cause for merriment in his rather commonplace existence; and "nuggety dick," who at all times could unearth one or two specimens from some secret place in his meagre wardrobe, and describe minutely where they had been obtained--usually some place comprehensively indicated as "away out back." these gaunt, bearded men had many strange stories to tell, and in the ruddy firelight they would trace on the sand intricate charts emblematic of their wanderings. they were those whose roving natures compelled them to follow up every gold rush, with the firm belief that extraordinary fortune would one day crown their efforts. "it's a durned hard life, boys," dead broke sam, who worked with old tom on similar terms of remuneration, would often say, looking round for the sympathetic chorus that was always forthcoming, "but if we doesn't peg out, we is bound to strike it some day." there is no blasphemy in the speech of the australian miner. the most rugged-looking fossicker is gentle as a lamb, save when undue presumption on the part of some new chum, or "furriner," arouses his ire, and then he makes things hum generally; but his forcible words are merely forcible, and perhaps "picturesque," but nothing more; the inane profanity of the yankee fortune-seeker finds no exponent in the australian back-blocker. many were the tales "pitched" on these long starlit nights, and narratives of adventure in search of gold, and hairbreadth escapes from the aborigines succeeded each other until the evening was far spent, and the southern cross had sunk beyond the horizon. then we would disperse with a monosyllabic "night, boys," all round, and seek our separate sandy couches. my comrades, mac and stewart, were shining satellites at these meetings, and weird stories from the pampas plains and the klondike valley formed at intervals a pleasing change--from the miners' point of view--to the accounts of gold-finds, and rushes, and hostile natives, so fluently described by nuggety dick and co. and now and then a whaling anecdote would lend zest to the gathering, faithfully told by stewart with much dramatic effect; he was, indeed, a past master at the art, and never failed to hold his audience spellbound. emu bill, though recognised by all as the most experienced miner present, rarely condescended to spin a yarn, and he listened to his _confrères'_ tales with ill-concealed impatience, but showed a decided liking for my two warriors' romances. one evening, however, he broke his reserve and proceeded to give a rambling survey of his wanderings, and as he warmed to his subject his eyes began to glow, and his gestures became eloquent and impassioned. "yes, boys," said he, winding up a _resumé_ of his exploits in various parts of australia, "i calc'late i hev had a fair-sized experience o' gold mining in my time, an' as ye may guess, i hevn't allus come out right end up, nuther, else i shouldn't be here. thank the lord! i've struck something at last." "i'm wi' ye thar, mate," grunted old tom in sympathy. "i guess this is old tom's last rise." then a silence fell over the little assembly, during which emu bill drew fanciful diagrams in the sand with an improvised camp poker, and silent ted almost went to sleep. the rest of us gazed at emu bill with a show of interest, expecting him to proceed with his reminiscences, and soon he started again. "yes, boys, i've had my disappintments, as we've all had, i opine, but i had an un-common disappintment at the time o' the kalgoorlie rush----" "kalgoorlie rush, bill?" i exclaimed. "were you in that?" "wur i in that?" he echoed dismally. "i wur, an' i wurn't, which is not mebbe a very plain statement, but you kin jedge fur yourself if you care to hear my yarn." "let her go, bill," said nuggety dick. "i'm listenin' wi' vera great interest," mac spoke slowly. "ye've been a man o' pairts, emoo." after sundry expressions of approval had been elicited, bill again picked up the thread of his narrative. "you've heard o' old hannan, of course," he began, "the diskiverer o' kalgoorlie? the diskiverer o' kalgoorlie!" he repeated, mimicking a general expression often heard on the fields. "well, boys, i kin tell you how kalgoorlie was diskivered.... pat hannan an' me had been mates for a considerable time. we walked from south'ron cross together afore the railway, an' we 'specked around coolgardie camp wi' fairish success. there was no township at coolgardie then, boys, though that jumped up quick enough. one day we thought we'd jine a party as was going out eastward to 'speck for gold furrer back in the nigger country; an' after gettin' our water-bags filled an' provisions for a month rolled up in our swags, we all cleared out. in two days we camped at kalgoorlie well. you know where that is, boys; but there was nary a shanty within twenty-five miles of it then, nothin' but sand an' black boys, an' hosts o' nigs. but we never thought o' lookin' for gold there, worse luck; at least, none o' the rest did; but old hannan had a skirmish round' an' reported nary sign o't, so we struck camp at oncet. but jest as we wur movin' off, hannan comes to me with a twist on his mug an' snickers, 'bill, me bhoy, phwat can i do? me water-bag's bust!' now that wur a ser'us matter, for we needed all the water we could carry, not knowin' when another well might turn up, so i voted we shid all camp again until pat's water-bag had been repaired, an' the rest o' the boys of course agreed, unan'mous. but that wouldn't suit old hannan, 'ye'd better go on, boys,' said he, 'an' i'll come after yez in half an hour.' so we went on; but though we went slow, and arterards waited fur half a day, no hannan turned up, an' we had to continue our journey without him. well, boys, we came back in less'n a fortnight, arter trampin' about in the durnedest country on god's earth in search o' water an' findin' none. we hadn't time to look fur gold, so ye kin guess we wur mighty miserable when we drew near to the place where old hannan's water-bag had busted; but the appearance o' the camp sort o' mystified us, thar wur rows an' rows o' tents, an' the ground was pegged fur miles. 'howlin' tarnation!' i yelled at the first man we came across. 'is this a mir-adge, or what has we struck?' 'nary mir-adge, mate,' said he, 'this is hannan's find, or kalgoorlie if yous like that name better.' ... an' it wur a bitter fack, boys. old hannan must have notised an outcrop somewheres around, an' being allfired afeared that we, his mates, might get too much benefit, he had ripped the water-bag on purpose so as to get an excoose fur waitin' behind. then, of course, he had gone back to coolgardie an' got the government diskivery reward, which otherwise would have been divided atween us. but we got nothin', boys, nary cent, an' nary square inch o' ground. the camp had been rushed when we wur sufferin' howlin' terrors out back.... there's wan favour i'd ask of you, boys, don't none of you start 'god blessin'' old hannan for diskivering kalgoorlie in my hearing. i can't stand it, boys, an' you know why." bill ceased, and a murmur of sympathy ran round the little group. the kalgoorlie rush was fresh in the minds of nearly all present, many of whom had taken part in it. every one knew hannan, but who better than his one-time partner? and if his tale showed the much-honoured finder of kalgoorlie in a less favourable light than that in which he was usually regarded, no one doubted emu bill's version of the story; yet it was hard to dispel from the mind the glamour of romance associated with the event from the first. one more illustration of the difference between the real and the ideal, but it seems almost a pity to destroy the illusions, they lend so much colour and interest to otherwise sordid episodes. the night was unusually dark, fleeting clouds constantly obscured the feeble light of a slender crescent moon, and the myriad stars glimmered fitfully. our fire was the only cheerful object in the darkness, and it blazed and crackled, lighting up the weather-beaten faces of the circle around it, and illuminating our tent in the background. for a long time no one spoke, every man seemed gloomily affected by bill's story, and with chins resting on their hands they gazed into the vortex of the flaming logs long and earnestly. then a familiar voice interrupted their reveries. "when stewart an' me discovered gold bottom creek----" "go slow, mac," i objected wearily; "it's getting late and we'd better turn in." "it is wearin' on fur midnight," grunted dead broke sam, surveying the heavens for the position of his favourite reckoning star. "what was your last battery returns, mate?" asked emu bill, turning to me with a revival of practical interest. "fifty tons for ounces," i replied. "not too bad," commented nuggety dick. "i'm tons fur ounces," said my interrogator, "which is the same ratio. i guess nos. and are the best properties on the five mile." "i'm for ," announced happy jack cheerfully. "thank the lord, we've all got somethin'," old tom muttered devoutly, as he rose to his feet. then we went our several ways. [illustration: happy jack and dead-broke sam.] the "sacred" nugget at this time much interest was aroused by the report that an extraordinarily large nugget had been found within a few miles of kanowna, an outlying township, but as the days passed and no confirmation of the rumour was forthcoming, the miners throughout the whole district decided to hold a court of inquiry and elicit the facts, or at least the foundations on which the panic-creating statement had been based. as may be imagined, where gold is in question no rumour, however wild, is allowed to die a natural death. the miners _will_ sift and probe into the matter to the bitter end--and usually the end is bitter indeed to those who have been too eager to join the inevitable rush, and sink the almost equally inevitable duffer shafts. in the present case, however, the sifting process was speedily fruitful of results. tangible evidence was obtained that two men had been seen early one morning carrying what seemed to be an enormous nugget in a blanket, some little distance from the settlement. where the men came from with their find no one knew, and it was not likely that they would have given the information had it been asked; but where they had gone afterwards promised to be an equally mysterious question; they had vanished, leaving no trace or clue. the warden of the district professed complete ignorance of the entire affair, and suggested that a practical joke had been played on the people; but this only served to make the miners unite in an outburst of genuine indignation. already many shafts had been sunk in the most unlikely places by men who could ill afford to labour in vain. the mad enthusiasm created had had dire effect. hundreds of men were flooding into the camp daily from every quarter; work on all the leads had ceased in anticipation of a rush. the joke, if joke it was, was indeed a cruel one, and its perpetrators deserved the wild denunciations that were heaped upon them. "we'll lynch them!" roared the miners, and they meant it; but despite the utmost searching, the nugget-carriers--whose names were known--could not be found. then just as excitement was dying out, when the people were all but convinced that they had been hoaxed, and were preparing to return to their various labours, confirmation of the rumour came from a most unexpected quarter. a roman catholic priest publicly stated that he was aware of the existence of the nugget, that he had been under a promise of secrecy to the finders not to reveal its location for ten days, but that owing to the extreme panic aroused he felt constrained to admit its authenticity, so that one doubt might be set at rest. as for the district in which the great find had been made, he would give full particulars on the following tuesday. he further gave out that the nugget weighed something over a hundred pounds, and was a perfect specimen of true alluvial gold. the state of affairs after that can be better imagined than written. there promised to be a rush unequalled in the annals of goldfields history. men flocked into kanowna in their thousands; excitement was raised to fever heat; and the whole country seemed to await the coming of tuesday. we, on the five mile, did not escape the prevalent craze. our various properties were becoming worked out, and in any case who could resist being influenced by the mention of such a large nugget? the gold fever is, indeed, a rampant, raging disease which few can withstand. "it'll be a bonnie run," said stewart, "bit i can haud ma ain wi' ony man." "i think phil could gie ye a sair tussle," commented mac, "an' as fur masel'--i alloo naebody's sooperiority." but it was plain to all, long before the eventful day arrived, that the rush for the sacred nugget, as it was called, would be totally different from that in which we had taken part with so much success. and little wonder. since father long's announcement, horses and bicycles and buggies of all descriptions were being held in readiness. no one had a notion how near or how far the rush might lead, but all seemed determined to have the speediest means of locomotion at their disposal. under these circumstances my companions' running powers could avail little, and i was not disposed to favour their desire to try their luck in the stampede. "we've had enough of gold-mining, boys," i said, "and after we have finished here i think we'll prospect further out." and the thought of journeying into the unknown back country pleased them mightily. it had long been my wish to explore the central parts of the great western colony, and i was seriously considering the feasibility of my plans towards that purpose when the sacred nugget excitement burst into prominence, and for the time being served to demoralise my schemes. "i don't think we ought to trouble with any new strike about here," phil said wearily. the monotony of the gold-seeker's life in western australia was beginning to affect even his usually buoyant nature. "don't go, boys," advised emu bill earnestly. "i is satisfied the thing isn't straight. father long or no father long, thar's been too much mystery about the consarn. thar's a ser'us hoax somewheres." it was a surprise to hear such advice from him. i thought of the time when i first saw him leading the rush to five mile, and unconsciously i smiled. "in spite of what you say, i believe you'll be there yourself, bill," i said. "i'm sure it would break your heart to be absent from such an event." "i'm not deny'n' but you're right," he replied soberly. "wi' me it's a sort o' madness, but that don't affeck the honesty o' my remarks wan little bit." "weel," began mac with emphasis, "if ye dinna want tae gang, ye'll no gang. stewart and me'll see efter that. i'll dae ye a kindness fur aince, emoo." we decided at last that phil and i should go and view the "circus"--not to join in it by any means, but simply that we should see, and have our curiosity gratified; and so the matter rested. but on tuesday morning, when emu bill saw the eager throngs passing inwards in the direction of kanowna, his resolutions began to waver, and when the five-mile flat also began to show a deserted appearance, he came over to our tent with a mournful countenance. "i is goin' with you arter all, mates," he said simply. "ye're gaun tae dae naething o' the sort, emoo," roared mac. "did ye no promise tae wait wi' stewart an' me? no, ma man, fur yer ain guid we'll keep ye here." and after much eloquent argument bill resigned himself to his fate, almost cheerful at last to find his own views resisted so strongly. but as phil and i were starting out, he came to me with an eager light in his eyes. "if you does think it's goin' to be any good," he said, "mention my name to tom doyle. he'll give you anything you want. goodbye, boys, an'--an' good luck." and he was led away to be regaled with stirring stories of other lands, by the masterful pair. the momentous announcement had been advertised to take place on tuesday, at . p.m., from the balcony of the criterion hotel, and when we reached the township about midday we found the main thoroughfare a jostling mass of boisterous humanity; while cyclists in hundreds, lightly garbed as if for a great race, waited patiently in the side street leading to the post-office, and in full view of the much-advertised balcony. the cyclist element was composed of strangers, for the most part, who had cycled from kalgoorlie and other settlements within a radius of twenty miles; hence their early arrival on the scene; they had timed themselves to be well ahead, so as to be fully rested before the fateful signal was given. as we forced our way through the crowd i could not help remarking that the majority had been imbibing over-freely to ensure rapidity of action later on. indeed, it looked as if the criterion hotel, which formed the centre of interest, was to be most benefited by the rush. it had not been by any means the most popular rendezvous of the miners, but on this day it received a huge advertisement, and profited accordingly. we walked to the end of the street, where the bustle was considerably less, and here we noticed a large wooden erection bearing the sign, "tom doyle, kanowna hotel." "that is the name bill mentioned," said phil; "he seems a fairly important individual in his own way. suppose we interview him, or at least have dinner in his mansion." to the latter part of the suggestion i was agreeable, and so in we went. i had met tom doyle on several occasions since my arrival in the country; that gentleman was most ubiquitous in his habits, and had a keen scent for gold, so that his lanky figure might be expected anywhere where good prospects had recently been obtained. he was also future mayor of the camp, and so was, as phil had put it, quite an important individual in his way; but how we could benefit by giving him emu bill's name and compliments was more than i could understand. the hotel seemed to be completely empty; even the bar was deserted, which showed an extraordinary state of matters. "if mac and stewart were here," laughed phil, "there would be a repetition of the indian village raid i have heard so much about." which i fear was only too true. however, we determined to give fair warning of our presence in the establishment, and halloed out lustily; and at last a heavy footstep sounded in the room above. "doyle!" i cried, "sir thomas doyle!" "lord doyle!" added phil, in a voice that might have awakened the seven sleepers. "phwat the thunder'n' blazes is yez yellin' at!" roared the object of our inquiry, suddenly appearing on the stairway. then he noticed the vacant bar. "thunder'n' turf!" he muttered helplessly, "has all the shop cleared out after that d----d nugget?" "looks like it, tom," i suggested. "have you been asleep?" "av coorse. it's me afternoon siesta i was having. i'll be in time for the rush all right, an' don't you forget it." "we didn't come to warn you about that," i said. "emu bill of the five mile said you had a few good horses----" [illustration: ready for the rush.] "emoo bill!" he howled. "same man," i admitted; "do you know him?" "does i know emoo bill? well, i should smile. why, me an' him were with hannan when that old skunk went back on us at the discovery ov kalgoorlie. howly moses! poor owld emoo! horses, boys? surely. i'm goin' to use 'prince' myself, but yez can have the two steeplechasers, 'satan' an' 'reprieve.' i'll do that much for the emoo; an' d----n the others who expect the horses." events had certainly developed much more rapidly than i had anticipated; neither phil nor myself had entertained the idea of joining in the rush. i had mentioned emu bill's message idly, never dreaming it would produce such a prompt effect. tom doyle was a noted sporting man in the district, a second harry lorrequer in a small way, and provided he was not drunk, he could break in even the most unruly horse when all others had failed. the noise on the street was now becoming terrific; small armies of miners bearing picks and stakes were arriving from the local diggings, and buggies and horses were being hurriedly equipped. "we'll have a dhrop av the crater first," said tom, noting the disturbance outside, "and then we'll saddle up." shortly afterwards we emerged from the hotel courtyard mounted on horses that were the pride of the countryside. tom rode "prince," a powerful-limbed, coal-black cob of sixteen hands; phil bestrode "satan," a fiery australian brumby; and i clung to "reprieve," an impetuous high-stepping bay. "keep at my heels, boys," cried tom, as he started off at a canter, and it was at once evident that if we could keep at his heels we should be in at the death without a doubt. it was slightly after three o'clock, and when we reached the scene of excitement we found the street absolutely blocked. there must have been several thousand men packed like sardines right across the broad passage, and on the outskirts of this vast crowd over a hundred cyclists stood ready; beyond them still, a line of horsemen were drawn up, in numbers exceeding a regimental squadron. scores of buggies and other spidery racing contrivances were scattered near at hand, and extended far down the side street leading towards the post-office. it was indeed an extraordinary sight. we formed up with the other horsemen, tom's approach being hailed with loud cheers, for every one knew the dare-devil irishman. "you'll get a broken neck this time, tom," cried one of his acquaintances cheerfully. "i didn't know prince was broken in to the saddle yet, tom," said another. "no more he isn't," replied tom, "but he's broken enough for me. stand clear, bhoys." and then the black charger reared and bucked and curvetted wildly, while its rider kicked his feet out of the stirrups and kept his seat like a centaur. few of the horses present had been much used before, and they now became restive also, and pranced dangerously. phil and i had a bad five minutes. we did not know the nature or temper of our mounts; and besides, neither of us cared to place much reliance on our stirrup leathers, they looked frayed and wofully fragile. "if they _go_ with yez, bhoys," advised tom, "give 'em their heads. they'll get tired soon enough. thar's lots o' room in this country." "oh, lord!" groaned phil, "what a comfortable prospect we have before us! my back is about broken with this kicking brute already." the vast assembly was now becoming impatient. the stated time, . , had been reached, and as yet there was no sign of the reverend father who had been the cause of the extraordinary meeting. then just as threats and curses were being muttered, a pale-faced young man in clerical garb made his appearance on the balcony, and a deathlike stillness reigned in an instant. in a few words the priest explained his strange position, but he was rudely interrupted many times. "it's gettin' late. where did the nugget come from?" the rougher spirits roared. the young man hesitated for a moment. "the nugget was found on the lake gwinne track," he said, "at a depth of three feet----" with a long, indescribable roar the multitude scattered, and the speaker's concluding words were drowned in the din. "hold on!" cried tom, as phil and i swung round to follow the main rush, "the d----d idiots didn't wait to hear how _far_ it was from lake gwinne." there was scarcely a dozen of us left; the breaking-up had been as the melting of summer snows. "and the position is two miles from the lake," repeated the young man, wearily. then tom gave his horse a free rein and we followed suit. lake gwinne was a salt-crusted depression in the sand surface, about five miles distant from the township, and in a very little frequented vicinity. the so-called track towards it was nothing more than a winding camel pad through the bush, and had the miners stopped to think, they would have at once realised how insufficient was the data given. with our additional information we were slightly better off; nevertheless i was not at all inclined to grow enthusiastic over our chances. the district mentioned had been very thoroughly prospected many months before, and with little success. "i think father long has been hoaxed after all," i said to phil, as we crashed through scrub and over ironstone gullies in the wake of the main body, which we were rapidly overtaking. but he could not reply; his horse was clearing the brush in great bounds, and as it had the bit between its teeth, my companion evidently had his work cut out for him. a few yards ahead tom's great charger kept up a swinging gallop, and every now and then that jolly roysterer would turn in the saddle and encourage us by cheery shouts. we soon passed the men who were hurrying on foot, but the buggies and the cycles were still in front. the sand soil throughout was so tightly packed that it formed an ideal cycle path, but the sparse eucalypti dotting its surface were dangerous obstacles, and made careful steering a necessity. the goldfield cyclist, however, is a reckless individual, and rarely counts the cost of his adventurousness. soon we came near to the cyclist army; the spokes of their wheels scintillated in the sunlight as they scudded over the open patches. but one by one they dropped out, the twisted wheels showing how they had tried conclusions with flinty boulders, or collided with one or other of the numberless mallee stumps protruding above the ground. on one occasion tom gave a warning shout, and i saw his horse take a flying leap over a struggling cyclist who had got mixed up in the parts of his machine. i had just time to swerve my steed to avoid a calamity, and then we crashed on again at a mad gallop, evading the bicycles as best we could, and sometimes clearing those which had come to grief at a bound. it was in truth a wild and desperate race. when the last of the cyclists had been left behind, and the swaying, dust-enshrouded buggies and one or two solitary horsemen were still in front, tom turned again. "let her go now, bhoys," he said, "there's a clear field ahead. whoop la! tally ho!" for the remainder of that gallop i had little time to view my surroundings; i dug my heels into "reprieve's" flanks, and he stretched out his long neck and shot forward like an arrow from the bow. buggies and miscellaneous vehicles were overtaken and left in the rear. various horsemen would sometimes range alongside for a trial of speed, but "reprieve" outdistanced them all. "it's doyle's 'reprieve,'" one of the disgusted riders cried; "an' there's 'satan,' an', fire an' brimstone! here's doyle hissel'." tom's weight was beginning to tell on his noble animal, which had given the lead to my horse who carried the lightest load; but with scarcely a dozen lengths between us we thundered past the foremost racing buggy, and were quickly dashing down towards lake gwinne, whose sands now shimmered in the near distance. we were first in the rush after all. suddenly we came upon a recently-excavated shaft with a dismantled windlass lying near, and with one accord we drew up and dismounted. "if this is where the sacred nugget came out of, it looks d----d bad that no one is about," growled tom, throwing the reins of his horse over a mulga sapling and looking around doubtfully. it was clearly the vicinity indicated by father long, and we lost no time in marking off our lots in the direction we considered most promising. we had barely taken these preliminary precautions when horsemen and buggies began to arrive in mixed order, and in a short time the ground all the way down to the lake was swarming with excited goldseekers. "i'm blest if i like the look o' things at all, at all," mused tom, and i was inclined to take a similar view of matters, for a more barren-looking stretch of country would have been hard to find. then, again, by examining the strata exposed in the abandoned shaft we could form a fair estimate of the nature of the supposed gold-bearing formation; and after phil and i had made a minute survey of all indications shown, we came to the conclusion that our ground, acquired after such a hard ride, was practically worthless and not likely to repay even the labour of sinking in it. the hundreds of others who had pegged out beyond us were not so quickly convinced, and they announced their intention of sinking to bedrock if they "busted" in the attempt. about an hour after our arrival at the sacred nugget patch, phil and i started back for the five-mile flat, satisfied to have taken part in so strange a rush, yet quite certain that the sacred nugget had been unearthed in some other district, or that the entire concern had been a stupendous hoax. tom doyle decided to camp on the so-called "patch" all night, without any special reason for doing so beyond holding the ground in case some fool might want to buy it for flotation purposes, as had been done often before with useless properties. when we reached home that evening we were tired indeed, and in spite of ourselves we felt rather disappointed at the unsuccessful issue of the much-advertised stampede. "ye've had a gran' time," said mac regretfully, when phil told of how he and "satan" came in first after a most desperate race. "i'm glad i didn't go with you," said bill. "i hope i can resist temptation in the way o' rushes until i is ready to sail back homeward." "it would certainly be better," i allowed, "than to give up a proved property for a miserable sham." as it happened, the famous rush had indeed proved but a worthless demonstration. not a grain of gold was discovered near the sacred patch; and after much labour had been expended there, the disgusted miners abandoned their shafts in a body. [illustration: a breakdown in the rush.] the mystery connected with the alleged nugget was never explained. every bank in the colony denied having seen it, and its supposed finders did not again appear on the fields. father long must have been cruelly victimised, of that there was no doubt, for no one could for a moment believe that he had perjured himself. he was justly known as a thoroughly honourable man and a conscientious teacher. even the most suspicious mind could not accuse him in any way. and he, the unfortunate dupe of a pair of unscrupulous rogues, did not long survive the severe shock given to an already feeble system. he died some months later, and with him went the secret, if any, of the great sacred nugget. into the "never never" land a few weeks after the sacred nugget rush had taken place we lowered our flag at the five-mile flat, having come to an end of the auriferous workings within our boundaries. i had meanwhile succeeded in purchasing from an afghan trader two powerful camels and five horses, with the intention of using them on our projected inland expedition. the horses, i feared, would prove of little service, but for the early part of the journey they might relieve the camels somewhat by carrying the various tinned foodstuffs necessary for a long sojourn in the desert. these "various" stores vary but little notwithstanding their distinguishing labels, and the bushman's vocabulary, always expressive, contains for them a general title, namely, "tinned dog." tinned dog and flour are, indeed, the sum total of the australian explorer's needs. the traveller in the great "never never" land is not an epicure by any means, and should he be burdened by over-æsthetic tastes they quickly vanish when "snake sausage" or "bardie pie" has appeared on his _menu_ for some days! phil had decided to accompany us, and as he had shared our fortunes since our entry into the country, i was by no means loath to accept of his services, knowing him to be a highly trustworthy comrade, and an invaluable addition to our little party he proved. it was hard to say goodbye to our old associates of the camp fire; i knew they would not remain much longer at the same diggings, which were showing signs of playing out in almost every claim, and it was not likely we should ever meet again. old tom was much affected; he had been our near neighbour so long, and under the happiest circumstances of his wandering life, so he said, and now we were going back into the "never never" country, and would never see him more. i was not quite certain whether old tom meant that we should most probably leave our bones in the central deserts, or whether his words were due to an extreme sentimentalism on his part, but i preferred to believe the latter. "we'll call and see you at adelaide some of these times, tom," i said, while stewart and mac were bidding him an affectionate farewell, but he only shook his head mournfully, and would not be comforted. as for emu bill, he had considerable faith in our enterprise, and would, i believe, have come with us had i said the word. he was, however, a true specimen of the independent bushman, and unwilling to demonstrate his wishes. "durn it all, boys," said he with vigour, "i is not an old man yet, an' tho' i knows you aire a big enuff party without me to get through the mallee country, i guess i'll coast it round to derby in time to jine you in a leopolds trip." "i thought you were going home after this rise, bill," i said quizzically, not surprised to find his early resolutions wavering. "i'll mebbe see you 'cross the leopolds first," he replied gravely. "i calc'late i knows that bit o' kintry better'n any white man." "goodbye, boys," roared nuggety dick and his satellites, waving their shovels from their distant claims, and the echoes were taken up from end to end of the lead, for where i was wholly unknown mac and stewart had endeared themselves by devices peculiar to that crafty pair. it was pleasant to receive such a genial send-off, and though i am not as a rule affected by farewell greetings, yet on this occasion i felt strangely moved. the camels and horses stood ready, laden with the great water-bags and unwieldy mining machinery, and phil was stroking the mane of one of the horses in listless fashion. "it's a fairly long trip for you to start on, phil," i said, noting the far-away expression on his usually bright face. "i was thinking of _other_ things," he answered quietly. "gee up, misery!" cried mac, cracking his long whip. "gee up, slavery!" echoed stewart. and we started out, heading n.n.e., bound for the land where the pelican builds its nest. for the first few miles we crossed the gridiron-like tracks connecting the numerous camps and settlements lying out from the main township of kalgoorlie; but soon these signs of civilisation vanished, and in the early afternoon our course lay over a wildering scrubland, with iron-shot sand-patches here and there among the stunted shrubs. the camels, which we had named "slavery" and "misery," led the trail. they were, indeed, wiry animals, and as i paced beside them, noting their almost ludicrously leisurely tread, i could not help remarking on the vast amount of latent power indicated in every movement of their rubber-like bodies. "slavery" was a patient and gentle animal, and marched along meekly under his load of full seven hundred pounds, but "misery" soon displayed a somewhat fiery temper, and before our first day's journey was completed we were compelled to adopt stern measures with the recalcitrant brute. the horses formed a sad-looking line behind the sturdier beasts of burden, and they would cheerfully have forced along at a speedier rate than the progress of the camels allowed. among them were two high-spirited animals, which we named "sir john" and "reprieve," while the three others we dubbed simply "sin," "sand," and "sorrow." we camped that evening just twelve miles from our starting-point, and yet it seemed as if we were already beyond the reach of civilisation. not a trace of a white man's presence was visible anywhere, and for the first night we missed the crashing rattle of the ever-working batteries. a deathlike stillness filled the air, broken only by the startled scream of the carrion crow or the weird double note of the mopoke. "there's any amount of room for prospecting here," hazarded phil, gazing around, after the horses and camels had been safely picketed. which was true; yet who could have the heart to sink a proving shaft amid such inhospitable surroundings? "if we locate an outcrop, boys," i said, "we may trace it up, but otherwise we can only test the surface sands with the dryblower." it was but vaguely known what kind of country lay far to eastward of us. many thousands of square miles had never been crossed by any traveller, and strange rumours were often circulated among the miners of the various outposts regarding the extraordinary riches of the vast "never never" land. it was even predicted that a great inland river flowed northwards towards the gulf of carpentaria; how far it flowed before sinking in the arid sands was a matter for conjecture, but it was confidently supposed to drain fertile valleys, and to be flanked by noble mountain ranges rich in gold and precious gems. it was a rosy enough picture, surely, but one which, unfortunately, no explorer had yet succeeded in bearing out. "it's a gran' thing," said mac thoughtfully, when supper was over, and we were reclining on our blankets gazing at the stars, and listening to the tinkling of the camel bells. "it's a vera gran' thing," he repeated, "tae be alane aince mair, an' wi' the bonnie stars shinin' brichtly abune----" "here's a centipede!" roared stewart, interrupting his comrade's moralising. "then pit it in yer pocket, ma man," was the calm reply; and he resumed where he had left off: "ay, it's a gran' thing, phil, tae ken that ye're traivellin' in new country, breathin' the bonnie pure air. noo if ye had been wi' me an' stewart oot in alaskie----" "spin me a yarn, mac," said phil, drawing his blanket closer, while stewart started up in sheer amazement. mac was visibly affected; he took his pipe from his mouth and gazed at the camp fire blankly for some time without speaking. "ye're a guid an' thochtfu' man, phil," he said at length with great earnestness, "an' a'll gie ye a rale bonnie story...." i will pass but briefly over the early days of our march. our track at first led through the murchison district, for i wished to make a mid-northerly latitude before steering east; but after leaving the gascoyne channel the country traversed was of the most dreary nature, and similar to that around the more desolate southern gold camps. several soaks were found opportunely when the water-bags were becoming dangerously flat, and our progress continued uneventfully for over a week, but then the formation of the land-surface began to change rapidly for the worse. the dwarfed eucalypti became sparser and sparser, and in their room appeared bushy clumps of saltbush and tufts of spiky spinifex grass. the hard ironsand soil, too, gave place to a white yielding gravel which hindered our advance greatly. the camels, certainly, were not seriously inconvenienced, but the staggering horses sank over the fetlocks at each step, and stumbled forward painfully, while we floundered alongside, almost blinded by the rising iron dust which filled our ears and nostrils. [illustration: our last view of the five-mile working.] for two days we crossed this disheartening waste, fearing greatly for the safety of the horses, which showed signs of collapse. no water had been located for three days before entering upon this miserable tract, and assuredly none promised on its parched expanse. the horses--poor animals!--fared rather ill in consequence, for we dared not give them much of our rapidly-diminishing fluid supply. on the morning of the third day, however, our course led across slightly-improved country, so that better progress was made, and our chances of finding water were decidedly more encouraging. at noon we entered a belt of scrub, and soon were crashing through a miniature forest of stunted mallee; but this state of affairs was not destined to last, for we could see in the distance, at a slightly higher altitude, the open plain extending back into the horizon. at this point phil considered the indications very favourable for water, and we decided to make a temporary camp, and search the district thoroughly before proceeding. we were preparing to unload the camels, when stewart, who had gone a little way ahead, came rushing back in great excitement. "niggers!" he hoarsely whispered. looking up i saw quite an assembly of stalwart bucks directly in our course, and scarcely two hundred yards in front. some bushes partially hid them from our view, and they had evidently not yet observed us. they were well equipped with spears and waddies; probably they were out on a hunting expedition, and, if so, it boded well for the resources of the district. while we hesitated, debating on our best plan of action, they saw us, and gave vent to a series of shrill yells, yet were apparently undecided whether to resent our presence or escape while they might. then a shower of spears whizzed through the air, but fell short, and buried their heads in the sand at our feet. we were just out of range of these missiles, luckily enough. my companions were not disposed to tolerate such tactics, and mac discharged his gun, loaded with small shot, at the hostile band. they waited no longer, but made a wild rush into the densest part of the scrub, and were quickly lost to sight. then we proceeded onwards warily, whilst far in the distance the branches crackled and broke before the fleeing horde. the scene of their stand was littered with fragments of brushwood, and the dying embers of a fire smouldered in the centre of a small clearing close by. all around, shields, spears, and boomerangs lay scattered as they had been thrown when their owners took to flight. the sight was curiously strange and impressive. my usually loquacious companions had been wonderfully silent during the last day or so, owing, perhaps, to the uninspiring nature of our environment, but now mac succeeded in launching into a lengthy diatribe, in which he consigned the blacks generally to a very warm climate indeed. "at the same time," said he, "we shidna forget that such inceedents serve a vera usefu' purpose." "they seemed rale dacent black buddies," reflectively murmured stewart. "and they entertained the laudable desire of puncturing us with 'rale dacent' spears," phil added shortly. the camels stood patiently within the clearing, with their long necks outstretched, and their heads moving up and down with the regularity of automatons; the horses straggled behind, gasping feebly. "we'd better make a halt right here, boys," i said; "the horses seem played out completely." so while mac and stewart were engaged in the work of unloading them, phil and i made a minute survey of our surroundings. a huge breakwind guarded the circular space, and behind it a well-padded track led backwards into a richly-foliaged dell. creeping plants and luxurious ferns grew in profession around the base of a single lime-tree which found root in the hollow, and a long wiry kind of grass flourished abundantly under its genial shade. "i'll investigate the cause of such unusual vegetation," phil said, stepping forward. "look out for snakes," i warned; then turned to assist mac in raising poor "sorrow," who had rolled over on the ground, pack-saddle and all. "the puir beastie's feenished," mac said sorrowfully, "an' nae wunner." "here's anither ane," wailed stewart, and i looked up to see him wildly endeavouring to keep "sin" from falling on the top of sundry cooking utensils. it was plain that two at least of the horses could go no further if fortune did not speedily favour us. "this is the deevil's ain countrie," groaned mac helplessly, and for the moment i felt utterly disheartened as i watched the poor animals convulsively gasping on the sand. a shout from phil drew my attention. "there's a spring here, boys," he cried gleefully from the lime-tree hollow. it was a welcome discovery; i had almost despaired of finding water in the vicinity. "we'll camp for the day," i said, "and give our pack train a much-needed rest." the spring was a small one and beautifully clear; its waters gurgled gently through a fissure in a white kaolin formation, and the surplus flow was absorbed by the spreading roots of the climbing growths mentioned. it was half hidden by an outjutting boulder, and further cunningly screened from view by a heavy clump of overhanging grass. evidently the blacks were in the habit of camping here frequently; the breakwind might have been erected for one night's shelter, but the track towards the well had been long in use. "i hope our landlords do not visit us to-night," phil remarked, as we gazed at each other through the smoke of our camp fire some little time later. "it wud be a vera onfort'nate happenin'," mac grunted placidly, drawing his gun closer. "they're mebbe cannibals," suggested stewart uneasily. "we'll keep a watch in case of accident," i said; "but i don't expect they'll give us any trouble." but stewart was still uneasy. "their spears ha' an ex-tra-or'-nar' bluid-thirsty look," he grumbled again, examining the double-barbed weapons he had collected, "an' i hae nae faith whitever in they black-skinned heathen." however, the night passed without alarm, though we kept a careful watch and were ready for an attack should any have been attempted. we continued our march next morning, and in less than half an hour had emerged into open country, but now the surface soil was of a hard, gravelly nature, liberally strewn with the iron pebbles so abundant in more southerly latitudes. straggling growths of mallee and mulga spread everywhere, and at their roots reptiles and numberless nameless pests seemed to abide. black snakes writhed across our path, centipedes squirmed over our boots, iguanas in myriads started before our approach, and flying creatures with hard, scaly wings rose from the shadeless branches and dashed into our faces. flies in dense clouds assailed us, causing indescribable torture, and the diminutive sand insect was also extremely active, seeking into our socks and ragged clothing despite our most stringent precautions. for over a week we journeyed across this dreary wilderness, nor did we once observe a break in the horizon's even curve; the weather, meanwhile, being of sweltering description. then a dim haze towards the north-east gradually outlined into a well-defined mountain range as we advanced, and the country in general took on a more irregular appearance. we were now nearing the line of the explorer wells's northward march, and i altered our course slightly in order to intersect it at a point where a good water supply was charted, for four days had elapsed since we had last discovered any trace of moisture. all that day we forced onwards wearily, the sun beating down upon us mercilessly the while. no more desolate tract could be imagined than that which lies in these latitudes: the motionless mallee and mulga shrubs, the glistening beady surface over which we dragged our feet, the quivering heat haze that so distorted our vision, and the solemn stillness--the awful stillness of a tomb--all tended to overwhelm the mind. a broken range of sandstone hills loomed clearly out of the haze early in the afternoon, directly in our track, and i again shifted the course so as to round their southern extremity. towards the south the sand wastes extended far as the eye could reach, but east and north many mouldering peaks now interrupted our view. we found the spring without difficulty; it contained about forty gallons of muddy water, over which a thick green scum had gathered, and it was simply moving with animal life. many bones of doubtful origin lay heaped near to it; some were probably the remains of kangaroos killed by the natives, of whom there were numerous signs in the neighbourhood, but phil insisted that not a few human bones were among the bleaching mass. at the bottom of the spring the complete vertebræ of several snakes and similar reptiles almost wholly covered the chalky, impervious base, but how these came to be there was a matter beyond my comprehension. "most probably," said phil, "the natives like a snaky flavour in the water." "it mak's it extra paleetable tae them, nae doot," groaned mac with a shudder, "but i hae nae parshiality fur crawly bastes, even when they're deid." stewart had by this time acquired a philosophical turn of mind. "what's the guid o' growlin', mac?" he snorted. "there's mebbe waur than that tae come yet." that we were in a district favoured by the blacks was very certain, although we had not yet observed any of the dusky savages; three or four breakwinds sheltered a space close to the spring, and the ground was black with burnt-out smokes and charred logs. the water, notwithstanding its pronounced medicinal flavour, was a great improvement on the fetid solutions of the various soaks we had encountered, and we decided to camp by it for several days, so as to test the auriferous resources of the surface sands, which looked rather promising, and also to give us time to make some much-needed repairs in our tattered wardrobe. the results of our experiments with the supposed auriferous country proved too insignificant for more than a passing mention here. a few colours were obtained, but nothing to give confidence to even the most unambitious goldseeker. rather disconsolately we prepared to resume our march in a more n.e. direction, and three days later we started on our altered course. the eternal sameness of things in the australian interior makes daily records of progress unentertaining reading, and though each day's travel comes back to my mind now as i write with painful vividness, yet it but cries out in the same strain as its predecessor and follower, "sand, sand, everlasting sand." for many miserable days and weeks we struggled eastward, sometimes deviating to the north or south in vain endeavour to escape unusually deterrent belts of the frightful wastes now so familiar to us all. sometimes we would locate a soak or claypan when least expecting such a find, and again, we might be reduced to almost certain disaster before the water-bags were replenished at some providential mudhole in our course. i do not wish to enlarge upon the miseries of our journeyings; we took these willingly on ourselves at the start, hoping for a compensating reward in the shape of valuable knowledge; and is not experience always priceless? knowledge we did gain, it is true, but not of the kind we had over-fondly anticipated; still, we had not yet reached the planned limit of our expedition, and who knew what might await us in the dim, shadowy mountain that stretched its cumbering height far on the eastern horizon? we had sighted this landmark nearly a week before, but having been more than usually zealous in our search for the precious metal among the outcropping iron formations now frequently encountered, our rate of travel had been reduced to a few miles each day. two of the horses were still left us; the last of the ill-fated three had succumbed from sheer exhaustion nearly fifty miles back, but "sir john" and "reprieve," though no longer the high-spirited animals they once were, still carried their jolting burdens of tinned meats, flour, and extracts, though their steps were daily becoming weaker, and their bright eyes clouding in a manner that foretold the worst. the camels stubbornly paced ahead, with the great water-bags tantalisingly lapping their tough hides, and the miscellaneous mining implements perched on their hollow backs; they had already served us well and nobly, and i devoutly hoped their vast energies would bear them over the worst that lay before us. [illustration: taking our position.] el dorado! we were now close on the th degree of longitude, which i had marked as the limit of our eastward course, and my faith in more northerly latitudes was so little, indeed, that i dreaded making any change in our direction of travel. "if we don't strike gold within the next couple of days," said phil, "there isn't much likelihood of our being overburdened with wealth at the end of the trip." mac, who was pulling the nose rope of the leading camel, at once lifted up his voice in protest. "for heaven's sake be mair pleasant wi' yer remarks, phil," he cried. "i was calculatin' on goin' home like a young millionaire----" "you'll need to calculate again, then, mac," interrupted phil, "for i don't think we'll get a red cent out of the ground on this journey." but the complainer was not yet satisfied. "what's the guid o' bein' a golologist?" he demanded wrathfully. "i thocht----" what he thought remained unspoken, for at that moment we heard a scramble behind, and looking round we saw the doughty mac and his compatriot stewart engaged in fierce conflict. "i saw it first, ye red-heided baboon," roared the former, with remarkable fluency of expression. "the fact o' seeing it is naething--naething at a'," returned the other with great complacency, "it's sufficient to say that i hae got it." the camels, feeling the strain of guidance relaxed, had come to a halt, and were now seemingly taking an interest in the squabble. it was a rare thing for them to be left to their own devices, even for a moment. time is precious when crossing these vast salt tracts, and midday stoppages in the blazing sun are dangerous. "what are you two quarrelling about now?" i asked sternly, feeling in no gentle mood with the hinderers. mac's face assumed an intensely aggrieved expression, but he held his peace, and stewart calmly displayed a small rounded pebble between his finger and thumb, announcing blandly that it alone was the cause of the disturbance. "it's a bonnie stane," said he, gazing at his treasure admiringly. "an' it's mine by richt," howled mac. i was about to lecture the pair strongly on their foolish behaviour over what i supposed to be an ordinary fragment of white quartz, when phil uttered an exclamation, and, rushing back, snatched the pebble from stewart's hand and proceeded to examine it closely. so eager was his scrutiny that in a moment we were clustered round him, awaiting his verdict with extreme interest. "what do you make of it?" said he at length, handing the stone to me. "weather-worn quartz," i replied promptly. he shook his head. "we'll work it out in specific gravity later," he said, with the air of one who was sure of his ground; "but i will bet you this half of a shirt i am wearing that it's a genuine ruby, and there must be more of them in the vicinity." "hurroo!" yelled mac and stewart in unison, prancing around delightedly, and for the moment phil's delinquencies were forgotten in the tribute of praise that my worthy henchmen generously accorded the "golologist." they ended by making him a present of the fateful gem, though mac somewhat spoilt the effect of the gift by soliloquising rather loudly-- "it'll be well to propeetiate the golologist, stewart, my man, for he's nae sae stupid as he looks, efter a'." soon after we renewed our march, much uplifted at the thought of acquiring treasure even more valuable than gold; but though we kept a sharp look-out on the ground surface, the early afternoon passed without any further coloured pebbles being discovered, whereat mac again commenced to revile the country with his customary eloquence. "that ruby wis a delooshun," he asserted stoutly. "some o' the el dorado fairies must ha'e put it there on purpose to deceive us, an' noo they'll be having grand fun at oor expense." "hustle along old misery, and don't moralise," i interjected hastily. "moralise?" he echoed. "me moralise? no vera likely. i never dae such a thing. gee up, meesery, an' stop winkin' at me this meenit." but the mention of el dorado had aroused in stewart a strain of recollection, and as he paced beside his cumbrous charge he made several ineffectual attempts to recite some ancient verses as learned in the days of his youth. "i canna mind the poetry o' it," he broke out at last, "but the story was real bonnie; it telt hoo a warrior went out to seek for el dorado, and--and----" then his memory came back to him, and he chanted out dismally-- "and as his strength failed him at length, he met a pilgrim shadow. 'shadow,' said he, 'where can it be, this land of el dorado?' 'over the mountains of the moon, down the valley of the shadow, ride, boldly ride,' the shade replied, 'if you seek for el dorado.'" "which is," grunted mac, "which is, metaphorically speaking, preceesely what we are doing. gee up, meesery, and dinna look sae weary-like." "our specimen must have been shed from that mountain," i repeated, when we lay down in our blankets at night. the morning dawned clear and beautifully calm. the sky was cloudless, save where in the east a billowy sea of gold marked where the sun had risen. the leafless branches of the mulga shrubs growing near quivered in the rising rays, and the long sand-track ahead sparkled as the waters of a gilded ocean. but now, through the dispelling haze the firm outline of a precipitous mountain became clearly visible only a few miles ahead. in our eager search on the preceding afternoon we had not observed the nearness of the welcome sentinel, or probably it was that the darkening sky in the early evening had shut it from our view. there was certainly no doubt about its presence now, and we hailed it right gladly as we watched it loom out of the dissolving mists. "it's mebbe a mirage," suggested stewart apprehensively. "nary miradge," retorted mac; "it's el dorado, that's what it is. just what we were looking for." five minutes later i was ogling the sun with my sextant, while phil stood by with the trusty chronometer in his hand to note the time of my observations. " degrees minutes east longitude," he announced, after a rough calculation, "which makes the mountain about ten miles off." "'shadow,' said he, 'whaur can it be, this land o' el dorado?'" stewart trolled out lustily as he set about the preparation of the morning meal. about eight o'clock we were ready to start, which showed unusual alacrity in our movements. the camels, too, seemed imbued with fresh life, and allowed themselves to be loaded without their customary protests. "i've never seen meesery sae tractable," mac said in amazement, patting the trembling nostrils of the leading camel. "i wonder what's gaun to happen?" "we're all ready," sung out phil blithely, and i gave the usual signal for the advance. "gee up, meesery," grunted mac. "aince mair, slavery," implored stewart, and we set out for the mountain at an unusually lively pace. the forenoon passed without event, and so speedy had been our progress that our midday halt was made amongst the straggling timber belt which feathered the base of the mountain. we lost no time in making ready for the ascent, and within an hour after our arrival we had hobbled the camels and were starting out on our journey of discovery. for the first half-hour we made fairly good headway through the straggling belt of eucalypti covering the lower slopes, then we emerged on a treeless, boulder-strewn expanse, on which the sun scintillated with burning intensity. over this scorched area we clambered as best we could. the sharp rubble cut through our boots, and the glistening rocks, hot as a fiery furnace, burnt our clutching hands. our mountain exploration was surely becoming less of a picnic than we had anticipated. directly above, a solid mass of basalt reared its head, gaunt and bare, but when we came to the edge of the glass-like cap, we hesitated--we might as well have attempted to cross a field of molten metal. from this point various dry channels tore down the face of the hill, radiating outwards into the plain. they were so silted up with rock fragments and ironsand as to be scarcely perceptible, but phil's trained eye at once noted their significance. "ages ago," said he, "those gullies were filled with rushing torrents, which goes to prove that a crater lake existed on the top of the mountain." he walked over to one of the ancient beds and scraped among the drift of black sand conglomeration. at once several water-worn specimens of quartzite were uncovered, and of these over fifty per cent bore the characteristic markings of the ruby. "fill your pockets with these, mac," he said quietly. "they should be worth considerably more than their weight in gold." prolonged travelling in western australia does not tend to develop enthusiasm, and the extraordinary find so unexpectedly made was greeted by no extravagant manifestations of delight. relief rather than joy was ours at that moment, for in one important sense at least our quest seemed surely ended. "if we can find water in the vicinity we'll camp at the foot of the hill for a few days, boys," i announced with much satisfaction. "meanwhile we had better explore a little further, and see what the country looks like from the summit." [illustration: a native camp.] but mac and stewart were already busily engaged collecting specimens, which they stowed in every nook and corner of their ragged garments. "come along, you gloating misers!" cried phil, as he and i started to negotiate the last stiff climb. "there's nae time like the present," growled mac oracularly, pursuing his congenial task with supreme content. "i'm o' the same opeenion," spluttered stewart, who had turned his mouth into a receptacle for the finest gems in his collection. so we crawled over the smooth climaxing dome alone. our surprise was great when on reaching the top we found ourselves on the edge of a small circular area that depressed ever so slightly towards the centre, providing a space which looked remarkably like an ordinary circus ring. this impression was much heightened by the fact that a well-marked path seemed to have been worn around the periphery; but through what agency this had been done i could not well imagine. we stood surveying the odd arena, filled with wonder. "it is one of nature's strange tricks," i said, after a considerable silence. phil looked doubtful, but he did not speak. then we made a further discovery. the saucer-shaped hollow was graven out of a solid lava formation, but exactly over the point of its deepest dip several crumbling branches lay strewn. of a certainty they had not come there of their own accord, and at once we were overwhelmed with dire misgivings. "it means that there are some native tribes in the neighbourhood," said phil, watching me kick aside the branches with much interest. what we saw then did not add to our bewilderment, for we had already partly guessed the significance of the peculiar arrangement. under the layer of brush, a narrow, funnel-like shaft had been hid, which apparently descended into the heart of the mouldering desert sentinel, but why this hole had been covered was more than we could understand. while we stood in silent contemplation of the remarkable state of affairs disclosed, our energetic companions, having marvelled at our long absence, swarmed up beside us, breathing heavily. "nebuchadnezzar's furnace wouldna be in the same street wi' that biler," began mac, patting his scantily-covered knees with tender solicitude. "i smell nigger," howled stewart, taking in the scene at a glance. "that's aye what happens when a come oot withoot my gun," sorrowfully muttered the first arrival, moving over to the narrow crater mouth and peering into the darkness with studied nonchalance. it so happened, however, that the loose pockets of his flimsy upper garment were filled to overflowing with cherished specimens, and the half-kneeling attitude which he assumed allowed them to escape in a copious stream, so that they fell down into the depths. with a bellow of rage he drew back, but not before the bulk of his treasure had disappeared; then the air was filled with the fulness of his wrath, and sulphurous expressions loud and deep were hurled into the stygian gloom. "calm yersel', mac--calm yersel'," adjured stewart soothingly. "calm be d----d!" roared the afflicted one. "hoo am i goin' to get back my rubies?" this was a point which seemed unanswerable. "you'll get more to-morrow, mac," i said, "but we'll have to return to the camels now, in case the natives get a hold of them before we have time to take precautions." he remained unappeased, however. "we'll mebbe hae to flee for oor lives afore morning," he protested gloomily. "it's no the first time we've had to strike camp in a hurry." as he spoke he unwound from his waist a long coil of rope which he usually carried in case of emergency, and, with dogged determination, proceeded to sound the depths of the well. "you'd better let me gang," advised stewart, guessing his companion's intentions before they had been uttered; "i'm no sae bulky as you, an'----" he got no further. "mak' nae mair allooshuns," came the answer, with a chilling dignity. "i'll engineer this funeral mysel'." hastily fastening a fragment of rock to the end of the rope, he dropped it into the narrow orifice and carefully noted the length of line run out. all this time phil and i had made little comment, never expecting that any satisfactory bottom would be found; but great was our surprise to see the rope become stationary when little over twenty feet had been paid out. "i'm really anxious to know what is at the bottom of that hole, mac," said phil; "but i hope you don't find a nice fat, healthy crocodile awaiting you----" "haud the end o' the rope, phil, an' dinna speechify," broke out the harassed mac impatiently; and he wriggled his somewhat substantial form into the vertical channel until his arms alone saved him from falling down altogether. "it's a--a tight fit," he grumbled, with diminishing enthusiasm. "noo haud on tight, ye deevils; haud on--haud on!" his voice rumbled up dolorously to our ears as we lowered him gently into the mysterious pit, until, when the lower depths were reached, the rocky vault seemed to tremble with vague echoes. suddenly the strain on the rope was relaxed, and we waited expectantly for tidings from the adventurer. "it's vera dark doon here," came the ghost-like voice from the underground. "i think--i think i'll come up----" "what sort of bottom have you got, mac?" i shouted. "try and fetch up a specimen." a few more inconsequent remarks issued from the pit mouth, then we could see the dull glimmer of a match far below. almost immediately after a jubilant yell of triumph swelled up to the surface. "i've got them! i've got them!" he cried. "an' there's gold quartz here, foreby." then came a crash, a rumble, and a dull, heavy splash, and we on the surface gazed on each other in dismay. "let me doon! let me doon!" wailed stewart. "something serious has happened to mac. haud on to the rope." he let himself into the narrow aperture with unwonted agility, and, with an unspeakable fear in our hearts, phil and i commenced to pay out the rope. "wha the--who the----wha's blockin' the licht?" bellowed a well-known voice from the bowels of the earth, which had the effect of ejecting stewart into the outer air with a celerity astonishing to behold. then we breathed again. apparently some ledge had first intercepted our sounding-line, and also provided a precarious foothold for our valiant associate; but that the true bottom had now been reached there was little room for doubt. "i might have guessed before," said phil, "that the crater would have an impervious base, and so retain any rain that might be collected." judging by the snorts and puffs emitted by the individual who was in a position to know, the shaft must have held a fair amount of liquid contents. "haul on the rope, for heaven's sake!" spluttered he. "this water would pushion a nigger. haul me up quick! there's snakes an' wee crocodiles tickling me!" in haste we endeavoured to obey his beseeching call, but the sodden cord was not equal to the strain, and twice the strands snapped before our comrade's bulk was raised from the water. "we'd better double the line, boys," i said. "mac must have increased in weight during his sojourn below." the unfortunate victim of his own prowess groaned lugubriously from his dank and dark prison, but found time between his grumbling to curse right heartily the various denizens of his watery environment. "be patient, mac, be patient," counselled stewart, rearranging the haulage system. "scientific exploration is not without its drawbacks, as you should well ken by this time." he continued addressing choice words of wisdom to his helpless compatriot while he deftly spliced the rope. during this lull in operations i chanced to look abroad over the sweltering plain, and at once my eyes detected the curling "smokes" of a native camp. we had been too busily engrossed with other matters since our arrival on the hill-top to observe the landscape on the east, and now the nearness of a possible hostile band appalled me. our rifles had been left in camp, and i only carried a revolver. "by jove!" said phil, "we are going to be in a fix." then a shout of alarm broke from him: "there's about a dozen of the ugliest bucks i ever saw coming right up the hill," he said feebly. i followed his gaze, and, sure enough, i could see a number of hideously-scarred and feather-bedecked warriors making their way through the scraggy brushwood, scarcely a hundred yards from where we stood. with frantic haste, we again endeavoured to rescue our companion from his awkward predicament, but fate was surely against us. we had with our combined efforts raised him only a few feet when the rope came in contact with the broken ledge, and the strands parted like so many straws, so that mac was once more precipitated back into the slimy waters. our plans had now to be made quickly. "go down to the camp, stewart," i said, "and fetch a camel pack-rope and my rifle. phil and i will make the best of things till you come back." forgetful alike of the burning rock and the sharp-edged rubble, he slid down the smooth declivity, and made a wild burst for the foot of the hill. almost immediately the many-barbed spears of the aborigines bore into view from the opposite side of the dome, and we laid ourselves flat on the curving wall and breathlessly waited events. slowly a weird procession filed on to the elevated platform, and continued a solemn march around the well-trod channel which had first claimed our attention. round and round they circled, clashing their spears and shields, and swaying their lithe black bodies drunken-like. then suddenly they broke out into a dismal chant, and quickened their step into a half-run, ludicrous to behold. it was soon evident to us that the warrior band had not come to level their spears against us; they never once glanced in our direction. their gaze was apparently fixed on the ancient crater in which mac lay entombed. they had come to worship the great spirit wangul, the dreaded "dweller in the waters." the _dénoûement_ of this interesting ceremonial was rapid and unexpected. just when the reeling warriors had ceased their vocal exercise from sheer want of breath, when the ensuing silence was broken only by the pattering of many feet on the sun-baked lava, a hoarse voice thundered up from subterranean caverns, and at the sound the poor nomads halted in their mad career, and gazed at each other terror-stricken. "babba, wangul, moori!" they cried shrilly, "babba, wangul, moori!" ("the water god speaks"). again a sonorous echo reverberated up from the heart of the mountain, completing their demoralisation. a moment they hesitated, then, dashing their warlike arms to the ground, and tearing the feathers from their hair, they fled madly back whence they had come. phil gave a gasp of relief, and i felt thankful beyond expression. then we quickly made our way through the litter of discarded weapons towards the wangul's home. the words that floated to our ears when we gazed into the depths were sulphurous in the extreme. poor mac could not understand why he had been so ruthlessly neglected, and his complaints were deep and eloquent. "stewart, ye red-heided deevil, are ye goin' to pu' me oot, or are ye no?" he howled in righteous indignation, and i was glad that the individual named, who just then came swarming over the rocks, puffing tempestuously, had not heard the fervent malediction bestowed upon his faithful person. he approached laden with the whole armoury of the expedition, the perspiration streaming from his face, and his gaunt frame trembling visibly. "i thought ye had been all slauchtered," he muttered, subsiding behind his equipment, "an' i wis goin' to hae revenge." with the aid of the stout camel-ropes we soon raised our dripping comrade to the surface. as he approached the light of day i noticed that his rugged old face bore a distinctly grim expression, as if he was of the opinion that we had been having a huge joke at his expense; but when he heard of what had occurred, and the part he had unwittingly played in the ceremonial, resentment gave place to mirth, and he laughed uproariously. "an' here's the rubies, stewart, my man," he said, extracting the precious stones from some secret corner of his bedraggled wardrobe; "i got them safe efter a', and you shall have the finest are o' the collection for yer maist splendifferous efforts on my behalf." soon after we returned to camp, but it was many days later when we said goodbye to the lonely mountain which mac persisted in misnaming el dorado. [illustration: el dorado!] where the pelican builds its nest there is little need to recount the monotonous details of my log-book for the many weeks that ensued. the same description applies to nearly all the vast interior country, and we struggled over ironshot sand-plains and through scraggy brushwood belts, with rarely a diversion in the landscape to gladden our weary eyes. the sun shines on no more desolate or dreary country than this great "never never" land of australia, whose grim deserts have claimed many a victim to the cause of knowledge. the explorer's life amid the deadly solitudes is not one of many pleasures. rather do unpleasant possibilities for ever obtrude upon his jaded brain until he is well-nigh distraught, or at least reduced to a morbid state of melancholy in keeping with his miserable surroundings. little wonder, therefore, that disaster so often attends the traveller in these lonely lands. the strongest will becomes weakened by the insidious influences of the country, and the most buoyant spirit is quickly dulled. all nature seems to conspire against him. the stunted mallee and mulga shrubs afford no welcome shade; they dot the sand-wastes in endless even growths, and the eye is wearied by their everlasting motionless presence. the saltbush clumps and spinifex patches conceal hideous reptiles. snakes and centipedes crawl across the track; scaly lizards, venomous scorpions, ungainly bungarrows, and a host of nameless pests, are always near to torture and distract. even the birds are imbued with a solemnity profound that adds still more to the plenteous cares that already overwhelm the wanderer in the silent bushland. the pelican stands owlishly in his path as if to guard from intrusion its undiscovered home; the horrible carrion crow with its demoralising croak is for ever circling overhead; and the mopoke's dull monotone is as a calling from a shadowy world. these various influences were not without their effect upon my little party, and we became strangely silent as we kept up our dogged march of fifteen miles each day; and when danger threatened, as it did on more than one occasion, we almost viewed our approaching fate with indifference, so sodden had our mental faculties become. eleven days after leaving the mountain, our last horse, "sir john," dropped quietly to the ground, utterly exhausted, and at once the air was filled with screaming crows, and flies in thousands began to settle on the dying animal's heaving flank, and crowded into his ears and nostrils. i ended the poor brute's agony with a revolver shot, and again old "slavery" received additional burden; then we hastened onwards, not daring to look back. we were now many hundreds of miles from any outpost settlement, and with only two camels between us and--eternity. yet these ponderous animals bore up bravely, seldom showing signs of weakness even when crossing the most dismally arid wastes, and their slow but sure movement raised our drooping spirits when our circling crow convoy became suggestively daring. i made a course due north, determined to intersect any promising country that might intervene in the middle latitudes, but so far our changed route had led us full three hundred miles over the most barren-looking desert that could possibly be imagined. only once did we observe natives, and that was when under the rd parallel, in a scrubby country offering the only inducement to the poor nomads within a hundred miles. at this place we located a local well containing, seemingly, an unlimited supply of lime-flavoured fluid; our perilously-flat water-bags were thankfully refilled, and our hopes rose high at the unexpected find. but when we renewed our march the scrub-land soon merged into the blistering plain, and our dreams of a coming el dorado were again rudely dashed. on one occasion we encountered a stretch of salt-crusted country, evidently the bed of an ancient lake: it extended for five miles in a n.n.e. direction, and towards its latter extremity the surface was marshy and damp. we extracted sufficient moisture from the muddy basin for cooking our usual allowance of rice, so that we might save what remained of our comparatively fresh supply for more urgent needs. beyond this swamp we entered upon a more broken expanse than had met our view for many weeks. decaying sandstone rocks reared their heads above the gravel, and enormous dry gullies tore up the ground in all directions. but this state of affairs did not continue with us long, and, as if by a grim law of compensation, a belt of the most miserable sand country soon intervened to retard our progress. here the sand was loose and deep, and unmixed with the usual iron gravel; and the slightest wind blew the fine dust into our faces, almost blinding us. we sank over the ankles at each step, and the camels slowed their already slow march to a mere crawl, and staggered and floundered in the wavy masses. gradually the land-surface took on the appearance of a great sand-sea, with billows rolling back in a northwesterly direction. as far as the eye could reach, a series of gentle undulations rippled into the vast distance. i altered the course several points to eastward, and we traversed the disheartening obstacles at a difficult angle; but the undulations grew more general as we advanced, until they surrounded us in the form of seemingly endless furrows, about a hundred and fifty yards apart, and from ten to fifteen feet in height. a sparse vegetation of spinifex found root in the hill-crests, giving the appearance--from a distance--of a huge cultivated and well-tended field. but on closer acquaintance the ridges showed up miserably bare and cheerless, and their white gleaming sand formation caused our eyes to quiver and close, so trying was the light reflected from them. no life of any kind was observed. even the crows had abandoned us. we seemed to be traversing the bed of an ocean whose waters had long since subsided. a day's march over these hindering obstructions, however, led us into the familiar ironshot and scrub country, which, desolate though it was, looked cool and inviting after our experience with the sand elevations. more than once after this fortune favoured us opportunely by the happy location of a soak or claypan in our course, and we grew to trust providence in a much greater measure than we had ever anticipated. the weather was almost unbearably hot; a vertical sun stared down on us in the daytime with burning intensity, and at night the air was as the breath of hades. we were surely paying the penalty of the pioneer to the full. by this time our clothing had reached a state far beyond repair, and we must have formed an extraordinarily dilapidated-looking quartet. our garments, not very lavish from the start, had been discarded in tattered portions, and we were left with cool and scanty apparel, the sight of which would have caused the most abandoned tramp to turn aside in disgust. it came to be a subject of jocularity with us as we noted the gradual disintegration of our meagre remaining sartorial glory; and i was glad even for such an excuse to introduce the lighter vein into our conversation. "i'll shin be able tae flee," mac would say, ruefully surveying his rags. "ay, mac, the wings are sproutin' awfu' fast," his comrade would sorrowfully reply. "bit it's a blessin' the weather's no cauld," he never failed to add, with philosophical gratitude. we were reaching an extreme northerly latitude, with the great central deserts behind us, and though we had been bitterly disappointed with the non-auriferous country crossed, yet the thought of emerging safely from the "never never" land for the time took the place of vain regrets and cheered us on to fresh endeavour. we had found no el dorado in the blistering salt plains; the land of promise had eluded us completely--if such a land existed. our time, it is true, had been more taken up in searching for water than prospecting for gold; still, we took occasion to analyse samples of every probable gold-bearing patch encountered, but always with insignificant result. one morning we found ourselves in the unenviable position of having but a few pints of water left in the canvas bags, and as we had located no soak for over a week, our immediate future seemed gloomy indeed. the camels were for the first time showing signs of collapse; and little wonder; they had gone eight days without a drink, and their load, since the last of the horses had succumbed, had been unduly heavy. "we've got to find water to-day, boys," i said, "or something serious is bound to happen." mac chuckled dryly. "the deil aye tak's care o' his ain," he announced with an effort at pleasantry; and stewart cackled harshly in agreement. soon after breakfast, phil, in surveying the landscape by the aid of his field-glasses--a very cherished possession--detected in the distance a long, curling column of smoke, sure evidence of the aborigines' presence, and at once our hearts became lighter and our waning strength renewed. "there must be moisture of some sort about," i said to phil, as we staggered along together in the wake of the camels. "the country is changing for the better," he replied, "yet i can scarcely imagine a spring to exist in any such soft sand formation." the vagaries of the interior plains had always mystified him, but he could not be brought to reason against his geological principles. mac's verdict was borne of a more practical kind of observation. "fur ony sake haud yer tongue aboot furmashuns, phil," he shouted back from his position by the side of "slavery." "a black buddie needs a drink as weel as a white buddie, an' we'll shin be in the land o' goschen noo." "there's one thing we had best remember, boys," i said. "the natives in these latitudes are probably very different from those in the south. they may be cannibals, and considerably more hostile than any tribe we have yet met." "niggers!" snorted mac and stewart almost simultaneously, with an indescribable inflection of contempt. further words failed them, but i could see that they had completely forgotten the little episode at el dorado. towards noon we arrived at the point where the smoke had been seen, but only a few charred logs were now in evidence, and they were scattered about in the sand as if they had been partially burnt long previously, and afterwards half submerged in the drifts caused by many seasons' willie-willies. the natives had vanished in some unaccountable manner, leaving not a trace of their recent presence in the vicinity. far off near the horizon a thick belt of timber stretched across our track, but beyond that again the bare desert merged into the skyline. "whaur hae the black deevils gaun to?" mac demanded indignantly, as if a considerable breach of etiquette had been committed by the rapid flight of our prospective hosts. then stewart proceeded to poke among the scattered ashes, and soon discovered several still glowing logs well sunk beneath the surface. "mac," said he solemnly, when we clustered round to examine his find, "we'll hae tae ca' canny; the deevils are no defeecient in strategy, an' it's plain they dinna want oor guid company." stewart was right; the blacks must have observed our approach, and being unwilling to meet us, had hastily decamped, first taking care to cover up any clue that might have aroused our curiosity. "that field-glass of yours has done good work, phil," i said, when we turned away. "if you had not noticed the smoke we should never have dreamed that there had been any one here for at least a year, and goodness knows what might have happened if we had gone to sleep in this district without keeping a watch." mac chirruped to his patient charge. "gee up, slavery," said he, "ye'll get a drink the nicht." in spite of our most strenuous efforts, however, we were unable to reach the timber belt that day, and darkness closed over and compelled us to camp while we were yet a good way out in the open. for the last several miles the camels had literally to be dragged over the ground by a constant pressure on their nose ropes, and when we halted our weary caravan and unloaded the suffering beasts, they sank upon their knees breathing heavily, and made no attempt to search for anything to eat. it was plain that, should another day pass without water being discovered, our four-footed companions must give up the struggle, which in turn would mean that we should all be doomed to a most unenviable fate. "ma puir animile," said mac, stroking "slavery's" quivering nostrils, "ye've been nine days withoot a drink, but ye'll get a' ye can tak' the morn." "slavery" seemed almost to understand the sympathetic words, and grunted feebly in reply; then i was surprised to see him struggle to his feet and proceed to feed on the spinifex tufts growing around. "he kens i'm tellin' the truth!" shouted mac delightedly; and there was much joy among us when "misery," determined not to be outdone, after several efforts succeeded in rising shakily and joining his neighbour. "there's life in auld 'misery' yet," applauded stewart with hearty satisfaction; and the wonderful endurance shown by the dumb animals made me somewhat ashamed of my own collapsing resolution. "let's be happy, boys," counselled phil in most lugubrious tones. "life is short, you know, and we'll be a long time dead." "if i hear ony mair o' they on-comfortable re-marks," slowly spoke mac, with a reproachful glance at the last speaker, "i'll sing ye the deid march. a lang time deid, did ye say? for ony sake, phil, think on something cheery." "all right, mac," retorted phil. "i'll think of the feast we're going to have in the hotel cecil when we get back to civilisation." while he spoke he unconsciously hitched in his belt another hole. then stewart's voice rasped out dismally, "there's ... nae ... place like ... hame----" "stop that concert!" i cried, while phil squirmed in agony; but mac had already seized the throat of the musician in a relentless grip, and the melancholy refrain spluttered out spasmodically to a finish. "ye on-ceevilised backslider!" mac roared in righteous wrath. "hoo daur ye whine aboot hame in sic a menner? fur twa peens," he concluded, with rising ferocity--"fur twa peens, ma man, a'd shak' yer teeth oot!" the half-choked culprit smiled with benign expression, "i wis makin' a joyfu' noise," he replied calmly. "ye're gettin' gey hard tae please, i'm thinkin'." phil laughed till the tears sprang to his eyes and traced small channels down his unwashed face, but he stopped abruptly when mac shoved a tin pannikin under his chin. "what a sinfu' waste o' water," said the sphinx. "i raelly wunner at ye, phil." stewart, who had been busying himself about the fire, now interrupted again. "supper's ready," he howled, "an' the menoo is tinned dug an' damper, or damper an' tinned dug; wi' a puckle roasted rice fur them as wants indee-gestion; the hale tae be washed doon wi' twa or three draps o' dirty watter." "that sounds nice," i commented, at which he began again. "aye an' it's vera dirty watter. it's the last in the bag, an' there's tadpoles an' wee crocodiles swimmin' in't, an----" "hold hard, stewart," said phil, while mac was groping about for something substantial to throw at his comrade's head. "hold hard, you grinning gorilla, and let us discover the mysterious ingredients of our humble fare for ourselves." "there's an auld saying," mac grunted complacently, "that what the eye disna see the hert disna grieve fur. if ye'll tak' ma advice, ye'll dine awa' back frae the firelicht." and we took his advice without demur. we kept a watch that night for the first time during many weeks. the reputation of the northern australian natives was not such as inspired confidence in me. i had a wholesome dread of being speared while asleep, and these hostile savages were known to make their attacks invariably after the sun had set, when their tired victims were probably slumbering, unaware of the presence of danger. mac volunteered for the first spell of duty, and as a preliminary he carefully drew the small shot charges from his cherished elephant-gun, and replaced them with ominous-looking buckshot cartridges. "this shid dae mair than tickle them," he grimly remarked, looking at us as we lay stretched upon our sandy couches, and his face, lit up by the ruddy glare of the fire, assumed an unusually malevolent expression. "you've got to remember, mac," phil warned, "that the beggars are probably cannibals, and as you are the fattest of the party, the natural sequence is----" "say nae mair," our wary guardian interrupted with a deprecatory wave of his hand, "spare yer in-seen-uashuns. there's nae nigger'll get near while i'm daein' sentry go, bit at the worst the black deevils wud never bile me when they could get guid tender golologist." with which dark statement he shouldered his gun and commenced to execute what looked like a solemn ghost dance around the boundary of our camp fire's illumination. [illustration: an extinct volcano we camped on.] the sultry hours dragged slowly on, and the southern cross had set and risen again in the eastern sky, yet not a sound reached our ears. phil relieved mac at midnight, and i in turn took his place two hours later, but the night passed without alarm. we had a very dry and unpalatable breakfast next morning; only a few drops of chocolate-coloured sediment remained in the canvas bag, and this none of us cared to swallow for a variety of reasons. so we munched our hard damper, and chewed refractory portions of tinned dog, imagining it to be the most luxurious fare extant, though, unfortunately our imagination was not of a very strong order. we lost no time in making a start, for the early hours were the coolest for travelling, and we wished to gain the shelter of the brush before the sun had swung right overhead. the camels were truly in a very bad state; they could scarcely bear their usual burdens, and reeled drunken-like for several minutes after being loaded, but seemed to recover somewhat when a few miles had been traversed. yet, strive as we might, we could not make speedy progress, and it was almost noon when we drew near to the timber. the heat was becoming very intense, and in our semi-famished condition we suffered severely. "we'll camp in the most shaded part of the scrub, boys," i cried, signing to mac to alter "slavery's" course more to westward. phil now clutched my arm excitedly. "is that smoke or a light cloud-patch over the tips of these trees?" he asked, directing my gaze towards a thick clump of lime-trees that lay well ahead in the line of our changed route. i surveyed the feathery shadow indicated intently. "a native smoke, phil," i answered, as quietly as i could, though hope sprang up within me at the sight. "what we must do, then," said phil determinedly, "is to capture one or two representatives of the tribe and make them lead us to water." "me an' stewart'll shin attend to that," growled mac, hearing the suggestion with ill-concealed delight. we were now entering the outskirts of the pigmy forest, and phil and i took the lead of our caravan with firearms ready in case of attack; while mac and stewart, leading their charges warily in our tracks, peered suspiciously into the densest shadows as they passed. the shrubs were of much greater height than we had expected, and soon they surrounded us in thick even growths through which we steered an erratic course with difficulty. i was about to call a halt when a thick pile of withered branches, propped against the lower heights of some half-dozen close-growing trees, arrested my attention. "a windbreak! go slow!" i cautioned those in the rear; but soon we found that we were in the midst of quite a number of these rude shelters, all of which seemed to be of very recent erection. "there is evidently a tribe in the vicinity," i said to phil, who was gazing at the strange contrivances with much curiosity, and noting how differently they were constructed from the crude wind-barriers met during the earlier part of our journey. "they appear to work on some design here," he remarked thoughtfully; "the branches are interlaced, and the construction might ultimately evolve into a kind of hut or wigwam." "i am much more concerned about the whereabouts of the population," i said, and i glanced apprehensively through the trees; then we resumed our march. a few minutes more passed in silence as we proceeded with ears alert for the slightest sound. we were, as nearly as i could guess, about midway through the forest when mac suddenly gave a yell of mingled joy and surprise. "haud on! haud on!" he shouted. "i see niggers richt forrit a wee bit. come on, stewart, an' we'll shin catch are or twa speecimens." mac's information was correct. a convenient gap in the foliage had not been overlooked by him, and his sharp eyes had quickly taken in the view directly ahead. his warning had scarcely been given when we crashed through a maze of windbreaks and entered a clearing in the thicket, and there, in the centre of the open space, fully a dozen hideously scarred and painted warriors stood with spears and boomerangs upraised, gazing in our direction. mac and stewart were now forcing past me, and it took phil and me all our time to restrain their ardour. we had instinctively retired into the shelter of the brush, and none too soon, for a hail of spears rustled through the willowy branches and stuck fast without doing any damage. "their spears may be poisoned," i said to the indignant pair. "you've got a different sort of savage to deal with in these latitudes." "they'll get awa'!" mac roared excitedly. "they'll get awa'!" "let me gang," implored stewart. "i'm that thin they couldna hit me, an' in ony case i'm teuch eneuch tae staun ony pison." "get the camels sheltered, boys," i ordered; "we'll try a policy of conciliation in the first place." my aides-de-camp grumblingly led "slavery" and "misery" back a few paces, and phil examined the chambers of his colt navy with considerable impatience. we were by no means hidden by the scraggy branches fringing the open space, and that fact was impressed upon us most plainly when several more well-directed spears glanced along the sand at our feet. mac fumed, and the hammers of his gun came back with an ominous double click. "you can cover them with your cannon," i said to him, "while i try the powers of persuasive language," and i stepped as boldly as i could out towards the hostile band. "babba, babba," i cried, with my hands raised in token of peace. they gave a curious gurgle of surprise and retreated before me as if afraid. i repeated as much of the native jargon as i knew, with, as i thought, an exceedingly friendly inflection. then they recovered themselves, and came rushing towards me. i stood irresolute for an instant, for the warriors had discarded their spears, and i wondered for a brief space whether they were now hurrying to tender their expressions of good-will. when they were within a dozen yards off, however, they united in a shrill scream, and brandished in their right hands most bloodthirsty-looking clubs which they had carried secreted at their backs. their intention could not now be doubted, and i turned and fled. "give them the small-shot barrel, mac," i cried. "sma' shot be d----d!" he howled in reply, and the boom of his artillery filled my ears as he spoke. when the smoke cleared away i saw that the blacks had retreated to the extreme end of the clearing, where the bulk of them stood huddled together, groaning horribly, and making most frightful grimaces at us. two feather-bedizened warriors were prancing absurdly in the middle distance, and emitting piercing shrieks as they slowly hopped back to rejoin their comrades. "i aimed low," said mac apologetically, noting their antics with much satisfaction, "an' i dinna see what they're makin' a' that row aboot." i was glad to notice that no serious injury had been done to the poor creatures, and, judging by the activity shown by the wounded pair, they were evidently much more frightened than hurt. "i don't think there is any more fight in them, boys," i said, and i stepped forward, followed by my companions, who tugged at the nose-ropes of the reluctant camels. a few belated missiles, flung in half-hearted fashion, struck the ground at our feet; the blacks still stood in our path, glaring at us sullenly. "level your cannon again, mac," i instructed, "but _don't_ fire." he obeyed with alacrity, just in time to check a fresh flight of spears. the natives had already acquired a wholesome dread of the formidable-looking breechloader. with ear-splitting yells they scattered before our advance, and in a moment were lost to sight in the forest. we made a brief halt by the scene of their stand in order to search the near vicinity for water, but not a drop of moisture could be located anywhere around. windbreaks were very numerous some little distance back from the enclosure, which showed that we had practically stumbled upon a native village. yet it must have been only a settlement used as a temporary camp between two known springs, unless the water resources of the district were very cunningly hidden. "there must be water near at hand," said phil. "these trees could not grow so freshly otherwise." "we've missed our one chance, i fear," i answered him sadly. "we ought to have captured one of the natives while we had the opportunity." "let us go now," said he; "they cannot be very far off yet." "we'll gang! we'll gang!" mac and stewart cried clamorously together. "we'll shin catch the deevils!" but i restrained them. "you are both too reckless," i explained, "and we should probably never see you again if you lost your bearings in the bush." i knew that my worthy henchmen would disdain to use any stratagem, and in consequence would surely be speared by the vengeful savages. "you can trust me, mac," said phil grimly. "i'll fetch you a specimen or two to play with," and mac, noting his unusual fierceness of expression, felt comforted. leaving our over-eager companions in charge of the camels, i took a hurried bearing of our position, and dashed off with phil in the direction taken by the fleeing band. i could still hear the branches crackling before their wild rush, and i hoped that the sound might guide us in our quest. for several minutes we kept up a rapid pace, but we quickly realised that our running powers were not equal to those of the blacks. the blistering sand showered in our faces, and the brittle twigs of the mallee cut us severely. the sun had now reached his meridian, and shot his rays so fiercely upon us that we were soon compelled to reduce our speed. we dared not allow ourselves to perspire, and so lose the little moisture our bodies contained. meanwhile the vague crackling of the brushwood in the far distance became fainter and fainter, intimating to us very plainly that our intended prisoners were far from our reach. we were weary and hopeless, yet we mechanically continued on. our thoughts, as may be guessed, were the reverse of pleasant, and we did not care to give them expression. few would have recognised in phil, the fresh-faced, merry-spirited young man who had led the five-mile rush. his face was now deeply bronzed, and bore the stamp of the hardships encountered, and his firm-set mouth showed a vastly increased force of will. "the beggars seem to have vanished completely," he said, when we had travelled at least half a mile in silence. "what a tidy row of skeletons we'll make," he added lightly. "'a rale dacent coleckshun,' as mac would say." "we'll hear mac's remarks later," i answered, "and we're not by any means dead yet." we had now reached a slight dip in the land surface, and in the depression a well-padded native track appeared. we followed it eagerly until it broke off into two trails, forming an acute angle. "you take one, i'll take the other," i said. "if you find anything signal with your revolver, and i'll do the same, though it is more than likely they lead to the same place." "all right!" he replied, and we separated. hurriedly i sped along, now this way, now that, as the trail twisted and twined in the manner peculiar to most bush tracks, and i seemed to have entered a maze. then i came to a point where it divided and subdivided, and i hesitated, wondering which branch to follow. i went down on my knees and closely examined the sand at the junction, and after a careful scrutiny i was rewarded by distinguishing the imprint of an aboriginal's ungainly foot at the entrance to one of the offshoots, and i hastened along the course indicated, half stooping and sometimes kneeling, in my extreme anxiety to keep on the pad, which could only be traced with the utmost difficulty. gaily-plumaged birds now surrounded me, chattering noisily, and their presence imbued me with hope. there, indeed, must be water near, if i could only find it. my guiding path led me several hundred yards over a sand and gravel surface, through which a stray blade of wiry grass peeped here and there; but gradually the grasses grew closer, and their trampled appearance showed me that some one had only recently crossed that way. i was brought to a halt abruptly. the track had come to an end, and i stood at the edge of a small circular space, in the centre of which a tall lime-tree stretched high above the stunted shrubs adjoining. the significance of the sight was not altogether lost on me. i had usually found lime-trees and water in close proximity, but here no welcome spring gladdened my eyes, the circle was bare and parched-looking, except on the far-away side, where a rank clump of spinifex lined the gaunt stems of the mallee. i was bitterly disappointed. "looks like a circus-ring," i said to myself. "probably used for holding grand corroborees." i turned away in disgust, and sat down in the sand, heedless alike of snakes, scorpions, or other crawling things. i was trying to consider what our immediate future must be, and my deductions were not cheering. then i wondered where phil had gone, and whether his quest had been more successful than mine; but i had heard no signal, therefore, i reasoned, he would be in a somewhat similar plight to myself, or perhaps he had already rejoined mac and stewart. i continued my musings in a calmly-resigned state of mind, but was suddenly aroused to alertness; the faint sound of rustling branches reached my ears. i got up speedily and looked all round, but nothing could be seen, and i blamed my too eager fancy for the alarm. glancing at the sun, and taking a rough compass bearing, i prepared to return to my companions by a direct route through the bush. but again the peculiar sound attracted my attention. my fancy had not deceived me this time, and i surveyed the open space closely, but nothing met my anxious gaze. then, just as i was leaving the scene, the secret of the rustling branches was revealed, and i smiled grimly at my lack of perception. on the extreme edge of the clearing, half hidden by the spidery tendrils of the sparse fringing bush, two natives lay sprawling on the sand, carefully piling a heap of twigs and spinifex grass, as if in preparation for a large fire. they lay with their backs towards me, pursuing their work with diligence, and as the colour of their bodies was almost similar to that of their surroundings, they were not easily observable, as i had already proved. i noticed with satisfaction that their weapons were strewn in the grass some few yards out of their reach. these comprised two evil-looking waddies and a number of double-barbed spears--a formidable collection, truly. i examined my small s. and w. revolver with purposeful intent, and was on the point of rushing forward when a loud crackle came from another part of the ring. it seemed to me as if a stout branch had given way before some other, and more impetuous, watcher than myself. more natives might be near. i drew back into the shadow. the dusky pair were evidently wildly alarmed; they leapt to their feet and looked about with a startled expression, and then i recognised them as two of those who had so stubbornly contested our advance less than an hour back. they glared at each other terror-stricken, and pointed to the sun and the four corners of the earth in turn, accompanying their odd gesticulations by a stream of monosyllabic utterances. apparently they were invoking various gods to their aid. in the midst of this pantomime a well-known figure burst into the enclosure from the still swaying scrub, and before the natives could escape he clutched them both in a tight embrace, and bore them back by almost superhuman effort. "phil!" i cried in amazement, jumping forward, and relieving him of one of his prisoners. "we've got them!" he shouted with fierce emotion. "keep still, you imp of darkness!" his prisoner was still struggling violently, but soon realised the hopelessness of his efforts, and became quiescent as mine, who was rolling his eyes at me beseechingly. then we looked at each other, half in amusement half in surprise, and i noticed that his sole upper garment, his sand-stained shirt, was torn half across the shoulders. "it caught in a branch," he explained, examining the rent ruefully, "and the noise i made in breaking loose nearly frightened the blacks away." "but how did you get here?" i asked, for the tracks we had followed seemed to lead very widely apart. "the trails intersect, but all find their way here," he answered. "anyhow, i've been watching these beggars building a monument, or something like it, for the last five minutes or so." "i have had my eye on them also," i said, "but i didn't dream of your being so close. hold my prisoner a moment," i added; "we'll see what they have been doing." he promptly sat on my savage's neck, while i got up and kicked away the pile of branches. and lo! beneath them lay disclosed a gurgling spring of clearest water. i could not describe the joy that was ours at that moment. phil simply gasped with relief, and was not satisfied that his eyes did not deceive him until i lifted some of the sparkling liquid in the palm of my hand and let it trickle slowly through my fingers. the blacks remained passive enough now, only groaning dismally at intervals. it was not difficult to understand why they had attempted to hide the spring. as stewart had first surmised, they did not want our good company, and who could blame them? there was no need to rejoin our comrades now, so we discharged our revolvers as a signal to them to approach, and soon their familiar voices were heard far back raised in high debate. mac was apparently holding forth on some pet doctrine with which stewart doggedly refused to coincide. they had forced their thoughts far away from unpleasant topics; they knew how necessary it was to keep up a semblance of cheerfulness in trying times, and for the rest they trusted to my greater experience and phil's superior knowledge. the dwarfed trees broke before the advancing train. poor old "slavery" was evidently leading the trail at a harder pace than usual. "come alang, 'slavery'! wad ye hae me pu' ye?" i heard mac's voice raised in pathetic entreaty, as the swaying brush about a hundred yards back betokened their near approach. a few minutes more and "slavery" and "misery" staggered into the clearing, with mac and stewart pulling strenuously at their nose-ropes. the poor beasts' eyes were gleaming strangely, and their breath came in long wheezing groans. "we can hang oot anither day yet," mac shouted encouragingly immediately he saw us, trying bravely to look cheerful. then when he noticed the natives on whom we were comfortably seated his astonishment was great. "guid heavens!" he ejaculated. "stewart, we've got them efter a'." but stewart had caught sight of the glistening water, and with a fervent exclamation he buried his face in it and drank deeply. the camels now, feeling the tension relieved at their nose-ropes, sank upon their knees dead beat, and their heads drooped in the sand. phil and i watched the scene in silence: it was as the last act of a drama, with the proverbial happy ending. mac's rugged features fairly glowed when he saw the saving spring. he strode forward, and jerked his comrade's dripping face from the water. "dinna mak' a beast o' yersel'," he said shortly. "ower muckle's bad for ye, an' it's ma turn onywey." but they found room for two heads, and phil said they reduced the level of the water by several inches. the camels' wants now received attention. we allowed them to drink sparingly only, as they would quickly have drained the well, which refilled very slowly; but before the day was out they had absorbed their full supply, and were on a fair way towards the recovery of their wonted vigour. we camped by the spring, which we named "warriors' well," for two days, during which time we were engaged filling the great water-bags, and patching our tattered clothing so as to make a respectable appearance when we arrived at the nearest settlement, now less than a hundred miles distant. we fed our prisoners lavishly on tinned dog and flour while they remained in our charge, and they seemed to appreciate the diet hugely; yet, do what we might, they retained their sullen demeanour, and always howled plaintively when we approached near them. they made their escape on the morning of our departure, much to mac's disgust. that worthy had conceived the idea of training them to act in the capacity of body-servants to stewart and himself. "they would hae been bonnie orniments tae tak' hame tae auld scotland," he said regretfully. "we'll be bonnie-like orniments oorsels, mac," responded stewart, surveying his dark-brown skin. "we'll be nigger enough like, i'm thinkin'." we resumed our march with lighter hearts than we had had for many a day. our journey was practically completed, for our water supply would now last until we reached comparatively sure country. it is true we had not benefited by the expedition as i had hoped when starting, but we had gained a hard knowledge of the country, and of our own powers of endurance under extremely adverse circumstances, which would prove invaluable to us in the further journeyings i was at this stage planning. phil had become indissolubly connected with my little party. his worth had been demonstrated over and over again, and it was with pleasure i heard his decision, as we drew near settled latitudes, to throw in his lot with mine in my future travels. [illustration: the only creatures that can exist in the n.w. interior.] "ye're a man o' pairts, phil," was mac's unhesitating verdict, and stewart added, as a fitting tribute, "i'm o' the same opeenion." twelve days after leaving the providentially-found spring we arrived on the north-west coast of australia, and there disposed of our faithful old camels to ready purchasers. mac's eyes were moist when he said good-bye to the gentle "slavery," and stewart was loath to part with his old charge, "misery." as they were led away i bestowed a benediction on the trusty servants of our dreary journey, and elicited a promise from their new possessor that he would treat them kindly as they deserved. about a week later we sailed for sydney. part iii promiscuous wanderings in the australian back-blocks australia has attracted much attention from all quarters during the last few years, but to most people the vast interior is still a _terra incognita_; and even on the streets of sydney or melbourne the appearance of a copper-skinned back-blocker excites as much comment as might a being from another planet. the man from "out west" cares little for the opinion of the townsman, however; and if his carriage be not so graceful as that of those whom he so unceremoniously jostles on the pavements of bourke street or the "block," he gets over the ground more quickly; and if his speech be ungrammatical, it is at least expressive, and only used when absolutely necessary. the back-blocks, generally, are the western division of queensland and new south wales; and although in some parts of the former state the hardy squatter has established himself well out into the great desert, the country inside the "run" of his domain is probably unprospected, and outside entirely unexplored. in this almost boundless tract of country, where the bush merges into the silent desert, the back-blocker has his home, and, indifferent to the flight of time and the struggle and worries attending existence in the outside world, he leads a life of untrammelled independence. only occasionally does a stranger come among these sons of freedom; and if he once sees "where the pelican builds its nest," or experiences the strange fascination of the desert camp-fire circle, he will not soon leave them. the new-comer may be fresh from the old home-land, an outcast from continental europe, or a wanderer from the crowded cities on the australian coast-line; but in all cases he is welcomed, and soon he speaks in the same quaint dialect, forgets his past, and becomes a child of fortune. "but how do you manage to exist? this place would not support a rabbit," i said to an assembly of those men one evening in queensland. i had struck their camp while endeavouring with a companion to cycle from spencer gulf to the gulf of carpentaria; and our surprise may be imagined when, hundreds of miles from the nearest settlement, as we thought, their camp-fire suddenly appeared in front of us. there were about twelve men in the party, and, as it was just sundown, we naturally camped beside them, and, prompted by the somewhat elaborate preparations being made for supper, i had put my question. "oh, not too bad," a tall and gaunt queenslander answered. "we keeps a team of our own always on the move with stores from the nearest township." "but that must cost a lot of money so far out as this. how do you earn----?" "we can always make tucker shootin' kangaroos and emus for their skins; an' if any man wants a cheque bad, for a spell or anything, he can always go shearing inside country. of course we takes turns at opalling, if we strikes a good show; an' if thar's any new gold discoveries, we git there quick an' lively." "but you can never make a fortune at work so uncertain?" "lor'! mate, but you is hard to please. here, charlie; you lend a hand here; this stranger's fresh, an' i is no good pitchin'----" charlie stepped forward, and at once relieved his comrade of the burden of conversation. [illustration: an emu's nest.] "you reckons we can't make no money?" he said. "well, i reckons ye is wrong. how about old tyson, the millioner? an' how about gilgai charlie sitting over there?--my handle is vic charlie, cos' i comes from victoria--he made four thousan' clear outen his opal claim only last week; an', darn it all, mate! there's shandy bill, that little fellow on yer left, he made ten ounces yesterday jes' by dry-blowing in a pan----" "ten ounces! of copper?" "no--of gold; an' long tom here shot one hundred and twenty-three kangaroos at ninepence each----" "did you say that your companion found gold?" "i reckon i did, stranger, an' what's more, we has all dropped on to gold." "what! there is no gold so far west as this." "so we was told, mate. them as is supposed to know, say there can be no gold west of the ranges; but you can allow that this push knows gold when they see it, an'--but show it to him, shandy." shandy instantly detached a leather pouch from his belt, and without a word put it into my hands. "that is gold without doubt," i said, handing it back; "i know by the weight." vic charlie seemed surprised at my knowledge of the metal, but he said nothing. "does you know much about minerals?" inquired an elderly man who had been listening intently to the conversation. "i have prospected in most countries," i answered, "and ought to know all that is worth knowing by this time, for the experience was about all i did get." "tucker!" sang out some one. "git table-covers for the visitors, an' look lively." my own companion, while i was talking, had been engaged in similar fashion in the centre of another group, and i smiled to see how intensely interested were his listeners. _he_ was not seeking information, i knew, but from the unconscious ejaculations which frequently arose from his audience, i guessed that he was imparting some; and his selections were invariably strange and wonderful. the cry of "tucker," however, created a diversion, and during the half-hour that followed, all apparently had but one object in view, and being blessed with a healthy appetite, that same object was very pleasing to me. i was placed between a gentleman called dead-broke peter and one dubbed silent ted. i afterwards discovered that peter had been a member of the new zealand parliament, but long tom introduced him simply as the best talker in camp. i suppose it was to balance matters that the thoughtful tom placed ted on my other side, for _he_ never spoke. "he is a first-class cook an' a most extraordinar' thinker, though," said tom; and as ted's corrugated but wonderfully expressive face beamed at the compliment, i saw that a tongue to him was quite unnecessary. the night was very dark, and as the fitful fire-flashes lit up the surrounding gloom and cast fantastic shadows of the squatting men on the sands behind them, the scene was indeed weird. towards the end of the meal dead-broke peter began a conversation, at first very general in character, and which i easily sustained without interrupting my study of the men around; but before i realised that peter was a man with a past, i found myself floundering in the subject of astronomy hopelessly beyond my depths. "yes," i said, endeavouring to collect my senses, "it is wonderful how the science has advanced, but i cannot understand how you have made the heavens a clock." "oh, that is a simple matter," he replied. "canopus sets behind warrego plains at half-past nine at present; take that fact for your unit, and then the positions of the cross will indicate plainly, even to minutes, the divisions of the night. but look at that poor snake crawling out of the hollow stump beside you; that means a cyclonic disturbance is approaching----" "great scot! that's a black snake. look out, boys!" i cried, springing to my feet. ted, who had been drinking in every word spoken, quietly reached over, and catching the wriggling creature by the tail, skilfully swung it round his shoulder and brought its head forcibly against the log. the snake must have been killed instantly: but its long body quivered convulsively for a moment, and then with a sudden jerk shot backwards and coiled tightly round ted's arm. to my surprise, none of his comrades troubled even to look at ted during this performance: all, with the exception of peter and himself, were absorbing the words of my very scotch companion, who was relating with powerful dramatic effect some peculiar experiences of his in other parts of the world. but evidently ted did not expect any attention, for without uttering a sound he arose, shook his encumbrance into the fire, and sat down again, with a look on his face that plainly said to us, "go on! what have you stopped for?" peter politely directed my gaze to a nine-inch centipede that was prospecting across my boots, and then launched into a discourse on theological matters, which in time led into the supernatural, and finally narrowed down to a discussion on the mysterious rites of the aborigines' bora. "little bob, that tall man sitting next your companion, has had much experience among the natives of the north," peter said, "and if you could only get him to talk he could tell some marvellous tales." i looked over to the other side of the fire, and saw that little bob was the individual who had asked the extent of my mineral knowledge. "i have heard some tall stories of their corroborrees, ghingis, and bunyips," i answered; "but no white man has ever seen anything that could not be easily explained." "think not? perhaps you are right, but my experience leads me to think differently. there is a bunyip's pool seventeen miles from here--in fact, we get our water from it; but there is not a man in this camp who would go near it at night for--well for anything. and as for the corroborrees, there are men here who have actually gone through a series of them, and if you stay with us, or travel northwards, you will probably see some for yourself." peter's words interested me greatly, so, careful not to interrupt his flow of eloquence, i soon became as silent as the gentleman on my left, and was rewarded by hearing a most wonderful account of the dreaded bunyip--that strange mysterious creature, half fish and half fiend, the very sight of which, it is said, means death to the unfortunate beholder. i had often heard of this "dweller in the waters" from half-caste aborigines in new south wales, and knew that it was supposed to live in the subterranean pools which abound throughout the australian interior; but i never imagined that white men could be so firmly convinced of its existence as were my present companions. "it's in the brumbie's water-hole, you can bet your life," said a strangely deformed man, who had joined our group when the name was mentioned. "how do you know? have you seen it?" i inquired. "no, an' doesn't want to; but jack ford did." "and where is he?" "ask sam wilkins. he's the only glory prospector here." "what has he to do with it?" "lor'! stranger, if he doesn't know where jack went, no one here does. jack was as fine a mate as iver i met; but whether he staked off a claim up aloft, or pegged out in the other place, i'm darned if i knows. he saw the bunyip one full moon, an' croaked the next day." i now noticed that all the men had gathered round our little group, and before i could further question the speaker, long tom broke in. "is ye in a hurry to git up to the gulf country?" he said. "not particularly," i answered. "yer mate tells us you is a great mineralogist?" "oh, no,--not great; but i know a little of the science." "does ye know what that is?" tom opened a sack as he spoke and took out a greenish mass of something. "that is copper sulphide. where did you get it?" "mate, if it's any good, there's hundreds and thousands o' tons o' it lyin' on top not mor'n fifty mile from here. but what is this?" "why, that is native silver; and that conglomeration in ted's hand is an ironstone formation carrying gold----" "say, mate," interrupted little bob, "does ye know what this is?" he held in the palm of his hand a mixture resembling tea in appearance, but which after tasting i knew could not be that substance, "ah! ye is bested, mate, an' i is glad," continued bob. "i knows ye is honest now, an' don't skite when ye doesn't know." "thank you; but what is it?" "pidcherie, stranger. money can't buy it. it comes from the mullagine swamps; an' gold nor lead wouldn't make a black fellow part with it. swallow that, an' you can dance in the fire an' not feel nothin'; cut yourself in little bits an' you'll think it fun. only the niggers knows what it is, an' no white men barrin' us back boys has iver got any----" "time for that again, little bob," cried long tom, "the question just now is, will the stranger jine us? yous can git two shares an' we does all the work," he added, turning to me. "but, mr.--that is--peter here knows more than i do. he----" "him!" snorted tom. "mate, he's the most onreasonable man in camp. when he starts talking we can't stop him; an' when he is stopped, darn me if we can start him." i turned to see how my late entertainer took these words, but he was lying back on the sand--asleep. finally, after much quaint reasoning, the men persuaded us to try our luck with them, at least for a time. "yous can leave us when you like, if it doesn't pay," was tom's summing up; but as he had just told me of a sand-patch in which tucker could be made by dry-panning, and of a "darned curious country across the cooper" which was on fire with opal lying on the surface, i thought that the adventure was well worth any risk in that direction. we were still talking when the southern cross dipped behind the grey ranges; but before we stretched ourselves on the sand to rest it was decided that i and three others should set out in the morning to inspect the opal formations beyond the cooper, and pending our report as to its value, the others would keep up the funds by kangaroo-shooting and dry-blowing for gold. next morning with the first faint streaks of dawn we were ready. mac and i had our cycles, which we stripped of all their previous accoutrements, and kangaroo george and gilgai charlie rode two of the finest horses in queensland. "be good boys," cried long tom, as we prepared to move off after breakfast. "there is a willy-willy coming soon, so watch where you camp," warned dead-broke peter; and without more ado we plunged into a clump of gidgyas, and in a few minutes burst out on the ironshot plain. neither george nor charlie was inclined to waste his wisdom on the desert air, and even mac found it advisable to keep his mouth closed when the fine clouds of sand began to rise. for hours we headed due west, dining at noon, in the open, on a piece of damper and some cold mutton, washed down with an extremely sparing amount of muddy fluid from our water-bags, and then going on again. before sundown we reached a dried-up creek, where, after scraping in the sand among the roots of a solitary lime-tree, we found sufficient liquid for the horses, which we then hobbled and went into camp, fully forty miles from our starting-point. the sun was now racing down on the western horizon, and the desert around seemed like a sea of gold. the day had been oppressively hot, and consequently we expected that night would be kept lively by the many pests. nor were we mistaken. just as our surroundings became blurred in the shadows of night a dingo's dismal howl broke the strange stillness, and then the blood-curdling shrieks of some laughing-jackasses in the tree above irritated us almost beyond endurance. the mosquitoes next joined in, sinking their sawlike suckers deep into our sun-blistered skin; and when the mournful "morepork" added its depressing note, the desert orchestra was completed. "i reckon there's a storm comin'," remarked george, as he assisted a small death-adder into the fire. "for onysake let it come, then," growled mac. "a dinna see what ye've got to complain aboot. da----darn it!!" "is ye bit, scottie?" inquired charlie. "lor'! there's a centipede on your neck. it feels like red-hot coal, doesn't it?" he added sympathetically. "no," groaned mac; "it's a rale cooling sensation; but, here, feel for yersel'." he poised the creature on a twig as he spoke, and skilfully landed it on charlie's back, and the yell that followed might have awakened a bunyip, had there been such a monster within five miles. "shut up! darn ye, charlie!" roared george, lifting a nicely browned damper from the ashes; "ye has set the black fellows' ghosts off again. lor'! just listen to 'em." "hurry up with that damper, george," i interrupted--"that is, if there's no snakes in it." "there's many things worse than snakes, boss," innocently replied george; "they is prime, if ye roast 'em an' has got any salt----" "haud yer tongue, man, or a'll mak' a corroborree o' ye," roared the hungry mac, and i had to interfere hastily to prevent bloodshed. the memory of that night's tortures still haunts me. the desert was alive with all sorts of reptiles and insects, and from my companions, as they rolled sleeplessly in the sand, many short but heartfelt expressions arose which i dare not repeat. at sunrise we set out again, and all day travelled westward over country similar to that which we had already passed, camping at night on an "ana" branch or backwater of the famous cooper, and enduring another night of misery. "i reckon we should be near the ghingi's opal now," said george as we resumed our journey on the third day; "but say, boss, what's wrong with the ole sun? or is it the willy-willy?" there certainly was reason for george's question, for the sun as it shot up over the edge of the plains seemed merely a dull red ball; but the gem-shot haze which danced between showed the cause, and i realised that a cloud formed of minute particles of sand was partly obscuring it from view. "we'll get across the main river and look for shelter," i said, "for evidently this storm has been working up for some days." we crossed the "ana" channel and proceeded slowly, for the ground was now broken up as if by volcanic agencies. i was anxious to see the cooper, the great inland sea of the early pioneers, but to my astonishment no water was yet in evidence as far as the eye could reach; so, leading our steeds, we picked our way over the cleft and burnt ironstone. "these is the ghingi's holes," said charlie, as we came to some unusually large and deep chasms, "an' keep your eyes open, for there should be opal here." "whaur has that patent river got tae, i wunner," muttered mac. "i never had muckle faith in australian rivers, an' i doot the nearest water-hole in the way we're goin' is the indian ocean." "say, boss," suddenly said george, "how far is it to the war?" "oh, south africa is about seven thousand miles from here. are you thinking of going?" "well, some of the boys was talking that way; but none o' us knew the country, nor if the track was to sunrise or sundown." "africa is west from here, george." "is ther enuff water for horses on the trail?" "why, man! you cross the ocean." "well, i reckon old joy here can cross anything; but it beats me to know how a fellow can carry tucker. i s'pose there is plenty stations on the road, though?" i looked at george in amazement, and mac grinned with delight. "maybe they wouldn't want us, kangaroo," put in charlie; "but i reckon we can ride anything as has feet, an' shoot----" "lie down flat, mates!" shouted george; "here's the willy-willy." i turned and saw a huge black wall gyrating wildly towards us. a roar like that of thunder filled the air, followed by a sound as of waves breaking upon a rocky beach. a fierce blast of back-drawn sand struck my face, and as i threw myself down i felt as if drowning for a moment; then a hail of stones, scrub, and sand rushed over me, tearing my clothes to shreds, and penetrating my skin like shot, while a thick blackness blotted out everything around. i lay still, conscious that a deposit of sand was fast covering me; but i also felt that the suffocating tension was already becoming less severe, and next minute a current of moist cool air, delightfully soothing to my sand-blasted skin, swept over the desert, and i sat up. it was still dark; but the awful vortex had passed, and away to the west i could still hear the indescribable rumbling sound of the flying boulders among the ghingi holes. "is we all here?" sounded charlie's voice close beside me, and i felt relieved when i heard the muffled responses of my comrades, for i knew that if caught in the centre of such a storm we had just escaped, nothing living could withstand it. i groped for my cycle, and moistened my throat with the damp sand that now filled the water-bag, noticing, as some of the contents spilled down my neck, that the temperature must have fallen considerably, for the accident caused me to shiver. "ye talk aboot gaun into the australian interior," spoke mac dolorously, as he in turn swallowed a mouthful, "but i'm thinkin' that a lot o' australia has gone into mine." "never mind, mac," i replied, as we all crawled towards each other, "here comes the first rain we have had since leaving adelaide, and if the horses are all right, so are we." "i reckon they is o.k.," said charlie; "they knows more than most people, them horses." while he was speaking we cast off our scanty garments and revelled in the refreshing drops; but rain in the back-blocks is worth more than its weight in gold, and this shower only lasted about a minute, and passed on in the wake of the willy-willy. shortly afterwards the darkness rolled away to the west like a huge receding screen, and near us we saw the two horses rolling on the ground with evident enjoyment. but i did not ask my companions how it was that our four-footed friends had escaped so lightly, for my attention was attracted by a scintillating streak of something on the edge of a small hole, and as my eyes became used to the now blinding glare of the sun, i saw that the whole surface of the desert was literally blazing with small points of colour. "lor'!" exclaimed my australian comrades simultaneously, "we has struck the very place after all." "ay, mon," said mac wrathfully; "an' hoo did ye no' ken that afore?" "'cos the opal was dead," replied george, "an' the rain has made it 'live again." mac looked suspiciously at the speaker; but charlie added that "dead" and "live" were terms used in speaking of dull opal that could be made to flash as if alive by the application of water. this explained why we had not seen the gems before, and without troubling to inquire where the cooper had gone, or how--if charlie and george were correct--we had got to the other side of it, we attacked the ironstone boulders with our small hand-picks. "every gibber's got an opal heart," remarked george, smashing a large boulder to fragments. "take care, then," i warned, "or you will break it too." "then how is we to do it, boss?" inquired charlie, poising his pick in mid-air. "does ye think it will come out if we whistle on it?" i did not; nor to this day have i found how to get that opal out intact. we tried every method that could be devised, but without success, for each time we broke the outer casing the more brittle core was also shattered by the blow. patiently and laboriously we chipped the ironstone, only to find that the gem was in powder form when we reached it. we then tried roasting the stones, carrying them to a small clump of stunted gidgyas for that purpose; but found then, that although the shell broke with less hammering, the "life" of the opal was destroyed by the heat, and a dull lump of glass-like substance was all our reward. for two days we wandered among the ghingi holes trying specimens continually, but with the same results, and at last i was convinced that further work under the circumstances was useless. the horses were now beginning to suffer for want of proper food, and i saw that the water question would also trouble us as soon as the pools formed by the willy-willy shower had evaporated. cooper's creek as a flowing stream had ceased to exist. probably its waters, or all that seven years' drought had left of them, had gone to feed that strange tide which ebbs and flows so mysteriously under the heart of the great lone land; but in its old channels we saw only dead and dying creatures of the desert, and the banks were simply a nursery for fever germs. "i reckon we'll have to give it best," at length said gilgai charlie, and i could see no alternative. "if sufficient rain came, we might be able to bring a team out," i said, "and cart a load of boulders back to eromango. if we could not there get the ironstone dissolved with acid, we could at least send them to brisbane and get them cut." "that's all right, boss," spoke george, "but i reckon we might as well look for gold nuggets droppin' from the sky as enough water for a team." and i knew he was right. [illustration: "leichardt's" tree. the last trace found of the great explorer who attempted to cross the interior and was never heard of again.] we thought of striking across to the central ranges of south australia to prospect the ruby formations there, but we found, when we reached the end of the broken ground, that our course lay through a belt of soft sand in which our wheels sank over the rims; and having neither sufficient water nor stores to risk walking for an unknown distance, we were forced to abandon the attempt. on the afternoon of the third day we started on the back track, and that night camped on the ana pool. we made our old camp by the "soak" the next night, and at noon, the day following, struck the camps of those of our comrades who had gone dry-blowing. "well, mates, don't worry. it doesn't matter anyhow, for we'll git it some day, if we doesn't peg out," was the general comment when they had heard our story; and then the billy was boiled. i was much surprised to see that gold was present in the sands of the desert; and even although the quantity was small, and only in patches widely apart, the fact afforded much food for thought. the process of dry-blowing adopted by the men was extremely simple, consisting of dropping the sand from one pan raised above the head to another resting on the ground, then reversing the positions of the pans and repeating the operation. in action, most of the sand and other light material was carried away or diverted by the wind; but the gold--if any--in accordance with the law of gravitation, dropped straight. when the bulk was thus reduced until only the precious metal and the heavier ironstones were left, the contents were put aside, and another panful proceeded with in the same manner. finally the collected matter was thrown on an improvised inclined plane that had bars of wood fastened across its surface. in rolling down, the ironstone pebbles cleared these ripples and fell to the ground; but the gold, being too heavy to do likewise, was caught in the angles, and afterwards carefully removed by the operator. the work was very slow and laborious, and often attended with very disappointing results. "but," said dead-broke peter, while explaining this to me, "we sometimes strike a patch that pays well." "can you explain why there is _any_ gold here?" i asked. "there are no auriferous reefs which could shed it nearer than eight hundred miles, and, according to all geologists, the entire desert is the deposit of the ocean." "that may be," peter replied, "but i have conclusive proof that there is a gold-bearing reef not more than a quarter of a mile from where we stand. i have no doubt that the rocks carrying it once reared themselves above the surrounding sea; but that was--well--before our time; and now they are too deep for us to reach." i suggested that if the men had some mechanical appliance which could treat the sand in large quantities, they might do well with the surface deposit. "perhaps," peter said indifferently; "but there would be too much worry attached." and seeing that silent ted had dinner ready, we changed the subject. long tom and four of the men had gone out emu-and kangaroo-shooting, and were not expected back for a week, and knowing that neither mac nor i could be of any special service to the men at dry-blowing, we at length resolved to proceed to the gulf, as was our original intention. our companions were very sorry when we announced this; but i told them we had come out expressly to study the aborigines at home, and that when we had done so we might come back. "you'll see them before you go far," said shandy bill. "an' don't go foolin' near a corroborree, scottie," warned little bob; "'cos if ye does thar will be a funeral, as sure as them currants in that damper there is only ants." dead-broke peter was evidently qualifying for a silent ted reputation, for it was only when kicked repeatedly by that individual that he roused himself, and in effect said, "remember, if you happen to get into trouble, that the various corroborrees are only stages in the grand bora; and that the signs used in their working have a wonderful resemblance to those of a certain society to which i see you belong." this information was startling, to say the least of it; but peter had again fallen into his listless attitude, and could not be induced to say more: so, after receiving many messages, written and verbal, to despatch from the first settlement reached, we departed. eight days later we crossed the north cooper (here called the thomson river) at jundah--it was in flood here(!)--and in another four days we reached winton. from this unique township we made good time northwards through a well-watered country, which, although in the tropics, is blessed with a pleasant climate; and while running down the flinders river had our first adventure with the natives. the australian aboriginal is believed to be the lowest form of humanity extant; but there are many things in his philosophy of which the white man has not dreamt. he fights with nature for his very existence, his food being the crawling creatures of the earth and what he wrests from other animals; and even then he is haunted with an eternal dread of devouring demons, who--according to his belief--are for ever seeking his destruction. his bora is his only safeguard against these ghingis and bunyips; and it is in matters pertaining to the observance of its various corroborrees that he has achieved such triumphs over nature, and performs feats that, to the white man, are entirely inexplicable. an ordinary corroborree is merely a meeting that may be summoned by the chief or elders of any tribe; but those relating to the bora are a series of religious ceremonials culminating in a weird fire-test, which all young warriors must undergo before attaining to the state of manhood. this fire-test, with various modifications, is also practised by the new guineans and south sea islanders; but with the latter it now seems to have degenerated into a performance for the priests alone; and in the fiji isles a form of fire-walking is still observed, chiefly for the benefit of the sensation-loving tourist. among the australian aborigines, however, the working of the bora is the chief object of their existence, and with them the tests are very real indeed. the fire-test is worked by a procession of aspiring natives marching round on a path which leads through the centre of many fires. a figure in the fanciful attire of some strange monster apparently controls the movements of the warriors by the motion of some object which he swings rapidly round his head, and which produces a humming sound not unlike that of a steam-siren. the performance is followed by a warlike display supposed to strike terror to the heart of the dreaded bunyip, and if that creature could see the grotesquely garbed warriors as we saw them--hiding in the mulga scrub with our bicycles lying beside us--i have no doubt that it would speedily take itself off to some less dangerous-looking part of the globe. it is supposed that no white men have ever witnessed the higher corroborrees; but that belief is erroneous, for during our journey northwards we met several backblockers on the wallaby to the opal district who were quite familiar with the entire ceremony, and some, like little bob, had even taken part in them, of course not willingly. the aborigines are very scarce now, and happily, perhaps for us, most of our adventures with them tended more to be ludicrous than exciting, and in due course we arrived at normanton, the chief town in the gulf country. a month later we landed at brisbane from the ss. _peregrine_, and in two days were completely tired out and disgusted with the artificialities of city life. the queensland contingent of the imperial bushmen was to embark in the afternoon for south africa, and we joined the cheering throng that lined queen street to see the men ride past. i have seen the scots greys in edinburgh, but the men of "england's last hope" were not like them. their smart dresses hung loosely on their angular frames, and their tanned faces were in vivid contrast to those of the brisbanites. they were all tall, and sat in their saddles in a style that was certainly not military, and their faces wore an absent-minded expression. i knew, however, that fever would have no effect on these men, that they could stand any hardship, that an earthquake could not unhorse them, and that every time those eyes with the far-away look glanced along the rifle-barrel something would drop somewhere. a shout from mac interrupted my musings, and knowing that he always had some reason for what he did, i followed him through the densely-packed crowd, and found him in the act of hauling a trooper from his horse. "it's kangaroo george!" he yelled, "an' he's dreamin'!" "hallo, scottie!" suddenly said the roused warrior; "did yous see the nigs?" "hang the niggers!" roared mac; "it's you i want tae ken aboot. hoo----?" "i see you have got on to the south african trail after all, george," i said, grasping his hand. "close up there, men!" roared the sergeant. "darn it! dead-broke, doesn't ye see who is here?" remonstrated another familiar voice, and next instant i was shaking hands with sergeant dead-broke peter--i never knew his other name. there was now a general confusion owing to the men having to lead their horses down to the wharf where the transport _maori king_ was waiting to receive them, and by adopting tactics not unknown nearer home mac and i got down with the troopers. "an' has ye not a word for shandy bill?" suddenly spoke another voice at my side. "an' sam wilkins?" said a quiet-looking trooper. "an' me--corporal vic charlie?" cried the one who had remonstrated with his sergeant. "is the whole camp here?" i cried surprisedly, while mac muttered strange words anent the results of shaving on a person's appearance. "no; only five," answered vic charlie. "gilgai and little bob came down too; but they were too old, an' they is goin' out west again to-night when they see us away." "i say, boss," whispered george to me, "you knows the trail, doesn't ye?" "fairly well, george," i replied; "you see the southern cross all the way." "then can you give us a notion how far out our first camp is?" "you don't camp at all. you travel night and day--that is, unless the propellor shaft or something else breaks." "lor!" was all george's comment, but his face spoke volumes. [illustration: a famous mine in the gulf country.] we stayed with our old comrades until the last moment arrived; and then, in company with gilgai charlie and the giant little bob, who had joined us on the wharf, went and dined. these two worthies were, as they said, already "full up with the city," and when the western express left that night it had on board four men and four cycles booked through for cunnamulla _en route_ to the opal fields. twenty-eight hours afterwards we landed at the western terminus, and taking advantage of the full moon and the hard camel-pads leading farther west, we made sixty miles before morning. on the opal fields of white cliffs there are many strange places and peoples in this world, and of those the opal fields and opal miners of white cliffs, new south wales, are good examples. the opal district is situated sixty miles n.n.w. of wilcannia, a somewhat remarkable township on the darling river, and the men who make gem-hunting their profession number over two thousand. of this amount, less than a half belong to some branch of the anglo-saxon race, the remainder being a mixture of all nationalities, of which germans are the most numerous. the township of white cliffs stands in a hollow in the centre of the "workings," but it is merely a collection of galvanised iron drinking saloons and stores; the population living out on their claims, some in tents, some in their horizontal excavations or "drives"; and others with only the sky for a roof. when it is stated that the town also contains a warden's residence, a hospital, and a good substantial prison--there is as yet no church--that most of the stores are run by chinamen, and that the jew gem-buyers form the aristocracy, the description of the town is complete. the fields, however, at present extend for three miles round the town, and in all probability will stretch further out on the great western desert when some means of providing sufficient water for the miners is devised. but the opal has been proved to exist in such vast quantities within the three miles radius, that there is as yet no need for any one to go further out. the methods employed in searching for opal are extremely simple. briefly, this consists of sinking a shaft, or, if the claim happens to be located on a slope, tunnelling into the ground until a seam of gem-carrying matrix is encountered; from which the opal is then separated by means of a small "gouging" pick or other tool. these layers exist at various parallel levels from the surface down to forty feet, but no "paying" opal has yet been struck at greater depths. it is highly probable, however, that this is because the task of further sinking with the primitive means of pick, spade, and windlass, the only appliances used, becomes at this point somewhat difficult, and the men, knowing the value of the shallower levels, prefer spending their energies on another shaft in fresh country. the matrix in which the gem is found consists of a hard silicious conglomeration, usually thickly impregnated with ironstone. the opal is embedded in this material in the form of thin sheets, which, however large they may be while in the formation, can only be removed in divisions of about the size of a five shilling piece. opal is of all colours and shades, but unfortunately for the miner a piece of exquisitely coloured blue, green, or red stone is considered absolutely valueless if not accompanied with the vivid scintillating flash which denotes its "lifeness." tons upon tons of this worthless stuff, "potch," as it is called, are daily thrown out of the shafts by disgusted opallers, for in common with most things in this world, the bad is very plentiful, in fact it is almost impossible to get away from it; but the gem or "live" opal is correspondingly rare. nevertheless, fortunes are frequently made here by the merest chance, and perhaps to a greater degree than elsewhere is a man justified by results in believing that some day he will "send his pick through a fortune." as said before, the miners are of nearly all the races of mankind, and many incongruous partnerships are formed for the holding and working of a two, three, or four men's claim; but on the whole, good fellowship rules throughout the camps, and an american negro, a half-caste chinaman, or a turk, stands by the windlass of a canny scot, a frenchman, or a hindu. there are no disputes between capital and labour in white cliffs, every man is his own master, and follows out his own usually erratic inclinations, unless sometimes when, after a lucky find, he imbibes too much of a certain commodity falsely-labelled scotch, and consequently the police exercise a slight control over his movements. there are no surface indications to guide one in searching for opal, and as the most experienced "gouger" knows no more where the gem may be than the latest new chum, all work is done on chance. to such a strange state of mind has the desert environment reduced those men of the back-blocks, that they look upon the grim side of circumstances with indifference, and magnify the trivialities of life into a proportion which to the stranger suggests a land of burlesque. but soon he, too, catches the mysterious infection, unconsciously he is overwhelmed by the influence of his surroundings, and he ceases to see anything remarkable either in his own doings or in those of his fellows. an observer, while he retained his own mental equilibrium, might see instances of this strange perversion in almost every man in white cliffs; but, perhaps, my own experiences there may serve to give some fair examples. my claim was staked about a mile from the town on a small stretch of rising ground which at some time in the earth's history formed the banks of the lake, in the old bed of which white cliffs now stands. for comrades i had a powerful scotsman and two australians, while the claims around us were worked by an american and a native of mauritius, known as black george, a german and an englishman--the latter being termed the "parson," a new zealander and a swede, and several other single miners, the chief being one called satan. we were all good friends, and nightly gathered round a common camp-fire to discuss things in general. silent ted and emu bill, my two australian comrades, were perhaps the most experienced prospectors on the field; the one had a very thoughtful cast of countenance, and never spoke, and the other was a splendid specimen of the australian pioneer, but when he spoke it was chiefly in short, crisp words, of decided colonial origin, which mac said would have qualified him "a for the position of a clyde stevedore." together they had crossed the divide between the darling river and cooper's creek, and occasionally, when the moon was full, and the southern cross dipping behind the great barrier ranges, bill would tell of a land where fire-flashing opal burst through the surface sands, and shone in dazzling streaks of every imaginable colour from every wind-swept ledge. ted would eagerly follow his comrade's words, and his wonderful face would light up with genuine admiration when bill's word-pictures were powerfully descriptive. but he was too sympathetic, and frequently, alas! got into trouble because of that. "shut up, ted!" bill would suddenly cry, pausing in the middle of his narrative. "is it you that's tellin' this yarn or me?" at these rough words the silent one would slowly turn a reproachful glance upon the speaker which said as plainly as words, "why, bill, i did not speak." "i knows that," would come the unhesitating answer, "but your face does, an' it's been an' got to the end of this story afore me." this was in a manner true, and sometimes when bill, as hoskins the american said, was "long-winded in getting to the point," we had but to look at ted's face for the _dénoûement_. "but how vas it you came away unt leave all dat opal? there must be millions there," our german friend would say when bill's narrative was concluded. "i reckon there is, kaiser," the _raconteur_ would answer, "but the country is full o' darned crows an' willy-willys, an' ye can't sleep no how with the sand-flies an' snakes an' 'skeeturs. water, did ye say? no, there ain't none." however much ted and bill may have ignored the absence of the precious fluid, that was the only consideration with most of their listeners, and had there been any water, some of us, at least, would have gone out west at once and chanced everything else. one evening bill was unusually eloquent in his discourse on the lavishness with which nature had gifted the desert, and as all our claims had been yielding but poor returns for the last week or so, we paid more attention to his words than we had been in the habit of doing. "i wouldn't mind having a try out back," said scottie, "if there were a railway, or if we had fleein' machines." "couldn't we go as we are?" lisped the parson, "we may work here for ever, and not better ourselves." bill gave vent to some sarcastic remarks anent the last speaker's powers of endurance, but otherwise made no comment. [illustration: boring for opal indications.] "bill says the surface is ironshot," continued the parson blandly, "and, as i saw a team come into town to-day with about two dozen bicycles for sale, i thought----" "man, ye are a thinker, parson," cried scottie, "i'll gang away wi' ye the morn if ye like--that is if the machines are no ow'r dear." "i think we ought to get them, no matter what they cost," i remarked, "for if we do go out they would enable us to cross right over to the cooper at a pinch, if they did not break down, and the ground was passable." "well, i guess i am one of the crowd that goes," announced hoskins. "unt me," cried the german. "i reckon we is all going," said bill, looking round the camp-fire for corroboration. "int you, satan?" "of course i is," answered the individual addressed, a corrugated-skinned specimen of humanity. "i is goin' where scottie an' the parson goes; but where in tarnation is ye goin', and what for?" "cooper's creek, for opal," roared scottie. "opal," repeated satan vacantly. then his eyes kindled suddenly, and he exclaimed, "lor', i forgot to tell ye, boys, i has been haulin' the stuff out by the sackful these last two weeks." "what!" yelled all in chorus, springing to their feet, and even the stoical ted stopped in the act of lighting his pipe to gaze at satan. "it are a fact, mates," continued that gentleman apologetically, "i reckon i has near got a waggon-load dumped out by now. lor', what's the racket, mates?" few heard his last words, for as the full literal import of what he had just said began to dawn on the assembly, a stampede took place down the hill towards the shaft; but another surprise was in store. while some were rummaging in black george's tent for candles to explore the long drive in satan's claim, and others were sliding down his windlass rope, a series of sounds broke out round our deserted fire, the fervour of which made hoskins say, "hallo, boys, how is bill not here?" "i is here, darn ye!" came the muffled response from the darkness; "that's ted that's shouting," which information made it clear to all that silent ted in his excitement had placed the blazing mulga stump in his mouth and thrown away his pipe. i had known ted for a long time, but that was only the second occasion on which i had heard the sound of his voice. a few seconds later we had crowded into satan's drive, and after crawling over a heap of mullock that blocked the passage to within one foot of the roof, we found ourselves in the chamber where, from the presence of his pick and other implements, we knew he had recently been working. in a moment the candles were lit, and then a cry of wonder burst from all. we were standing in what might have been an aladdin's palace, and the walls danced and flashed in the gloom as if alive. the roof was simply one blaze of ever-changing orange and green, and through the whole would dart spasmodically a "living" flash of fiery red. clearly satan had struck it, for there must have been several thousand pounds' worth of opal exposed, whatever amount may have been hidden behind. bill was the first to break the silence of admiration, which had fallen over all, and he only said one word. it was characteristic and expressive, but quite unprintable; and slowly we filed out again and clambered up the rope to the surface. when we got back to our camp we found ted, satan, and the swede sitting in silent meditation round the fire. probably ted would have accompanied us, had it not been for the fact that he, being cook, had to look after a mysterious compound of flour and other substances commonly known as damper, which every evening was prepared among the ashes. "well, boy, you have struck it, an' no mistake," called out ford, the new zealander, to satan as we approached. "you're a millionaire now." "get awa' frae this fire, you unceevilised heathen," roared scottie, in virtuous indignation. "a man that wouldna' tell his mates when he struck a ton of opal is nae frien' o' mine; get awa' before a dae ye damage." "come scottie," began the parson, but mac would have none of him. "don't scottie me," he bellowed, "ye--ye----" then seeing the look of pain on the face of the would-be peacemaker he calmed down and said, "weel, ye shouldna anger me. i'll alloo ony man to judge if----" "lor', scottie, what is ye sayin'?" interrupted satan anxiously; "i forgot all about the darned stuff. i has no mate, and if you will come and help spend it you can have the half." "mein gott," cried kaiser, "i vil be your mate for von quarter." "satan," began mac, "a'm sorry a spoke, but a can see ye're no fit to be left alane, among so mony germans and foreign heathen. sell yer opal, lad, and bank the money in sydney. the coach leaves the morn's nicht." "i'll be darned if i do. i never went and left my mates yet, an' i ain't goin' to start now," exclaimed satan doggedly. and then i explained that he had already done sufficient to merit our blessing by discovering the layer of opal at the forty-four feet level. "it in all probability extends throughout all our claims at that depth," i said, "so you had better go down to sydney and dispose of yours before the news leaks out. otherwise there will be so much of the opal for sale locally when we all strike it that the buyers may be frightened." ultimately we convinced satan that he should go down to the coast, for it was evident he needed a change, and he could now well afford it. shortly afterwards the party broke up for the night, and soon the camps were wrapt in slumber, each man dreaming, doubtless, of the opal he would get on the morrow four feet beneath the floor of his lowest drive. in the morning the parson, kaiser, and mac went over to assist satan in working out the opal showing in his claim, and in the evening he departed with twenty pounds weight of first-grade opal tied securely in sacks so as to excite no suspicion. the news of the deep-level find soon spread, and at noon of the day following satan's departure our little community was the centre of a "rush," which by evening had swelled into a great canvas settlement stretching right across the white glistening lake-bed towards the township. that evening our usual camp-fire circle was increased by the addition of over a hundred hardened fortune-seekers eager to obtain any information as to the levels, depths, and formations of the country, which, obviously, only we who had shafts already sunk were able to supply. "it are the forty-four feet level seam we has struck," bill answered to all inquiries, "an' it likely spreads out all over the flat there, though i 'spects it turns into potch before it goes far." "i reckon we'll chance that," was the general response, and next day the many heaps of upturned sand that grew in proportion as we looked, showed that the new arrivals were fast doing so. meanwhile, the buyers were greatly agitated. they had heard exaggerated reports concerning the find of the "forty-four," and had arranged among themselves to beat down the prices of the opal to £ an ounce. it, therefore, surprised them to find the days passing and no one offering to sell any opal; and one morning two of their fraternity repegged satan's abandoned claim, evidently with the intention of investigating matter for themselves. as we had been endeavouring by various subterfuges to keep this claim intact, some of us having even altered our boundaries the better to do so, we were much chagrined at this brilliant move on their part, but marvelled how they had come to know that it was not legally manned. however, the claim was worked out, and as the two new holders knew as little about the practical part of mining for opal as we knew of the value of the gem, we consoled ourselves with the reflection that, after all, we might be able to turn their proximity to account. thus it was that every evening a well-packed sack was carefully hoisted from each of the shafts of the surrounding claim-holders, and a rumour spread abroad that a new sydney syndicate was buying opal by the ton. our two hebrew friends, by dint of persistent effort, gradually insinuated themselves into our good graces, and one day astonished us by announcing that they were capitalists, and would purchase our claims if the terms were reasonable. at this straightforward way of doing business, so foreign to the nature of their compatriots, i felt that we had greatly wronged them, and as they said, truly enough, that they did not know what our claims contained, and that their offer was merely a part of honest speculation, the parson and i were much worried over certain matters. "i reckon i vote for selling," said bill one evening as we held a meeting to consider the proposal. "the money will pay ex's for a trip west, an' darn 'em! they're jews anyhow." "a'm wi' ye, bill," cried mac, and one by one all signified their approval of the sentiments expressed until only the parson and i were left. "of course i will not vote against my partner, kaiser," began the parson, "but really there is nothing in our cl----" he stopped abruptly, for, from the shadows of our mullock-heap, stepped a stranger. there seemed something familiar about his gait as he crossed the fire-lit zone, and sat down on the empty kerosene tin on which satan used to sit, but i could not recollect whom he resembled. for a moment no one spoke; the stranger's amazing coolness had taken our breath away. he was dressed in, presumably, the latest style of sydney clothing, but even in the dim light i could see that his garments hung loosely on his person. evidently he had just arrived in white cliffs, and had not yet been in a willy-willy (sand-storm). "look here, ma man, hae ye a ticket?" said mac at length. "if ye is a new chum ye will get tucker in that tent there," said bill, "but----" "lor', mates! what does ye mean? doesn't ye not know me?" interrupted the stranger. "i is satan----" "golly! an' so it is, but--but where's your whiskers," cried black george, holding a lighted match in the stranger's face. "satan, ye deevil, gie's yer hand," roared scottie, "a'm rael glad to see ye." "oh, mates, i is glad to git back, i is," began our old friend. "i hasn't had a proper feed since i left, an' i has been disgraced. i went to a theatre in sydney an' there was a fight on the stage, an' because i jumped up an' jined in socially like, the police came in an' started on me. i couldn't fight them all, for there war' mor'n a dozen, an' next day the judge, a very decent old gentleman, told me to git from sydney, for it war' full o' sharks. i gitted to melbourne, but, oh, lor'! mates, don't none of you never go there----" [illustration: the belle of the bush. a salvation army convert in white cliffs.] "but your opal, satan? what did you get for it?" i broke in. "oh, that darned stuff? mates, it weren't worth much after all. there war' two young fellows in the wilcannia coach with me, an' they told me that it war' no good. they war' jews of course; but they went down all the way with me an' took me round all the buyers in sydney, an' none o' them would look at it. i didn't know what to do; and i was mighty glad when the two jews gave me two hundred pounds for the lot. i spent the money as quick as i could, an' here i is back again, an'---- but has ye got no tucker?" for full five minutes the air was filled with the most powerful words in at least four different languages, during which entertainment satan unconcernedly ate the piece of damper which ted had handed to him. "i suppose you do not remember the names of your two kind friends, satan?" i said, passing him the tea billy. "no, but they both wears a chain with a most 'culiar pendant, something like what the parson showed us one night." "ah!" i cried. "gentlemen, our business is settled. we will sell our claims to-morrow: we cannot refuse the kindly, disinterested offer of satan's two benefactors." "but i reckon the price has risen, hasn't it?" inquired bill. "yes," answered the parson grimly. "satan's opal was worth £ , ." next morning the two hebrews came out from town a full hour earlier than usual, and without more ado the parson, as spokesman, informed them that having considered everything and being desirous of going out west, we were willing to sell our joint claims for three thousand pounds in cash. "but two tousant was the agreement," remonstrated one. "there was no agreement," replied the parson. "candidly i can't imagine why you wish to have the claims, for opal seems to have fallen in the market, but if you still desire them that sum is our price until we hear from other possible purchasers." while he was speaking, mac and hoskins were assiduously painting the address of a famous sydney firm of jewellers on a well-roped candle-box, and after eyeing them intently for a minute, aaron ---- said-- "vell den, we don't cares, we is speculative business men. no, we do not want to see your drives. ha, ha! we vas not built to go through rabbit-holes. here is de money, sign this papers all of you, an' come and dine with us in the australian thirst saloon." the above is the history of the finding of the "forty-four" feet level, and the selling of "block ." the money was equally divided among the men interested, after which most of them pegged out fresh claims elsewhere, but bill, ted, satan, black george, scottie, the parson, and i, procured bicycles and water-bags, and started off on our western prospecting trip that same afternoon. it is unnecessary to repeat the details of our journey. the country was at first a hard, sandy plain dotted here and there with sparse growths of the ubiquitous mulga scrub, and occasionally broken by outcrops of silver lodes; but as we advanced, all forms of vegetation disappeared, and on the third day we found ourselves on an undulating sea of ironshot sand bounded only by the horizon. we had not as yet seen any signs of surface opal formations, and of course had no intention of sinking shafts to investigate, in the heart of such a desert. on the fourth day we calculated that we had now reached a point one hundred and forty miles west from white cliffs, and that night we camped on the edge of a dry clay-pan and considered the advisability of returning. bill and ted, however, persisted that we had not yet gone far enough to see the place of which they had spoken so often, and although i could not understand how they had managed to travel such a distance, nor how they knew whether we had passed their farthest-out camp or not, i had implicit faith in the correctness of their observations. "i reckon we has to go 'bout thirty miles yet. we was jest a day off here," said bill. "you must have been quite close to lake frome then," i said. "never seed it, nor knowed of it, nor don't believe there ever was any lake in this part o' the world," replied bill, and i wondered greatly, seeing that lake frome was distinctly marked across our path on the government map in my possession. we had no fire that night, there being nothing that would burn within at least a day's journey, and consequently our supper was not of a tempting nature. "well, men, i don't know that i care to be responsible for taking you further west," i announced. "how much water is left in the bags?" "there war' six gallons between them all after supper," answered satan, "but ted took a drink since then." "let us try another day yet," advised the parson, "we can go back over our tracks in two days, and the opal might only be an hour ahead." all expressed their approval of these remarks, so soon after, we scraped the top off the hard sand and went to sleep. the pests were unusually energetic that night, and several times we were awakened by their voraciousness. the parson and black george seemed to be affected even more so than the others, but it must have been an exceptionally large and active centipede that bit our dusky comrade in three places before he could discard his garments. at any rate, his yells aroused four evil-eyed crows from their dreams of the gorge they expected to have soon, and a skulking dingo also started in affright, emitting as it retreated a blood-curdling howl, that instantly brought us all to our feet. "lor'! nigger! has ye not never been bit before?" cried satan in a reproving tone of voice, as he cast a sand-snake from under him. "who does ye expect can sleep with you on the corroborree, nig? darn it! an' you a black fellow too. i reckon you oughten 'pologise," grumbled bill. george's answer was picturesque, but three bleeding wounds on his back showed where the venomous creature had got in its work on him. he was a hardy piece of humanity, however, and after the parson had lanced the rapid swelling flesh and applied ammonia, he went to sleep again. shortly afterwards the parson himself rose to his feet with an exclamation of annoyance, and began kicking up his sandy sleeping place. "what's wrong?" i inquired. "i don't know. there seems to be a boulder or something hard under me. hallo! what's this--great scott! opal!" again the party sprang up, and as the glistening stone was rolled out on the surface and examined by match-light, many and various were the comments made on the poor parson's ignorance, for the boulder which had sought out the soft corners of his body was a mass of green copper sulphide. "and has this material no value?" asked the object of the unkind remarks. "none; it's worse than potch," roared bill. "see, scottie's got more. lor'! it's everywhere." "it is really worth a considerable amount," i said, "but the expense of treating it properly out here would be too much for us. that is an outcrop, and to all appearance it is one of the richest ever discovered." we slept no more that night, and before sunrise started off across the clay-pan. the surface was smooth and hard, and with the aid of a slight breeze which arose with the sun we skimmed along at an almost incredible pace. "hallo, ted! there's our old stakes," suddenly yelled bill, steering for the crest of a broken piece of ground, and following in his tracks, we soon were standing round a broken pick-handle standing upright in the ground and on which was inscribed: "c.b. and s.t. pros. claim. corner peg." "how on earth did you manage to lead us here, bill?" cried the parson wonderingly. "easy enough; this is the same season as when we were out, so we jest ran the ole sun down an' at night ye can always git the bearin's from the cross." the parson's surprise might have been greater had he known that my compass had been useless since the second day out, and that but for a few haphazard observations taken, bill had been our only guide. meanwhile ted had unstrapped a pick and set to work, and before i had fully realised that we stood on what--in the rainy season, if such a season existed in those parts--was an island in the centre of lake frome, and that it was its salt-encrusted bed we had been crossing since morning, he handed me a piece of some scintillating substance, inquiring, by the shape of his face, my opinion as to its value. "why, that's opalised wood," i exclaimed. "but what have we struck now?" "the opal we told ye about, of course," grunted bill. "the sand's blown over it, and ted's dug it up again; that's all." truly we had encountered a marvellous formation. great masses of fiery and orange opal were uncovered on every side, and for a day we did nothing but gather the best. it was evident that a forest had at one time occupied the site of the lake, for most of the opal showed the grains of wood throughout its structure, and many opalised leaves were found embedded in a matrix which looked uncommonly like bark. this latter fact was most puzzling, for the trees with bark in australia are few indeed. we pegged out seven prospector's claims, and after a final look round prepared to move, our intention being to arrange for suitable transport for stores and water, and then come back. "ye talk about the effeeciency o' the steam engine," muttered scottie, as he examined the liquid contents of our bags, "but it's far oot o' date now, for we've each got to run a hundred miles a day on a pint o' water, and if onything can beat this----" "no doubt your remarks are the result of much study, mac," i said, working out an elaborate calculation on the sand, "but we are not more than ninety miles from civilisation straight ahead, and if we care to travel over what remains of the lake by moonlight and the ground continues passable after that, we will strike the south australian railway somewhere near beltana siding to-morrow afternoon." and so it proved. we reached the s.a. line on the following afternoon, and an hour after sundown stopped the port augusta-bound train by kindling a fire in the middle of the track. thirty-six hours later we found ourselves parading rundle street, adelaide, in quest of some of scottie's friends who resided there. [illustration: the dingoe or native dog.] a week later i was in sydney, and while crossing on the _kirribilli_ from circular quay to milsons point i came face to face with aaron----. "how vas you?" he cried effusively. "as usual," i replied. "how are the claims turning out?" "oh, not too bad," he answered, but his flushed face told another story; "but tell me," he continued, "who vas it bought your opal in sydney?" "no one. we sent no opal to sydney." "but the boxes and sacks----?" "were filled with potch." "an'--an' the forty-four feet level is--but ah! you make mistake; i bought five tousant pound of its opal before i saw you." "yes, i know, but you bought all that ever came from that depth. it was merely a pocket; we discovered that much two days after satan, your old friend, left white cliffs. it was in his claim, probably because it happened to be the lowest lying. we might not have sold our claims to you but for the fact that satan returned, and--well, you know two hundred pounds is not fair value for five thousand." aaron's rage was great, but he afterwards paid six hundred sovereigns for the opal we had brought down from lake frome. we did not go back there, a shower of rain came on and flooded the lake, and after chasing the elusive gem over the greater part of queensland with more or less success, our party reformed and set out on a gold-prospecting trip to british new guinea. prospecting in british new guinea the life of the prospector in new guinea is not fraught with many pleasures, but in my experience, oftener than elsewhere, he enjoys that exquisite sensation which attends the unexpected finding of gold, and here the dreary monotony of life in the australian interior is exchanged for conditions more congenial to his wandering nature. british new guinea is to most people the least-known part of our empire; but there are few valleys in its dark interior in which the prospector has not "chipped" some quartz formation, or "panned" some sand from the river's bed. the british flag was first planted in eastern new guinea by captain, now admiral, john moresby, of h.m.s. _basilisk_, in . this officer, whilst employed in superintending the pearl shell fisheries in torres straits, learnt that adventurers, both american and french, were contemplating expeditions and occupation of the then unknown shores of eastern new guinea. the captain of the _basilisk_, being aware of the great strategical importance of these coasts to australia, resolved to forestall any such attempt, and fortunately succeeded in securing for england the whole of eastern new guinea and its adjacent islands. ultimately, however, a large part of his labour was lost owing to the retrograde policy of the times, when germany was allowed to seize so considerable a part of north-eastern new guinea without opposition. samarai has now eclipsed port moresby as the chief port of the possession. it is built, or rather erected, upon a small island at the extreme south-east of the mainland, and is in direct communication with cooktown in queensland and the australian capitals. from samarai coasting-steamers run regularly to the mouths of the mambare, kumusi, and gira rivers on the northeastern coast, and in the upper reaches and sources of these rivers are the great gold deposits, the origin of which has completely baffled the mineralogist and geologist to explain. the men there do not trouble themselves as to its origin, however, and while the river-beds continue to yield a sure and steady quantity of gold to the ordinary miner, and the mountain gorges or creeks provide sensational "finds" for the more daring prospector, no one cares whether the presence of the precious metal is in accordance with the views of geologists or otherwise. "it is a fact that the bottom is on top," said an old pioneer. "but then the outcrops are all inside the darned mountains, so we are quits." the township of tamata is the most important centre of the new guinean goldfields, but the yodda valley camp rivals it closely, and it is expected that some of the new camps at the base of mount albert edward will in time surpass them both. the fierce, unreasoning hostility of the natives renders prospecting at any distance from the settlements an extremely dangerous occupation, as the writer, who has had several experiences among the cannibalistic tribes of the lower ranges, can testify. as a rule, however, the prospector scorns all such dangers, and if he escapes the dreaded fever, trusts to his rifle for protection and his luck for fortune, and straightway proceeds to cut a path into some unknown river valley. the famous yodda valley, where men at first made fifty ounces of gold (equivalent to £ per day), was discovered in such manner, and if the stories of some of the prospecting parties who crossed new guinea in all directions were given to the world, doubtless a "rush" would set in towards the deadly fever-swamps, unparalleled in the world's history both for its general extent and the amount of victims. round the campfires at night, enveloped in their smoke to escape the many pests, the men of the various settlements regularly gather to discuss the latest news from the coast, and to consider the many strange reports of "great strikes" constantly circulated by the friendly natives. frequently a party is organised to go and prove the truth of any such report, and when in turn word is sent back that the chances are good, a general exodus often takes place, all setting out for the new fields with light hearts and high hopes. miners cannot stay in new guinea for more than one season at a time; they are forced by repeated attacks of the various fevers to leave their work and take a "spell" in the southern parts of australia or new zealand. in my opinion lack of proper food is the prime cause of these fevers, as it is only when the men are "run down" that the kuri-kuri breaks out among them. the stores are floated as far as possible up the rivers in oil-launches and whale-boats, and then transported overland to the camps by native carriers in the employment of the diggers. the majority of the miners are australians; but in most prospecting parties there is usually a scotsman and an irishman, and not infrequently a german. in the party with which i was associated there were two typical australian prospectors, one german, one irishman, and, including myself, two scots. we also had six native carriers and two dogs. my scottish comrade said that "the dugs were as guid as ony twa men"; but however that might apply to the whites, it was at least unfair to our dusky "boys," who were fly river natives, and only cost one shilling each for wages per day. we all had had experience on other goldfields, and each man was fever-proof, which in new guinea means impregnated with quinine. "doc," the irishman, was a dublin university man of some repute. he had been in turn a member of a famous north polar expedition, and an officer in the american philippino campaign. mac had been everywhere, but his accent seemed to become more pronounced the farther from home he wandered. the two australians, emu bill and starvation sam, were good specimens of the wandering anglo-saxon. bill was one of the pioneers of coolgardie, but if he were addressed by his real name, william hambley, he would probably not recognise it. sam was the son of a governor of a not unknown "'link' in our chain of empire"; but as he adopted his cognomen to hide his identity, and no one would dream of calling him anything else, perhaps i will be excused from going further into his family history. he was six feet five inches in height, had been in his time soldier, sailor, missionary, pearler, outlaw, and mail-carrier, from which description all queenslanders and south sea travellers will immediately recognise him. our german companion was a first-class mineralogist and an excellent comrade--and cook; but he deeply resented the appellation of kaiser, which mac bestowed upon him. "i am not cherman," he would say. "i vas been as mooch english as you, scodie." "a ken that fine, kaiser," mac would answer. "a'm scotch frae dundee." we left tamata with the intention of prospecting the owen stanley ranges, and among the miners in general were considered to be the most experienced and best-equipped prospecting party that ever essayed that venture. our journey for the first week was, allowing for the nature of the country--uneventful. a crocodile gripped one of our carriers while crossing the ope river, but making a combined attack on the huge saurian, we forced it to relax its hold, and finally, as bill remarked, "ther' war one inseck less in the darned country." another day we were attacked by myriads of bees, and, despite our face-nets, they inflicted much pain upon all. the new guinean bee does not sting, in the strictest sense of the word; it has an intense craving for salt, and, obeying some instinct, it fastens into the skin and raises great blisters thereon by its peculiar suction action. at lunch-time we carefully made a pile of dry brushwood, and shook a small packet of salt over it. instantly the bees left us and followed the salt down through the loose heap, and then with a chuckle of delight, and a grunt of satisfaction from kaiser, mac applied a lighted match. doc said that mac chased the only bee that escaped for over half a mile, but at any rate we were not troubled further that day. continuing our journey, which at first had been through the swampy and pestilential morass formed by the ope river's periodical overflow, we at length crossed the "divide" between the ope and kumusi waters, and travelled through a country in which brilliantly-hued creepers blazed from the tree-tops, and luxuriant vegetation flourished everywhere. gaudy-plumaged parrots, cockatoos, and birds of paradise flitted overhead, making the forest resound with their deafening chatter. snakes of nearly all varieties started from the dense under-growths as we approached, and our dogs had plenty of exercise in chasing these undesirables. they in turn were the hunted when near rivers, and many a narrow escape mac and his charges had from the enormous and impregnable crocodiles that infested the banks of all streams. [illustration: crocodile's jaws.] there were several native villages in the district which we now traversed, but having had previous experience of the treacherous nature and cannibalistic proclivities of most of the tribes in that quarter, we avoided them, and altered our course when we struck a native pad or track. we knew that our tracks must be seen, however, and nightly expected a visit from the warriors, who, fearing only the government police, looked upon prospecting parties as the lawful prey allowed them by a considerate government. we were not disappointed. one night, when camped near the kumusi, and about thirty miles from the yodda valley camps, the long-expected attack came, and, to mac's intense disgust, we did not stay to argue the point, but departed hurriedly and ignominiously. two days later we reached the yodda, and camped for some time, to try our luck and hear the latest reports from the mountains. a day previous to our arrival a strong party had set out to prospect mount scratchley, and while we were camped a famous pioneering company arrived from the interior, and reported the discovery of vast gold deposits in the gullies of the higher ranges. several of the members showed some peculiar stones which they had taken from the mountain ravines, and one veteran, in whom sam recognised an old comrade, hinted mysteriously that the nuggets and slugs which they had with them came from a lava deposit at the source of the gira, in german territory. while doc and i noted that significant fact for future reference, kaiser was more interested in the stones. "dat is vat is called zircon," he whispered to me, as he placed a pebble on his tongue. "gott! it is over twenty carats," he continued excitedly. "ask him ver it vas come from." "why not ask him yourself?" i suggested jokingly, but the reproachful look he gave me made me regret that i had spoken. kaiser's race, in most british colonies, is always suspected of underhand dealing. on my inquiring of the owner where he had found the stones, he placed them in my hands. "in some creeks in the back ranges," he answered. "you can have them all. i ain't going to carry them further." "but look," i said, chipping the edge of one, and disclosing a translucent mass of pale straw colour, in which a tinge of port wine danced according to the manner in which the stone was held. "i don't care," he replied. "i is a gold-miner, an' i knows that every ounce of gold is worth £ s. d.; but that is darned stuff only jews will buy, and i'll throw them away if you don't want them." i had no spare money--the prospector never has--and as he refused to take a new winchester rifle and my silver-mounted revolver, i did not know what to give him in return. "ye'll need all yer pop-guns where ye are goin'," he said. "i is going down to south aus. with my pile; but say, if ye has any fruit-salt, or sugar, or quinine to spare, i an' the boys would be ontarnally obliged to ye." i gave him a bottle of quinine tabloids, and another of saccharine, and, as few of the miners had ever heard of the latter substance, and of course seldom carried sugar, their delight was a treat to see. we entertained them to dinner, and next morning they started for the kumusi river, _en route_ for the coast, samarai, and australia. at the same time we picked up their old tracks and steered for the distant peak of mount scratchley. our progress was now necessarily slow, for, in addition to being in a hostile country, through which sir william macgregor and his native police was the only armed force that had ever passed, we had to carry on prospecting operations. three days out, our first "strike" was made. we bridged a deep river in the usual manner, by felling a tree across from bank to bank, and after we had crossed, kaiser, who was an enthusiastic botanist, descended into the channel to examine a curious growth on an under branch. "come on, kaiser," shouted mac; "there's nae gold doon there." "bring up a sample, anyhow," bill added, throwing him a gold-pan; and laughingly we all passed on, leaving our inquisitive comrade to follow at his leisure. shortly afterwards doc shot a wild pig, and, as all prospectors adopt the rule of dining when opportunity offers, a halt was called for that purpose. during cooking operations kaiser arrived, carrying bill's gold-pan. bill took the dish from his hands with the intention of replacing it in its former position on a carrier's back; but, to his loudly and vigorously expressed astonishment, he found that his comrade had followed his instructions, and actually carried about two pounds of sand from the river's bed. "lor', but ye is green, kaiser!" he remarked, preparing to throw the sand out. "haud on a wee," mac cried, seizing his arm; "it's aye whaur ye dinna expect to find gold that ye get it. noo, i dinna think there's ony there, so try it." bill looked at mac in thoughtful silence for a minute. "i reckon it's worth trying, anyhow," cried sam. "pitch it here, an' i'll pan it." bill did so, and sam walked over to a creek near. shortly after we were all startled by his shout. "did you salt" (add gold to) "this dirt, scottie?" he roared. "get oot, man, an' no mak' a fool o' yersel'!" mac answered, walking over. "hallo! come here lads," he continued; "we've struck it!" in a moment six excited men were round the pan, to which sam was still imparting a gentle concentric motion, and, to our unbounded amazement, every movement of the dish still increased the comet-like tail of deep red gold in the ripple of the pan. "well, i'll be jiggered!" said the two australians simultaneously. "i'll be d--darned!" remarked mac, with great feeling. "mine gott! tree ounce stuff!" cried kaiser. "better come and have dinner," suggested doc. i do not remember what i said; but even our "boys" babbled away in unintelligible but excited language. of course we returned to the river--one of the kumusi head-waters--and by sundown had tested the sands at various points for a distance of two miles on both sides of our bridge. kaiser, meanwhile, had set to work with his pan, and when we returned to our camping-ground he had about half an ounce of coarse gold to show for his efforts. next day we pegged out six prospectors' claims along both banks of the stream, including, of course, as much of the alluvial land on either side as our claims would allow. for several days afterwards we devoted some time to the most promising bars and deposits; but, as we had neither the tools nor the material for constructing sluice-boxes, our methods were restricted to simply washing the "dirt" in our pans. on the fourth day mac threw down his pan, ejaculating at the same time the most-used word in his fairly-extensive vocabulary. "what is the matter, mac?" i cried, from the opposite bank. "i dinna see hoo i shood hae tae work like a clyde steevedore," he answered, "when ony man wi' the sma'est scienteefic abeelities could get as much gold in hauf an hoor as the lot o' us can in a day." "explain, mac. have you an idea?" "ay, thousands o' them. but what's tae hinder us frae taking a wheen split bamboos an' stringing them thegether like a sheet o' galvanised iron----" "nothing. we have our axes. but what----?" "turn the affair upside down and lean it against the bank there. some o' us could throw the sand on tae the thing and kaiser could keep it goin' wi' enough water tae wash the sand awa.'" "but the bamboo is too smooth. the gold would be carried over the edges with the sand." "pit a hale bamboo in atween every twa split yins, an' if the gold could rise ow'r that it wad be too licht for savin' ony way." "all right, mac," i responded. "you make the affair, and if it works we will appoint you our chief engineer." mac did not answer. he knew that all his appointments merely meant so much additional work left to him as a matter of course; and even as things were, he never had "ony time for meeditaishun." he made his corrugated inclined plane, however, and as all his comrades, excepting kaiser, laughed at his idea, he worked it himself for the first day. that evening, as we sat in the smoke of our camp-fire, doc remarked, "well, boys, i made about an ounce to-day, but i can't say that i care much about the work." "i reckon i is good for an ounce too," said bill. sam was cook, kaiser camp-guard, and i had been writing up my log, so we had nothing to say. mac evidently--like an australian bushman--believed that silence was golden, for it was only after being asked several times that he spoke. "ah, weel," he said reflectively, "there's some folk in this weary world content tae work awa' frae morn till nicht for a paltry three pounds seventeen an' saxpence worth" (one ounce of gold), "but i'm no ane o' them." "mac is home-sick," doc laughed. "has your patent turned out a duffer?" inquired sam. "i reckon scottie is keeping back his gold from his mates," said bill aggrievedly. "how much did you get, mac?" i interrupted soothingly, for mac had been my companion in many a journey, and i understood his nature well. "i dinna ken," he answered, handing me a fair-sized pouch; "aboot hauf a pun', i think." "what!" roared the men, springing to their feet. "lor, scottie! does ye mean----?" "eight ounces exactly," i announced. "mac has made £ for one day's work." "scodland for ever!" shouted kaiser from the midst of a cloud of native tobacco-smoke, and the others echoed his sentiments. next day all hands assisted at mac's machine, which showed in its construction many signs of that gentleman's ingenuity; but it had not been designed to bear the strain now put upon it, and after a few hours' work the bamboo ripples fell away. however it may apply in other circumstances, it is a recognised law among prospectors that misfortunes never come singly, therefore we were not surprised that afternoon when the river suddenly came down "a banker" (in flood) and carried away all our preparations for a new machine. doc, who was of a philosophical nature, went out shooting when it became apparent that no further work could be done that day. when he returned to camp i saw from his face that the last of our misfortunes had not yet been reached. "the papangis and babagas are out," he said quietly. "that means----?" i said. "that we'd better git, quick an' lively too," interrupted bill. "this creek runs into a large river about three miles down," continued doc, "and there is a palisaded village near the junction. i saw some canoes drawn up on the banks, and from their design and peculiar ornamentation i at once guessed who their owners were. there were also some bearing the symbol of the sizuretas; but probably they were those taken from that tribe when the great massacre occurred. i did not see any natives, and as i was quite close to the palisades i therefore concluded that they did not wish to be seen, and you can all guess what that means." doc's words caused great consternation, and when our "boys" gathered that they were in the country of the dreaded papangi they set up a wailing. "papangi no good. hims eat poor black devils. stick head on pouri dubus" (sorcerer's house), cried one, on whom we had bestowed the title of king george. "dinna you be frichtened, ma man," said mac consolingly. "if ony o' the papangi heathens come near enough i'll gie them sic a feed o' lead that their ghosts'll hae indegeestion." king george did not understand all that mac said; but he brightened up considerably at his words, and at once began to infuse spirit into his companions. mac was always delighted at the prospect of a fight; but as these tribes had only a month previously murdered and eaten most of the inhabitants of angerita, the chief village of the sizuretas, and afterwards successfully given battle to the warden of the northern division and his police, who had gone to punish them, we thought discretion the better part of valour, and prepared to move, much to mac's disgust. "are ye gaun to rin awa' again?" he bellowed indignantly. "let's get ma gun, an i'll gang an' fecht them ma'sel." "an' your head vas look vell on pole-top, scottie," said kaiser as he struck our tent. "we will fight if we can get a good camping-ground where they can't get behind us," i said, and with that mac had to be content. in a marvellously short space of time our carriers were loaded and across the stream, after which we cast our bridge adrift and started up the north bank, intending to follow the river to its source, and then prospect for the lode from which the gold was shed. the sun had just disappeared as we began our march. we had not stayed for supper, and perhaps this fact had something to do with the depressing influence that seemed to rest upon all. animal life had suddenly become very active; and to feel a coiling, writhing object among the feet, or to tread upon some nameless amphibious creature, was anything but a pleasant sensation. the moon shone brightly for the first two hours, and we travelled much faster than is usual in new guinea. our dogs, however, seemed conscious of some impending danger that was not yet apparent to us; and it grieved mac sorely to see how his dumb charges hung so closely to his person, and how spiritless they had become. "i fancy we should have stayed and risked a fight," doc said at length, as we paused at the mouth of a narrow ravine through which the stream rushed furiously. "our boys will never face that." "can't we get over the top?" i suggested; but bill and sam, who had been reconnoitring, said our only possible course was to traverse the stream and trust to there being no pools. this prospect was not very pleasing. we did not know the length of the ravine, nor what animals might have their homes in its depths, and our nerves were already at high tension. the moon was now obscured with banks of dark clouds that had suddenly shot up from beneath mount victoria, and the birds of night, before so noisy, were now strangely silent. the atmosphere had also become oppressively close, and we had to throw down our loads, from sheer physical inability to longer sustain them. "it's a 'buster' comin'," sam gasped; "git up the flies--quick!" a flash of lightning lit up the valley as he spoke, and a terrific thunder-clap reverberated through the ravine. a minute of what felt unnatural silence passed, during which we all struggled with our long canvas "fly," and then the storm burst. we had got our flour-and rice-sacks under cover, and following kaiser's example, crawled in under the folds beside them. the rain was the heaviest i have ever experienced, and soon we were drenched to the skin, even through the thick canvas. suddenly one of the dogs started up, and instinctively fearing some new calamity, i gripped his nostrils tightly, while doc crawled to the edge of our covering. "it's them," he whispered. "they are on the other bank; heaven help us if we are discovered!" "let me oot!" growled mac; "i'm no gaun to be speared like a rabbit in a hole." "shut up, mac," i remonstrated. "it's too dark for them to see, and they cannot cross the water in any case." the patter of feet could now be heard on the opposite bank, and an occasional che-ep (battle-cry) showed that we were not mistaken. in this new excitement we soon forgot our miserable condition; and from the characteristic behaviour of the individual members of the party, it was evident that the actual presence of danger had dispelled the strange feeling of depression which previously had almost unnerved us. mac was muttering to his dogs, bill and sam were--unconsciously, i believe--pouring out a torrent of australian bush words which, as kaiser afterwards said, "sounded like poedry." kaiser himself, i knew, was munching a piece of damper, which with thoughtful precaution he had carried from our last camp. our boys lay still, as if asleep. i was so engrossed in the study of my comrades that events outside passed unnoticed until doc's voice startled us. "come out, boys!" he cried; "all is clear." we crawled from under our soaked covering, and found doc puffing at his pipe as serenely as if he had just risen from supper. the storm had ceased, the moon was shining again, and the dark clouds were speeding towards the yodda valley. "evidently our friends were surprised by the 'buster' as much as we were," doc said; "at any rate, they have gone home to dine on something else." "that minds me that i'm hungry tae," cried mac; "come on, kaiser; gi'e us a haun.'" by some miraculous means these two worthies got a fire kindled, and while we dried ourselves by the blaze of the gum-logs, the "billies" were boiled, and soon some copious draughts of thick black tea made us feel quite recovered. when morning came the waters in the gorge had subsided, and after a hasty breakfast we forced a passage up the stream, and finally emerged on the wooded slopes of the mountains. the details of our journey from thence onwards would require too much space to enumerate. we steered for the distant ranges, because we wished to prospect them before the state of our stores rendered that impossible, knowing that, if unlucky, we could always come back to the sands of the river. we were attacked twice by hunting tribes of what must have been the notorious tugeris; but we were no longer inclined to run away, and for the benefit of the gold-seeker who might come after us, we taught them that it was dangerous to interfere with prospectors. one day in the middle ranges we traced up a rich gold formation, and by the primitive method of dollying with improvised tools obtained ounces from it in three days. in this region--near the source of the gira--signs of gold were everywhere; but we were not equipped for systematic mining, and could only treat the rich free ore or the alluvial deposits. there seemed to be few natives here, and owing to the height above sea-level the country was much healthier than in the lower valleys. one day we came on a deserted village, in the stockaded garden of which were cocoanut and betel palms, and the usual taro and sweet-potatoes. the sugar-cane and tobacco-plant were also much in evidence, showing that some civilising influence--probably that of the missionaries--had been at work among the former inhabitants. we saw no sign of life, however, and therefore concluded that the fierce tugeris had recently raided the place. another day doc and i, while climbing up the mountain-side from our camp, found our progress suddenly barred by a steep gully that cut transversely along the slope. descending with difficulty into the valley, and following up the course of an old water-channel, we found a heterogeneous deposit of zircons, sapphires, topazes, and many other gemstones amidst the _débris_ of an extinct blowhole. we gathered some of what appeared to be the best, intending to find out their value at the earliest possible opportunity. the valley formation itself would have gladdened the heart of any geologist; from any point lower down the mountain the slope seemed continuous, and only when at the edge of the "breakaway" was the valley evident. we were now near the german boundary, and hesitated between our desires and our duty as law-abiding prospectors. while camped on doubtful territory an incident occurred that may serve to illustrate more than one thing. we were satisfied with our luck so far; and therefore light-hearted, so much so that one night mac began to sing, and soon we all joined him. the air was very clear on the mountains, but it struck me that the echoes lingered strangely; and after we had turned in for the night, volumes of sound still rose and fell on the atmosphere, sweeter far than that produced by our own rough voices. next night, as we sat at supper regarding ruefully our fast-diminishing stores, we were startled by a loud "hallo!" "hallo!" we shouted back, and then to our astonishment four men and six carriers marched into our fire-lit circle. "it's a graun' nicht," cried one. "hae ye onything for eatin'?" "well, i'll be--scotched!" remarked doc, while mac sprang to his feet and stared at the new-comers. "you are just in time," i said. "what clan do you represent?" "macpherson; a'm frae laggan-side. sandy here is a glesga man, but bob an' jim are englishmen; they're nane the waur o' that----" "we heard you singing last night," interrupted bob. "we are as hungry as hawks--but how is the war?"... the new party had just come from a protracted trip in german territory, and they told many strange tales of what they had seen in that mysterious land. unfortunately their stores had given out, and on investigation we found that ours could not last more than ten days for both parties. however, as mr. robert elliot informed me, they had made enough gold to warrant their going back again; and, pending considerations as to the advisability of our joining forces, we all resolved to have a "spell." we eventually reached the coast at holnecote bay; a week after we landed at samarai, and eight days more found us in sydney. here two hebrew gentlemen offered sam and kaiser a £ note for our entire stock of gem-stones. in consequence of this generous offer (!) and the fact that his great height afforded an easy means of identification, we had to send sam rather hurriedly to melbourne. we eventually restored peace, however, by selling our stones to the afore-mentioned individuals for £ ; and since then aaron k. has informed me that one stone alone, when cut into four parts and polished, fetched fifty-three sovereigns. in the gum-land of wangeri there is a region away in the far north of new zealand, where sooner or later the wanderer who knows the world by the track of his footsteps must surely gravitate, there to mingle with kindred spirits and pursue the even tenor of life's way for a brief space under tranquil circumstances, digging for the kauri-resin deposits of former ages along the fern swamps and uplands, amassing wealth if fortune favours, but casually content with the generous subsistence his peaceful labours at the least will bring, until his restless nature compels him to journey forth again on his ceaseless pilgrimage. my acquaintance with this odd corner of the globe was made some years ago, when chance--fatality, the gum-diggers would call it--led me to take a trip on a coasting steamer trading from auckland northwards. i had never heard of the gum-digging industry except in the vaguest way, and curiosity had fired my interest in inverse ratio with the amount of information gathered. but i could not help noticing that all my inquiries on the subject were treated with scantily hidden disapproval, and in consequence i never pressed my apparently awkward questions, fearing that i had by accident hit on a conversational topic, which, like that of convict history in australia, had best be tabooed. so it happened that when the ss. _bulimba_ moored alongside the jetty in the beautiful harbour of wangeri, i stepped ashore, meaning to put in a day or so in the picturesque little township which looked so alluring from the water, yet wholly unaware of the fact that i had at last reached the centre of the gum country. that was a small matter, however, on which i was speedily enlightened. i had just got clear of the long wharf, and was looking about the quiet street in which i found myself, in hopes of spying the hospitable portals of an hotel near at hand, when four extremely ragged men emerged from the doorway of the establishment i had at that moment decided to patronise. their outward appearance was bad--very bad, and though i have foregathered with all sorts and conditions in my time, i like to choose my company when i can. i resolved promptly to pass on to some other house. the disreputable quartette were now hurrying towards me, and i moved aside to give them ample room to go by. three of the party were engaged in animated discussion; the fourth walked a little way ahead, his eyes fixed listlessly on the ground. he looked up as he noticed the shadow across his path, and at once an expression of relief brightened his weary countenance. "i ask your pardon, sir," he said, with quaint courtesy. "but will you do me a small service?" my hand slid into my pocket involuntarily; then i recollected that i was not in britain, and withdrew it again carelessly. "fire away," i said; "what's the trouble?" the argumentative trio had meanwhile ceased their wordy altercations and were staring at me eagerly. their polite spokesman began again:-- "i presume you have been in the various australian cities?"--he nodded in the direction of my portmanteau, which i had set down in the middle of the road, whereon were emblazoned the advertising devices of many enterprising hotel proprietors. "you are certainly a lineal descendant of sherlock holmes," i ventured with mild sarcasm, half wondering if in this remote settlement i had stumbled upon an adapted version of the old, old confidence trick. he appeared to understand my innuendo, for he flushed up angrily, then suddenly glancing at his dilapidated wardrobe, he checked a fiery outburst and smiled feebly instead. his companions too seemed powerfully affected by my simple remark, and their wrath did not cool down as swiftly as i would have wished. they crowded around me threateningly, while the vials of their speech overflowed in a tempestuous torrent of indignant reproaches. "we is ostralians," they bellowed with one voice, "we is----" "calm yourselves, boys," i entreated. "you're oversensitive to be abroad in this wicked world. i said nothing----" "an' don't say it again," interrupted the tallest and ugliest of the group. "i is known as long ted in these parts, i is; an' i fights when my fur is raised, i does." it was now my turn to feel annoyed; the aggressive nature of the party almost confirmed me in my first doubt. "suppose you stand out of the way," i suggested. "i'm not holding a levee----" the leader at this stage endeavoured to throw oil on the troubled waters. "i must apologise for bringing this trouble upon you," he said, frowning severely on his associates. "we are not tramps, though i have no doubt our looks are against us. we are gum-diggers out for a spell; at least my companions are on a holiday; i--i am only going to take care of them." "then the gum-diggings are here?" i exclaimed in surprise. "all round about for sixty miles or more," long ted answered gruffly. "english bob is going to melbourne with us----" "sydney," interjected a voice at his elbow. "adelaide," prompted another. english bob quelled the rising storm with an impatient gesture. "you promised to let a stranger decide the matter," he cried appealingly; then turning to me he continued, "will you be so kind as give me your opinion on these three cities mentioned. in short, which is the finest of the lot for a holiday?" a murmuring babel of sound followed his words, and the three fire-eaters glared at me savagely, awaiting my verdict. but i had once before been in a similar position--only once, but that was enough. i realised that the harassed englishman had in tow a south australian, a citizen of new south wales, and a victorian. i approached the delicate question warily. "adelaide is a tidy little town," i hazarded tentatively. long ted's basilisk-like eyes peered at me dangerously. "and melbourne is a fine city," i continued reflectively. long ted smiled, but his nearest neighbour snarled. i could venture no further. "not for gold or precious stones will i commit myself," i protested. "i am a peaceable individual----" "ho, ho, ho," laughed english bob in genuine merriment, slapping me heartily on the shoulder. "you've sized them up right away. i have never been in australia myself, and cannot understand why my companions should have such diversified opinions on a simple subject. i am certainly obliged to you for showing them my difficulty, for if you cannot tell them what they ask, how can i?" "toss for it, boys," i recommended; "it will be the safest way, and can arouse no ill-feeling." "right you are, mate," shouted long ted, and a twin echo of applause intimated that all danger of immediate disturbance was at an end. i seized my portmanteau in haste, and proceeded on my interrupted course; but the fighting trio leisurely kept pace, long ted gently insinuating the bag from my hand into his own horny palm as we walked along. "if you don't mind," spoke english bob, coming up in the rear, "i'd like to--to shout for you. we've plenty of time to catch the old _bulimba_, and for my own part i'm not very anxious whether she sails south without us or not." i marvelled at this strange _dénoûement_, but said nothing, and together we entered the hotel they had so recently vacated. within the five minutes following our advent into the gilded "saloon bar," i had become fairly well acquainted with the vicissitudes of the gum-digger's life. long ted was as exceedingly communicative as english bob was reticent, while the remaining pair added titbits of information now and then as occasion demanded. "but what sort of men make it their special calling?" i asked at length. "no one seemed very willing to give me any knowledge on the subject in auckland." english bob roused himself, and looked at me curiously. "we are a cosmopolitan lot," he answered, with just a note of sadness in his voice; "we come from all corners of the globe; but no one makes it a special calling unless, perhaps, a few maoris----" "we is the dead-beats o' civilisation, that's what we is," put in the garrulous ted, with cheerful emphasis. "but say, boss, what is you goin' to do here? is you goin' into the gum country? is you full up o' sydney and melbourne too?" i evaded the pertinent allusion, not knowing exactly its true import; i was commencing to understand why the gum-diggers were looked upon with suspicion by their eminently respectable brethren of the towns. yet in spite of myself my sympathies went out to the world-wanderers who seemed to be brought together in this land through the subtle hand of an all-wise providence. "give me the bearings of the camps, and i'll go out right away," i said. "gum-digging may suit me as well as gold-digging, and i want to know what it's like, anyhow." at that moment the _bulimba's_ shrill whistle sounded out on the still air, and long ted immediately grabbed his "swag" and made a bolt for the door, a proceeding which his two australian comrades copied with alacrity. "hold on, boys," i cried; "she won't sail for an hour yet; this is only a warning blast. surely you are acquainted with the habits of coasters by this time." english bob, however, had made no movement, and missing him the excited trio came back. "i knows the old _bulimba_," howled ted. "captain thompson would hustle the blasted barge out just on purpose. come on, bob." the englishman stretched himself lazily, and started to follow his companions, who were again half-way down the street. "goodbye, sir," he said; "i'll see you again soon if you are to remain in the country. but one word--don't judge by appearances on the gum-fields." i returned his greeting, and thanked him for his advice, "here's the _auckland express_," i said, fishing that paper from my pocket. "it is the latest date, and will be something to read on the boat." he took it eagerly, and glanced casually down the open sheet; then his face paled, and the paper dropped from his nerveless fingers. i turned aside for a moment, and when i looked again, english bob's countenance was stern and hard. "you'd better go," i advised kindly; "the _bulimba_ will be moving out soon." he shook his head. "i have decided to stay and go back with you to the fields," he answered with an effort. "but i'll run down to the wharf and say good-bye to the boys." he was gone before i could speak another word, and wonderingly i picked up the paper which had caused such a sudden change of programme. only one item appeared in the page he had scanned which could in any way be considered of remotest private interest. but it read as follows: "robert lorimer, the absconding bank manager of a country town in england, has at last been traced to new zealand. local inquiries are being instituted, but it is regarded as tolerably certain that the defaulter will be found in the northern gum-land, and the police of that district have been warned accordingly. meanwhile the port of auckland will be stringently watched." that was all, yet viewed in the light of recent events it was amply sufficient to suggest to me that english bob and robert lorimer were one and the same person. still, my late interrogator as to the attractions of australian cities did not strike me as being such a man as the bald news paragraph implied. his face was gentle, and contained a certain quiet dignity, which i felt assured could belong to no criminal's countenance. his manner, too, was distinctly in his favour. already i had forgotten the unprepossessing garb of the outer man. my reflections were cut short by the dismal shriek of the _bulimia's_ syren--sure signal that that persevering vessel was at last under way. "yes, she's off now," volunteered the bar-tender, surveying the deserted arena beyond the counter ruefully, and making a mental calculation, i have no doubt, as to the probable "stagger juice" capacity of his solitary remaining customer. i disappointed him mightily by making my way outside, and there, to my surprise, i saw english bob approaching with long ted expostulating volubly by his side. "hallo, ted!" i cried, "have you also decided to remain where an unfeeling civilisation sent you?" "of course i stays with the boss," responded that gentleman, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye, "but my poor old swag has gone with slim jim and never never dan. they would have stopped too, only they couldn't swim, an' the darned ship had moved off afore they knew we wasn't comin'." "we'll go back to our old camp by the coach to-night," said english bob. "i'm tired of even this fringe of civilisation already. will you come?" i needed no pressing. somehow i felt that i was being drawn into the final act of a life's drama; the damaging testimony of the _auckland express_ loomed largely before my vision, but the pale sad face of the exile awakened in me pity rather than repulsion, his silent exercise of a superbly strong will aroused in me admiration. "i shall be glad to go with you," i answered. that night we journeyed by mail-coach out towards wangeri, a constantly shifting settlement forming the headquarters of the ever-roving gum-diggers. for the early part of the route our lumbering vehicle careered over rocky bluffs and steeps, then down into beautiful alluvial valleys and forest glades, where silvery streams of purest water gushed onwards to meet the sea, their winding channels, glittering in the moon's filtering beams, showing at intervals through the wavy fronds of the stately kauri. but soon the majestic forest lands gave place to rolling plains of burnt soil, with occasional stretches of fern-swamp and tea-tree dunes. "this is the old forest country of new zealand," explained english bob. ted had long since fallen asleep. "and is the gum not to be found here also?" i asked, somewhat nonplussed to find the site of an ancient forest so bare and desolate. my companion gravely acquiesced. "gum-diggers are not as a rule a careful class," he said; "and the young timber on these flats has all been recklessly burnt down to suit their needs." long and deep channels here and there intersected the scorched wastes, and mounds like gigantic mole-hills were abundantly evident. but in the vague light only a blurred panorama of the true aspect of things could be seen; which was perhaps just as well, for the new zealand government has long complained about the devastating nature of the gum-seeker's employment. they certainly do not make the desert "blossom like the rose," but if an opposite parallel could be drawn, it would suit them exactly. this feature of affairs was due, i was told, to the plodding and ceaseless excavations of a number of austrians who stormed the country many years before, and not to the more leisurely routine pursued by the orthodox happy-go-lucky digger. once again, however, we entered a broad timber belt which extended far along with undulating hillside forming our southern boundary at this stage, and seemingly feathered the land for a very considerable distance northward also. and now many twinkling lights began to shine through the sparse foliage at the base of the tall kauri, and fleeting glimpses were caught of groups of men standing at the doors of their "whares," watching the coach rumble past with an odd listlessness which seemed the more strange considering that the arrival of the mails was but a weekly occurrence, and sometimes not even that when the rainy season was on, and the valleys and flats alike were flooded to a dangerous depth. [illustration: the gum-diggers' swimming pool.] "their interest is in their daily occupation," said english bob, guessing my thoughts. "the men you meet here for the most part know the world well. this is a haven of rest for the wide earth's wanderers. mail day to them means little, for they receive few letters and perhaps send less." "and have you travelled far, that you speak in such a strain?" i asked chidingly. "surely the world has not grown dim to your eyes, which have seen fewer years than mine." "years do not always bring sadness," he answered evasively, "nor does the lack of them make one the less liable to suffer. as for my travels--do not ask. i have----" "wangeri," yelled the driver, reining up the horses with a jerk which had the effect of propelling the slumbering ted heavily on to the floor of the coach. the words that issued from that valiant warrior's lips then were sulphurous in the extreme, and the offending jehu, hearing of his own premeditated doom, slid hastily from his perch and vanished into the night. there was little indeed to see at wangeri. a small "store and post-office" occupied the central position in a forest clearing, and around it in a straggling ring about a dozen log huts were dully discernible through the gloom. "the whares are scattered all through the forest for miles around," said english bob. "wangeri is only a kind of station for the export of the resin collected. but come along to my little wigwam; it is a bit away from the others, but it's on a good patch, and you are welcome to try your luck with ted and me." i expressed my gratitude in, i fear, rather stinted terms, for the eerie shadow of the great pines had a somewhat depressing influence on my spirits. i tramped on with my new acquaintances in silence, my swag slung picturesquely over my shoulder as in days of yore. "it _is_ a bit lonesome like," grumbled long ted, as he marched on ahead, separating the festooning branches for our easier progress. "can you blame a man for being ragged after this?" he demanded irrelevantly a few moments later, his mind apparently reverting to our first meeting. it was clear that long ted's frustrated holiday was still a rankling subject in that worthy's breast. the air was wonderfully cool and invigorating, despite the enclustering thicket, and the absence of the ubiquitous mosquito made me marvel not a little. it was the deathlike silence that hurt; it oppressed the senses to an appalling degree, and tended to reduce one unaccustomed to forest solitudes to an enervating state of melancholy. had the journey been made by daylight it might have been different, but fate ordains that the traveller to this land should first see nature's most dreary aspect. i was startled from my unprofitable musings by english bob shouting-- "here we are at last. now, ted, make us some supper; and let us be merry, for to-morrow we----" "go out gum-digging," i prompted, sinking down in a corner of the aptly-named wigwam with a sigh of relief. it was a week later. the sun was shining brightly over the sylvan slopes of the great gum region, and tinging the nodding plumes of the stately forest giants with a deep bronze effulgence; yet down below the spreading branches a perpetual twilight reigned, and here, piercing and trenching the mossy sward in search of the fossilised resin residue, the strangely assorted waifs of the world wandered, english bob and i had become fast friends during our brief sojourn together. concerning his past i did not inquire, having already learned that the grim gum-land swallows up many of life's tragedies; but day by day i expected a dread _dénoûement_. the newspaper paragraph still haunted me; my mind was filled with conflicting doubts and fears. the motley assembly who formed our neighbours near and distant were a generous and true-hearted people, among whom it was a pleasure to abide. the same environment affected all, and for the time we were as one huge family, dwelling within the encircling arm of grand old mother nature. each day we sallied out armed with spade and spear, the latter implement being merely a long pointed stick provided with a handle for leverage, and rarely indeed did we return to camp without a goodly store of the amberlike deposit. the method of working was simple. by means of the spear the spongy soil was easily penetrated, and the presence of any gum strata localised at once, after which the spade came into play. the value of the crude material thus brought to the surface was no mean figure, ranging from £ to £ a ton. this morning we had been exceptionally fortunate, long ted spearing a huge block of the gelatinous substance almost with his first effort, and we were busy clearing away the covering earth when two woe-begone individuals appeared before us. "slim jim and never never dan," gasped long ted, gazing at the apparitions in undisguised wonder. "where--what--how--an' ye does have a mighty neck to come back in them togs." then i noticed that the miserable-looking pair were arrayed in fashionable raiment, though already considerably torn by contact with the entangling brush. "we didn't git no farther than auckland," muttered slim jim shamefacedly. "we didn't calc'late on goin' nowheres without the boss, so we has come back." english bob smiled. "but how have you managed to arrive at this time?" he asked. "surely you did not walk from wangeri." "we just did," asserted never never dan. "we couldn't wait on the bally old coach, so we came right away last night----" "come an' have some tucker, you heavenly twins," roared ted, relinquishing his shovel, his honest face glowing with pleasure at the return of the prodigals. when they had departed towards the hut, english bob looked at me inquiringly. "could you imagine men like these in any other country than this?" he said. "they are just like children." slowly the sun climbed up in the heavens, and we two persevered at our work of excavation. then gradually i became aware of the rhythmic hoof-beats of many horses sounding faintly in the distance, and soon the dense forest rang out with the unwonted echoes. and now the rushing of the gum-diggers hither and thither came plainly to our ears, and a chorus of warning cries swelled out above the prevailing din--"the troopers are coming." at once the truth flashed over me that the man whose whare i shared was the object of their search; the inevitable crisis had come at last. as for him, he stood almost defiantly erect, with the blood alternately surging to his cheeks, then leaving them deathly pallid. i laid my hand on his shoulder. "why do you try to hide from me that which i already know?" i said gently. "sometimes it is possible to help----" "you know?" he gasped. "i saw the paper," i answered simply. he covered his face with his hands, and his whole frame shook with a strong man's emotion. "do you--believe?" he asked hoarsely, without looking at me. "assuredly not," i said. he gave a sigh of thankfulness. "i have been tracked like a dog all over the world," he murmured brokenly, "but i have reached the end of the tether now." "but why did you run away?" i asked hurriedly. "surely an innocent man only courts disaster by flight." the troopers were now near at hand. i could hear their sergeant talking to some of the diggers scarcely a hundred yards from where we stood. english bob recovered himself with an extreme effort of will. "i may have been foolish," he said quietly, "but things looked very black against me, and--and the disgrace would have killed my old mother." i did not reason further. "there may be a way of escape yet," i said, seized with an uncontrollable impulse. "we are both very much alike. i'll talk to the sergeant." "no, no!" he cried, "i cannot allow----" "why, man," i interrupted impatiently, "it's your only chance. they'll find out their mistake soon enough." "good morning, boys," came a jovial voice from the timber, and its owner, a stalwart new zealander, bearing the emblem of his office on his arm, rode forward alone. we responded to this cheery salutation gloomily. "why," he exclaimed, "you've struck a patch here. but i do wish you people would be more careful and take out licences before you start to dig. the government is getting rather riled about your free-lance way of working." "but we have licences," i remarked mildly. he laughed. "i'm glad of that," he said, "for i find very few of your neighbours have thought it necessary, and my troopers seem to have the deuce of a job in explaining matters to them." he wheeled his horse, then reined up again suddenly, and came back. "which of you is robert lorimer?" he said directly. his method of procedure appeared to me unnecessarily cruel. "that's me," i answered sharply, before my companion could speak. "but couldn't you have asked at first?" he stared at me wonderingly. "great southern cross, man!" he cried. "what!" he broke off in a long low whistle, and held out his hand. "let me be the first to congratulate you, sir," he said. "of course you could not have heard, but you needn't be so hard on me for all that. but let me tell my story," he continued, waving aside my interruptions. "i was instructed from headquarters to come for you officially seven days ago, but though i am a policeman i don't like the job of running any man to earth, and i delayed until i should have to come in any case to attend to the licence question. only yesterday i was informed that the warrant was off, as the notes you were accused of stealing had been found in an old ledger, placed there, no doubt, by some careless clerk. that's all. good luck to you, my boy, and a safe journey home." he was gone in an instant. then english bob and i clasped hands in silence. with the pearlers of north-western australia on the north-western shores of australia, between cossack township and port darwin, lies a strip of coastline which has not yet received much attention from the outside world. this is the pearling-grounds of the nor'-west, and the lordly pioneers who rule there hope that their preserves may long continue to be neglected by the check-suited globe-trotter. the headquarters of the pearling industry is at broome, the landing station of one of the australian cable systems. broome, when the fleet is in port, has a population of about , , which is made up of white men, malays, japanese, and the same number of what are termed manilamen, the remainder being a heterogeneous lot of aborigines, coolies, kanakas, and specimens of almost every other race on earth. when the pearlers are out, however, the town is practically deserted. dampier was the first european to skirt this coast, but it was long after his advent that it became famous for its pearl-shell deposits, although, even before the great explorer's time, it was probably known to the aborigines, who until recently were in the habit of gathering for food the bivalves that the monsoon storms threw up on the beach. but since the days of dampier many changes have occurred on these desolate shores, and it is even doubtful if the coast has the same configuration now as it had then. while the eastern states of australia were still struggling for existence, the fierce malay pirates reigned here, and indeed it is only lately that it has been freed from all suspicion in that respect, although the pirates may not always have been the malays. the early sea-rovers were not long in finding out that it would pay them to give some attention to the treasures of the sea, and it is probably owing to their efforts that roebuck bay and the ninety-mile beach came into prominence as pearling-grounds. from that time up to about twenty years ago these individuals worked the shores and shallows by various methods peculiar to themselves, the chief consisting of forcing the unfortunate aborigines to dive for the shells while they merely extracted the pearls. this system ceased suddenly so far as the power of the malays was concerned; for towards the end of the 'seventies some colonial adventurers sailed up the coast from fremantle, and although little is officially known as to what then transpired, pearling shortly afterwards became a recognised profession among our colonial cousins. some of those pioneers are still engaged in the trade, and many strange stories are told of their doings before the light of civilisation, in the shape of telegraphic communication, was let in upon their coast. at present, taken as they stand, the pearlers of the nor'-west are one of the wealthiest bodies of men in the world. they are certainly one of the most daring and most hospitable, and do not hesitate to share their wealth with any unlucky comrades. the methods in vogue now are much different from those employed twenty years ago. beach-combing and enforced labour have given place to specially-designed luggers, profit-sharing systems, and the most modern diving-dresses, although among the south pacific islands beach-combing is still another name for piracy and slave-raiding. strangely enough, the pearls do not now form the chief support of the industry. nevertheless, some are frequently found worth £ and upwards, and many of a value of £ , while from that sum downwards to s. for a thousand the pearls are very plentiful. the shell, however, is now the backbone of the industry. it is valued at from £ to £ per ton, and finds ready sale through singapore agencies of london firms at anything between those prices. the pearler of the present day is a briton in every sense of the word, and takes great care to impress that fact upon all who visit his domain. he usually owns the lugger he commands, but in some cases he has only a share in it and its profits, the real owner being a speculative gentleman who resides in his schooner and pays only occasional visits to the various luggers under his flag. in some of these deputy-managed craft the only qualification necessary to obtain the position of skipper or commander is that of being a white man and not a german; but when the master pearler goes to the british port of singapore he is invariably forced to "come down a bit," and do his business with the prosperous and well-satisfied sons of the fatherland. pearling is chiefly carried on in what are termed "proved grounds"; but if a good haul be made at any time the pearler is not averse to prospecting for new grounds (waters). as a rule the commander is the only white man on board the lugger. the crew is composed of malays and coolies, but the diver is always an intelligent manilaman or filipino, who receives a small commission on the results of his work. the depth at which the shell is found is now about sixteen fathoms. of course shallower ledges are still worked, but it is considered that they are almost exhausted, and few pearlers waste time over them. in working, the diver is lowered over the gunwale by means of a winch, or in some cases dropped over unceremoniously by two of the malay crew, and another two pump air down to him. these people are always quarrelling among themselves, and consequently the diver runs many risks he does not at the time know of, unless he guesses what is happening above when he experiences the sensations attending the stoppage of his air supply. he is accustomed to such trifles, however, and being more or less a fatalist, probably wonders what the men at the pumps are quarrelling about, and in a disinterested sort of way speculates on which of his two pumpsmen will prove the weaker, and accordingly feed the sharks with him. notwithstanding the uncertainty of life, he gathers all the shells within his limited range of vision, and when--if not too late--the men aloft stop fighting, he is hauled to the gunwale, where he is relieved of his spoil and dropped over again. the shells are found in patches, and when one deposit is exhausted--or perhaps before, for the vessel is drifting all the time--the diver moves on to the next, crashing through dense forests of coral and other strange submarine growths _en route_, and frequently having to cut the fearful coiling creepers from his person. often, too, he is precipitated into a deep, dark chasm of unknown extent. in such moments the diver's sole idea is to preserve his balance, for he is really but a feather-weight in the water at the sixteen-fathom level, and in due time he is safely hauled across the gulf, when, if he has not retained a vertical position, or if his line has not been kept taut overhead, he is dragged head-first through any vegetation or oozy slime that may lie in his path. when he regains his equilibrium, he once more turns his attention to the oyster-beds. [illustration: ready to go down.] meanwhile the lugger drifts erratically over the surface of the ocean. an evil-eyed malay may be asleep by the tiller, and the white commander will likewise be serenely indifferent to his surroundings, unless the thought strikes him that the quality of the last case of whisky he had was not in accordance with the labels on the bottles or the price he paid, in which event he will probably be making things lively among the crew, and the profits of the trip will increase in proportion. every fifteen minutes or so the diver comes up for a "blow." if the shells are plentiful he may send them up in a net between times; but, as a rule, there are a few yards separating the shells of any size, and it is not often that he cannot bring them all aloft with him. a "blow" to this individual means being suspended over the gunwale with his helmet unscrewed for such time as the lugger may take to sail to the next known patch, after which he is allowed to drop again. when a full cargo of shell has been obtained, the lugger's course is shaped towards broome, where the molluscs are opened in sheds erected for the purpose. in the cases of the pearlers who possess several luggers a schooner is sent round periodically to collect the shell from the smaller craft, thus saving the latter a journey which they are ill able to accomplish, owing to their peculiar design and extremely small freeboard. the process of opening is sometimes carried on while the schooner sails for broome; but, as most of the pearler kings make their homes on board these vessels now, and do not care to suffer the attending unpleasantness, the system is fast dying out, and the schooner, in turn, discharges at the broome opening-sheds. the methods of opening are many. in the early days the shells were torn apart with a knife or any other convenient weapon, and if no pearls rewarded a brief search, the carcass of the oyster was scooped out and left to rot on the sand until a merciful monsoon tide caused its removal. lately, however, the pearlers have copied the plan of the chinese beachcombers of the archipelago, and a simpler system could not well be devised. the shells are laid on a slightly-inclined bench, at the lowest edge of which is a carefully-constructed ledge containing some water in the angle formed. after two days in this position the oyster "gapes" and "spits out" the pearl--if any--which, of course, rolls down the bench until it is caught in the angle, from where it is gathered by the attendant japanese or coolies. the number of pearls obtained in this way is about per cent. greater than was formerly the case by the forcible method, and it is therefore evident that the hasty pearlers must have lost a considerable amount through their carelessness and the incompleteness of their method of extraction. as said before, the pearls do not now form the chief part of the business; nevertheless there are usually a fair number in the shells discharged from one schooner. when the pearls have been collected the molluscs are cleaned out from the shells and either buried or otherwise destroyed, their late casings being stored to await shipment. the chief opening establishments are owned by a london syndicate of jewellers, who employ in their service as many aborigines, coolies, and japanese as may care to offer themselves. this syndicate is always willing to purchase "on chance" any shipment of shell that may come into port, and have a large fleet of their own luggers constantly on the waters during the season. as might be expected, this organised company is not liked by the independent pearlers, who--rightly or not--imagine that a monopoly of the trade is the real object in view. to such an extent is this rivalry carried that, notwithstanding the fact that messrs. s. & co. have special facilities for shipping, and will pay full singapore prices for all shells sold to them, the pearlers, unless temporarily financially embarrassed, will have nothing to do with them, and prefer to pay the expense of shipping their own shell to singapore by some of the holt line of steamers, which call regularly in at broome for that purpose while _en route_ from fremantle to the great oriental metropolis. during the monsoon season the pearling fleet shelters in roebuck bay, on the shores of which broome stands, and then that wicked and evil-smelling township wakens up from its sleep. its drinking saloons are crowded with black, yellow, and white humanity; the joss-houses are filled with maddened nondescripts; and the far-seeing abilities and correct judgment of the man who designed the prison to hold the entire population becomes apparent. unfortunately there are some renegade whites who run gambling-hells; but, in justice to britons at large, it should be stated that these men are mostly mongrel foreigners. the master pearlers, as a rule, do not frequent these places, preferring the narrower but healthier confines of their own vessels to that of the filthy, mosquito-infested town; but if any do go ashore, they all meet in a saloon owned by a gentleman with a very highland name and dusky countenance, or in the cable-house, where fortunes may be gambled away in a night. these men are indifferent to this matter. money, to most of them, has no attractions, and if they were denied the excitement of being alternately worth a fair fortune and without a sixpence in their possession they would probably die of _ennui_. but some of the pearlers--indeed, the majority--are made of sterner stuff; they still retain memories of lands where green vegetation and flowing streams of crystal water take the place of hideous mangrove swamps and parching deserts, and their efforts are all made in the hope that some day the results will enable them to return to those lands. these men only come into broome when in need of stores, and, after landing their crews, spend the "off" season in some of the numerous bays and inlets farther north, occasionally finding rich patches in those sheltered sounds capable of being worked at all seasons. it matters little on this coast what the original temperament of any person may have been, the influence of his surroundings soon has its effect upon him and makes him like his fellows. with the pearlers this takes the form of a feeling of reckless indifference, and a stranger suddenly thrown among them sees much to interest and amuse him in the incongruities brought about by this state of affairs. when i visited this quarter i was not aware that there was any special industry carried on; in fact, i did not even know that a township existed between roebourne and derby until one evening the ss. _nemesis_ sailed into roebuck bay, and the skipper calmly announced that i would require to go ashore and await the next steamer, as he was going no farther. i was booked to london, _viâ_ singapore, but i had expected to be dumped ashore somewhere, as the _nemesis_ was not the regular connecting steamer, and i had taken it chiefly with the desire to get away from plague-stricken fremantle, to which city i had come round from northern queensland. "all right, captain," i said; "but you might give me my bearings first." "go straight ahead from the jetty until you see the cable station, then starboard hard, and you are into roderick's hotel. drinks don't cost more than a shilling there." "thanks. but what is the name of the port? i presume we are still in australia?" "we are. this is broome, the headquarters of the pearling fleet, and the hottest hole on earth." "oh, i think i'll survive till the _australind_ comes along," i said, as indifferently as i could; and, after seeing my baggage on shore, i followed out the captain's directions, and finally entered a well-lit saloon, in which the strains of a gramaphone were evidently causing much appreciation. no one seemed to notice me as i made my way forward. all the occupants were clustered round the gramaphone and indulging in various comments as to the correctness of the song it was giving forth. there were about ten men in the party, all of whom were white. some were garbed in the most approved london clubland fashion, while others were very scantily clad indeed; but the careless manner in which handfuls of sovereigns were occasionally flung down on the counter showed that money at least was not much of a consideration with any of them. "hallo, boys! here's a stranger," suddenly cried one, seeing me looking on interestedly, and instantly a general move was made in my direction. "name it, boss," spoke the bar-tender, coming forward; "that is, if you is not an s----'s man." "what will happen if i am?" i inquired, slightly curious to know what an s----'s man was. "you'll get fired; that's all----" "shut up, bob," reproved a tall, broad-shouldered man. "this is the master-pearlers' club," he continued, addressing me, "and as a stranger you are very welcome to whatever it affords." "thank you, but i understood that this was roderick's hotel?" "same thing," laughed several of the men. "who sent you here?" "captain lawrence of the _nemesis_." "then it's all o.k. he is one of us," said the first speaker. "you will be my guest to-night, after which we will consider what is best to do with you." "gently there; i am a britisher, and quite able to look after myself." "you can bet, my boy, that we're all coloured red here, but of course if you don't wish----" "you are needing a spell south, wilcox," interrupted another gentleman. "you don't give the stranger half a chance. we are pearlers," he continued, turning to me. "this is the off season, and as hell is let loose in this town when the fleet is at home, we arrange to look after any white stranger that may be cast upon these shores. listen! there's the malays' infernal racket starting now. i shouldn't wonder but they will have a fight with the aborigines before morning." "i see i have made a mistake, then, gentlemen," i said, "in coming here, but i assure you that it was not from choice i came." "oh, don't let that trouble you. we are very glad to have you. but you can now understand why we reserve this hotel for our own use. we don't all necessarily make beasts of ourselves, although you see us here. some of us, it is true, have a failing that way, and there are others over in the cable shanty now going it pretty stiff; we therefore make it a point that a dozen of us come here every night to look after any of the boys who may take more stagger-juice than they can carry; but allow me to introduce the company. this is alf chambers. here is sam wilcox--moore--macpherson--edward wilson, commonly known as dandy dick--will biddles--gordon, of g.b. diving-dress fame, and, the finest gentleman on the australian coast, gentleman james----" "what about yourself, cap?" spoke the last-named, waving his hand deprecatingly at the compliment. "me? oh, i forgot. i am biddles. you may have heard of me down in perth?" "i believe i have," i answered. "you are the man whom the american skipper mistook for a pirate, and who, up in king sound----" "i see you have my history all right, lad; but there goes the dinner-gong, so come along and sample broome fare." in the company of the light-hearted pearlers the time passed very quickly. it transpired that i had known in queensland some of their comrades who had drifted down country from the gulf pearling-grounds, and being well accustomed to meeting all sorts of people, i readily grasped the little peculiarities of my hosts, and soon became on the best of terms with them all. "i think we'll go now, boys," said wilcox, some time about midnight. "you fellows that are sober can see after the other boys, and we two will get aboard the _thetis_." "why, don't you stay here?" i cried. "not likely. there wouldn't be an ounce of blood left in us by morning. the mosquitoes here are a ; but can you swim?" "a little. why?" "because i expect you will have to. you see we don't care to give the mob a chance of going aboard while we are on shore; so we never use our dinghys." "oh, how about your clothes?" "leave them on the jetty. i always send the cook round for them in the morning." i did not answer; i recognised that i was again among a strange people. we were now threading our way among the coolies' huts and shanties towards the beach. the moon was shining brightly, thus enabling us to jump over several forms which were huddled up in various positions across our path without disturbing them. "these people would stick a knife in a man for his bootlaces," my companion remarked; "but luckily they are always too drunk to stand." "but if you treated them fairly might there not be better results?" "look here, my lad, you've still got some of the old country notions about you. you can't treat the malays as you do white men. they do not understand what gratitude means. great southern cross! don't you know the history of this coast? haven't you heard of poor woods? he was going to reform everything. gave the beggars a share of the profits, and wages besides. first thing we knew was when his chinese cook rushed into roderick's one night and told some of us that woods's crew had mutinied because of their tinned dog being off colour--as if it ever was anything else." "and what was the result?" "oh, they killed woods and threw his body into the sea, and then sailed for java. the cook jumped overboard and swam ashore, and that's how we knew. the dutchmen chased them up and sent them back from surabaya in chains, and we hung them." "these men were malays?" "yes, but the half-castes and aborigines are just as bad. take the case of dr. vines, for instance; they murdered him because he couldn't give them what he hadn't got himself. and then there was captain skinner; but you'll not sleep if i tell you any more. yonder is my craft. get ready." wilcox discarded his coat as he spoke and plunged into the inviting waters, and somewhat dubiously i followed; for although my garments were of the usual siamese silk variety, and therefore did not greatly impede my movements, i could not help wondering what would happen if there were any sharks about. as i struggled after wilcox this thought kept recurring to me in spite of all my attempts to convince myself that there could be no such creatures there, and just when i had almost succeeded in believing that such might somehow be the case, i suddenly remembered that i had been watching these very monsters playing around the _nemesis_ all that afternoon. "what about sharks?" i gasped, as the stern light of the _thetis_ shone out ahead. "they're too well fed here to trouble about white men," came the reply, and i had to satisfy myself with the hope that the sharks would be able to distinguish without personal investigation that i was of the fortunate colour. we reached the schooner without mishap, however, and scrambled over its stern by means of a friendly rope, and soon after i was asleep in what might have been a comfortable berth but for the presence of some hundreds of other occupants of divers kinds. next morning i found my baggage and the clothes i had thrown off in the cabin beside me, and on going out on deck had my first view of broome by daylight. it was not much to look at. there were some tents, two or three dozen "humpies" and "wind-breaks," and about twelve galvanised-iron structures, of which the jail, the cable station, gummows' and roderick's hotels, were the most conspicuous. the _nemesis_ had sailed away south again during the night, and there was no sign of life anywhere. during the day--by way of a treat--wilcox and some others took me to inspect "their prison," in which they had evidently great pride; but i could not work up any enthusiasm over the sight of a score of miserable wretches chained together by the ankles. "these are the murderers of old smith," remarked one of my companions. "they turned on him because he plugged one of them with a ' ,' one day when he was drunk, up in king sound." "we're keeping them here until we can get an executioner," added the jailer, "but it's spoiling the trade of the town; every one is afraid of getting drunk, as they might then be induced to take the job on." i was glad when we left the place, and, eager to obtain information of a more pleasant kind, i asked to be shown the opening sheds. "well, you are a strange fellow!" was wilcox's only comment as he led the way thither, and as we neared the shell-strewn benches i began to understand the meaning of his words, and signified that, after all, i thought i would rather not go farther. "they do smell a bit strong," laughed my friend; "but we're not near enough yet, and the wind is not off the proper quarter to give a broome appetiser. but there's biddles semaphoring for us to dine with him in the club; let's get along." several days passed agreeably enough to me among these free-hearted britons; but in time i began to calculate when the next steamer would be due. "i fear there's no steamer coming into broome for two months, my boy," said captain biddles, when i asked him, and a visit to the cable station confirmed his fears; for, when the obliging officials there wired to fremantle, they received the reply that the ss. _australind_ would miss broome and call instead at derby, on the head of king sound. "then i will have to cross country to derby," i said. "i suppose that is easy enough; the telegraph line runs all the way?" "oh, it's about as easy as going to heaven!" answered biddles. "the aborigines are very considerate between here and derby--they always kill you before they make a dinner out of you. but are you sure you can't stay here?" "it is four years since i was north of the equator," i said, "and i have a strong desire to cross it as soon as possible." "in that case, i suppose you will have to go. wish i could myself." "why can't you? you are rich enough now, surely?" "ha, ha! imagine old biddles going back to civilisation! why, man, they would---- well, well; never mind. here's the boys coming. we'll see what can be done." that evening i was informed that the _bessie fraser_ was to sail north to king sound in the morning with stores for george hobart's schooners. i could go with it, and hobart would find some means of landing me at derby. this arrangement, the pearlers assured me, was not made in my behalf, as the _bessie fraser_ would have to sail in any case. thus it came about that next morning i parted with my kindly friends, and in company with harry quin, the skipper, six malays for a crew, a chinese cook, and a manilaman diver, rounded the long, sandy point and headed northwards. after lunch, the captain announced his intention of having a sleep if i didn't mind, and, thinking that he would require to be on the watch during the night, which would certainly be stormy, i said that i could easily pass the time looking round, and, in an endeavour to do so, soon after entered into conversation with the cook. "is it going to be rough to-night, john?" i said, by way of introduction, watching him as he went through some mysterious performances necessary for the preparation of our next meal. "velly. me no need make breakfast. captain sick. no want any." "what! the captain sick? what do you mean?" "huh! him no sail man. him only gole' glabber; no know nothing 'bout sea. d----" john disappeared as he gave vent to his last exclamation, and, turning round, i saw that aguinili, the diver and sarang, was approaching. "good day, sir," he said, in excellent english. "good day, aguinili. you have given ah sing a fright." "he gabble gabble all day when captain not well." "great scot! what is wrong? the captain was all right half an hour ago." "yes, but we are round the head now, and the monsoon is on. i come speak with you, for to-night i have only one man to steer with me; the rest no good. i come ask will you take helm for time to-night, else we must go back?" i was certainly surprised at aguinili's words, but, grasping their import, i at once signified that i would willingly take a watch, and following him aft, i was made acquainted with the little peculiarities of the schooner in regards to her steering. "malay bad man--you no trust him," remarked aguinili. "no let them know captain not well?" "never fear!" i answered; "i have sailed with their kind before. but call me when you want me, for i cannot navigate by the stars as you do, so i must hunt up a chart and get out my own instruments." at that moment ah sing came aft and informed me that the captain desired my presence, so, making my way to his stuffy cabin, i soon stood beside him. he was lying in his bunk reading, but as i entered he cast aside the book and said, "i say, mate, ye needn't give me away more than ye can help." "why, what's the matter?" "nothing, so long as i lie on my back; but this darned motion doesn't agree with me in any other position." "do you mean to say----?" "that i is no sailor? you struck the bull first shot. i ain't. i is a gold-miner, and got stranded in broome after making a pile on the marble bar fields, an' losing it down in roebourne. lord knows how i got here, but old wilcox got me this billet with hobart, 'cause i could swear at the nigs better than any man he knowed. i know nothing about navigation except what a bushman knows, and here i is at sea entirely." "but have you never had any accidents?" "oh, there have been some narrow squeaks, but that chap aguinili is a smart fellow; he manages somehow, and i swears at---- lor'! but i is bad. oh!----" "you'll be all right soon," i said sympathisingly, as i left him. he was the best example of a bluffer i had ever come across, but he had the true grit of the sons of the southern cross, and as he knew nothing of navigation, he got along wonderfully well by leaving everything to fate and aguinili. it was a very rough night, but the _bessie fraser_ weathered it all right, thanks to the skilful handling of the sarang. next evening we entered king sound, and by seven o'clock were safely moored alongside the schooner _electron_, george hobart's headquarters. this gentleman was a very superior person to those usually met in such latitudes; he was of a scientific turn of mind, and had designed many strange appliances which were the wonder and admiration of the pearling fraternity. "you have just arrived in time to witness the trial of my new dress," were almost his first words to me; and after dinner, in answer to my inquiry, he proceeded to explain wherein his dress differed from others, and to point out its anticipated advantages. "sixteen fathoms is the greatest depth at which we can work with the old dress, you know," he said, "and even at that a diver can only last out three seasons." "well, what's the odds?" interrupted quin; "they're cheap, ain't they? and there's any amount where they come from." "that may be; but this dress is designed to give the diver a longer lease of life, and also to enable him to stand a good two or three fathoms more pressure. i have just got down a new g.b. dress from singapore, and i intend to try mine alongside it to-morrow." i did not then know what a g.b. dress was, but not wishing to display my ignorance, i did not inquire, and during the evening's conversation i gathered that it was the invention of two glasgow engineers, who had designed it to allow of greater depths being explored. in the morning all hands began to prepare for the trials, and after breakfast aguinili, as the most experienced diver, was lowered from the derrick in the g.b. dress, and jim mackenzie, the _electron's_ chief officer, was also weighted and dropped over in hobart's. "isn't there a nigger handy to go down in the old dress now?" asked quin, kicking over a helmet. "i'll go two to one on it yet." "the water is too deep here," answered hobart. "no man could bottom in the old dress." "i'll go," said the intrepid quin, "and chance it." "no. hallo! mackenzie is down. great heavens! the pumps are not working." hobart sprang to the pumps, and threw the two malay operators across the deck, then, assisted by quin and myself, began pumping furiously. it was useless. the pumps were not drawing air. the perspiration burst out over my face as i realised the position that poor mackenzie was in. quin swore, and then rushed to the winch, where the crew, in answer to hobart's signal, were already hauling in. in less time than it takes to tell the diver was above the surface, and in another second his helmet was unscrewed. "poor old mac," said quin, as the limp form was removed from its cage; "i always reckoned that he would peg out before me." "wrong again, quin," feebly murmured mackenzie. "you won't be mate of the _electron_ this trip----but i say, there's shells down there as big as a table, and they are packed like peas." "never mind them at present, mac," spoke hobart. "we're glad to see you all right again; but what happened to the dress----?" "the dress is all right, but the beggars must have stopped pumping while i was sinking, and when they started again i fancy the check-valve would not work." "ah! then we burst the connection on deck when we rushed to the pumps. that means my dress won't do for twenty fathoms at any rate. hallo! there's aguinili's signal. haul away. why, it is shell, and look at the size." in answer to the diver's signal the men had hauled up his shell-net, and when it appeared above the waters the size of the shells had drawn forth an exclamation of surprise from all. soon after aguinili himself came up laden with the spoil of the nineteen-fathom ledge, and when he was brought on deck and his helmet removed he told a wonderful story of the wealth of the deep deposits, which hitherto no man had seen. "shell plenty. no need move away; fill net all time same place. good shell for pearl, i know that, for i see sea-snake feed much. i go down again quick." "no, no, aguinili," cried hobart, handing him a glass of spirits. "we have plenty of time for that. have the shell been moving much?" "no. shells grow there. no currents; no monsoons; deep, deep coral bottom. no shell on sixteen-fathom bottom here." "well, gentlemen," finally said hobart, "we have seen the result of the g.b. comes out first. i will cable to singapore to send down some more of them, and i will see that gentleman james, captain biddies, and the others get to know of its good points. who knows what fortunes we may now obtain from these deep neglected sounds." two hours afterwards the _electron_ was sailing down king sound towards the indian ocean, and on my venturing to ask where we were bound for, hobart informed me that he had received word from derby that the bubonic plague had broken out afresh in fremantle, and it was therefore obvious that the _australind_ would not now call at the northern port; for if she did so she would assuredly be quarantined at singapore through not having been sufficient time at sea since leaving australian waters. "we are going to put you on board now," he added, "and mackenzie is going up to raffles with you to see about the new dresses. meanwhile the men are opening the shells from the deep level, and i hope that we will find a memento to give you of your visit to this coast." early in the afternoon a long hanging cloud of black smoke became visible away on the southern horizon, and knowing that it must be issuing from the funnels of the _australind_ or the adelaide steamship co.'s trader _albany_, we steered out to investigate, and, if need be, to intercept. it proved to be the former vessel, and in due course she answered our signal and hove to. "well, goodbye then, lad. i hope you will come back to this coast when you are tired of the old country," were hobart's parting words as mackenzie and i clambered up the sides of the _australind_. "if you see a lugger cheap at singapore you might buy it for me," cried quin, throwing me a miner's gold-bag; "and, i say, you might send me the second part of the book you gave me to read when we were coming up through the monsoon on the _bessie_. i am darned curious to know the wind-up." "and here's a pair of the deep shells; take care of them," cried hobart, fastening a couple into the sling in which my baggage was being hoisted. * * * * * three days after landing at singapore i bought a small lugger for quin, and sent back the balance of his money, and a complete copy of the "pilgrim's progress" (which was the book requested) with mackenzie, who also undertook to see about the lugger going south. four days later, while tossing in the bay of bengal on the ss. _ballarat_, i began to rearrange my belongings so that they might be readily transferred to the connecting p. and o. mail steamer _himalaya_ at colombo. in doing so i chanced to open my shells and found therein two magnificent pearls, and a note which read: "please accept one of the enclosed from me. the other is from aguinili, who has asked me to offer it to you in kind remembrance." the gresham press, unwin brothers, limited, woking and london. siberia: a record of travel, climbing, and exploration. by samuel turner, f.r.g.s. with a preface by baron heyking. _with more than illustrations, and with maps._ _demy vo, cloth, /-net._ the materials for this book were gathered during a journey in siberia in . helped by over merchants (siberian, russian, danish and english) the writer was able to collect much information, and observe the present social and industrial condition of the country. the trade and country life of the mixed races of siberia is described, and valuable information is given about their chief industry (dairy produce), which goes far to dissipate the common idea that siberia is snow-bound, and to show that it is now one of the leading agricultural countries in the world. * * * * * the author describes his unaccompanied climbs in the mountains which he discovered in the kutunski belki range in the altai, about miles off the great siberian railway line from a point about , miles beyond moscow. he made a winter journey of , miles on sledge, drosky, and horseback, miles of this journey being through country which has never been penetrated by any other european even in summer. he also describes miles of what was probably the most difficult winter exploration that has ever been undertaken, proving that even the rigour of a siberian winter cannot keep a true mountaineer from scaling unknown peaks. * * * * * the volume is elaborately illustrated from photographs by the author. "to the trader and to the explorer, and to many who are neither, but who love to read books of travel and to venture in imagination into wild places of the earth, this book is heartily to be commended. it is lively, entertaining, instructive. it throws fresh light on the empire of the czars. above all, it is a record of british pluck."--_scotsman._ london: t. fisher unwin. john chinaman at home by the rev. e. j. hardy, author of "how to be happy though married"; lately chaplain to h.m. forces in hong kong. _with illustrations. demy vo, cloth, / net._ contents. hong kong; tientsin and peking; canton; on the west river; swatow, amoy, foochow; up the yangtze; village life; topsy-turvy; some chinese characteristics; chinese food; medicine and surgery; chinese clothes; houses and gardens; chinese servants; betrothal and marriage; death and burial; mourning; education in china; boys in china; girls and women; chinese manners; government in china; punishments; chinese soldiers; the religions of china; outside and inside a temple; new year's day; monks and priests; spirits; feng shiu and other superstitions; missionaries; as the chinese see us. * * * * * the reader will not be bored with politics or the "future of china," for the book only treats of the common every-day things of the chinese which seem so peculiar to us. these are described and, when possible, explained. anecdotes are freely used to illustrate. london: t. fisher unwin. _demy vo, cloth, /-_ somerset house, past and present by raymond needham and alexander webster. _with photogravure frontispiece and many illustrations._ this book deals with the history of somerset house from its foundation by the lord protector in to the present day. it is as far as possible a continuous record of the events which in times gone by gathered illustrious personages within the walls of the old palace and made it a centre of english social life. for two centuries somerset house was the home of queens and princesses; it was associated with the stalwart protestants of the reformation and the intriguing catholics of the revolution; it has passed through greater vicissitudes than almost any other secular edifice in london. the modern building housed the early exhibitions of the royal academy of arts, a naval museum, the royal and other learned societies, until, within the last fifty years, it was given over to its present occupants and the matter-of-fact romance of the imperial revenue. the history includes the story of king's college, which since its inauguration has occupied a building erected on the eastern edge of the site, and designed to harmonise with the main structure. the volume is illustrated by reproductions of rare old prints and a fine series of modern photographs. london: t. fisher unwin. _demy vo, cloth, / net._ the age of the earth, and other geological studies by w. j. sollas, ll.d., d.sc., f.r.s. professor of geology in the university of oxford _illustrated._ this volume, while written by one of the foremost of english geologists, will be found interesting and attractive by the reader who has no special knowledge of the science. the essay which gives the book its title sets forth the bearing of the doctrine of evolution on geological speculation, and particularly on the vexed question of our planet's antiquity. the subjects of the other studies include the following: the figure of the earth, and the origin of the ocean; geologies and deluges; the volcanoes of the lipari isles; the history and structure of a coral reef; the origin and formation of flints; the evolution of freshwater animals; and the influence of oxford on geology. "they range over a great variety of subjects, including many which are of sufficiently wide interest to bring the geologist into sympathetic touch with the general reader. what educated man can fail to be interested in such subjects, for instance, as the age of the earth, the building of coral islands, the cause of volcanic action, or the deluge? of all these matters the professor discourses pleasantly and well, writing with command of much scientific learning, yet always readably, sometimes with brilliancy of diction, and occasionally with a touch of humour."--_athenæum._ london: t. fisher unwin. six standard works. complete popular editions. illustrated. _large crown vo, cloth. price / net._ the life of richard cobden. by john morley. "one of the most important and interesting works of its class in the english language,"--_daily chronicle._ the life and times of savonarola. by professor pasquale villari. 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"this volume is indeed worthy of the reputation of its author.... we feel very grateful to him for having given us the most concise, and at the same time perhaps the most complete constitutional history that has yet appeared of the first two centuries of the florentine republic."--_speaker._ english wayfaring life in the middle ages (xivth century). by j. j. jusserand, french ambassador at washington "one of those enchanting volumes which only frenchmen have the gift of writing. buy it if you are wise, and keep it as a joy for ever."--dr augustus jessopp in the _nineteenth century_. t. fisher unwin, publisher, , adelphi terrace, london, w.c. standard works. complete popular editions. illustrated. _large crown vo, cloth. price / net._ lord beaconsfield: a biography. by t. p. o'connor. "clever and brilliant.... worth reading by everybody who either admires or hates his subject."--_guardian_ "a slashing and vastly interesting book."--_pall mall gazette._ rome and pompeii. archæological rambles. by gaston boissier. "m. gaston boissier is one of the few living archæologists who can make the dead bones of the past live again. while his researches show the accuracy and thoroughness which we associate with german scholarship, he has a gift of exposition which is wholly french. we can imagine therefore, no better handbook for traveller or archæologist than this one."--_daily mail._ holyoake: sixty years of an agitator's life. by george jacob holyoake. "a valuable contribution to the political, social, intellectual, and even revolutionary history of our time."--_times._ "the book is full of interest; it produces a vivid, personal impression, it contains contemporary notes on men and women of the century, it has shrewd and vigorous sentences, and illustrates our own progress in civilising thought."--_spectator._ sir walter raleigh. by major martin a. s. hume. "an admirable book which ought to be read by every one who takes any interest in things that ought to interest all--the building of the empire and the men who built it. there is not a dull page in it, and with his skilful telling of it, the story of raleigh's life and of his times reads like a romance."--_pall mall gazette._ t. fisher unwin, publisher, adelphi terrace, london, w.c. the mermaid series. the best plays of the old dramatists. literal reproductions of the old text. printed on thin paper. small crown vo, each volume containing about pages and an etched frontispiece. _cloth, s. d. net. leather, s. d. net._ =the best plays of christopher marlowe.= edited, with critical memoir and notes, by havelock ellis; and containing a general introduction to the series by john addington symonds. =the best plays of thomas otway.= introduction and notes by the hon. roden noel. =the complete plays of william congreve.= edited by alex. c ewald. =the complete plays of richard steele.= edited, with introduction and notes, by g. a. aitken. =the best plays of ben jonson.= edited, with introduction and notes, by brinsley nicholson and c. h. herford. vols. =the best plays of james shirley.= with introduction by edmund gosse. =the best plays of thomas shadwell.= edited by george saintsbury. =the complete plays of william wycherley.= edited, with introduction and notes, by w. c. ward. =the best plays of john ford.= edited by havelock ellis. =the best plays of webster and tourneur.= with an introduction and notes, by john addington symonds. =the best plays of thomas heywood.= edited by a. w. verity. with introduction by j. a. symonds. =the best plays of john dryden.= edited by george saintsbury. vols. =the best plays of thomas middleton.= with an introduction by algernon charles swinburne. vols. =nero and other plays.= edited by h. p. horne, arthur symons, a. w. verity, and h. ellis. =the best plays of thomas dekker.= notes by ernest rhys. =the best plays of philip massinger.= with critical and biographical essays and notes by arthur symons. vols. =the best plays of beaumont and fletcher.= with introduction and notes by t. st loe strachey. vols. =the best plays of george chapman.= edited by william lyon phelps. =the select plays of sir john vanbrugh.= edited, with an introduction and notes, by a. e. h. swain. _the times, th november , in a review of a column and a quarter, says_-- "mr fisher unwin is re-issuing his 'mermaid series' of old dramatists in a very attractive form. the volumes are light in the hand and will go easily into the pocket; they are printed in clear type on thin paper; ideal companions for the student who seeks his pleasure where the saint found it, 'in angulo cum libello.'" _the pall mall gazette says_-- "it is impossible to let the completion of this reissue go by without congratulating every one concerned, including the reader, on the possibility of obtaining the cream of england's dramatic literature in this convenient form." t. fisher unwin, publisher, , adelphi terrace, london, w.c. t. fisher unwin, publisher, the adventure series popular re-issue. _each large crown vo, fully illustrated. popular re-issue_, = s. d.= _per vol._ . adventures of a younger son. by edward j. trelawney. introduction by edward garnett. . madagascar; or, robert drury's journal during his captivity on that island. preface and notes by captain s. p. oliver, r.a. . memoirs of the extraordinary military career of john shipp. . the buccaneers and marooners of america. edited and illustrated by howard pyle. . the log of a jack tar: being the life of james choyce, master mariner. edited by commander v. lovett cameron. . ferdinand mendez pinto, the portuguese adventurer. new edition. annotated by prof. a. vambÉry . adventures of a blockade runner. by william watson. illustrated by arthur byng, r.n. . the life and adventures of james beckwourth, mountaineer, scout, pioneer, and chief of crow nation indians. edited by chas. g. leland. . a particular account of the european military adventurers of hindustan. compiled by henry compton. . the memoirs and travels of count de benyowsky in siberia, kamdchatka, japan, the linkiu islands, and formosa. edited by captain s. p. oliver, r.a. . a master mariner: the life of captain robert w. eastwick. edited by herbert compton. . kolokotrones: klepht and warrior. translated from the greek by mrs. edmonds. introduction by m. gennadius. , adelphi terrace, london, w.c. transcriber's note minor printer's errors and inconsistencies have been silently corrected. =bold text= has been represented using equal signs. _italic text_ has been represented using underscores. [illustration: cover art] [frontispiece: alone in the vast solitude.] a claim on klondike a romance of the arctic el dorado by edward roper, f.r.g.s. author of 'by track and trail through canada,' etc., etc. _with illustrations_ william blackwood and sons edinburgh and london mdcccxcix _all rights reserved_ illustrations. alone in the vast solitude . . . . . . _frontispiece_ shooting myles caÑon lake la barge five fingers rapids on the yukon at the mouth of the klondyke river our dug-out, our tunnel, and our sluice "when she appeared again i was greatly embarrassed" may and i in the dug-out "it was a melancholy undertaking" "welcome, friends." a claim on klondyke preamble. somewhere near midnight in january , a man--important to this little history--stood on an expanse of glittering snow, amidst low forest-covered hills and rugged mountains which were draped in the same white garb. he was looking eagerly towards the north-west, and was listening intently. this man was muffled to the eyes in furs, he wore a rough bearskin coat, and his head was enveloped in a huge capote. he wore snow-shoes, and a gun lay across his arm. a grand long-haired dog was by his side; he was listening, seemingly as intently as his master. the moon was shining full, the deep purple sky was sown thick with brilliant stars,--one could have read small print easily, it was so light. not a breath of air was stirring. the intensity of the cold was indescribable: if there had been the slightest wind, this man could not have stood thus, in this open space, and lived. he was a large man really, but the immensity of his surroundings, the vast field of dazzling snow on which he stood, made him appear to be a pigmy, whilst his loneliness and solitude gave a note of unutterable melancholy to the scene. several minutes passed, neither dog nor man moving from this attitude of strained attention. all nature was absolutely motionless; no branch stirred in the near forest, nor was one flake of snow wafted by the softest zephyr--yet there was no silence. the far-off woods resounded with frequent sharp reports, as if firearms were being discharged there, the nearer rocks and trees from time to time gave forth detonations like fusilades of musketry, and beneath his feet--he stood on a broad space of water, turned to ice of unknown depth, cushioned deep with snow--were groanings, grindings, cracklings, and explosions. it was the terrible arctic cold that caused this tumult. one could almost fancy that these two figures, silhouetted black against the dazzling white, were frozen solid too. at length the man moved, and, patting his companion's head with his gauntleted hand, spoke, "no, good dog," he sighed, "it's another hallucination." and the dog looked up at him, and whimpered, then turned his gaze again in the direction it had been before, with eagerness. it was impossible to guess from this man's appearance what he was like: he was so enveloped in wrappers only his eyes were visible; but his voice proclaimed him to be gently bred--it had the accent of a cultivated englishman. "no good," he went on muttering. "let us get back, old patch, my sole companion in this awful wilderness; it was not a shot we heard, only the frost that made that clamour," and he made as if to move away. but the dog evidently was not satisfied. he sat down, kept his nose pointed in the one direction, and whimpered again and again. the man stood still and listened. "strange, strange," he spoke aloud, "that patch is so persistent; perhaps it will be well to go on a bit more. there's nothing to prevent it--no one waiting for us. i suppose it is about midnight by the moon; but night or day, it's pretty much the same up here. yes; we'll go on along this frozen creek: one cannot well miss the way back." he was silent for a few moments, then resumed, "i'm talking aloud to myself again! or is it to the dog? this isolation, this loneliness, is terrible; but, come, my lad, come on!" and he started. patch, seeing his master move, began to wag his bushy tail, and dance with delight; he flew ahead, barking and capering, but every now and then stopped suddenly, pricked up his sharp ears, and listened as his master did. they must have pushed on a mile or more from where we first encountered them. the expanse of level snow had widened greatly. there were no trees near, the sound of the frost in rock and timber was distant and subdued, and they stood side by side again attentive. suddenly, away off in the ranges to their right, two reports were audible--unmistakably they were shots fired from a gun--and then immediately six sharp cracks resounded; it was the discharge of a revolver! at the first noise, again the man's mittened hand sought the dog's collar to restrain him, for he was intensely excited. the moment the sixth revolver shot had sounded, he removed his hand, and shouted, "forward, good dog; go sic 'em!" and the two rushed off in the direction of the sounds. another mile they covered rapidly, the dog running ahead and barking; then returning, looking eagerly and joyfully into his master's face, then hurrying on again. but soon calling patch to him, he held him and waited, hoping to hear more signs of human presence in that awful region. he was not disappointed. again two rapid gun shots were fired, and six revolver shots, and they were nearer than they had been before. "patch," said the man then, "we'll try what this will do," and lifting up his gun, he pulled one trigger, and a few seconds after the other. then taking a revolver from his belt, he fired six cartridges slowly in the air. what would come of this? would there be any response? he had not long to wonder. the signal was repeated, and he knew that there were fellow-creatures in those mountains. white, black, or red, he did not care then. the feeling that he was not alone in that white world, that terribly hard, frozen world, was enough for him. he and the dog hurried on, ascended the low bare hill upon their right, and when after a vigorous climb they reached the summit, he fired again, as he had done before. patch barked loudly, joyfully, and there came into his master's mind the certainty that he was on the point of some discovery, some adventure to break the monotony of his life. the response was immediate. down in the valley at his feet, but at some distance, what appeared to be a door was opened suddenly, revealing a light within, and in the illuminated space a figure stood, who, lifting up a gun, fired again. next this figure ran out of the building brandishing a blazing pine-knot, and across the wide valley he distinctly heard the cry of a fellow-being, and, still more wonderful, more amazing, it sounded to be the voice of a woman in distress. "go to her, patch!" he cried. the good dog obeyed, whilst he followed as rapidly as he could. it was rough ground, all rocks and fallen trees: he was exhausted ere he had traversed half the distance. halting a moment to recover breath, he had a view against the bright light of the doorway of patch crouched at the feet of the person there, who was stooping to caress him. a few hundred yards more and he halted again for breath, and then he heard a long-drawn cry of agony. "help, oh! help! whoever you are! indian or white man, come, come and help!" and our friend called loudly across the waste: "i'm an englishman! trust me. i'm making my way to you with all the haste i can!" and over the snow-clad expanse resounded the response, "thank god! thank god!" chapter i. during the winter of - , i was staying at bella rocca, a boarding-house in victoria, vancouver island, british columbia. i had come to that charming city, on that beautiful island, to discover, if possible, an opening for the investment of my modest capital in a manner which would give me a more congenial way of making a livelihood than i had found in eastern canada, where i had resided for some few years. when i first arrived in the dominion, i settled in the backwoods of ontario. later, i had passed some years on the prairies, and later still, i had spent some time in the rocky mountains, the selkirks, and on the fraser river. i had led a life of toil, i was well up in bush work and ways, but i did not like the life; so, having saved a little money, and having heard so much of the pacific coast, i came to victoria, as i have said. at bella rocca a man was staying with whom i became very friendly: he was an englishman, about my age, and had many tastes congenial to me. he was idle, appeared to have plenty of money, and seemingly had no wish to do any work or business. he was my frequent companion in my walks around victoria: there being few idle people there, and i having much time unoccupied, this friendship was mutually agreeable. i was puzzled for a while about him. he was very reticent about himself--i could not even tell if he had been long in canada, although occasionally a few words fell from him which made me believe he knew it well. it was towards march; i had found nothing to suit me; i had often told this friend what i was looking for, and had been quite open about my past, my present desires, and my experience in the country, when one day, as he and i were sitting on beacon hill, enjoying the soft spring weather, gazing with delight at the glorious olympic range across the straits of san juan de fuca, "ah!" said my companion--his name was percy meade--"ah! it's not long now before i'll be outside there," and he pointed north to cape flattery and the pacific ocean. "you are going across, then--to china or australia?" i asked. "neither," replied he, with a smile; "i am going north by the first ship that sails." "north!" i remarked. i was not greatly interested. "well, i've never had the wish to go up the coast. what is to be done up there?" he did not reply at once; but after a bit said he, "i wonder you have never tried gold-mining in this country; don't you think it's worth considering?" i replied that i had heard so much about it in the mountains, and had read about the old days on the fraser and the cariboo, that i believed it to be a poor business, and supposed that every ounce of gold found cost two in labour and expense, and said many things that most men do who have not taken the gold-fever. meade said little more that day, but shortly after he asked me what i would do if i were told of a spot, by some one i could trust, where gold existed in large quantities, where any one who had the courage to go could pick it up, or at any rate obtain it, with comparatively little labour. i replied that, no doubt, if such a chance were offered me i should accept it,--that i was as keen to make a pile as any one. "only," i added, laughing, "i doubt if there are such places left, and still more that if any person knew of one he would tell me." meade was silent for some time, then, "look here," he said, very seriously, "we've been together a few months; i can see the sort of fellow you are; you know what rough life is, i'm sure you can stand it better than most; so now, listen--i know of such a place, and i'll tell you about it on condition, naturally, that you'll keep it to yourself." i smiled. "how do you know?" i asked, "and why do you tell me?" to this he answered slowly and earnestly, "i was up north all last season--on the yukon. i found a place on our side that is full of gold; you would hardly believe it if you saw it, but it is so. it is on a creek up a river that joins the yukon in british territory, about seventy-five miles from the boundary, not far from the ruins of fort reliance. "i went from seattle last spring up the coast round the alaskan peninsula, into behring sea, and so to fort st michael, where i landed. then i proceeded up the yukon in a stern-wheel steamer to a place they call fort cudahy, or the forty mile, in british territory. it was a terribly long journey--four thousand three hundred and fifty miles from here. it took eight weeks, and cost a big sum. there was a little mining going on up the river, but different from any i had seen, and i have been to australia. i did not like the look of it. the diggers were scattered about, getting what they called flour-gold, and not so very much of that. "the season during which washing can be done is very short--four months at most; but then it is broad daylight always, no night at all; men work ceaselessly--ay, and women too. "i tried a little here and there, i 'prospected' about, and in time i got up the big river some long way indeed, until i came to a collection of shacks and shanties, with a store or two, that they call dawson city. i was short of everything then but money, of which i still had a moderate supply; so i obtained some stores and a decent outfit, and after a few days of misery in the wretched place, i loaded all into a canoe which i bought, and pushed on, quite alone, up a river which joined the yukon there. it was the thron-duick--the klondyke as it is called now. paddling slowly up this stream, i landed frequently, seldom finding gold, and i always tried the soil as i went along. occasionally i found the colour, once or twice enough to pay, i fancied, with good machinery. there was a fascination about this life. i believed that any moment some pan of gravel that i washed might be rich and give me all i wanted--a golden claim. "i kept on thus until i must have been at least forty miles up this river. i passed several branches, for to me the main stream looked most promising, until i came to one, much narrower: it joined in with a rush and roar, and i liked the look of it. i landed, walked up it, and liked it so that i determined to ascend it if possible. i could not get my laden canoe up the steep water--i must therefore 'portage.' i set to work; i carried my stuff past the rapid. it was a tough job getting my canoe up, but by good luck i did. then i went on again, trying here and there as usual. "when i was too tired to keep on, i put up my little tent ashore and slept. when rested, on i went again. "i had quite lost reckoning; i had no idea of the day of the week or month, but the sun indicated that the summer was going. it would not do to be caught up there as unprovided as i was. i thought i had come far enough, so, reluctantly, i made up my mind that i would after another day or two retrace my steps. "that very day i found what i had looked for. i hit upon a bar on this creek, where gold was so thick that i was bewildered. "i suppose you know how gold is washed? well, i had no need to wash--i picked out of that heap of gravel in three days over seventy-five pounds' weight of it!" "seventy-five pounds of gold! why, that was worth £ !" i cried. "yes, quite that," said meade; "but i got £ for it here, and have a decent little bag of nuggets still unsold. i'll show them to you at the bank some day if you like." i smiled. i'm afraid i did not altogether believe him. i had an idea that he was romancing. "how did you get down and bring all that gold with you?" i asked, half laughing. "it's too long a yarn to tell now," he replied. "i got back all right to dawson in my canoe, sold it, and managed to keep my find secret. i fortunately procured a passage in the stern-wheeler, p. b. weare, the last boat for st michael's that season. from there i easily got here, and no one knew that i had struck gold--no one does know it yet but the manager of the bank, and now you." it was a most interesting story, certainly; i was glad to have heard it, but there was "no such luck for me," i observed, at which meade laughed, but added, "see here, i've told you this because i want you to share with me this season! what d'ye say?" "what?" i exclaimed, "and get gold like that? oh! of course i'll go; but are you in earnest? why should you favour me thus?" he declared solemnly that he meant it; he averred that he had taken to me, that he knew i was strong, healthy, a good fellow, and used to working in rough country, and as he was determined to go, and certainly would not do so again alone, he had made me his confidant and this offer in perfect good faith, and he ended thus, "think it over, take time, keep what i've told you to yourself, but i hope you'll join me." later, he explained that we must leave victoria soon, that we should come back at the end of september, and that he would be miserably surprised if we did not return with reasonable piles. "but we will not go the way i went," said he. "no, i met some men at dawson who had come by a much shorter route--by the lynn canal and skagway. we save thus nearly miles, and the trail is quite feasible. you've done some boating, some canoeing, i suppose?" i said i had, both in england and canada, which pleased him, and he assured me that we should do splendidly, and again he said he hoped i'd join him. naturally, i did think this over. i heard about his antecedents from the bank manager, found he was a member of a good old english family, and that he himself was of good repute. i heard from the same source that it was true about the gold he had brought down, i saw his bag of nuggets, and i liked him. i was looking for some employment, i counted the cost, and knowing that if, at the worst, i returned empty-handed, i should not even then be quite without funds, i consented to share with him in the adventure. he was to defray all expenses. it was early in april that he and i started in a steamer bound for sitka and other ports in alaska. she came from tacoma, in the state of washington, and picked us up at victoria on her way to the north. meade having all plans cut and dried, it did not take us long to lay in our stock of necessaries. we purchased provisions, tinned meats and vegetables, flour and bacon, with plenty of various preserved foods, enough to keep us going well for at least a year. we took ample supply of tobacco, with guns, ammunition, a sheet-iron yukon stove, picks, shovels, washpans, and we did not forget our axes. all these goods were done up in parcels covered with waterproof canvas, each in weight suitable for "packing," that is for indians to carry. leaving victoria, we travelled up between vancouver island and the mainland to naniamo. here we took in coal, then headed up the coast. how am i to describe to you this wonderful journey? words fail me. from the very start it was delightful. true, we were at sea; but being amongst islands, we were so sheltered that it was like a placid river. we traversed the grandest scenery that can be imagined, the water clear and smooth as glass, with air as soft as velvet. we sighted queen charlotte's islands, but voyaged through channels nearer the mainland, between grand timbered islets, past rocky bluffs and gorges, always in sight of mountains, many being snow-covered and glaciered. then on between prince of wales' island and the mainland, and so to fort wrangel, where we left the goodly steamer. we had come seven hundred miles in her, and had been four days on the way. wrangel was just a rough group of shanties, with some stores and many totem-poles, as most of the few inhabitants were indians of the stickeen tribe. the whites were traders, or miners and prospectors, en route to the yukon country. here we hired a canoe to carry us to juneau. it was an immense one, beautifully fashioned out of one huge log of cedar--a dug-out--but in shape and seaworthiness most excellent. we engaged four indians to man it. most of the trip was made with paddles; but sometimes a square sail was hoisted on a pole forward. we camped each night upon the rocky shores. it took three days to reach that town. it is the metropolis of alaska, sitka being the capital. but most of the business is done in juneau. it is, naturally, a rough and ramshackle place, yet we found it possible to obtain fair accommodation at a queer hotel, and every article of provisions and gear needed in the upper country. it has a city hall and court-house, waterworks, banks, and electric light and wharves! we had to wait two days for one of the two small steamers which ply between juneau and skagway. the rustler is the one we took, the fare then being only dollars each--but we had to feed ourselves. after leaving juneau we steamed along a narrow strait between douglas island and the coast, and entered the famed lynn canal, which is an arm of the sea running almost due north. it averages ten miles in width, and is about one hundred in length, having very regular shores, straight and uniform; but for its dimensions, it might be taken indeed for an artificially made canal. on our left we skirted the great davidson glacier. the whole journey was grand, sublime, and in many places awful. we arrived in skagway inlet on the second day. a few miles from the head of it we came to the skagway river or creek, miles from juneau, and here, amongst a wilderness of trees, mountains, and mud flats, a mere foothold in the snow-clad granite coast-range, were a handful of indian rancheries and a few log shanties and some tents. there is a great rise and fall in the tides at skagway. we had to wait some time ere the one boat belonging to the rustler could land us and our stuff on the rock-strewn muddy beach. no one from the shore lent a hand. there was a rough wharf, it is true, in course of construction. the men building it, we understood, had gone to their camp, for it was late when we arrived. a number of indians were about: their sole employment seemed to be to sit on stumps and logs, smoke and chew tobacco, and gaze stolidly at us. they were dressed just like the white men. as for the few white men, they gathered round us, eyed us and our outfit, but said nothing. a more miserable, unhappy, low-spirited set of men i had never before come across. well, we were landed at skagway, and questioned the inhabitants. it was not easy to obtain information. "where is the trail to the white pass? how could we get to it? what means of transport were there?" those were the questions we made it plain that we desired to have answered. one would have supposed that these people could have enlightened us; but no--their advice and information was so vague that we might have taken them for new arrivals, like ourselves. but that they were old hands was plain, for they argued amongst themselves, entered into long yarns about what this and that man had experienced, what slim jim thought, and blear-eyed scottie said--we could make nothing of them. some advised us to go by canoe, which was chaff; and others declared that was ridiculous--by the trail was the only way. "what trail? which is it?" we begged to be informed. "oh! just up the river a piece," was all we could arrive at. no doubt these men, regarding us as "tenderfeet," took pleasure, as usual, in mystifying us; and it was our policy not to undeceive them. i was the usual spokesman. it must be quite clearly understood that the rush to the klondyke had not begun then. it was known, undoubtedly, that there was much gold up country, and every white man there was after it, so that if it had been guessed that meade had been up already, the fact of his returning with the ample outfit we possessed would have convinced them that he had been successful, and we should have been followed and our secret discovered. it was ten o'clock at night then, but not really dark. we were perplexed. these loafers gradually dispersed, and only one man hung behind, who had been silent hitherto. when we were alone with him he became communicative. we knew, directly he spoke, that he was an englishman of a better sort, and he recognised what we were. said he, "let me advise you: get all your stuff piled up yonder; put up your tent and turn in; in the morning you'll find all easy. there's a man here who bosses everything--white folks and indians; he's a yankee, true enough, but a decent fellow; he keeps a sort of a boarding-house, and has a store; he's a fur-buyer, a trader, and a packer; he'll straighten things out for you." accordingly, in the morning, after we had fed, indians and loafers gathered around again, and for a bit it looked as if the difficulty would continue; but shortly our english friend, who was working at the wharf building, and whose sobriquet, we found, was "colney hatch," usually shortened to "coney" (he explained that he foolishly one day let it be known that that famous institution was near his home in england), well, this man came to us, and took us with him to boss parkinson's--the man he had mentioned. we found the boss was certainly a "live" man: in five minutes he had cleared all up. he shook hands heartily, asked us if we had any money, where we proposed to go, with a few other questions. having satisfied him on these points, "come on," said he; "guess we will soon fix things. thar's but one way from here to dawson city. you've got to have your gear packed to the windy arm, that's sure. it'll cost you dollars for every hundred pounds. how much you got?" we took him to our pile. he was surprised. "land sakes!" he exclaimed. "why, what'n tarnation! there ain't bin one party through yere yet fixed like you fellers; 'n say--guess you bin through before. no; wall some person's told you who has been--eh?" we admitted we had had good advice. "wall, so i jedge," he went on. "why, darn me, if you hain't got every pack just right!" and he lifted one or two. " lb. each, i reck'n?" we said that was so, and that each man could carry two; and as we had exactly lb. of grub, and about lb. weight of tent, blankets, and cooking gear and tools, we considered it would take just about twelve indians to do what was required comfortably. "gee-rusalem!" cried our new acquaintance; "'n you're fixed to pay dollars for this yere job?" "oh yes, we can," i replied; "but it seems these indians around are idle--can't it be done for less?" "idle!--great scot!" he yelled with laughter. "why, stranger, they're a restin'--you bet they need it. hold on till you see the kind o' journey they've got to make--lor! and you too--you stop till you've felt fifty, 'n mebbe a hundred pounds o' pack on your backs, 'n then i guess you'll think them dollars ain't so easy airned. these yere si-washes ain't like them red fellers of the plains--nossir. these work, they do; m--m--i guess so. you pay me that dollars, 'n i guess all will go slick." a few dollars one way or the other were no particular consequence to us, and we thought it wiser to keep dark, so we agreed; at which the boss, calling to an indian, took him aside. ten minutes after there was excitement in the camp. from listless, silent logs, the whole tribe woke up, and from that moment showed of what stuff they were made. we learnt from the boss what our route would be after reaching lake tagish. he told us about miles cañon and the white horse rapids, which he assured us were the only real difficulties we had to face. he advised us to hire an indian to go with us who knew the way to the foot of the white horse, anyway. the stick (stickeen) indians are an avaricious people, they are shrewd and tricky, a good match for whites at bargains, and will do anything for money, which they know the value of right well. they are fine strapping fellows, and are proud to tell you they are "aller same king george man"--_i.e._, englishmen; but i believe they say to yankees that they are "aller same boston man," which means americans. they are evidently pretty deep, have a great love for tobacco and all intoxicants, and every beverage that possesses a "tang." they are supposed to be diminishing in numbers rapidly--there were thought to be only about one thousand left of them then. it was sixty-five miles from skagway to the windy arm of lake tagish, we were told, and that if we averaged ten miles a-day we should do well. within an hour our march began--that is, our indians loaded four canoes with our packs; then we paddled six miles up-stream, landed, and camped for the night. our men were cheery; some spoke the chinook jargon,--"the trade language of the pacific coast,"--a few knew a little english. one who appeared to be their head man knew most, and he attached himself closely to us, cooked and helped us. it was our policy to appear "green," and this man, believing it was our first night in the bush, showed us how to manage. he called himself jim crow; this name had been given him by some facetious countryman of ours. starting at six the following morning, we soon understood what packing over the white pass meant. there was a trail, sure enough; it consisted of a path winding through thick forest, up steep and rocky hills, some of them almost perpendicular; across swift running brooks, and beds of spongy moss--up to one's waist in places. there were clumps of coarse grass, thickets of brambles and the terrible devil's club thorn; so, before we had gone a couple of miles, we were satisfied that every cent we paid these indian packers was well "airned" indeed. for ourselves, it was all we could do to get on, carrying only our guns, and a small shoulder-bag with a little grub; whilst our boys plodded on, grunting but cheery, with their one hundred pounds apiece. as we ascended gradually, we realised that it was becoming colder. we had not done three miles by noon when we came to snow. jim crow--jim is what we called him of course--ordered a halt, and said they were well pleased,--that it was probably snow in the pass; some of them would go ahead without burdens and investigate--if so, they would return for sledges, "sleds"; they were very happy at this prospect. accordingly two men went on. we rested, boiled some tea, and ate. in a couple of hours they returned, and had a pow-wow, resulting in some of them starting back to skagway, whilst our tent was erected, a huge camp-fire built, and we prepared to pass the night, as jim told us it would be too late when they returned with sleds to push on. we were somewhat annoyed at what we thought delay, but he assured us this plan would shorten the journey greatly. it was midnight when they returned. they brought five sleds. on these, next day--which was hot and the snow was melting--all our goods were lashed, and that evening, when the crust upon the snow was frozen, we were off. our route lay up a shelving mountain-side overlooking a deep cañon. snow-capped ranges and many small glaciers were constantly in sight across the valley, and every depression, on our side, held a trickling rivulet, a roaring stream, or more frequently a morass, knee-deep in moss and sodden grasses. the snow was not deep, but it was soft and slushy--the travelling was terrible, yet in spite of all we made what jim called "good time." it was noon next day ere we reached the timber line, and all above this was open and rocky. the snow was heavier here; in the shade it was frozen solid; the sleds travelled over it easily. meade and i had all we could do to keep up with them; indeed we had let them get some distance ahead at one time, and when we caught them they were camped beside a great rock with stunted trees about it, and jim said that we were very near the summit. we camped that night in considerable comfort,--it was dry and cold, but having good blankets and plenty of fuel, meade and i were cosy enough. our indians made shelters of sticks and brushwood and thin blankets, and built a huge fire. they played "poker"; their "chips" were beans. an immense amount of snow falls on these coast ranges; luckily we had none during our crossing--neither did it rain, which was wonderful. now, as to this white pass ever being made the highway to the yukon, i must say a few words. the trail as it then existed was absolutely impracticable for horses--it was all that men could do to clamber up it, and we realised that with much traffic, even of human beings, it would quickly become impassable, and yet meade and i felt confident that with comparatively little work and some engineering skill a road, and some day even a railroad, could be made across it. most of the runs of water could be bridged easily, in the rough way which is the custom in the wilds. many of the morasses, we could see, could be drained by a few gutters cut with a spade. there being such a slope it was easy to run water off, and where that was impossible log causeways--corduroys--could be built with no great trouble, for logs were plentiful for the cutting. it was possible to wind round most of the rocks, and a few pounds of dynamite or giant powder would quickly clear the impassable masses. certainly when we crossed it was terrible enough; but yet we plainly saw that a good road, fairly easy to traverse by horses, even with loaded waggons, was certain ere long to exist there. if it should be proved that gold was plentiful in the yukon country,--"undoubtedly," we said, "before two years are past there will be a fine road here," and as to the gold--well, we had reason to be very sure about that. from this camp the trail led up a narrow and precipitous defile until the actual summit was reached. we were then at least fifteen miles from skagway, and near three thousand feet above tide-water. from here there was a sheer descent of many feet to a lake--summit lake. it was frozen solid. the indians assured us it was always frozen--that the snow never left its margin. at one point the ice overlapped the edge, forming a small glacier. a few yards below it was thawing. at some far distant day a great glacier had been there, for a cañon had been formed, and down it, beside the rushing stream of white water, our course lay. mountains rose high around us, covered with ever-lasting snow. gradually the snow on our course disappeared and the sleds became useless, and jim assured us that for the rest of the journey to windy arm packing must be resorted to. therefore next morning the sleds were cached, and we started on our weary tramp. everything was frozen solid still, for it was not yet may. the travelling was exceedingly arduous,--not that there were any mountains to traverse or swamps to push through; it was simply a rough rock-strewn country, sparsely covered with scraggy trees, mostly pines and spruces, with bushes which we thought were willows, and long coarse grass. we had five days of this, and then we reached the windy arm, and the indians' contract was completed. we had come about sixty-five miles from skagway. it was still winter here: there was no open water, the woods were full of snow, which had been long since driven by strong winds from the open; it was a bleak and dreary outlook. around the lake most of the timber had been fired, gaunt grey sticks alone were standing, and the ground was covered with half-burned logs and branches. of fuel there was no lack. we made camp in the only close clump of living trees about. we put our tent up securely, made ourselves comfortable, for we knew we must stay on there and by some means build a boat or raft, and wait for the ice to break up. thus our object was gained in reaching that spot, and we were ready to avail ourselves instantly of the open water, and to pursue our journey. the indians had behaved so exceedingly well that i proposed, and meade agreed, to give them each a dollar. through jim we signified our intention: he made them clearly understand that this was "potlach"--that is, a present. it gave great satisfaction, and when we added a plug of tobacco to each man, there was rejoicing in the camp. we had taken quite a liking to jim. he was seemingly proud to be more noticed by us than the others. he was an exceedingly handy fellow, and so far as we could make out from his very peculiar english and chinook, he knew all about the route we had to follow, and was an experienced boatman. he had "shot" the grand cañon twice, and knew the way to get past the white horse rapids. he was apparently about five-and-twenty, a tall, athletic fellow, and with us very bright and talkative, although with his fellows he was taciturn. like them he was keen after money, yet did not appear to realise that we were going up to where we hoped it would be plentiful. it is difficult to understand an indian's apathy on this matter--along the fraser, at cariboo, and even in alaska, they will work at washing gold, and seem quite satisfied to make a dollar or two a-day; but to undertake any plan for making a big lot at once they have no notion. it is perhaps because the idea of accumulating anything is not an indian's nature. meade formed the idea that it would be well to induce this fellow to go with us to lake la barge. with this intent we plied him with information about gold, assuring him that, if he went with us, he would get plenty, so that he could return to the coast a rich man. this prospect had no charms for him, yet he liked the idea of the trip, and said that if we would pay him "ikt dolla la sun"--that is, in plain english, one dollar a-day--he would go; but when he added that he must bring his klootchman, his wife, with him, i was taken aback. meade, however, was in favour of it--he considered it would be an additional inducement for jim to stay, that she would probably be useful, and no trouble to us. he questioned the fellow closely as to her age, her abilities; and he made us understand that she was young, could cook and paddle well, speak english, and would "mamook elan wash pil chickamin," which meant that she would help wash for gold. her name, he announced, was fanny; and meade confided to me that he had a particular liking for that name, so we were induced to enter into the arrangement. about "muck a muck"--_i.e._, food--jim said they would provide themselves; that he would go back to skagway with the party and bring his wife out, and a load of all they needed, in six "la suns," six days. all that he stipulated for was that we should have nothing to do with tagish indians and that he should have "plenty 'bacca." of this we had a good supply; but thinking it would be no harm to have still more, we sent a little "chit" by him to boss parkinson, telling him how we had got on, and begging him to send out to us by jim, if he discovered that they really meant to come with us, another dozen pounds of that fascinating weed. the following day the band left us, and meade and i were left alone in our glory. chapter ii. meade and i were by this time great friends: our tastes and aims were exactly alike--it was very nice. we had mutual acquaintances in england--we were the best of companions. in our tent, with our sheet-iron stove going, our beds of thick layers of sweet-scented spruce twigs on rubber ground-sheets, with plenty of good blankets, we were quite cosy, and we had a few books with us. our surroundings were gloomy and uninteresting enough--just a dreary rock-strewn waste. here and there were patches of faded grass, flattened by the snow which had covered it for months. a few gnarled and twisted cedars and spruces still grew about there; but gaunt, black-butted, dead pine-trees, their tops whitened by the frost and wind, were everywhere--the dry bones of the forest. the frozen lake and the coast range close behind us, the mountains to right, left, and ahead, were snow-covered and dismal, and there was no sign of life, no trace of a living creature. it rained steadily for two days, and as it was freezing hard at the same time, everything was encased in ice. on the third day the clouds were scattered, and each twig and leaf and blade flashed and sparkled gloriously in the brilliant sun-rays. this only lasted a few hours, for the heat of the sun being great, this beautiful scene was soon spoiled. however, we hoped that a few such days would make havoc with the ice upon the lake, and we should have open water. but this was not to be just yet, for on the fourth day it blew hard from the east, and that night it snowed again and froze as hard as ever. "on time," as yankees say, jim and his wife arrived: they came bounding along the trail, full of glee,--we thought them like children coming home from school. jim was most voluble; a stream of the best english he knew, and jargon, fell unceasingly from his mouth. he was proud of his wife, that was clear--he showed her off, asking our opinion of her, giving us to understand that she was as good as she appeared. i must say that she was well worth his praise, in looks at any rate; her other good qualities we discovered later. she was unmistakably an indian woman: her colour was warm brown, she had beautiful eyes, and a very amiable expression. her hair was her pride: it was not straight and coarse--it waved, even curled some little, and glistened in the sun as if it were black spun glass. we took to her at once: she appeared to be of a bright and happy disposition, and not an atom like our preconceived notions of a squaw. meade subsequently made a sketch of her in her ordinary dress. but what charmed us greatly was, she could speak english quite understandably, and when she informed us that she was "one metlakahtla gal," and had been trained under the eye of good mr duncan, we felt we were fortunate to have her with us, and we never ceased to impress on jim what a lucky dog he was. he seemed to think so himself--at least fan said he did. they put up a little canvas tepee, or wigwam, near. they had brought it with them on their sled, with their entire household gear, which was not much. it consisted mostly of dried salmon which was to be their food. we added some of ours to it occasionally, and later when we killed game we shared it with them. fan cooked for us, and we believed she religiously refrained from pilfering our food. she had certainly been well trained. after this we had a few days clear, calm, and sunny. pools of water formed on land amongst the rocks and tangle, and the lake-ice was awash, yet jim assured us that we need not expect the lake to open yet, and fan added, "by'me by we get plenty freeze once more, and, mebbe, plenty snow!" in this latter she was mistaken: she was right about the freeze, though. thick ice formed every night, if night it could be called. one day it blew a heavy gale: we kept under cover, wondering that our little tent was not carried bodily away. the matter of a boat occupied our consideration. jim had heard that two men, camped down on tagish lake, had a whip-saw, and were cutting lumber to sell to parties like us to build their boats with, but our only means of getting to them was by a raft. there was no timber fit for boat-building in our neighbourhood, therefore when weather permitted we chopped and rolled logs on to the ice, and lashed and pinned them together into a form we hoped would bear us safely. we built it on the ice so that when that broke up it would be afloat. jim and his wife helped: she was as active as a young deer, and as strong as either of us. two weeks passed thus. our raft was finished, and we were waiting patiently for the ice to disappear. we had spells of very hot weather, plenty of wind, but very little rain. the sun did not set till late; by two a.m. it was up again. the growth of vegetation was amazing--grass was green, and flowers had sprung into bloom, seemingly in a few hours. a few birds were seen, robins and jays. one evening a flock of ducks whistled over the tent. meade sprang up, gun in hand, but too late for a shot; but next day more passed and we bagged several brace. it was evident that spring had arrived. on may th fan informed us that "pretty soon now, my believe, ice go away." jim had gone up a creek to try for fish; when he returned, with a string of suckers he had speared, he agreed with what fan had said, adding that he believed next day we should "no more ice see." it was so. when we turned out the following morning, instead of a field of rotting ice, which had all sunk we supposed, there was before our camp a lovely blue lake, sparkling and rippling in a gentle breeze, and jim gleefully announced, "now, bossee, you bet we go ahead aller same steamboat." at once we loaded our raft, and we four drifted on it down the windy arm, tagish lake. it is but a narrow strip of water, this arm, more like a river. the hills on both sides are steep, the wind from the east rushes through, sometimes dangerously, but we were fortunate to have merely a fresh breeze behind us. by towing from the shore sometimes, at others by poling, we contrived on the third day to reach the lake, and here we were lucky enough to find not only the men we had heard were cutting lumber there, but that they had just finished a boat which they could sell to us. these men welcomed us very heartily: they told us we were the first party on the way since the previous autumn. they had run out of tobacco. the boat they had to sell was not built for either speed or beauty, but we saw it was the very thing for us---it would carry us well with our heavy load to dawson city. we agreed to their price, which was naturally high, and before we turned in that night we had stowed our goods on board her, and were ready to begin our journey in earnest. we had received a good bit of information about it from these men, who had been often up and down the yukon. we left them a little happier for our visit, for we had supplied them with a few stores, and notably with tobacco. we sailed off cheerfully next morning down lake tagish. at the mouth of windy arm are islands and high mountains,--one superb dome-shaped giant stands alone. we trolled that day, and caught one large fish like a salmon,--it probably was a land-locked one. its flesh was white and absolutely tasteless, but jim and fan considered it was prime. we made a lovely camp that night on an island near shore. it took us till the following afternoon to get down this lake. we saw no human beings, but along the sluggish river which joins it to lake marsh we passed tagish house, and there was a group of indians at which jim and fan were terribly alarmed, declaring that if they were seen they would be killed by them, for it appears that war between the tagishes and the sticks, which our two were, is perpetual. accordingly we gave these indians a wide berth. tagish house is but a rough log affair. yet it is famous, for it is not only the place the tribe meets at annually for its council and festival, but it is the only permanent building in all that country. passing down for half-a-dozen miles, we entered lake marsh, which occupies a broad valley with high mountains on the east. it is about two miles wide. traversing it, we got all the wildfowl and the fish we could consume. we lived sumptuously. the journey took us two days. fan and jim were always bright and cheery, and ready to lend a hand; they were good companions, and were uncommonly good specimens of indians. one particularly good thing about them was that fan had been taught the use of soap at metlakahtla, and she had taught her husband; so they were, wonder of wonders, clean indians! the foot of marsh lake we found to be low and swampy; the sleughs appeared to be full of ducks and musk-rats--also of _mosquitos_! we certainly expected these last. we had suffered from them in manitoba and in other parts of canada; we supposed we knew what we had to contend with, but we did not. fortunately we had brought some mosquito netting, which we rigged up in our tent, so that, inside, we had a trifle of peace; but when travelling or moving outside, it was impossible to protect ourselves, and we experienced untold misery. our indians suffered quite as much as we did, and complained as loudly. they lit fires inside their tepee, filling it with pungent smoke, through which they slept contented; but we could not stand that. i may here say that from this time on, with very rare exceptions, we were simply tortured by mosquitos. we passed through many hardships, had innumerable physical difficulties to contend with during that summer and winter, but they are all forgotten, or regarded as mere trifles, and one phase of misery is vividly recorded on my memory: it is the ceaseless torment of those infernal gnats. they are the cause of the worst suffering that people must submit to in that country: winter's cold, summer's heat, even hunger, are not to be compared to this awful pest. for instance, you are tramping with a load upon your back, your hands are full carrying tools or packages, the sun is blistering hot, the perspiration is pouring off you in streams, yet all the time the ubiquitous mosquitos are engaging your closest attention; your eyes, your ears, your nostrils, all your most sensitive spots, are their favourite feeding-grounds. you are helpless, you suffer agony, and you often feel that life itself is next thing to a curse. we have seen hardy, rough men shed tears of impotent anger at these innumerable, invisible, relentless enemies. dogs and men, cattle and wild beasts, deer especially, and even bears, are their victims. frequently we were so swollen about our necks that we could hardly turn our heads, and our wrists were so enlarged that our wristbands were useless. we tried tobacco juice, turpentine, lamp-oil, but nothing gave us relief. truly the mosquitos of the yukon hold the record as tormentors. lake marsh is twenty miles long. it then narrows, and for nearly thirty miles we followed the course of the river, which is the lewes. the current is about three miles an hour, and we were blessed with a gentle breeze astern, so got on famously. we passed through miles and miles of cut sandbanks, which were completely honeycombed by a species of martin, which were then busy nesting. the air was alive with millions of these little birds, and we gloried in the knowledge that they were feeding exclusively on our deadly foes. here we met with a few large salmon. they come all the long way up from behring sea to spawn. in august, jim said, the river is crowded with them, and the bears come down from the hills to feed on them. dozens, he assured us, might be seen any day along that river. we saw but one; we shot at and missed it. up to this time, it will be noticed, we had experienced only fine weather,--indeed, so far, our only real suffering had been from the mosquitos; but one evening, the sun being high, though it was ten p.m., the sky was suddenly enveloped in dense clouds, against which steamlike scud drifted with great rapidity; and by the action of the martins and waterfowl, and by the sudden cessation of the rapacity of the mosquitos, which had been earlier in the day more persistent than usual, we knew that some change was at hand. jim said that wind was coming, so we camped, put our tents up with extra care, and drew our boat into what we thought was a safe harbour by the river side. not long after--we could see up stream for at least a mile--we perceived that a huge wave was bearing down to us. it was like a bore. we stared aghast! our boat and nearly all we had was in imminent danger. i made a rush, intending to leap on board, push it out into the river, then turn its head to the great surge that was rolling down, and so, i hoped, save it from wreck; but meade held me back, shouting above the dreadful roar of wind and water that i should not go--that the risk was far too great. as we stood thus, he restraining me, i struggling to go, jim passed us, stripped: he leapt into the boat, pushed her off, then with one grand sweep of the steering oar he turned her head up stream just as the wave reached her. she lifted with the heave of it, veered this way and that, the heavy water curled up, and we stood there trembling, feeling sure that she would be swamped. but jim held on manfully, kept her well up, and although she was carried down stream at terrible speed, yet we saw that the brave indian, standing like a bronze statue at the stern, had conquered. it was soon lost to sight in the gloom, for the spray which the mighty wind raised was driving down river as if it were drifting snow. so far, the boat, we trusted, had escaped, but what would ultimately become of her and jim, we wondered. we turned to fan, asking what she thought about it. she was crouched under the lee of a log, smiling peacefully! "no you bother," she shouted, "jim all light; outfit all light too. by'me by, pretty soon, no mo' wind, jim tie up er boat, come back'n we pack all tings down to boat--or, mebbee, jim bring boat back here. you see me?--well, all light!" and she smiled again quite happily. how we blessed our stars that we had hired this indian and his charming klootchman. we thought her a perfect heroine that night, whilst i believe she considered us very childish for being so very much alarmed. almost as quickly as this heavy squall had arisen it ceased, the sun streamed out, and the silence was oppressive, yet very welcome. but what should we do about jim? we consulted fan, who calmly replied, "nosing, nossir, make muck-a-muck, what you call supper, then turn in, my tink jim come along all lightee by'me by, soon." at which we made up the fire, and did as she advised. we were aroused towards morning by jim calling to his wife from the other side the river. he told us that the boat was safely moored a mile below, that he had tried to bring her to camp but could not, therefore we must pack all to her. he swam across and joined us, after which we had our first real essay at "packing," and we concluded that it was not our forte. we found our boat and her cargo safe and sound below, which was no small blessing. it took two days to pack all down to her. then on we went again, the stream carrying us along between smooth grassy hills and sandy knolls. soon the current became stronger, and we heard a distinct roar ahead, and on the bank we saw a board stuck up by some friendly voyageur, on which was scrawled in big letters--"_danger, stop_," which at once we did. we had arrived at myles cañon, the grand cañon of the lewes--the miners' grave. eager to examine what we had now to encounter, meade and i landed and went ahead to prospect. where we had stopped the river was two hundred yards wide at least: it was roaring ahead in the middle, rushing vehemently on its way. we mounted the basalt cliff above where we were camped, and came in full view of the cañon. we knew the length of it and the width, we had heard so much about it, and believed we knew just what to expect, yet the reality appalled us. how could we get through? it looked impossible: still, knowing that it had been done, and if we were to reach our destination we must negotiate it, we sat on an outstanding point and wondered. the walls of the gorge, which averages one hundred feet in width, are about the same height; they are worn into fantastic shapes, very little vegetation clings to them, but along the top there is timber, and one can march through it with ease. the river, forced through this narrow cañon, is heaped up in the middle much higher than at the sides: it is one mass of foam, and it flashes along at lightning speed, roaring and raging. it is about three-quarters of a mile from fairly smooth water up stream to quietness below. as we sat on the summit of the cliff, critically examining the scene, we presently perceived two tents at what looked to be the lower end of the gorge, and there was the smoke of a camp-fire. with jim and fan, who had joined us, we consulted; it resulted in meade and jim going ahead to visit these campers and obtaining information. from them they learned that they had got through safely. there were half-a-dozen men, old yukoners, friendly and communicative, who had wintered by lake marsh, where they had got a little gold. they offered to help us. some of them returned and packed each a load over the portage, and then as they saw that neither of us was experienced at shooting rapids, one of them very kindly volunteered to go through with fan and jim in our boat. everything was carefully planned, the strength of the steering sweep tested; jim stripped, fan doffed all she could decently, and our new friend, whom his chums called samson, did the same,--then the start was made. meade stayed to push them off; i went to the cliff-top to watch the proceedings. fan and samson took the oars, jim was steersman. they pulled far out into the eddy, straining every nerve, even after the current caught them, so as to keep steerage way on the boat. they soon shot into the dark shadows of the walls. here, they told us, they were nearly stopped by the first huge breaker, but only for a second: the frail boat trembled, seemed to stagger, then surmounting the crest, dashed on. [illustration: shooting myles caÑon.] i, on the top, could mark their progress easily. i saw them flying like a cork through the turmoil; i saw them now whirled one way, now another; at one moment it seemed they were to be hurled against the adamantine walls, where they would be stove to splinters instantly; at the next they miraculously sheered away into the boiling turmoil in the midst. clouds of spray dashed over them; they were often lost to my sight. half a minute passed--i saw their speed slacken--was anything wrong? no, i saw they were in the eddy, and were half-way through; next moment they were again in the thick of it, and, so far as i could tell, they were having more terrible experiences still. there were then a few indescribable moments. i held my breath, as i am sure they did theirs, as they vanished from my sight round an intervening point. directly after one of our new acquaintances at the camp below fired two shots and waved a red blanket, the signal agreed on that all was well. from the moment they started until i saw that signal was exactly two and a half minutes by my watch. with thankful hearts we two shouldered our light packs, crossed the portage, and joined the others. jim and fan were perfectly unconcerned,--he was contentedly smoking beside the fire, she was putting our tent up. we thanked jim, called him a brave good fellow, at which he merely grunted "ugh"; and fan said, "orl right--welly good; guess we make camp here one day--eh?" we were agreeable to this, especially as the other party was remaining too. they were canadians, very decent fellows indeed, and on that and for several days we kept company with them with much mutual pleasure. on the river-side were several mounds, marked with rough stones or wooden crosses. they were the graves of some of the many who had lost their lives there--many more had been drowned whose bodies had never been recovered--and we, i hope, were very grateful that we had got through so safely. next day a couple of us went ahead in one of their light canoes to examine the white horse rapids--they were two miles on--and to arrange how to attack them. then we loaded our boats, and, by warping and towing, we, by degrees, hauled them to a place where there is slack water, just above the dangerous place. here we camped again, unloaded everything, and hauled boats and canoes on shore. then we carried our packages on to smooth water below, and lastly dragged the boats there: there were many willing hands to help now, and we did it all quickly. these rapids are full of sunken rocks, impossible to steer amongst. there is one piece particularly formidable: it is only about one hundred feet, and has been shot, but not intentionally up to that time. with light well-made canoes it would be possible, we thought, though very risky, but with the really unwieldy boat of ours it was impossible. when we had everything safely over--it took us best part of a day, and we all worked very hard to do it--we packed up again, and camped for the night. we had a most jovial evening--there was a banjo in the crowd, and one good singer, the weather was grand, the mosquitos were rather less troublesome than usual, and the last great obstacle had been thus safely mastered. yet there were many graves about us of poor fellows who had failed where we had come through with such success. next morning early we were off again. we had now reached the place to which jim and fan had agreed to accompany us. we were loath to part with them, and, so far as we could judge, they were not anxious to leave us. if good food and plenty of tobacco is an indian's idea of earthly bliss, then i should think these two had all they could desire. i must say they appeared to appreciate it, and when we spoke to them about returning to the coast they were evidently anything but pleased. besides, how were they to go back? we had really never thought of that: it was very stupid of us. we had brought their sled, but they could not go home on that. we should have brought a canoe with us. we proposed to buy one from the canadians, but they would not part with one. jim showed no anxiety at all to solve the problem; as for fan, she declared her intention was to go on to dawson city in our company! but this she said merely to tease jim. the fact is, they were both perfectly satisfied with the life, and indifferent about returning to skagway, where what they call their home was thought to be. they talked about lake la barge, the five fingers, and the rink in such a way that we believed they did really intend to come with us, whether we would or not, if they could. it ended in our proposing to continue jim in our employ until we reached our journey's end, offering him the same pay--that is, one dollar a day and food, now, for himself and fan. they had been very quiet and melancholy for some hours: when we made this proposal they jumped up, laughed, and shouted with delight. these indians are very much like children. we were very glad too, and, as meade always said when any question about expense arose between us, "don't bother; when we get to the spot i know about, we can wash out what will cover all these outlays in twenty minutes!" chapter iii. from the foot of white horse rapids to the head of lake la barge the lewes river is said to be thirty miles. midway it is joined by the tahkeena, and runs then through a wide valley, having cut many channels, so that we found difficulty in keeping the right one. the current and the wind were still with us. we camped together with the canadians: they had two good boats and two canoes. we should have been a merry party, but for the mosquitos. we caught plenty of fish; in every creek were trout and grayling; they rose to a fly, to a black feather, or even to a scrap of cloth. we trolled when moving, catching white fish and some salmon, proving that no one need starve there at that time of the year. we were fortunate with our guns, shooting many ducks and geese, several swans, and a few grouse--probably ptarmigan. it was the breeding season, yet we considered we were justified in killing what we needed for our larder. humming-birds were quite numerous, flitting about the brilliant flowers which were everywhere. we saw ravens, some magpies exactly like english ones, and several bald eagles. we only shot one deer. at one of our camps a herd of some dozens trotted past. all guns were instantly brought to bear, but as only one contained a ball, but one animal fell. it was a caribou, very much like a reindeer. we saw a few bears, black and brown, and there were small ones called silver-tips, as they have white throats and chins. our friends assured us they were fierce, and attack a man "on sight"; but we fancied this was only a hunter's yarn, until we had proof that it is true. this was what occurred:-- we were settled for the night in an exposed position, away from stagnant water and bushes, as we found such spots a trifle freer than others from mosquitos. all of us but fan were scattered, fishing or trying in the woods for birds, quite free from apprehension of anything untoward happening. it was a beautiful night; the sun had set--that is, it had just dipped behind some mountains to the north; the sky was brilliant in purple, gold, and crimson fire, as it would remain till three or four next morning, when we were to move on again. it was late, eleven, i suppose, and we were all out of sight of camp, when jim and i--we were after ptarmigan--heard the crack of a rifle there. "m'm," says jim, "guess dat fan ketch'm deer mebbe--welly good shot dat klootchman." i merely said that i hoped it was so, for he and i were having bad luck, and were longing for meat; fish was palling on us. a few seconds after we heard another shot. "m'm," says jim again, "my tink fan got two deer; zat is welly good." he had hardly ceased speaking when we heard a third report, and several at quick intervals, at which i said, "come, we'd better return and help her," and we hastened back to camp. when we came in sight of the river and our boats, we heard fan calling. it did not sound as if she were afraid, and yet we realised that she was in earnest; so we hurried, and perceived her on a great log that lay stretched across a narrow chasm in the cliff behind the tents, some distance from the ground. there she stood, firmly planted, with a rifle, looking intently at one spot below her. we called; she looked at us delighted. "come on! quick, quick!" she cried. "my have got one silver-tip thar; it is no dead, look out; but my tink he no can move! my cannot see him no more, frow rocks in dere," and she pointed. "my have nosing hyar to frow!" at which, of course, we began to bombard the spot, and as nothing stirred, we stepped forward slowly, cautiously, till amongst some tangle we found the beast lying dead. telling fan this, we called to her to come down. she walked to the butt end of the log and looked up, then to the other. "my can't!" she cried, half laughing. "well, but how did you get there?" i asked. "my jumped down. my no can get up no more, and my no can come down!" jim began haranguing her in indian, then said that we must cut a pole to reach to the log, which we did, and the girl climbed down and joined us. meade and the others had returned during this operation, which we carried out amidst much laughter. the bear was hauled out, dragged to camp, jim set to work, and we soon had steaks frying for supper--or breakfast was it? we praised fan for what she had done; she said it was "oh, nosing--nosing at all, at all!" that the bear was trying to get a salmon we had hung in a bush, and she went for it. "but how did you get up where you were?" we asked. she said that the bear drove her there, at which we made her tell exactly what had happened, which she did, with many laughs, much as follows:-- "my was making slapjacks for de supper; my was at de fire. my see de bar a-grabbin' for de fish, and my go for him. my got no gun, no nosing but de fry-pan. you bet my go for him wis zat. oh, yes! but de bar he no scart; nossir, he come for me; yessir, 'n i go for de tepee, 'n zare i ketch jim's lifle and katlidges. well, de bar he come zare too, 'll he went for de tepee--see," and she pointed to where it had been torn. "he make to drag down de tepee 'n ketch dis injun gal; yessir, 'n so my shoot at him 'n hit him, 'n den my run avay! oh yes, my run up dat rock dare, 'n de bar kum arter me, 'n he druv me to de aige of de bank dere. 'n he druv, 'n druv, 'n my shot two times--tree times, 'n my guess my didn't hit him bad; 'n he comed up so clost my tink he'd have me. so zen my look down onct; my see de log, my jump for it, 'n when my get dere zat bar he make to come to me too! yessir, but zat time my get steady shot, my give it him in de tum-tum 'n he go tumblin' down--way down dere where you find him. oh, you bet, dat last time my shot it hurt him--eh?" then she turned to her cookery as calmly as if it had been the neck of a pigeon she had wrung, and nothing more. after this we took care that no one was left alone at camp again, and if by any chance we came across a silver-tip we steered clear of him. barring mosquitos--and they were a bar and no mistake--it was a glorious trip down lewes river: we did it in two days to lake la barge. this lovely sheet of water is five, and in some places ten, miles broad, and about thirty-five long. our friends parted from us here, and we were left to pursue our travels alone. they could sail straight down the lake, their boats being good and not laden like ours. we dared not venture, as it was blowing stiffly, and there was some sea on. we followed the coast closely, and were three days doing the journey. when we left this--the last of the lakes--we found the lewes had quickened its current to six miles an hour. it was extremely crooked, too, and filled with boulders, causing us much difficult and anxious work; but by means of ropes from shore, and careful poling, we made a safe and fairly rapid progress. the hills came down, often, sheer to the water's edge, and were generally well timbered. we moved on, mostly at night--that is, when the sun was low: at other times it was too terribly hot, and we found it better to turn night into day. [illustration: lake la barge.] about twenty-eight miles from lake la barge the hootalinqua river enters from the east: it is as wide as the lewes at the junction. here we came in sight of several tents, with people about them. we were for passing unnoticed, for jim and his wife were terribly afraid of indians. however, we were hailed from the shore, and begged to land. they were miners, rough customers; but they treated us well, and were glad of the latest news from the outer world. they were americans. they said they were finding "flour" gold on all the bars, and advised us to stay and prospect; but we made excuses and hurried on, giving our destination as fort cudahy. i believe these men thought we were government officials, and not gold-seekers, for our equipment was so perfect, and the careless way in which we spoke of gold deceived them. cut clay banks, full of martins, were common along this river. we found first-rate camping places, and were never without fish and game, but rarely missed mosquitos for more than an hour or two in the early morning. thirty miles below the hootalinqua the big salmon joins. we saw no one about here, though we had heard that its bars carry much gold. salmon were crowding up its rather shallow mouth when we passed; we could have secured a boatful in an hour with a net. below the big salmon the hills are high and round, mostly wooded to their summits. thirty-five miles below, the little salmon river enters also from the east. there was a band of veritable indians fishing. we had much ado to pacify our two--they wished us to keep close to the opposite shore, and generally to act as if we had something to conceal; but we made them sit out of sight, and sailed merrily by, with only the cheery response to our cry, "kla-howya!"[ ] from them. still a little farther we passed a camp. a boat was hauled up, the tents were closed; we concluded they were all asleep--it was bed-time anyway. twenty miles below this we came to a trading-post kept by one george m'connel. there was a log-house and store, two or three rough shanties, and a boat or two. we hailed some men, "asking if there were any indians around?" as they said "no," we landed, and spent an hour with them. m'connel was impressed with our outfit, and the fact that we had two indians as helpers struck him as very stylish. he, too, evidently supposed we were on some government business. we got from these people information about the five fingers rapids, which we had now to tackle. a short distance below the little salmon we passed the eagle's nest, which is the most conspicuous landmark along the lewes. it is about five hundred feet high, rising abruptly from a gravel flat. the river is here three hundred yards wide, and we had come three hundred miles from tide-water at skagway. [illustration: five fingers rapids.] we camped here and tried some of the soil for gold, as we had done at many of our stopping-places. more often than not we got the colour--that is, a few fine specks. in several spots we got so many that we felt sure it would some day pay to work, but meade always smiled and said, "don't bother; we'll get all we want directly." from here the banks are high, of clay and gravel; the current is about five miles an hour. the country was well wooded; there were many birch trees. we had fifty-three miles to go from little salmon river, which took us two days only; then five fingers came in sight. we had little difficulty in running these rapids--meade and i had become expert with oars and paddles. we rested for a few hours above them, on the western bank of the river, where he made a sketch, as he had done when any particularly interesting bit was noted and the mosquitos would give him a chance. then, without discharging any cargo, with jim at the steering sweep, we ventured forth, crossed to the right-hand shore, into the white water, and in a very few minutes had rushed through the passage, and were in quiet beyond, and the last serious obstruction had been overcome. we ran on cheerily after this, and came to a bar of rocks they call rink rapids, which we passed without mishap. below this the river widens considerably, and there are many islands, which became more numerous as we advanced: it was often difficult to tell which were the real shores. past there the high hills came down abruptly to the water, the current was accelerated, and navigation, though not dangerous, needed constant care. fifty-five miles from five fingers the great pelly river joins the lewes, and the two become the yukon. here is old fort selkirk, a trading-post of some importance, and there they winter the steamer p. b. weare, which navigates the yukon between there and fort st michael. several dwellings and a store were on the bank; half-a-dozen men were about and some women. we supposed they were prospectors, for they spoke of nothing but gold, which indeed was the one topic with every one. indeed, gold! gold! gold! was in everybody's mouth we met, though certainly they were not numerous. one man here was very friendly, lavish with advice, telling us again and again about the good places he knew, and saying he only wished he was free to go--he would quickly make his pile and quit the country; at which the bystanders smiled, and winked at one another. one of them told us aside that it was well known that this man had already got better than a gold mine, and was making his fortune rapidly. all the goods he sold were exorbitant in price--which was, as they admitted, fair enough--and everything was paid for in gold dust, which he had to weigh himself. "'n you bet," as an old yankee miner said with a grin,--"you bet he don't lose much every time he uses them scales o' his'n." the furs he bought from the trappers and indians at a very low price, which he paid in goods. oh, yes; we readily understood he did not need, or really wish, to go gold-mining. there was a large number of dogs about this place, principally mongrels, yet there were some pure huskies--that is, esquimaux dogs. one fine young one had been petted, which made the others jealous: they set upon him whenever they caught him outside alone, which made his owner believe they were bound to kill him, so he offered him to us and we accepted him. we named him patch, after an old dog i knew in england: we fed him well, and he quickly became a most beautiful and faithful creature--one of the most intelligent dogs i ever knew. very little remains of fort selkirk now beyond the ruins of the chimneys. it was raided and burned by coast indians in . ninety-six miles on we passed the mouth of the white river, which is of great volume, coming into the yukon with a roar. it is so called from a white substance it holds in solution, probably volcanic ash. ten miles below this is the stewart river, helping to swell the already mighty yukon. it is deep and dark. there were a few miners hereabouts. we did not land. they hailed us as we passed, calling out that there was plenty of gold if we would stay and tackle it. we replied that we were bound down river some distance, and one fellow shouted, "bloomin' yanks, no doubt!" seventy miles below stewart river we came to another trading-post, and a sawmill actually--this was at sixty-mile creek. we camped below it, as there were some indians working at the mill, much to jim's and fan's horror. meade and i walked back and purchased some boards to make sluice-boxes, and floated them down to our boat. there were a number of miners about: some spoke favourably of their doings, but most were downhearted, and all looked unhappy. we thought then, and believe it fully now, that mosquitos were the cause of most of it. here we found to our great content that we had but fifty more miles to run down to the klondyke. they called it the thronduk though. asking if there was any gold there, we were told not any--that it had been examined well, and there was nothing there to pay. it was just a salmon river and nothing more, at which information meade looked at me with eyebrows raised and a smile hovering about his mouth. we heard, however, that twenty miles before reaching that river we should come to indian creek, which the year before had proved to be quite rich, though already "played out." but as we heard people were still at work on it, we had doubts about the truth of this. the fact is, gold-hunters are amongst the most easily excited and depressed of beings, and one can rarely depend on individual opinions. [illustration: on the yukon at the mouth of the klondyke river.] we made the run to the mouth of the klondyke in two days. here and there were heaps of ice still on the shore and shallows, for it does not entirely disappear from the yukon till well on in june. usually an indian camp was there, as it is really famous for salmon. they come annually to fish it. here, too, is dawson city--described by meade as a rough miners' camp of shacks and shanties only--chiefly saloons, drinking-bars, dance-houses, and gambling dens. there were only a few hundred people in it, storekeeping and trading with the miners, of whom there were always a number hanging about, spending their hard-earned gold. our aim being to avoid all communication with the shore, we held back till midnight, when there was a certain gloom spread over the scene, and when most people would be asleep. we were fortunate enough to slip into the river without any notice being taken. there was no very strong current down the klondyke, yet as we had to pull against it we moved slower: however, finding a sequestered nook a few miles up, we camped before it was what we called day. this stream is not wide. the water is very clear. it was a very beautiful scene, but truly we took no time to criticise our surroundings. we had all we could do to attend to our business, and fight mosquitos! naturally we were impatient to reach meade's last year's camp unobserved, and to discover if his find had been unmolested by wandering prospectors. we had seen so few human beings about that we hoped for the best; yet, now that we were so near the end of our long journey, we were in a fever of excitement. meade and i realised what a mistake we had made in not bringing a light canoe with us, for he knew it would be impossible to get our heavy boat past the rough water at the mouth of the creek where he had found the gold. we could manage our packs, but we four could not convey that boat over the portage. besides, how were jim and his wife to get home? we did not intend to keep them with us whilst we were mining. we firmly believed that they were both true and trustworthy, but they were simple, and it would be easy for them to be led to disclose where we were and what we were doing, so we had determined that they should go back as soon as they had helped us with our stuff on to the still water of meade's creek. to carry out our plans, then, we must have a canoe, so it was in the end arranged that i should march into dawson and, if possible, buy one. it was a difficult tramp, but i managed it. my arrival at the "city" attracted little notice: a number of men had lately come up by the boat from fort st michael--they supposed i was one of them. i announced that i was one of a party camped up stream, and wanted a canoe. there was a variety on sale. i don't suppose those who said they owned them did so really--they had been brought there by people who had gone back and abandoned them; but anyway one was offered with a pair of paddles for one hundred dollars--a peterborough canoe, therefore a good one. i purchased it, got a square meal, and then towards evening i paddled off, not heading up the klondyke but across it, as if i were going to ascend the yukon. i wished to put the people off my scent. i need not attempt to describe what i saw at dawson. it was rough, and the goings on were rougher. i was assured that there was very little actual crime--only gambling, drinking, and every description of dissipation. there were some women, strange specimens. i came across the wife of a storekeeper, however, who was very pleasant. she was an englishwoman from eastbourne. she spoke bitterly of everything there--climate, people, and mosquitos. she admitted that she and her husband were making money, and hoped that a year or two only of the awful life would have to be endured ere they could return to england. not having seen or spoken to a decent white woman since i left the steamship at juneau, i confess it was pleasant to have a talk with this nice englishwoman, and i am thankful that i made her acquaintance then, as subsequent events will demonstrate. i did not get back to our camp till the following day, when we started again. we made no rapid progress--there were many shallow bars or ledges to cross; we got stuck more than once, until we put some of our cargo into the canoe and towed her. it took us four days, hard work too, to get up to the rapids at the mouth of what we called "the creek." on the way we passed the mouths of several creeks where a few miners were camped. they hailed us, but were so intent upon making use of every moment of the short summer that they really took small heed of us. however, for the last two days we had not seen a soul. meade knew the way perfectly. when we reached the rapids we unloaded everything, and carried all with the canoe up to calm water above. the boat we cached in a convenient crevice we found in a rocky bluff near at hand. then loading all we possibly could into the canoe, my friend and i pushed up stream, paddling, as you may be sure, our very hardest, scarcely taking time to eat or sleep. we left jim and his wife in charge of the rest of the stores. we would not allow them to erect tent or tepee. they were to make themselves a wigwam of brush, and to cover all our stuff with bushes, for we did not wish to attract attention, you understand. i told jim he might try for gold whilst they were waiting for our return--that it would be good if he could take some back to the coast; and fan, laughing merrily, said, "plenty chickamin (gold) hyar, my will make pile hyar, my feel it in my tum-tum." these indians well understood what a pile meant, but their notion of its amount, and what to do with one when they had secured it, were very funny. on the second night, after having come, as we thought, about forty miles, behold meade and i hauling our canoe to shore and arrived at our journey's end. for some hours before my companion had been greatly excited. "see that stump?" he would cry. "yes." "well, i did that. i camped in there one day." a little farther on he pointed to a bank covered with brush. "see that bare place there?" "yes." "well, i tried a pan of stuff there, and got a good show. i was half a mind to stay on and give it a good examination. i'm glad enough i did not." from a considerable distance he declared he could see the dug-out which he had made, and where he had passed some weeks; and as we drew quite near he exclaimed with delight, "all's right. i don't believe a living thing has been here since i left last september. hurrah!" we had been forty-five days on the journey in. considering all things, we had done well. it was now, we believed, the third day of july, but we were not certain. we had endeavoured to keep a log of our voyaging, but from there always being daylight now, and from the irregularity with which we had eaten and slept, we were not very sure even of the day of the week! [ ] "clark, how are you?" is the greeting sir james (then mr) douglas used to his second-in-command many years ago, which the indians caught up, and it is to this day the form of greeting between whites and reds on the pacific coast. chapter iv. in a bank near the creek, which was about twenty yards wide and had a fairly swift current, there was a rough door, which, being half open, disclosed a dark cave within. one sees similar places in railway cuttings and cliffs in britain, where workmen keep their tools. in this "dug-out" meade had lived. a few cut stumps, some wood chopped for fuel, and the ground bared around this door, were the only indications of any person having ever been about. there was a quantity of timber growing around, but no really large trees; all were of the fir tribe. the earth was, as usual, covered with moss some feet in thickness, much of it pink and golden, and very beautiful. from the lower branches of trees hung long streamers of gray lichen; rotting logs, dead branches, and rock were cushioned in brilliant mosses, green and orange, whilst creepers and bushes were thickly matted everywhere. yet, as we well knew, beneath this and for many feet below it the ground was frozen, in spite of the sun's great heat, which could not penetrate that mass of vegetation. there we were, then, entirely alone, so far as we could tell, many miles from any one but jim and his klootchman. yet we thought it better, in spite of this belief, not to put up our white tent: some wandering prospector might come our way, and it was better not to attract attention, therefore we decided to enlarge this dug-out and dwell in it. fancy a hole scooped out of the bank about ten feet square, very little higher than a man, with a hole in one corner of the roof to allow the smoke from the fire to escape: that was all, and that was to be our home--for three months, we said. how little we knew what was before us! the front of this luxurious habitation was built up with logs, the chinks between stuffed with moss; the door was of rough split slabs; it had no hinges--to open and close it one had to lift it bodily. there were a few notches in the top which admitted all the light we had when it was shut. the remains of meade's last year's bedding (fir twigs), a few old tins, and bits of rubbish, strewed the floor. it was just a den, and a very dismal one at that,--far worse than the meanest hopper's crib in kent. first we lit a big fire inside, and when the frost was driven out we set to with pick and shovel and very quickly enlarged it by about five feet, after which we strewed a thick layer of fresh pine brush over the floor, spread our bedding, and were at home! "it'll do," said meade; "we can exist here till we've got all the gold we want--that will not take long, you'll see. then for england, home, and beauty, eh?" i said, "all right, it's good enough for me." we made a pot of tea, boiled part of a salmon we had taken just before we landed--the creek appeared to be full of them--then we rolled ourselves in our blankets, tired out, and i soon slept in spite of dirt and heat. the sun was high when i was awakened by my companion, who called me excitedly. he held a tin pannikin in his hand. "see," he exclaimed; "it was a shame to rouse you, but i could not help it. i went down to the bar and got a pan of dirt, and this is what i have washed out of it!" and he held the tin close to my face, and there was a handful of gold in it, dust and small nuggets--bright, shining, yellow nuggets, looking like pieces of shelled walnuts which had been gilded! "now, bertie, what d'ye say?" he went on, as i stared at the gold, took some up and let it run through my fingers; "are you sorry you have come? isn't all we have gone through a mere nothing? isn't it all forgotten?--and there's heaps and heaps of it!" i was on my feet now. i could not say i was amazed, for i had heard so much about it from my friend, and had learned to trust his words so implicitly; but i was pleased, i was delighted, in fact, to find that he had not been mistaken, and that we had not come up to this dismal place and passed through all our hardships in vain. indeed it was grand, and i said so. we hardly had patience to wait for the kettle to boil. we swallowed some breakfast in a hurry, then with shovel and tin dish we each went at it, and we worked away till we judged that it was noon, out on a gravelly point that jutted into the stream close to the shanty. as we moved this gravel we could see the gold; no wonder meade had brought out what he did--it was easy to do it. i picked out several handfuls myself that morning, and so did he, and this, with what we washed out, weighed over fifty ounces! we had thus proved that all was right. i had myself seen it, handled it, washed it, picked it out. naturally we were both highly elated. it was hard to drag myself away from all this, but i had to. i took a blanket and a little grub, got into the canoe, and paddled off down the creek. i was returning to jim and his wife to bring up the rest of our property. jim was to return with me; fan was to remain there until her husband came down with the canoe which we had given them, then they were to get back to the headquarters of their band. meade had said farewell to them already, now i had to do so. it was not a pleasant business, for we had both become really attached to these two indians, and i am sure that the liking was mutual. we had found them perfectly trustworthy and reliable, and very different in their habits and, so far as we could judge, in their ideas, to what we had always supposed were characteristic of their race. we had treated them in terms of equality with ourselves; we had shared alike of late, and had learnt much that was useful and interesting from them, and i believe they had learnt some good from us. at any rate, fan said to me one day, "s'pose all white folk same as you and meade, there no be so plenty bad injun"; which was satisfactory. paddling energetically, the current with me, i reached their camp the following evening, so fatigued that i slept nearly twelve hours on end! it was noon next day before jim and i had the canoe loaded and were able to start up stream again. my leave-taking with fan was really quite sad: i must admit that i never supposed i could have felt it so. as for the poor girl, she showed no apathy: she shed many tears, and made me certain that if i should ever go to that country again i would find a welcome from fan, her husband, and her entire nation. true, they had been well treated, and, i suppose for them, well paid. they had a handsome canoe given to them, and many other little things which they valued; but, for all that, i believe their grief at parting from us was quite genuine. fan shouted to me as i paddled up stream with her man, "plenty come again soon; my will be sick by'me-by, all er time, for love of you!" i did not take jim right up to our shanty. about a mile below it, where a small stream trickled down a bank, we landed the cargo. i had to make him suppose that it was up there we intended to remain, as we did not wish him to know exactly where we were, and what we were doing. with many a hearty hand-clasp, with many a good wish on both sides, i parted with that indian. i have never seen him since, nor have i heard of him or his good wife, but the day may come when i shall do so. i believe their association with us did them good, and i know that always in the future, when men speak evil of indians, i shall adhere to my opinion that there are some good and true ones. i found that meade had increased our lot of gold during my absence to over one hundred ounces! after packing in our stores, amongst which were a few tools and a trifle of ironmongery, with which we did a little to our domicile, and having fed and slept, which we considered all but waste of time, we went at gold getting. it was most absorbing, and, in a sense, glorious work. for over a week we worked with pans and fingers only. a ridge of rock ran across the creek, against which the gravel had been washed by the stream; this formed a bar, and here we were getting the gold, and down on this rock itself, the bed rock, was where we found it richest. by the week-end we had hidden away what was worth one thousand pounds each--some fifty pounds weight of gold! at the finish of the next we had more than doubled the quantity, and we were reckoning that if we could keep going like that till the middle of september, we should be able to take out ten thousand pounds apiece--five hundred pounds weight of it! we could think of nothing to prevent it. we had by working, often to our waists, in ice-cold water, got out all the gravel we could from the river; we then began to trace the run of golden dirt in along the rock, which led into the bank a few yards only from our den. we found that it continued quite rich, and so far as we could tell this vein or lead might continue into the hill to an indefinite distance. we removed the moss and vegetation, then raised a huge fire over the spot where we wished to dig; in a few hours the ground was thawed a foot or two; we dug that out, and lit another fire, and thawed a little more. we kept at it thus almost day and night. we were well paid for it, no doubt, so far as getting gold went. in three weeks we had excavated into the bank ten feet and more, following the streak on bed rock, and found it always rich. we made a dump, or heap of wash dirt, at the entrance. our piles were in it, we had good reason to feel sure; besides, we had, as we considered, equally rich ground ahead of us. one thing we knew, that if we should be discovered we could each claim five hundred feet along the creek; indeed, we thought twice that, as discoverers, so that our claim on the klondyke might be two thousand feet in length. therefore we need not have been so much afraid of being found. i used to say so to meade, who invariably replied that we were better as we were, and were bound to keep our secret as long as possible. it was now the middle of august--we had attempted to continue a sort of diary, but we had quite lost count by this time of dates and days. for weeks there had been no darkness, there was only what the shetlanders call "the dim," and which we could then perceive was becoming more pronounced. we ate and slept when we felt we must; the rest of the time we worked without ceasing--we took no relaxation whatever. our creek was now alive with salmon; we could, with a long-handled shovel, scoop one out whenever we liked. they were so closely packed that they crowded each other out. in places many had been forced on to the land, where they lay rotting by the hundred: crows and ravens, jays, magpies, and hawks were numerous, feeding on dead fish, and several times we noticed bears dragging the salmon out and gorging themselves with them--not one bear only, often we saw several at once catching and eating them, or lying, surfeited with food, on sunny banks asleep. we could easily have killed all we wished of them, but we did not dream of doing so; we had stores in plenty, as much salmon as we chose--why should we bother about bear meat? about this time meade first complained of being out of sorts. he was a powerful man, and had, till lately, looked the picture of health, but now clearly a change had come over him. he was pale, always tired, and did not eat properly. was it to be wondered at? such work, such living, such worry with mosquitos would tell on any one. i, too, felt that i was not the man i should be. yet in spite of all, we told each other we must stick to it for another six weeks, then we could rest, which was foolishness. one night we both felt so bad that we could neither work nor eat; it had become serious. then we settled to devote the next few days to making a sluice with the boards we had brought, hoping that change of work, which, it is said, is as good as play, would prove so in our case: it did. we constructed three-sided boxes, the depth and width of our boards, and about six feet long, an inch or two wider at one end than the other; across the inside, along the bottom, we put bars or riffles a foot apart. we made six of these boxes, then went up stream, where a little obstruction, a sort of dam, raised the water; there we cut a groove, or ditch, and led a powerful stream into the boxes, which we had set up by our dump, one behind the other on a slant, the narrow ends fitting into the wider, so as to form a trough some thirty feet long. this was our sluice. into the upper boxes we threw the wash dirt, allowing the water to rush over it. one of us was continually throwing in the dirt, the other stirred it about and flung out the large stones and coarse gravel with a long-handled shovel. [illustration: our dug-out, our tunnel, and our sluice.] thus, by degrees, against the riffles was collected fine sand and gold, which once a day we cleared away thoroughly, turning the run of water on one side whilst we did it. this washed stuff we then panned off in the usual way, and a very delightful operation this was, for the amount of gold we got and stored away daily was immense. by this process we were able to wash a very much larger amount of stuff than before, and we soon had our dump cleared away, and found we had, in old meat tins and bags, not less than three hundred pounds weight of gold! feeling much better after this, we stupidly went on working as hard as ever, and in a few days were queer again. then we realised that this would not do at all, and we determined to take things much easier. we had done splendidly; we could go home with a large sum each, and we believed that we could at dawson city register, or in some way secure, our claim, and could return to it next season. or, as we said, we could surely find capitalists in canada or england to pay us well for such a splendid property. at any rate, we knew we should do well to cease this extraordinary labour, yet every day add something to our pile. having by this time driven in a tunnel quite twenty feet, and being at least forty from the surface, we were not troubled with frozen ground, and could work more easily, anyway. it was quite dark in there: we burnt candles, of which we had brought with us a quantity. we left off work in reasonable time now, we smoked and read and talked and sketched of an evening, and planned what we should do about getting home, and what big things we would do when we had arrived there. during all this time we had experienced wonderfully good weather. i have no recollection of any rain; we had strong winds and squalls often,--we rather liked them, for they lessened the insect pests, but by the end of august mosquitos had much diminished in numbers. although we had nightly frosts, some pretty severe, when the sun was high they came in clouds, and sometimes we thought they were more bloodthirsty than ever. and thus, as the time went by, we began to realise that the day was drawing near when we must depart. we spent a little time now with our guns, killing several deer close to our den. we often saw bears; we left them alone, having plenty of venison. we had not seen a human being, or the sign of one, since we had been up there. but one morning early, for there was real day and night now--the sun rose about four--i was awakened by low growls from patch, who happened to be in with us that night. i motioned the dog to be silent, and, listening, i heard footsteps outside. pit-a-pat they went; then i heard a bucket being moved. i reached over and shook my companion gently; when he awoke i whispered, "there's some one about at last." meade roused up, listened, and, jumping from his blankets, stepped to our spy-hole. then, turning to me, he held his finger up for silence, and with a smile motioned me to come and look. i did so; it was a huge bear, the largest i had ever seen, snuffing about, examining things, and it was not ten yards away! i asked by signs if i should shoot it--for answer meade handed me my rifle, and i let fly at the beast. i was altogether too careless, too sure that i should put the ball just where i wanted to. at any rate, i only grazed its skull, and did not even stun it--only aroused its fury, for it turned with a roar of anger, and came at our frail door with a bound. i jumped back as the door fell inwards, and the huge creature stood for a moment glaring at us. patch flew at him, barking vociferously. my other barrel was a smooth-bore, and only held shot; but meade was ready with his rifle. he fired, hit the bear square between the eyes, and the beast fell prone upon the door. he lifted up his head a time or two, opened his savage mouth, and growled; but he was practically dead and harmless, whilst our good dog mounted on his carcase, howled with excitement, waved his grand tail, proud of victory, probably thinking that he himself had done it. "by george!" exclaimed meade, "a splendid fellow, eh? it must be a st elias grizzly!" its fur was brown, long and thick. we took the skin off and stretched it around the butt of a tree, fastening patch near to keep strange beasts away. as for the meat, we found it excellent for a change. we hoisted a lot of it up into adjoining trees. it was very fat. the scent of it attracted many animals about us, wolves and wolverines, foxes and lynxes. patch kept them from doing harm. the woods were seldom altogether silent at night; one often heard the howls and barks of many creatures. foxes were very numerous. there were many silver grey and black ones. we shot them whenever we had the chance: we skinned and stretched them properly, as we had learnt to do in ontario. i don't believe that two fellows were ever better fitted to be companions, under such circumstances, than meade and i were. he was a very cheerful man, always looking at the bright side of things, full of resources, an excellent bushman. he told me much about his english home, spoke often of his mother, for whom he had the greatest love and veneration. his father had been dead for years. money was not too abundant with his mother and his two sisters; he was often saying what a blessing the gold that he had got would be to them. i could tell, too, that there was one person in england around whom all his warmest feelings were centred. he did not say very much to me about her, for, as he knew from me that i was perfectly heart-whole, i believe he thought that i could not sympathise with him, nor understand his feelings. meade was very well read, and his conversation was always very pleasant. as for me, he was kind enough to say that he could not have had a better "mate." it was in the beginning of september, our health was not good, and the season was hurrying towards winter, when we deemed it wise to begin to carry out some plan for getting away. we had not acted wisely, i must admit; that is, we should have arranged as well for getting out as for getting in. how were we to take our camping gear, our grub, and our gold down to our boat? we should have brought up two canoes with us--one for fan and jim to get away in, another for ourselves. meade saw this now, and was always blaming himself for the error, saying that as he knew the lie of the land he should have known better. these points he and i had discussed again and again, and had not really settled what to do, when this time arrived. certainly we could not "pack" our stuff. there was no decent trail, and even if there had been, we knew we were not robust enough to take a dozen journeys to our boat and back, heavily laden, as we should have to be. no! by some means we must float down to the klondyke, to the main stream, where our boat was cached. and about the boat, too, we had some anxiety. supposing it had been found and carried off, where should we be? certainly we had acted most unwisely. there was a bear track along the creek which it was possible to traverse, and as the existence of our boat was of first importance, we arranged to take a small pack each and go down to ascertain if all were well. i shall not easily forget that tramp. we were three days reaching the mouth of our creek, but we found our boat safe. we rested there a day, and then marched home again; and such a march that was too! the path was quite narrow, and seldom along level ground--indeed it appeared that the bears preferred to climb boulders, creep along logs, or tramp through the softest sleughs. bad as the trail was, however, it would have been impossible to get through those woods at all if we had left it. we saw at least twenty bears on this journey, besides hearing many scooting through the bush. they did not approve of other travellers along their road. they showed no disposition to dispute with us though. they blew and snorted, but fled. we thus realised how utterly impossible it would be to even carry what gold we had that way, to say nothing of other things we must have with us. hours were spent discussing these important questions. when we reached our place we searched the adjacent forest for a cedar or a pine tree big enough to make a dug-out canoe. we felt certain we were axemen enough for that; but, alas! there were no large trees there. so then, at last, we had to come down to the plan i had favoured from the first. it was that we should build a raft. i knew that we could construct one which we could navigate. the stream was not too rapid, although crooked, much encumbered with boulders, logs, and snags. i had traversed it in the canoe three times; with good luck i believed i could take a raft down too. we did not intend to take many of the stores we still had with us, for it was our determination to return in the spring of ' . all tinned things and many others would keep good in that climate if we protected them from bears and other beasts. the first idea was to stow them in our den, making all secure with rocks and timber, but we found this would be too difficult and risky. so we made a cache, as the indians do to preserve their salmon--that is, high up between two suitable trees near. we built a huge box or safe of logs, large enough to hold all we proposed to leave behind. the trees we chose were not large. bears cannot climb small ones, unless there are plenty of branches to hold by. we took care to remove all such helps as we came down from our task, and so felt secure. next we turned seriously to building the raft. selecting trees for the purpose, we felled and rolled them to the water, notched and pinned them together, fitted others across and across again, carefully lashing all in such a way that we felt would be safe. to do this we were working up to our waists in water often, and it was icy cold. i think it was on the third day we had been at this job when meade took really ill. i know we reckoned that we only had two or three hours more work to complete it when he gave in. there was only one heavy log to get into position. i said to him that if he could give me a hand with that, i could do the rest alone. then we would pack up and be off, for i hoped and believed that the change of scene and work, and the actually having started on the long journey out and home, would soon set him to rights. we were talking thus, and the poor fellow was doing all he could to aid me. he was lifting one end of the log which was to complete the structure; then, whilst i was finishing, he was to go inside, turn in, and try if sleep would help him--when, putting out all his strength to lift, his foot slipped upon a barked stick under water, and he came down heavily, the log he had been lifting falling sharply across his legs! i shall never forget the look on his face as he sank back slowly in the water, which rippled over him to his waist. he turned deathly pale, then red; his eyes were dilated, his expression was terrible. "bertie, bertie," he groaned, "it is all up with me, my leg is broken!" as for me, i was appalled; for a few moments i was dumb with fear. i thought my friend would drown! i suppose i simply stared at him with open mouth; i don't really know what i did, or thought. there was my poor friend pinned to the bottom of the creek by a heavy piece of timber, his head and shoulders only out of water, his hands pressing against that awful log to keep it from rolling farther on to him. thank god, though dazed, i was not idle long. i leapt ashore, seized a handspike, got it under the end of the stick, and prised it up quite clear of him. then i called to him that he was free, and begged him to move away. but he could not. he repeated that his leg was broken, and that he was jammed there; that if i could not help him he must there lie--there die! he spoke in such a despondent manner, he looked so dreadful; his teeth were chattering with the cold. it was awful. i was all this time exerting my power to keep the log up, and off him. i realised that i could not do that for long, and if i let go it would go down on him and hurt him worse perhaps. it was a horrible fix to be in. i suppose it lasted hardly twenty seconds, but it seemed to me an hour. what could i do? how could i, in the first place, get that log entirely clear of him? that was the question. i looked round in despair; would no clever thought come to me? i think in those few seconds i lifted up my heart to god almighty very earnestly. thanks be to him, he did show me a way. the handspike, or lever, i had was a pole of considerable length. i found that by moving to the end farthest from the log i could with very little pressure keep it up. there were branches and sticks about; with one hand i put enough of them upon the end of the lever to keep it down, when i let go entirely, and wading into the creek beside my friend, who had fainted--he was insensible at any rate--i put out all my strength and pushed the log clear. as it fell it splashed the water over meade and brought him to. he looked at me despairing. "come, come, dear friend!" i cried, "the log is off you; make an effort, let us get you out of this!" he tried hard, groaning with pain; he really swooned more than once as he endeavoured to drag himself out, and somehow, i cannot remember how, he did get out, and i got him clear and on to a level place on the bank, and then i let him rest whilst i got him some whisky--for we had brought a little with us, "in case of accident," we said, and here was an accident indeed. after a little while my chum revived. he said the agony in one leg was intense. he was quite unable to help himself or to discuss the situation. first thing, i was sure, was to get him inside; then we must discover what was really wrong. he declared he knew that his thigh was fractured. the slightest movement made him scream with anguish. yet moved he must be--but how was i alone to do it? i am a big fellow. i endeavoured to lift him bodily. i could not. his constant cry was, "let me lie--and die!" suddenly an idea occurred to me. we had just been reading about swiss mountaineering, and that to get wounded people or ladies unable to walk over the ice and snow they use hides, or, failing them, sacking--anything really which is strong enough. well, i remembered the bearskin we had--would that do? i tore it from the tree, spread it out by meade, the fur side up, then with all the tenderness i could exert i contrived to get it under him: he could help himself but little, and half the time he appeared to be unconscious. as for my thoughts, i cannot recall them really. if, as he said, his thigh was broken, what could _i_ do for him? i had no knowledge at all of surgery. i was almost despairing, and began to fear it would indeed be that he would die! good old patch seemed to realise that some great disaster had occurred. the expression on his face was almost human. he sat perfectly still, intently watching us. to get meade in, and lying on his far from comfortable bed, was the first thing to do--of that i was quite sure. it was no easy task. i did, however, manage by attaching a rope to the bearskin to haul him along by degrees, and at last got him near the fire. still on the bearskin, i arranged him with rugs and blankets, as we had plenty. next thing was to examine his hurts. i cut off his boots and clothing. i found one leg was much cut and bruised, but he could move it--it was the other that was seriously damaged. i found that it was broken just above the knee! naturally my first thought was that we must have a doctor. but how could it be managed? could i leave him for a forty-mile tramp to the boat? could i launch it alone? could i navigate it alone to dawson? when i did get there, could i get a doctor to come out with me? it would take at the very least ten days to go and come, and where would my poor friend be then? he would die indeed without me. he would freeze to death, even if i left food and water handy, for it froze every night, and the earth itself was frozen always, summer and winter, you must remember, and if the fire died out he could not rekindle it. no--it was impossible. i could not leave him. we talked this over, at least i talked, and he agreed with me--that we must sink or swim together, that we could not be parted. he was awfully depressed. i plied him with hot tea and whisky--that is all i could think of then, and he became calmer after a little. but soon he became uneasy again. "bertie, dear friend," said he, with a mournful sigh, "i see clearly nothing can be done. i must die here--that is plain." "not if i can help it," i declared, and i begged him to tell me what he thought i could do for him; that as it was evident i could not leave him, i must do something--if only to alleviate his pain. he asked what i knew of surgery, if i had ever seen a leg set, if i thought that i could do it. i was grieved at heart to have to tell him that i was absolutely ignorant about all such matters. he lay silently for a long time--i thought he slept. i made up the fire, closed the door, lit the lamp, for it was evening, then i sat on the ground beside him, very sorrowful--ay, far more than sorrowful--i was despairing. a broken leg--no surgeon--no appliances--a fearful journey before us through an arctic winter, for i knew that at the best many weeks, perhaps months, must elapse before my friend could possibly start homewards, and what could i do alone? i was utterly ignorant about sickness and sick-nursing, and i knew nothing about cooking food suitable for a sick man, even if we had the materials to cook. there was a long, long silence, only the crackling of the fire in the corner, the sough of the wind amongst the pines outside, or the weird howl of a wolf prowling around our miserable home. patch sat upright by the fire, almost motionless. he scarcely shut an eye; he appeared to be full of sad thoughts. occasionally he turned his head slowly and gazed first at meade a while, and then at me, and then, as if he too was quite despairing, he gazed long and sorrowfully at the burning wood. certainly that good dog knew that something terrible had happened to his friends. chapter v. it was about midnight before meade spoke again. he had been lying motionless, though occasionally a low groan escaped him. i thought he had been sleeping, from the effect of the whisky i had given him; however it was not so. suddenly, with a cry of anguish, with eyes wide open, pupils dilated, he gazed at me fixedly. "bertie," he murmured, "the pain has been bearable, but now it is increasing; if i move in the least the agony is dreadful. inflammation is beginning i suppose, and if something is not done speedily i must die!" what could i answer? i expect i looked as dismayed as i felt, for he went on, "but don't grieve, my boy, don't you give up; it's a miserable affair, i know, for you as well as for me, but i am not hopeless; no! if you could follow the instructions i can give you i may pull through--i've been thinking it all out." i was alert instantly. "everything you tell me i will do," said i; "your every wish i will carry out. i'm an awful muff at anything like this, you know, yet i'll do my best, and god helping us, we may, as you say, pull through." at which he told me that some years before he left england he had attended what was called an ambulance class, where instructions were given about "first aid to the injured," and he had been striving to remember all he had learned about broken bones. he told me i must get a strip of wood, smooth and strong, about four feet long, and a number of shorter and thinner pieces for splints. these i quickly procured. the next things were bandages. we had very little stuff that would answer for them, but our tent, which was of thin duck, would do; so i ripped some of that into strips. to put the fracture into place was a most difficult task. i hardly dared to handle him, for every touch gave him exquisite pain; yet i had to twist and pull and push until i believed the bones were in the right position. he directed me as best he could, but only at intervals, on account of the torture my unskilled hands were giving him. when, as i hoped, all was as it should be, i placed the splints, each wrapped in the softest stuff i had, close together round the injury; then i wound long bandages over all, tightly and smoothly. lastly, outside, from his armpit to his foot, i placed the long strip of wood and bound it to him, round his chest, his middle, and his ankle, fastening it securely and firmly with plenty of bands above and below the fracture. meade thanked me when i had finished. he said, with a sad smile, that he believed i had done it as well as if i had been through the course of instructions which he had; then he closed his eyes, exhausted. he had borne all this with the greatest fortitude, but now a kind of stupor appeared to creep over him. i hoped that it would end in healthy sleep; therefore i quietly made up the fire, lowered the light, and slipped out into the night. it was absolutely still in the open air, and not so very cold. not a breath of wind stirred the surrounding foliage; only the ripple of the creek was audible as it flowed tinkling over the stones a few yards from me, and the swish of the water swirling through the sluice. patch had come out with me. he was so quiet, so subdued, so sorrowful; it was just wonderful the almost human sagacity of that dog. i had said to him gently as we came out, "we must be very quiet, patch; you must not bark; your poor master is very ill; we must let him sleep," and the way that dear old fellow looked at me was as if he quite understood what i had said. i believe he did, too, by his actions. from the hot stuffy cavern, little more than a burrow, where i had been attending to my poor friend, to the clear air outside, the change was great and most refreshing. i stood beside the creek for some time breathing in the sweet pine-scented air, and thinking very deeply, very seriously. the sky was cloudless, the stars were gleaming near the southern horizon in great brilliancy, but over the rest of the heavens they were hardly discernible--they were overpowered by the blaze of the northern lights. this was no unusual occurrence; rarely when the sky was clear were they absent at night, though on this particular time they were remarkably bright. i was naturally terribly depressed, wretchedly anxious, all but despairing; yet when i observed this grand display of almighty power my thoughts rose from these mundane troubles, and i felt that he who marshalled these mysterious forces, whose hand was so plainly visible there, would, if it pleased him, help us out of this terrible strait, and enable us to bear whatever he chose to send us with patience and trustfulness. i am not ashamed to add that i lifted up my heart in prayer to him, beseeching him to be with us. certainly i received great relief from this. i took my seat upon an upturned sluice-box, i drew my blanket-coat close round me, for it was freezing, and with dear old patch beside me, i remained there ruminating for an hour or more. i could not hide from myself that the position was most serious. i hoped, though i feared, that what i had done for meade would prove to be successful. i had heard of people fracturing their limbs, and in a few weeks being out and about again as well as ever. but they had skilled attention, whilst we knew nothing about the treatment. i believed that the principal thing was to keep my patient's general health good. i wondered what food i should give him. i ran over the stores we still possessed, and was thankful to remember how much we had, and what a variety. surely amongst it all i could concoct wholesome and proper things for him. then my mind travelled to our work there. i realised that it was all ended for the present, and i fell to wondering how we should ultimately get all our gold away and our gear, for of course there would be no rafting. the creek, the whole country, would be frozen solid and covered deep in snow, long before my poor friend could travel. it recurred to me next that in the winter, with snow, one could haul heavy loads upon a sleigh, and i believed that we two and patch could move everything. i actually caught myself planning how i should build one. indeed it crossed my mind that even if meade was not strong enough to help drag, that patch and i could pull him, with our gold too, as far as dawson city. there, i thought, there might be a doctor, and surely more comfort than in our dismal hole. women were at dawson: one whom i had met at that store, it seemed to me, would prove a good friend to us in our need. as regards our gold, i felt most grateful that we had secured so much, for there would be no lack of means to carry out our needs. i sat outside thus, thinking of these and many other subjects, until i noticed that the aurora had faded clean away, that the sky in the north-east was crimson, and that ere many minutes another day would have dawned. then i went inside. meade was sleeping naturally, breathing gently and regularly, so i lay down myself and slept too. it was broad day when i awoke. the brilliant sun was scintillating on the ripples of the creek before our doorway. meade was calling me. "bertie, dear boy," said he, "i grieve to have awakened you, but oh! i am so thirsty; give me some cold water." well, now, i was afraid to do so. i said i must make some hot, open a tin of swiss milk, and give him that, but he said "no;" that he remembered well when one of his sisters had been ill, she had suffered much because cold water was refused when she craved for it. when the doctor came he gave it her, telling them to remember that at all times it could be given with safety. on the strength of this i gave meade what he longed for, and it did him good. i made him oatmeal porridge; we had a bottle or two of bovril--i gave him some; and really that day he ate so well and was so wonderfully cheerful that i began to believe this would not be such a terribly serious business after all. the following day, though, his other leg was exceedingly painful: it was sadly cut and bruised. with warm water i washed it. he wished me to apply cold water bandages, but i had, in ontario, seen so much benefit from using pine gum--which is venice turpentine, i suppose--for such hurts, that i persuaded him to let me put some on. the gum was oozing from every tree and stump about, wherever we had made a cut with an axe. in a few moments i collected plenty. it was surprising how quickly this stuff gave him relief, and how healing it was. meade was in better spirits that evening again. i read to him, we smoked and chatted--he passed a most satisfactory night. next day he complained much. he said that even the pressure of the blankets on his legs was dreadfully painful. i easily remedied that: i made a frame of willow twigs to lie over him, to bear off the clothes, which answered well. "what a kind chap you are, bertie," said he, after i had done all i could think of for his comfort. "kind chap!" i answered smiling. "suppose it had been my leg that had been broken, what would you have done?--let me lie? and if you had got me in here, you would have neglected me, i suppose, and let things go? not you; you would have done all you could for me, my friend. i know that right well, and so i'm doing the same for you, and intend to--so say no more." as i have said, we were the best of friends, but the intimate association this accident occasioned brought us still closer together. i rarely left his side, only for fuel and other necessaries. as for going on with gold-getting, somehow i could not even think of it. i endeavoured to keep a bright face in my friend's presence, but when alone, or at night when he was sleeping, i had many terrible fears and uncertainties to ponder about and to depress me. if he did not soon mend! if he got worse! if he could not be moved!--these thoughts were always in my mind. the winter would be upon us directly--it was then the end of september--and i knew that we should be frozen in and snowed up soon, and remain so till june of this year . much of the time would be passed in darkness; in mid-winter there would be but a gleam of day at noon. these were dismal, unnerving forebodings. i tried to lift my heart to whence alone i could expect real help. i sought to repress all other thoughts, to just do the best i knew for my friend, and to trust our heavenly father for the rest. to an extent i succeeded, and so many days went by in comparative peace. we had a terrible gale during this time, i remember: heavy rain and hail accompanied it. the creek rose, it washed away a couple of our sluice-boxes, and seemed as if it would swamp our drive. this roused me to active measures: i piled up rocks and logs in such a way that i secured it against that misfortune. meade and i frequently congratulated ourselves about our safety in that dug-out: we knew that nothing short of an earthquake could upset our dwelling. no tents could stand against that heavy wind and downpour. it was dark and dismal enough, surely, but often when we had a bright fire roaring in its corner, the lamp alight, the door tightly closed, and we were lying reading, with patch curled up between us, we said to each other how thankful we ought to be, and were, i hope, for such comfort in that wild land. it was during this enforced companionship that my friend opened his mind very freely to me. i don't know if he had any presentiment then of what the end would be--any premonition of still greater trouble ahead. it is impossible to be certain of this, but i have since thought that he had. he had a very lovable disposition, even when he was well, and had had to fight with me against wilderness troubles which upset and spoil the temper of most men. when things went wrong ashore or afloat, when our indians were stupid, when the fates seemed to be dead against us and all appeared to be going wrong, i never remember him becoming really angry, using bad language, or showing anything but the most perfect amiability. many will think it is impossible to go through the rough countries of this world, especially such a wilderness as we had traversed, and were then in, or to subdue others' wills to ours, without showing a masterful, a domineering spirit. i thought so, and began, when he and i started on this expedition, to assert myself, believing that only thus would we be able to hold our own, or make headway. meade, on the contrary, from the first was amiable, friendly, and polite with all--red men and white. i thought this, for a while, unmanly, and feared i should thereby have my hands full of trouble, but i soon found i was much mistaken. i noticed on board the steamer going up to juneau, and at skagway, that the people looked astonished, for a little, at the way in which my friend spoke, his gentleness and consideration to all--never shouting his desires or orders, but asking politely for what he required. yes, they looked surprised at his uncommon style, for a bit, but were invariably impressed by it; and thinking that he must be a prince, or at least a duke (that was the usual idea), they treated him, as far as they knew, with the same consideration with which he treated them. and i, as his mate, his friend, came in for the benefit of it. so, mild and amiable as meade had been all along, during this sad time he was, if possible, more so. he suffered intensely, i know it now, though at that time i scarcely understood it. often he could hardly speak for pain and weakness, yet he never neglected to thank me for the slightest thing i did for him, and he never expressed impatience at his sad condition. well, that is hardly true; he did frequently bemoan his fate in having brought me to such a pass--that was a great trouble to him. in vain i begged him not to let that grieve him. i assured him again and again that i had no one dependent on me in england, or anywhere; that my people were well off; that a month or two, or even a year or two, was of no great moment; that even if we had to winter there we should resume work in the spring, and go home with still larger piles in the summer. he would listen to these remarks, patiently and calmly, but with a smile on his face apparently of unbelief. then he would talk gently to me about himself. how he had looked forward with such intense pleasure to going home that fall with plenty, to relieve his loved mother and sisters from all future money worries. he told me a great deal about them, where they lived, and how. he had been in australia for two years, and had done some gold-digging there. he had been four years in canada; like me, he had brought a little money with him, had taken up land in assiniboia, had struggled there for a couple of years, living wretchedly and prospering not at all, then he had sold all he had, cattle and gear, and had come west. he took service in the rockies with the canadian pacific railway at section work, which is, i believe, what is called "plate-laying" in britain. from there he had gradually drifted to the coast, to vancouver city, where he had obtained employment on a wharf. there his education helped him, he became a foreman, next he got the post of purser on one of the steamers trading between puget sound and the north. the spring before i met him he was up at st. michael's, in behring sea, where he fell in with a man who told him about the gold which was being got away up the yukon. he had acted on this man's advice, with the result he had already related to me. he sent his mother a large portion of what he found the year before, told her of his projected expedition with me, and promised that he would "come out" in september, he believed with what would be regarded as a fortune, even in england. "and now," said he, with a sad sigh, "here i am, laid by the heels--and you too, my friend, on my account--not able even to let them know that i'm alive!" i did my very best to comfort him. i begged him to have patience, that i hoped before many weeks--when the snow came--that we should get out, "and surely," i added, "from dawson there is some way of communicating with civilisation." you understand we really knew very little about the country. we had heard many yarns about the awful winter, and generally had the idea that it would be extremely dismal and melancholy. but we had also been told that with plenty of grub and light and fuel--which we had--people could exist with some little comfort. so we struck the middle opinion, and found it would be bad but bearable. well, it was bearable, certainly, or i should not be here; and yet i can aver that the horror of it has not been more than half told yet. thank god, we had plenty of food and firing, and as i said to my poor chum, "i'll bet there are many miserable beggars scattered about this yukon country and alaska who are worse off than we are by a long shot." he smiled at my enthusiasm, and added, "but i hope there are no broken legs amongst them." at which i felt rather subdued. but i had talked, and continued to do so thus, to cheer him if i could, and to make him think that i was quite happy and contented. really, at heart, i was neither. he did not seem to me to be improving. he told me of the pain he suffered in his leg. i suggested that it was caused by the bone growing together. i said i had heard that was usually the most painful time, and he hoped i was right. he was very pale and thin. i tried to believe that was only the effect of his lying so long and being in the dim light. his appetite troubled me: he ate very little, and did not fancy anything we had. one time he talked to me about the girl he loved at home. he showed me her portrait. her name is fanny hume. i thought she must be very pretty from her photo. he declared she was that--lovely. they had been engaged for four years. she was to have come out to him, if he had done well in the prairie country. they had experienced great disappointment at his failure there, but his good fortune up here the year before had altered matters. if he had got out this fall they were to have been married by christmas. he told me of the plans he had laid for his mother's comfort, and of the dreams he had about the home he would make for his bride with the good fortune that had come to him. "and now," said he in grievous tones, "all this is ended, all my plans frustrated. god knows how hard it is; it looks almost cruel, doesn't it?" what could i say? i begged him not to lose hope. i besought him to remember that god did know--that for some mysterious reason he had allowed this terrible disaster to take place, that we must just put our trust in him. we were assured, and, i hoped, believed, that he does all things well, and that we must just leave it so. oh! how i longed to have more power of comforting him. how impotent i felt, and was. i could only keep saying, "look up, meade! look up! from there alone can come our help." one day said he, "i'd give anything for a bit of fresh mutton. just fancy a mutton chop at pimm's, in the strand, and a glass of their stout, eh!" this pleased me. if he had such a longing for food i thought it a good sign, and said so. but, alas! there was no mutton chop to be got there. there are mountain sheep---bighorns, moufflons--up in the hills. how could i leave him to stalk one? but i thought i might shoot him a grouse for a change. salmon he was heartily sick of; the tinned things were very good for men in health, but not for an invalid. i had broiled him a bit of bear meat lately, which he enjoyed. i did so again and again, till he was tired of that. so i took down my gun one day, said i would not be long away. i thought i would go up and kill a bird. i went up the creek to a clump of thick spruce i knew of, feeling sure i should find some there, but instead out leapt a half-grown deer! i brought him down, luckily. i could just manage to pack him home. i was back again within an hour. meade smiled a welcome. "i heard you shoot," said he, "the rifle barrel. what did you get?" i would not tell him. i said he must wait and see. the little buck was fat. i cut out a chop--it looked just like a mutton chop--i broiled it at a fire i lit outside, and brought it to him. he was delighted, he was charmed, and with tears in his eyes he thanked me again and again. and there were tears in my eyes too! for several days he enjoyed what he called mutton. i had hung it outside to freeze, where everything was frozen. i varied his food--bear meat, deer meat, salmon; salmon, bear meat, deer meat--and in between i gave him some of the canned things that he fancied. for weeks matters went on like this. it was five since the accident, when i noticed a decided change in him, and it was not for the better! it was by that time winter. all green things but the pines and spruces were frozen and dead. snow covered all the high lands, and even the flats were drifted with it. the still water everywhere was frozen; only our creek still ran, and there were still fish in it. i don't know what possessed me--thank god, something did--but i took the notion to secure some of these salmon. it was easily done. i rolled a few logs and brush into a narrow place, then went up stream and drove the fish down, and many became entangled there. i dragged out half-a-dozen and slung them in the trees about our den. another day i saw a bear foraging about near. i gave meade warning that i was about to shoot, and i killed it easily. i put a ball through him, under his arm, and he died without a struggle. it was very fat and lazy--a cinnamon. i had plenty to do to skin it and cut it up. the fat i hung up in the trees. we had no great amount of oil left for our little lamp, and very few candles, and i thought, "if we must winter here we must make shift with this in some way until next june." for i began to think that my idea of getting out on a sleigh would never work. yet i was busy constructing one. but i thought i saw that if my friend was to get away it would only be when the water was open again, eight or nine months later! our almost finished raft was now frozen fast to the bank. i almost hated the sight of it. i wondered if, after all, that would be the means by which we should get away. i do not remember that i regarded the prospect of wintering there as such a terrible calamity. we really had plenty about us, and we were such excellent companions that i only felt if he got well, all would be well. i must admit that it crossed my mind more than once--"if he should die!" i put this dreadful thought away, i kept it down generally, but sometimes it struck me suddenly, and i felt as if a stream of ice ran down my spine, as though my heart was frozen. the contemplation of such a dire disaster was awful. time went on; i could see no improvement. if his leg was joining properly i could not tell, nor could he. he himself was usually very quiet, yet there was a look creeping over him to which i could not shut my eyes; he was thinner, greyer, and shrivelled. one night he put down his pipe as if with loathing. "i'll smoke no more," said he; "i believe it is not good for me." i took no notice--thought it better not. later he threw down his book, declaring he could not read--that his leg was so painful. i examined it. so far as i could tell all seemed right--so far as appearance went. his foot was cold and somewhat swollen, but there was warmth enough elsewhere. next day he had much more pain. he was all for cold water bandages. to please him i bathed his leg and wrapped it in wet cloths--this eased him. that night he complained that the half-wet bandages were irritating him. what was i to do? finding that cold water applications soothed him, i kept the cloths wet always. neither of us had the least idea whether we were doing right. i discovered that he slept very little. i myself passed many a sleepless night, but my health was wonderfully good. i was quite robust in spite of my terrible anxieties. the weather was now extremely cold--as cold as i had ever felt it in the east of canada. our place was warm though--so long as we kept the door closed and excluded draughts we were cosy. the nights were extremely long, and the days, though usually sunny, were very cold. we had several hard gales: the fine, dry snow was forced through every crevice. i used to bring in abundance of food and fuel at such times, cram every crevice round our doorway full of moss, make patch come inside, and none of us left the shelter whilst the blizzard lasted. i had cut a hole in the door and covered it with a piece of the thin intestine of a bear. we had no glass. i used to read to my companion sometimes from a bible, at others from shakespeare, and we had a copy of that penny book w. t. stead has published, 'hymns that have helped.' it had got out to victoria, and i had picked it up at a book-store and valued it, for several of those hymns had powerful associations for me. my friend was fond of some of them too, and i often saw him read a verse or two with tears in his eyes. he was generally silent. this made me very sad. do as i would, try as i did, i could not help being very much cast down, very full of forebodings of evil. one night--it was bitterly cold outside, and the wind was howling through the trees, we were warm and comfortable enough as far as that went--i was looking sorrowfully at the invalid, who i thought was dozing, when he slowly opened his eyes--which seemed to me to have grown very large and prominent--and gazing at me, oh! so mournfully, said, "bertie, my friend, i suppose you realise that i am not going to get well?" for a few moments i could not reply, my heart was in my throat, i felt as if it were choking me; at length i managed to ejaculate, "oh! meade, my dear friend, have patience--don't break down like this--or i shall----" his eyes were suffused with tears. "dear friend, indeed," he began, slowly and in broken accents, "i grieve--god knows how very much i grieve--to tell you this, but i know i am not improving, and i believe i shall never leave this hut alive. i have been thinking about you, wondering what you will do if i am taken. i am awfully sorry that i brought you here." "say not one word on that head," i interrupted him; "_i_ do not regret it. look how well we have done. what has happened is terrible, i know, but oh! pray don't give up, don't get to thinking that you'll not recover. please god you'll be all right soon, then fancy with what joy we'll be off home in the spring." thus i tried to cheer him--thus i tried to look at things. "well, well," he replied, with a wan smile, "i'll try to be more hopeful, i'll try to trust; but listen, what will you do if i am taken? can you make your way out alone, think you?" i refused to answer,--i merely said that i would not even think about it, much less talk of it, and begged him not to. i asked him if his leg was so painful, and what reason he had to say he was no better, in reply to which he went into a number of particulars which i need not repeat. later he talked again about his mother and sisters, and, laying his hand on mine, he begged me to bear with him, not to be angry with him, whilst he explained what he wished to be done, "supposing," and he gazed at me in a most affecting way as he said it,--"supposing i don't get home myself." i said very little,--i let him talk. i nodded occasionally to let him see i heard what he was saying, understood, and would do as he wished. he told me what proportion he desired his mother and his sisters to have--"if i ever got out safely with the gold"--and that the remainder was to be given to fanny hume, the lady to whom he was engaged. he bade me put all these things down in my notebook, saying also that he should write letters to them all, "in case of accidents." he dwelt for some time on these most melancholy topics, and i expect would have gone on still longer had i not diverted his thoughts into another channel. i got on to the subject of the value of the gold we had, and asked his opinion of the way we were to proceed to secure our claim, so that we might return next season and work it. he told me again all he knew on the subject, declared that we should have to hire men at dawson, or at forty mile, or even at circle city, to work for us; and indeed for an hour or two he talked on very much in his old way, full of information and cleverness, and quite excited about the fortune we had made. he fell asleep at last with a cheerful look on his face, after having by my persuasion smoked a pipe with me. i rolled myself in my blankets then, and with some hopefulness and a quieter spirit i too went to sleep. several times i awoke and put on firing. meade was always sleeping peacefully, but towards morning, just as grey light was filtering through our window, i was aroused by his groans. he told me that he was suffering acutely, that the pain in his leg was maddening, that he was sure all had gone wrong there. he begged me to remove the bandages, declaring that he knew they were no longer needed. "either the bones have joined now, or they never will," said he. "if they have not, then i shall never get better, and if i go on any longer in this agony i shall die surely." perplexed, bewildered, terribly afraid of doing wrong, yet quite unable to withstand his entreaties, i consented in the end to do as he desired. he had already thrown the blankets from him, and was tossing his unhurt leg and arms about most dangerously. his face was flushed, he was continually crying out for water, and i, even with my small experience, knew that he was in a high fever, of the seriousness of which i was conscious. i loosed the fastenings of the long strip of wood. this did not appease him. he exclaimed that he was on fire, that the pain was excruciating. he became angry with me because i hesitated to take off the splints. he talked wildly, incoherently, madly, and then began tearing at the bandages himself, so i undid the splints and took them off, exposing his bare leg, and then i no longer wondered that he suffered as he did. he fainted, i believe, and when the pressure was taken off he lay back pale and silent. i brought whisky, and by degrees got him to swallow some. i opened the door, brought in some snow, which covered everything outside now. i put some on his forehead. he was a long time, or so it seemed to me, before he came to. i cannot describe the appearance of his leg; it horrified me. from that moment i gave up all hope of his recovery. it was indeed some time before he spoke, and then he was delirious, light-headed. he talked and raved the whole night through. sometimes he begged me to remove the bandages--which were off; at others he talked of his mother, of fanny hume, often of jim and fan, and of me and of our work. i never went through such a day and night--i never want to again. towards morning he fell asleep, exhausted. i wondered if i had done wisely in removing these bandages. i thought not. he slept now so profoundly that i endeavoured to replace some of them without awaking him, and i did succeed in getting the long strip down his side and securing it just as he awoke. he was in his right mind then, and i believe had no knowledge of the condition he had been in. he endeavoured to move his leg--he could not. i suppose he recognised the importance of this discovery, for he then threw himself back, extended his arms, and sighed profoundly as he muttered, "it is so, then--the case is hopeless! hopeless!" he looked at me once, a fixed solemn look, then closed his eyes and lay there motionless and silent. i whispered, "oh! try, dear friend, not to move that leg, the only hope is to keep it absolutely still." then he opened his eyes, gazed at me for a moment, and through his clenched teeth he whispered, "hopeless, hopeless." the rest of that day he was profoundly quiet. i don't think he slept, for whenever i spoke to him he replied at once in a monosyllable. he would not eat, but drank all i gave him. i myself was so low and exhausted with anxiety and watching that i have but little recollection of what followed. sometimes he slept, sometimes his mind wandered, generally he was in a state of stupor. one morning i left him sleeping whilst i went out for food and fuel. when i returned, to my horror he was sitting upright. i called out in amazement. he smiled sadly as he said, "ah! it does not matter much, bertie. i've not moved my bad leg though, just dragged it along--it's all right, as right as it'll ever be: but i must write to-day; after that we'll just hope for the best, that's all we can do." "ay," i answered, "that's all; yes, but we can pray, we can do that, and that's our only hope." he begged me to give him paper and pencil, and for an hour or more he wrote. he stopped often to sip the drink i set beside him, then he lay back exhausted, and i think he slept. by-and-by he aroused and wrote more letters. he went on thus until it was quite dark, when he told me he had finished, adding that he believed he now could sleep well, for a great weight was off his mind. before he closed his eyes i begged him to tell me if there was anything i could do for him, any wish that i could gratify. would he have bovril? whisky? tea? he thanked me; he said he had no desire for anything, that he would sleep; but suddenly opening his eyes, looking at me excitedly, he said, "bertie, you will not laugh at me, you will not think i'm off my head, will you, but if you'd just read me that beautiful hymn of cowper's--"there is a fountain," you know? i remember it was a great favourite of prince albert's, and i like it too. read it for me, bertie, and then i think i'll sleep well." i read it--i broke down several times--but as i finished the last line i saw he was sleeping calmly. i was fagged out myself--i had hardly eaten a scrap that day--i don't think i had slept an hour for days: so when i saw he was sleeping i too lay back and was soon unconscious, and had forgotten all our troubles. before closing my eyes though, i took a good look at my friend. i could not help remarking how great a change there was in him. his face was so drawn, so withered; there was no trace of colour on it, even his lips were white. i had never seen a human being die. i had never seen a dead person up to that time, and yet there was that appearance to my companion; something had come over him which profoundly affected me, and i kept saying to myself, "he will die, he will die." i was whispering this when i fell asleep, and forgot all my grief and misery. how long i slept i do not know. it was still dark when i awoke. i had extinguished the light before i went to sleep. it was very cold, the fire was nearly out. this being an all-important affair i jumped up, stirred the embers together and blew them into a flame. then i piled on more wood, and made quite a noise in doing it. i feared i had awakened meade and perhaps alarmed him. i called gently to him. there was no reply. i concluded that he still slept, therefore i crouched by the now blazing fire, warming myself. just then patch came quietly up to me and laid his head on my arm. i looked down and patted him. really and truly there was a most pitiful look in the poor dog's eyes. he saw that i noticed this, and to my horror and dismay he suddenly lifted up his head and gave one most vehemently long-drawn, heartrending howl! speaking sharply to the poor beast, i clasped his muzzle, and he stopped. then he sat staring at the blazing logs with a most sorrowful expression. i don't know why, i can't tell what made me begin to tremble. i reached for a lighted sliver--i could hardly hold my hand still enough to light the lamp, i shook so--and when i had ignited it and turned it on to the face of my friend, i saw that he had not moved since he fell asleep. there he lay, stretched out on his back, sleeping still. yes, surely, he was sleeping! softly i laid my hand on his forehead--it was cold as ice. i sought for one of his hands--it was cold and as stiff as if it were frozen. i put my hand upon his heart--there was no motion there. then like a flash it came to me that my dear friend was dead--ay, meade was dead! chapter vi. it is impossible to tell you what i felt when i realised that my friend had breathed his last. i cannot myself remember what my thoughts and sensations were. i only know that i rushed out of the place--very lightly clothed, too--and in the open air stood gazing around me dazed. the first few hours after that is nearly a blank to me. i can merely call to mind cold, hunger, snow, and poor patch's evident distress. i made a fire outside and we sat by it, i repeating to myself, sometimes crying aloud, "what shall i do? what shall i do?" once i remember springing up and grasping a white shirt and a red one which lay by the door, and tying them to a long branch which arched across the creek conspicuously, saying to myself, "it may attract some one's notice,"--for, eager as we had been all along to keep our presence secret, now i would gladly have given half, ay, all the gold we had obtained, to secure the companionship of a human being. the days were very short then. there was but a gleam of sunlight at noon, and as this faded to the south behind an ice-clad mountain, a strong breeze arose which roared through the tree-tops. there was a wildness and weirdness about its dirge-like roar which seemed to me quite in keeping with what had happened. i had taken no food all day. i had not been inside the hut. i could not for long muster courage to enter it. to gaze upon my lost friend's features seemed impossible--the idea of stopping for any time in the same place with his poor body was beyond me, yet i knew i must do something. food at least i must procure for myself and patch; if we had this i believed that we could exist beside the huge fire i had built until i grew calmer, and could decide on some course of action. i put off doing anything though as long as possible, and not until it was quite dark did i creep into our dismal abode. i trod gently, with awe, for i could not divest myself of the idea that poor meade could hear me, that my dear friend was at least present in spirit. but truly i cannot tell what i thought or what i felt. the fire was out. i lit the lamp. i gazed fearfully around--avoiding the face, white and drawn, which i knew was amongst the pile of bedding there. why was this? why does one naturally dread to look upon a dead face? surely i had got to love my friend, and to know that he loved me. there was no reason for this unwillingness to look, but so it was then, and so it usually is. i threw a blanket over his poor body, snatched a rug up, a loaf of bread, a piece of cooked venison, some tea and sugar, and hastened out again, closing the door securely. it was blowing harder now; fine snow was being whirled through the forest and down the creek, which had long since ceased to flow. it was freezing very hard; everything was ice-bound; my fire gave but little warmth. what could i do? really i was so utterly cast down, so despairing, that i was reckless. it seemed to me just then that nothing mattered, and that i too should soon die, and lie as meade did, until perhaps long afterwards some wandering prospector would find our bones, our gold, and our belongings; but our real story, or who we were, would never be known. patch ate the food i gave him, and i managed to swallow something: then we crouched, he and i, with the rug round us. he slept, but i was thinking--thinking. the cold increased, the bitter wind was piercing. i roused myself to pile on fuel. a gust of exceeding sharpness seemed to shrivel me, and it flashed through me that another such blast would end me. for a second i thought, "so much the better"; but at the same moment, like a vision, there passed across my half-benumbed consciousness a picture of what my dear dead friend had told me about his mother and his sisters, and the dearest one of all. i knew what he had said about the benefit the gold that we had found would be to them, and how i had promised him to fight hard to get it to them should he not recover. my own future did not trouble me. i had no one dependent on me, but i suddenly felt strong in what i saw was my bounden duty. i straightened myself up and exclaimed, "no; i'll not give in! i'll fight this matter through, god helping me!" i must have spoken loudly, and i suppose cheerily, for patch jumped from his nook beside the fire, looked at me brightly, eagerly, waved his grand tail, and made me think that he had understood my exclamation, approved it, and would gladly aid me. the bitter wind blew keenly past us, the powdery snow penetrated every crevice in my clothing, my beard was a mass of ice, and i knew that a few minutes more of this terrible cold would be fatal. still i could not bring my mind to going into that dismal den again, or to remain there with the body of my friend beside me. how should i proceed then? i thought hard. if i could only get shelter from this awful blizzard, i believed i could manage to exist until i could plan something. but where was there shelter! i gazed around; there was no bank, no rock, nothing which offered the slightest protection from the furious blasts. something must be done, however--to stay where i was meant death. the very fire was being blown away and smothered in the snow-drifts. just then the tunnel we had excavated occurred to me. i grasped a glowing firebrand, gathered a bunch of sticks, and rushed to the entrance, patch excitedly following me. pushing my way over the obstructions i had placed there as protection from the flooded creek, i entered, passed in a dozen feet, and found this retreat was dry enough, and such a good protection from the wind and snow outside that it felt quite warm. i flung down my fire-stick and soon had a blaze, gladly perceiving that the smoke ascended to the roof and passed out, leaving a clear space below where we could sit or lie without annoyance. i was so pleased with this arrangement that i made excursions for fuel, and actually went into the shanty for my blankets, more food, a kettle, and a lamp. and in this retreat patch and i remained some days, i only venturing out for firewood, of which, most happily, i had a good heap cut. the storm raged furiously and ceaselessly, the snow fell continuously, it all but closed the entrance to the tunnel; but having a pick and shovel, i was able to keep an opening for air and to let out the smoke. patch and i lay there warm and snug enough. it was, however, a most dismal experience--worse even than that nansen endured on his famous expedition towards the pole, for he had companionship. i had none. i tried hard to pull myself together, to make some sort of programme for future action, but i could do very little--the power of consecutive thought seemed to have left me. i passed the time eating, smoking, sleeping--it was to me like some dreadful dream, and i often, often caught myself wondering when i should awake, and the misery would be over. i suppose it was then the end of november, and i knew there would be no real spring, no open water, till june; seven months of this desolation and loneliness to look forward to! for i had come to the resolve that, in any event, so long as provisions held out, even for months, or years, i would not abandon the gold. i had calculated, and i knew perfectly well, that patch and i together could not haul it out on a sled, with what we must take of gear and food. no; we must stay there till spring, and what i could, or would, do then i did not settle: i only had a vague idea that i would pack everything on the all but finished raft, and somehow float it down to dawson. i had plenty of time to plan all this, i knew. at intervals my memory dwelt on what now seemed to me to have been the real comfort, the real content, which meade and i had experienced in that miserable dug-out before his accident. my mind reverted to the pleasant evenings he and i had passed with books and pipes, anticipating the joys that were in store for us when we had got out, and had once more set foot upon dear english soil. how we used to talk, and plan, and prophesy! alas! all was ended, his career had been cut short, as we have seen, and mine--well, i did not think about mine very much, the present was what troubled me: the awful loneliness, the misery of it, was what occupied me. i was forced to go into the den occasionally for necessaries. i had not removed the covering from my friend's face, but i had grown a little bit familiar with that melancholy heap of bedding, and the fact that he lay there, frozen, did not now so greatly agitate me. the storm raged ceaselessly for quite a week, then suddenly there was perfect silence outside. i went forth to investigate; whether it was day or night i could not tell, for there was but little sunrise really then--the stars were gleaming in a cloudless sky. it was absolutely calm, so the cold was bearable, yet i knew it was more intense than i had ever before felt it. the moon was rising, and a wonderful scene it was that her beams shone on; beautiful, i have no doubt, but to me then, and always, it was most awful desolation. everything--our workings, the raft, the creek--was covered deeply with snow; i could barely make out the door of the dug-out. i looked at it very sorrowfully, and i wished--i was almost ashamed of that wish, i thought it desecration--that i dare go in and live there, even with the companionship of all that remained of my dear friend. i brought the shovel, removed the snow, and as i was doing so it came to my mind that if i were only able to bury meade's body i could return to the den and pass the winter there. but where could i bury it? how could i dig a grave? everything, i knew, was frozen hard as steel; should i clear away the frozen nigger grass and moss, and light a fire on the earth in some quiet nook, thaw it thus, and dig a grave, as miners sink their holes in winter? i returned to my fire in the tunnel to think this out. how terrible it all appeared in there; how i longed to make the change! i sat pondering on this for some little time, and then i had an idea. i grasped a pick and drove it into the wall of the drive behind the fire, and found that i could excavate the earth easily. i went to work, for i had determined what to do. soon i had cut a niche quite large enough to hold the body. i smoothed it nicely, procured some fresh pine twigs which i strewed in it; then going to the shanty, i forced myself to draw the dear fellow's remains, upon the same bear-skin he had passed away on, to the sepulchre that i had hewed. the body was frozen, of course, and was as easily handled as if it had been a log of wood. i took everything from his pockets, then i rolled it into its resting-place--a temporary one i regarded it. i strewed spruce branches over it, and covered it reverently with the earth i had removed, and soon no one but i could have told that a brave young englishman, a loved friend, a dear companion, was sleeping his last sleep in there. i smoothed the opening over, but i knew right well the spot where percy meade, my lost friend, was lying entombed. it was done at last, the mournful task was ended; having the prayer-book with me, i read with tear-dimmed eyes some passages aloud from it--good patch sitting by as quiet and sedate as if he understood it all. there was no hurry, no need for haste, and yet as soon as this sad business was finished i left the tunnel gladly, and entered the shanty with the lamp. it was awfully cold in there--it was an ice-house; but i soon had a fire blazing in the corner. i piled on logs, and on them heaped the withered pine brush and rubbish with which the floor had been strewed. then i cut fresh stuff, brought in the bear and deer-skins, the rugs and blankets i had been using in the tunnel, heaped them before the fire to dry, and in a few hours i was, so far as bodily requirements went, in comfort. as i gazed around me then, i was very sad. on the rough shelves we had constructed were lying the few books and papers we possessed, and there were some odds and ends which poor meade had greatly valued. there was his pipe and tobacco-box, his plate and knife and fork, which he had been so fastidious about--two or three photographs of home scenes and a portrait or two were pinned to the logs about the dismal shanty. all these had been the texts of many a long yarn, many an interesting conversation--it was very sad. but i did not remove them; there seemed to me a sacredness about them, a melancholy sort of interest which was my only comfort in that dismal cave. they brought back to me many and many an incident, and were to some extent a kind of companionship to me in my loneliness. however, i was very weary with all this unaccustomed grievous labour. i made tea, cooked some food, then putting a huge log on the fire, which i knew would last for hours, i fell asleep and dreamt. i thought that i was far away from all these horrors, back in my dear old home, with loving faces round me, my troubles over, my long agony past, and all forgotten. oh, blessed, thrice blessed sleep!--thank god for sleep! it was a long time since either of us had written a word in our diary. i was not at all certain of the day, much less of the hour, when meade had died. i spent some time trying to puzzle this out, endeavouring to account for the time that had elapsed since meade left me, and, so far as i could guess, for day and night were very much the same then, and had been for weeks, it was ten days--but i had nothing to guide me with certainty. however, i assumed that it was on the th november that he died, and i determined to start my watch again, and during every twenty-four hours that passed henceforth to make some entry in our book, and this i am glad now that i adhered to. our gold was buried in a corner of the den; i had lost interest in it. occasionally the thought came to me that it was there all right; but as to looking at it, or adding to it, that never crossed my mind. all my thoughts then were how to get away from the dreadful place. i had come to the opinion that if i left that gold behind me it would be secure enough, for i imagined that i was alone in an entirely unknown country, and that if i left it, it would remain unknown for many a year. so i thought and thought continually on this one subject--how to get out. i read a little, ate more, smoked much, slept half my time, and thus the hours went slowly by until i fancied it was christmas day, and still i had arranged no definite plan. i had got into an exceedingly low, stupid, almost imbecile condition. i had no heart, no energy for anything; i seemed to have no "go" left in me. i suppose the continual darkness, the utter loneliness, was telling on me. i look back now and wonder at my state: i, who had always been hitherto full of vigour, resourceful, hardly ever despondent, and hating to be idle for a moment, was leading a purely animal life, just eating and sleeping, with very little power, seemingly, of even thinking of the future. it was then, as i supposed, christmas day; anyway, it was a very calm and quiet day. the northern lights were brilliant, and patch and i were outside: i was gathering fuel and cutting some logs for the fire, he was rolling in the dry dust-like snow, and sniffing at the meat and salmon which hung frozen in the trees around us. i looked about at the brilliant scene, i gazed aloft in adoration at the wonderful display. i felt awed and solemnised at what i saw, and the question came to me, seemed to hit me almost like a blow--"was i doing wisely, manfully? was i doing my duty to myself, or carrying out faithfully the promises i had made to meade?" again in fancy i saw his mother and his other dear ones in some quiet, rural, english home, such as he had described to me, longing for news of him and his fortunes; perhaps suffering for the want of the money he had promised them so surely, that money which was now lying useless in the corner of the shanty. could i not do something even then? i asked myself. must six more melancholy months drag their slow length along? must i wait for the opening of the water in june? could i not take even a few pounds' weight of gold, food, furs, and blankets on a sled, and somehow get down to dawson, where i knew that there were people, and where i could but fancy there must be some means of communicating with the outer world? such thoughts as these crowded through my brain. i seemed suddenly to awaken to my responsibilities. i knew it was but a hundred miles at most to dawson city; so surely patch and i could manage to do that--and as anything was better than going on as i had been of late, i determined to adventure. i had not been twenty yards from the hut or tunnel for weeks; but then, i at once waded out to the middle of the creek. it was more than wading. the light snow was up to my waist, and i plainly saw that i could not make headway through it, and that it would be utterly impossible to draw a loaded sleigh over it. the dryness of the atmosphere and the intense cold had not allowed the snow to pack. if i had snow-shoes, i wondered if i could manage to move about. but i had none. however i had a few flour-barrel hoops of ash. i bent a couple somewhat into the shape of snow-shoes, roughly netted some cord across them, and essayed to use them, and found they answered the purpose sufficiently to encourage me first of all to make as good a pair as possible. i set eagerly to work. i bound hoops together closely and braced them; i cut bearskin into strips, well twisted them, laced them across and across as well as i could remember they were laced in proper ones; i used some wire we had to strengthen them; and in the course of some days' close labour i had constructed a pair of very rough but, as i soon proved, serviceable snow-shoes. with these i practised walking. most days patch and i took tramps up and down the creek, and i very soon became dexterous in their use: besides, i knew it was necessary for me to take plenty of exercise to knit myself together, to train for my contemplated expedition. now i turned my attention to the construction of a sled--a sledge. the one i had begun i had not seen for weeks,--it was buried under many a foot of snow. i searched, and at last dug it out; it was, i could see, unsuitable. i realised that i must make a sort of toboggan--something to lie flat upon the snow, that would not cut into it as sled-runners would. no wood suitable for this purpose grew about there. i passed many hours in the bright moonlight, searching the immediate neighbourhood; but they were all rough trees, and would not answer. i was perplexed, puzzled, till i thought of the sluice-boxes, and on one of them i set to work, and with the few tools i had i managed to make what i felt sure would do. but every day or night patch and i took marches up and down the creek; sometimes these trips extended for miles. i knew too that i must carry with me some sort of arrangement for sleeping in, and contrive a portable shelter, as i had torn up the little tent for bandages for meade. the former--the sleeping-bag--i made of what remained of the bear-skins, to which i joined deer-skins, and i lined it with fox, silver-grey and black, of which i had quite a number. the tent i made up of what remained, with some blankets and such materials. i had already contrived additional warm clothing of fur and blankets, with a hood or capote. with all this business the days passed quickly and, may i say, hopefully. just then a great need assailed me. i had run out of lamp oil, and the candles had long since been used up. i tried to work by firelight, but that was very difficult. then i bethought me of the lumps of bear fat hanging in the trees, and i brought some in, and with an empty meat tin and a piece of rag i made a very successful lamp, and that difficulty was surmounted. my sled, or toboggan, was ready. my snow-shoes answered well. i had made alterations and improvements in them as i had gained experience, and i was now able to get about on them with speed and comfort. it was towards the end of january, according to my calculations, and i began to reckon eagerly of making a start. the wretchedness, the inexpressible loneliness of this time, was really awful. at times i was half beside myself with horror, and i suppose i acted like a half-crazed being often. i used to talk to patch, to address him as if he were a human being, and the dear old dog would put his head on one side, prick up his ears and listen to me, and i do believe he tried his best to understand what i said to him. what i should have done without that dear old fellow i cannot imagine. one day--or night, was it?--patch and i were up the creek some miles. i had my gun with me, for i had the day before noticed traces of what i thought were wolves, and i did not care to be confronted with them unprepared. i was standing in an open space, clear of trees, on the surface of the frozen stream indeed, when i was more than usually struck with the sublime, the awful spectacle which the heavens exhibited. these magnificent displays of the aurora borealis always affected me; but this night they were particularly grand, and i stood some time, as there was not a breath of wind stirring, admiring them, and wondering. streamers, tongues of rose-tinted lurid fire, slowly crept up from the mysterious north. sometimes they stopped, hesitated, then darting on again, covered the entire heavens. often they resembled huge flames of crimson fire; they flickered and seemed often to be enshrouded in dense, yet transparent, smoke. frequently they whirled and twirled as if they had been spindles. now these appearances were here, now there. they never remained stationary; the whole firmament was in motion always. the snow and all the earth and trees were blood-coloured, my breath and the dog's was red too, and awful. there was a certain feeling of suffocation in the atmosphere, or so i imagined. the cold was indescribable; inhaling felt like drawing into one's throat the fumes of cayenne pepper. my heart beat violently, i breathed in gasps, and i knew that if a wind arose i should be shrivelled up as feathers would be in a fire. but i also knew that providence had decreed that when cold has become so intense, as it was then, wind shall not blow; therefore, i dismissed this dread. at times the heavens were suffused with deepest crimson, then bars of glowing scarlet would undulate across them; or it would be checkered with different tints of orange purple and deep green. and suddenly all these colours vanished, and the sky was covered with what looked like luminous clouds, through which moved shapes of wavy light, forms which could be likened to angels or spirits. they arose from the northern horizon, climbed slowly to the zenith, then with a burst of brilliance they slipped out of sight. it seemed to me that hundreds, thousands of them were up there moving, twining, turning amongst themselves, like sentient beings, through all the vast space above me. these forms, wrapped in robes of diaphanous, tremulous light, sometimes appeared as if they were about to leave the sky and wrap me about in fleecy raiment, and i caught myself imagining that they would carry me away beyond those snow-clad mountains to the north, to the spot which all men seek, but which none have yet reached. i was spellbound, dazzled by this sublime exhibition of almighty power. i was not afraid--not really; i was awestruck, solemnised. and as this wonderful white light poured over the pine-clad hills and flashed on the ice-clad mountains, and the nearer trees were fringed with silvery glow, and as i watched all this, entranced, i perceived that this splendour was by degrees dying from the sky. the brilliant lights were fading slowly, and in their place the full moon wheeled up, the stars became visible, and it was an ordinary moonlight scene; but so bright, so brilliant, that for a while i was unable to decide which was the more wonderful display, this calm and peaceful scene, or that which had but now faded from the heavens leaving no trace behind. i had not stirred for quite half-an-hour, and patch had stood by me, motionless, all the time. strangely--or so it was to me--he did not appear to have noticed any of these lights and sights. he was perfectly impassive. i had thought during the height of this spectacle that i heard cracklings and other noises like electric discharges; but now that all was motionless about me and no aurora visible, i still heard these sounds, and decided that they were caused by the intense frost splitting trees and splintering their bark and branches. i was about to turn towards home--home! fancy speaking of that dreadful place i stayed in as home!--when i heard a sound far to the east, beyond some hills, which struck me as most strange. it was exactly like the discharge of a double-barrelled gun. i noticed that patch pricked up his ears at it, and looked suddenly alert. i listened intently for some minutes, then i heard that sound again! it was the frost at work, i reckoned, and yet there was something about the report that excited me. i waited, listening for some time, but as i did not hear the sound again, patch and i wandered back to fire and food. however, these peculiar sounds frequently recurred to me. there was a strange persistency in my thoughts about them. i wondered if it was possible that some people were stopping over the hills, or could it be merely the snapping of the frost. i concluded that this latter was the solution, and fell asleep believing so. chapter vii. the following day--i call it day, because my watch indicated eight in the morning--i went to work, determined to lose no time in finishing all i had to do before starting. there was a collar and traces to make for patch, and a few other things to complete. i stuck to this employment till evening, when it blew hard, snow fell in flurries, and it was again a blizzard. this lasted for two entire days. every few minutes during this time my thoughts reverted to that sound which had attracted me up the creek. i could not get rid of the notion that some people might be there. i tried to look the matter squarely in the face, endeavouring to convince myself that even if it were so, it was of no consequence to me. i was going down stream; i was ready to leave; in a couple more days, if the weather settled, i should be off, and would, i trusted and believed, quickly arrive at where people dwelt. i knew the way. i could not miss the way. how much better for me this was than setting out on an indefinite hunt into a region still farther from the haunts of men. thus i reasoned, thus i endeavoured to pacify my thoughts, but again and again there came over my spirit the fancy that there might be some one, not so many miles off, who was as much in need of companionship, who was just as lonely as i was. i cannot explain why i felt thus. i had merely heard, repeated twice, two cracks that sounded like gunshots, that was all, whilst the woods and the ice on which i had stood were full of similar noises. it was, i suppose, the great desire, the mighty longing that i had for the company of a fellow-being that thus agitated me. this seemed to me to be the greatest pain i suffered; it was indeed my chief longing to meet a human being--white, black, or red. just then i believe i should have hailed enthusiastically the poorest specimen of an indian, the meanest white man in all the country. meade had only been gone about eleven weeks, it is true, although it appeared to me that i had been eleven years alone. on the third evening, which was intensely, indescribably cold, but calm and clear, with brilliant moonlight--stimulated by these thoughts and anxious for action, i started off with my good dog, determined, if possible, to satisfy my longing. i meant, if necessary, to go farther up the creek than i had yet been, up a branch of it which appeared to trend in the direction in which i had been attracted by the peculiar sounds. i put half a loaf of bread into my bag, some meat, a lump of chocolate, and a pot to boil water in. for a wonder i did this--i rarely took any food with me, but this time it occurred to me as possible that i might have to be out some time--and, as you will learn, it was indeed providential that i did. patch and i marched off along the wide avenue which our stream formed through the scrubby firs and jack pines which grew closely along its margins. we halted first at the place where we had stopped previously, and listened again. there were the frost-sounds frequent enough, but nothing more. we halted there some little time; patch was not interested, he sat beside me listless. then we trudged on a piece farther up the arm, which pointed, as nearly as i could guess, south-west, and this was towards where i thought that i had heard the shots. here the stream had spread out some width, there was a wide expanse of unruffled snow, and the sounds made by the frost were nearly inaudible. we waited there again, and to my surprise and amusement patch became quite animated. he stood beside me, gazing solemnly ahead, with his tail waving slowly, his ears pricked up. he seemed to be listening, as i was, very intently. we stood some minutes thus. i was very cold, but i spoke cheerily to patch. he paid no attention to me, just gazed wistfully before him. yet no sound like a gunshot broke the silence. i had become impatient; with my mittened hand i patted my companion's head, saying something to him about the futility of this--that it was all hallucination, imagination--at which he looked at me for a moment gravely, then pointed his nose upstream once more, and with his ears erect listened again. but i could not stand still any longer. i spoke to patch about it. he paid no attention, at which i turned, meaning to retrace my steps. i saw he was unwilling to go with me; indeed he sat down in the snow and pointed his nose persistently up the creek, at which it occurred to me we might just as well go on a little farther, as i knew we could not lose ourselves, and i knew, alas! that there was no one "at home" to be troubled about our absence, so i turned again, crying, "come, my lad! come on, then!" at this the good old dog began to wag his tail, to jump and caper around me, barking with delight. i had not seen him so excited for weeks, not even when he thought he had a fox cornered, or a rabbit entangled in a snow-drift. often he stood still suddenly, as if he had heard something deeply interesting, and always after these intermissions he went ahead with greater demonstrations of pleasure and excitement, which caused me to become more agitated: i wondered what his meaning was. after a while, when we were standing side by side, attentive, suddenly the stillness, which was oppressive, was broken by two shots! no doubt of it this time, they were shots! and not so very far away. patch looked at me delighted. i am sure he was. instinctively i took him by the collar, for i thought he might in his transports rush off and get into mischief. however, a very few minutes after the sound of the shots had ceased to echo amongst the hills, six cracks rang through the stillness. it was a revolver that had been fired, that was sure! i loosed the dog then, who rushed off in the direction of the sound, whilst i floundered after him, calling as i ran, "forward, good dog! forward!" we must have gone half a mile before we stopped again to listen. patch had been running ahead barking, then returning to me, showing his eagerness, his delight, urging me with all his powers to hurry on. but i was out of breath. i stood still, and then i heard a double shot fired once more, and six revolver shots immediately after, and they were much nearer than the last! there was no mistake about it then. there were other human beings in that awful wilderness, there were more folk suffering--perhaps as i was--for i could not help regarding these reports as signals, perhaps signals of distress. i thought it well now to make a response. i raised my gun, let fly both barrels, then i drew my revolver from its case and discharged, at regular intervals, all six cartridges, saying, as i did so, "we'll try what that will do, patch." very little time elapsed before i had my answer. the signal was repeated. it may be imagined what i felt. the knowledge that there was really some person there was pleasing; it was also extremely agitating. i rejoiced that i should soon greet a fellow-creature; that i was not alone in that vast region, in that wilderness of snow and ice. this knowledge was quite overpowering--for a few seconds i could neither speak nor move. quickly, however, recovering some composure, i hurried on after patch, who was rushing ahead and barking vehemently. those shots had seemingly been fired on the far side of a low bare hill, which i hurried up, cheering on the dog, making my way with all the speed i could to the summit of the ridge. fortunately i had the presence of mind to note the course i must take to return to our creek. this hill was steeper than it looked to be; it took me some time to mount it, and when at last i stood upon its top i saw no sign of life, nothing but the vast snow-fields, sprinkled here and there with black pines. here i fired again, patch all the time barking exuberantly, and i, feeling sure that i was on the point of some wonderful discovery, felt very strange. as i stood panting with the exertion of my climb through that chill dry air, i wondered what i could possibly expect to find in those terrific wilds--rough miners, possibly indians, more likely some one as unfortunate as myself, that was all. however, the response to my signal was not delayed; down in the valley below there was what appeared to be a door thrown open. a flood of light shone forth, and in the glare of it there stood a figure, whether man or woman, friend or foe, i did not stay to consider--i just bowed my head in thankfulness. this person discharged a double-barrelled gun, then, running out, brandished a blazing firebrand to attract attention evidently, at which i started forward. i soon had to stop, out of breath, and then i heard the outcry of a human being, and what was most astonishing, it seemed to be the voice of a woman in distress. patch had already disappeared. i hastened after him, but had to halt again: the declivity was very steep, the way was encumbered with fallen timber and scrub, it was difficult to descend; so what with the thin cold air and my hurry, i made slow progress, and had to rest frequently. at one of these rests i saw against the light of the open door my dog crouched at the feet of the person there, who was stooping to caress him. i hurried on again, and soon could understand what the woman cried; it was, "help! oh, help! white man or indian, come and help us!" i shouted in reply--the distance was very short between us now--"i'm english! you may trust me! i'll come to you as speedily as possible!" and, as i began to flounder on again, i heard her exclaim most eagerly, "thank god! thank god!" it was not long after this before i reached her and the dog. as i approached she stood up and gazed at me. she was so enveloped in rugs and clothing that it was impossible to make out from her figure what she was; only two piercing eyes were visible, intently fixed on me. we stood thus, looking at each other for several seconds, then she exclaimed, "oh! i'm so grateful that you're an englishman! i'm sure you'll help me if you can." her voice thrilled me; i knew instinctively that she was a young woman; moreover, her tone, her accent, assured me that she was no rough and common one. was i in a dream? i could not realise what had come to pass; i merely said, "most certainly, i'll help you; what is the matter?" then she begged me to come inside the dwelling: i followed her, patch entering with us. shutting the door closely, and drawing a curtain across it, she pointed to a rough stool, asked me to remove my snow-shoes and be seated. i glanced around; i was in a fair-sized log shanty, one end of which appeared to be the fireplace, which, being piled up with blazing logs, filled the low room with light and most welcome warmth. there were two nooks curtained off with coloured blankets. behind one of them my conductress disappeared, but only for a few moments, when she appeared again. i was greatly embarrassed, for she had removed her wraps, and stood before me a tall and graceful girl, who impressed me instantly with the feeling that i was in the presence of a saint, for the glow from the fire, shining on her fair hair, which was in disorder round her head, formed a halo, an aureole. [illustration: "when she appeared again i was greatly embarrassed."] her face, indeed, was thin, drawn, and bore a most distressed expression, but for all that my first glance showed me that it was a beautiful, a supremely beautiful, girl in whose presence i stood. when i had removed my capote and outer clothing, she glanced at me, and i noticed she gave a sigh of relief when she saw that i was a young man--rough, unkempt, and anything but clean, certainly--but not a ruffianly bushman, as she no doubt had feared i would prove to be; then sitting down by her fire, i asked, "now, what can i do to help you? what is wrong?" she looked at me very sorrowfully, tears filled her eyes, she sobbed, she strove to reply to me; it took same time for her to attain the power of speech, whilst i regarded her with extreme interest and sympathy. at length she murmured, "i am not alone here--my father is lying in there," and she pointed to the other curtained place. "he is lying there very ill--dying, i'm afraid; it is for him that i want help." i told her that i was greatly grieved for her, but that, unfortunately, i knew little or nothing about illness. i asked if there were no others camped about there--were they entirely alone? she assured me that, so far as they knew, there was no human being within a hundred miles of them, and that the great trouble was, they had no food,--that they were actually starving! "do you mean," i asked, horrified, "that you really have nothing here to eat? how long have you been like this?" she told me that for weeks they had had nothing but salmon and a little tea; no bread, no meat--nothing but what she had mentioned. "and for a sick man," she went on, "what are they? i have tried to cook this fish in various ways, to get him to eat, but it is useless; he has had nothing but tea for many days--he's dying of starvation!" "and you," i said; "how have you managed? have you had nothing but salmon?" she replied reluctantly, "oh, i've done well enough. i can eat the fish, and have done so all the time; but now, alas! that too is consumed! we are just perishing for want of food--it is dreadful. what am i to do? can you help us?" i was unbuckling my bag now. "come," said i; "cheer up, then. if that is all that's wrong, i can soon make it right;" and when i put the piece of bread and meat upon the rough table, and unfolded the cake of chocolate, her eyes dilated with eagerness. she glared at the provisions as a half-starved dog would do, which completely upset my equanimity. "my dear lady!" i exclaimed, "i have plenty. by god's good providence i put these things into my bag when i started. why, i don't know, but there they are; pray eat, and let me assure you that i have ample provisions; eat, and then we'll talk further about what is to be done." she took the chocolate and scraped some into a tin can, saying, "ah! it's not myself i care so much about, it's my poor father: with this and with this bread he'll recover, i trust--it will save his life, please god! and oh! i bless and thank him for this, and you for coming to our aid." then she took it behind the other curtain, and i heard her endeavouring to awaken her father, who appeared to be in a kind of swoon, out of which she was unable to arouse him. after a while she called me in, and there on a rough couch he lay, quite insensible. he was a handsome, grey-bearded man, having an air of refinement i could see, although he was now so terribly thin and emaciated, with face and hands so white and bloodless, that he was a pitiful sight. his daughter had contrived to raise him on a heap of clothes used as pillows. i saw he breathed, but beyond that he looked to be already dead. she looked up as i entered, perplexed and alarmed. "i cannot make him understand!" she cried, and with a gasp she fell prone upon his bed herself, and i suppose she fainted. i was bewildered now; it looked as if they were both in a very serious state, and i neither knew which to attend to first, or what to do for either. i first endeavoured to bring him to consciousness, then i begged his daughter to try to rouse herself; but for some minutes i called to both in vain, and i thought they were dead. there i was, completely at a loss,--i could do nothing but stare at them. was this another horror added to what had occurred to me already? i asked myself. had i found companions in my solitude only to see them die before my eyes? what could i do? at length the girl stirred, gave a heart-rending sigh or two, and turning, saw me. i believe she did not at once understand what i was doing there; but i spoke gently to her, saying, "i think you are as nearly famished as your father; let me persuade you to leave him a while; drink some of this stuff yourself, eat some bread and meat. i hope it is only want of sustenance that affects you. do as i ask, and i will stay here and try to bring him to his senses, and to take some food." she appeared willing, but unable to move. i offered her my hand; she took it, and i helped her into the outer room. when i saw that she was trying to take some food i left her. i had much difficulty in dealing with her father, i tried in many ways; but at last i forced some chocolate into his mouth with a spoon. he swallowed it, and after a little he too revived; intelligence came to him. he opened his eyes, gazed wonderingly at me, and asked faintly, "who are you? where do you come from? where is may?" she was by his side instantly. "father! father, dear!" she cried, "we are saved; this good man has found us. he has plenty of food, and he will help us." at which he, looking alive at last to the state of affairs, muttered, "food, did you say, may--food? ah! there's plenty to pay for it; give the man gold, any amount of it, for food--that is worth more than gold to us, my love!" "hush--hush!" she whispered to him, "this is a friend; i know he is a friend. say nothing about gold!" but he would not be suppressed. he was taking spoonful after spoonful of the chocolate now, and munching a piece of bread, and between the mouthfuls he said to her, "it is delicious, darling. i am better already; it is only food i needed, you see? get more, dear girl--get plenty of it; pay this man what he asks for it, only get us food." i spoke up then. "don't trouble, sir," i said, "i have plenty not so very far from here, plenty of gold too; don't trouble about that, only eat all you can, and get up your strength for your daughter's sake--she needs food as much as you do. what i have fortunately brought with me will sustain you for a few hours whilst i go for more." "but where do you live? how did you find us?" he asked, looking at me fiercely with dark, brilliant, hungry eyes. "to think what we have suffered, may, and there was food close to us." perceiving that it was useless to discuss this with him, and seeing that he was taking food and gradually coming to himself, i thought it as well to leave him. the girl soon followed, and we drew stools near the fire, where patch had been all along stretched out luxuriously. he came up at once and laid his head upon her lap, showing very plainly that he approved of her. as for me, i was in a position hard to describe. i who had been for many months away from all refined female society, and for some time past had been utterly alone, a dog my sole companion, now sat beside a lovely girl in dire distress, a girl who was without doubt a lady. i was sure of that, and was shy accordingly. her dress was serge, it was worn and soiled and shabby, a shawl was round her shoulders, a fox's pelt was round her neck, and she wore heavy, clumsy mocassins, the beadwork and decorations torn and tarnished. her hands were small and shapely, but they were cut and bruised, wretchedly discoloured and black with bad usage and neglect. her hair was in spite of all lovely, although it was touselled and dishevelled, looking as if a comb had not been used to it for many a day. this girl was very fair, her hair was golden, her eyes were beautifully blue, she was tall, and though then borne down with toil and trouble, i could not help remarking that when in health and happiness she would be a rare specimen of a lovely english girl, than whom not one on earth is handsomer. now here she was, away back in the yukon territory, surely the most inhospitable, the most unsuitable, for a refined woman, in the wide, wide world, many miles from all her fellow-creatures, practically alone and starving, with a dying father, and not much hope of rescue. it was an awful situation, hard enough to describe, impossible to realise. and here was i, a young fellow with precious little experience of civilised life, for i had left england when little more than a lad. i was diffident, too, with ladies, yet here i was, thrown into her company, and, as it seemed, looked at by her as her saviour and her hope! i saw all i have described, thought all i have said, in a moment, and i considered at the same time what i was and what this fair lady must think of me! i remembered my dress, my dreadfully dirty dress. my face was black with soot and grease; i knew my hands were. you may suppose that in that country, where for eight months of the twelve every drop of water had to be obtained with difficulty by melting ice or snow, that most ideas of cleanliness have to be given up. yukon miners, as a rule, do not bother much with soap in the long dark winter. we two, seated by the fire, were silent for a while. i knew well that i had a serious task before me, and the sooner i started to it the better it would be, and the weather being then settled, i ought to make use of it. supposing another blizzard should arise, then moving about outside would not be practicable, it would mean death to all of us. i felt a difficulty in questioning this girl, and yet i was sure i ought to know more about her, their position then, what they most needed, and in what way i had better move. she sat silently gazing into the fierce fire. there were several large sticks of firewood ready to pile on, and a couple of huge knotty logs, which it would take a strong man some trouble to get there. i noticed these and asked her about them, saying that she and her father i supposed had not been very long alone, or else her father had been but a short time laid by, as i saw they had a good supply of fuel. she smiled sadly. "that is the last of it," she said, "and i'm afraid i'm not strong enough to chop more just yet--perhaps that'll last till i feel better." "you chopped that! you dragged all that inside!" i exclaimed, astonished. "why, what are you? you don't look as if you could do such work. is it really true?" she assured me that it was--that she and her father had been alone there, entirely alone, since the end of the previous september; that he was ill then, and that was the reason that they did not go out with the others of their party when they left. i believe she wished to tell me all about it then, but i knew that time was precious, so contrived to lead her into speaking of her father's illness and his most pressing needs. i told her where i was camped, what i possessed, and made her tell me what i had better bring. i explained that i had arranged to start for dawson, had all preparations made, so that all i would have to do would be to load my sleigh with provisions and necessaries and come up to them instead of going down stream to the yukon--that i should be some hours on the journey, and that soon after i returned i trusted to see a very great improvement in her health and her father's. "why," said she, almost gaily, "i'm better already. can't you see i am? and so is poor father. come and see him before you leave." i did so. he was sleeping peacefully, and really already looked improved. when i told her all that i possessed, she was quite overcome with excitement. would i bring some of it? should i be robbing myself? would not i be neglecting my own affairs by devoting time to them? and many such questions she put to me. i begged her not to trouble about me--that when i returned i would explain all, and she would then understand; but as it was all-important to get what was wanted without delay, i must start at once. tears filled her eyes as she thanked me, and called down blessings on me, at which i laughed, asking her if she had met with strangers in distress would she pass them by unhelped? she said "no, she could not." "well, then," i proceeded, "neither can i, so say no more, dear lady. i'm going to help you and your father out of this dreadful strait." before i left i chopped a heap of firewood and brought it in, for which she was very grateful. then whistling patch, i prepared to start. "oh! leave me patch," she begged; "the dear dog will be such company." i assured her i would willingly do so if i dared, but that patch had his work to do; he was a huskie, trained to draw a sledge; without his help i could not bring much, so it was necessary that he should come with me. she held out her hand to me, saying with a smile, "it's a very dirty one, but it's the best one i have to offer." i clasped it gladly, shook it warmly, as i replied, "it's not half as bad and black as mine, but what can we expect in this awful climate, this terrible region!" "ah! what indeed," said she. when i had gone fifty yards from the hut i looked back. she stood framed in the doorway against the light. i called to her "go inside. stay there till i return. i'll not be long; keep up your heart and your father's. all will now be well." then an idea struck me, and i cried, "but tell me, what is your father's name and yours! mine is herbert singleton, of blumfield, bedfordshire." she answered loudly, but in tones i never will forget, "my father is william bell of hawkenhurst in kent, and i am mary bell--but they always call me may!" then i shouted cheerily, "farewell, god bless you!" and calling again to patch, who was quite reluctant to leave her, i was off. chapter viii. through the keen air i hurried. it was light enough. the aurora was brilliant. whether day or night i did not know, or care. i was enraptured. i seemed to be walking on air. the rough hill-sides, the ice-clad rocks, i passed over with the agility of a fawn. i had companions, my loneliness was ended! and what company had i found? a girl who had instantly affected me in a manner i had never before experienced. naturally, after long absence from female society, a man is easily attracted by almost any member of the fair sex. i quite understood this. but i had never been enthusiastic in my admiration of women. indeed i had been, whether from diffidence or constitution i cannot say, rather averse to their society, and regarded those of my friends who devoted themselves to them as a bit weak. i knew this, and yet i felt so elated at meeting this girl so unexpectedly that i forgot all my former notions, and was so joyful, in spite of recent occurrences and our terrible surroundings, that i went on my way gleefully. the awful cold and my loneliness were clean forgotten, the long tramp on snowshoes was as nothing, so, almost before i knew it, i was back at the hut. everything that could freeze was frozen, indoors and out. i built a huge fire, i cooked a meal for myself and my dog, and i felt so bright and so exhilarated that i ate as i had not eaten for a long time. i rejoiced in my appetite, my vigour, and health, and thanked almighty god for his goodness, and not the least for his mercifully causing us--meade and me--to economise our food as we had, for now i could appreciate the value of it, as, of course, i had not hesitated, nay, i was eager, to share it with the bells. to think of that sweet girl in want of food was so distressing, that i would fain have given her all that i possessed and starved myself, rather than that she should suffer. sitting by my fire resting, i smoked and dreamed--waking dreams--about my new friends. i thought lightly of mr bell's illness. i believed it was merely want of sustenance, as it was with his daughter may. i thought of her as may, which was a lovely name. i considered, i wondered who they were, what was their history, how they came to be up there in that awful predicament, in that dreadful country. mr bell had spoken of gold as if they had plenty; i knew what i had, and this led me to dreaming of what might be. i pictured may in england, myself with such a woman as she appeared to be as my wife. i thought about all that we could enjoy in england, the comforts and luxuries that money would obtain there for us, and i fell asleep dreaming of such things, and slept until patch roused me. he had become impatient at my long nap. i had slept some hours. i was pleased, knowing the task i had before me of hauling a heavy load to the bells', and then returning without sleep or rest. i was not complaining--far, very far from that--i was indeed rejoiced about it. but i was wise enough to remember that i must go sensibly to work--that as their very lives depended on me and what i had, i must run no risk of breaking down or failing. there was a quantity of food, principally canned meats and vegetables, in the cache which meade and i built up the trees. i packed the toboggan with a selection, and with a sack of flour, some sugar, coffee, a few bottles of bovril, our only bottle of whisky, and all i could think of suitable for an invalid. i heaped on joints of venison, bear meat, and a few frozen birds i had left. i covered this with the remnant of the tent, lashed all securely, harnessed patch, and started up the creek. this was really my first experience of hauling a laden sledge. patch was out of practice too, so that for a while we did not get on pleasantly. the toboggan answered well. it sank very little, having a wide base, but the dry snow piled up before it. it was, as they say, "collar work" always. i had patch attached by a long trace at first, and i kept closer to the sleigh. he would try to go ahead rapidly. it was surprising the power of that dog, and the more i called to him to go slower the more he hurried. when i had at length forced a halt, i shortened his trace and lengthened mine, so that i was leader. now he paid more attention to me than his work. if i slowed up or endeavoured to take it easy he jumped on me, barking with delight. no doubt he thought it good fun. the cold did not appear to affect him in the slightest. he was well fed; but even in the real arctic the half-starved huskies pay no heed to it. they sleep contentedly in the snow, with the thermometer marking degrees of frost, as i have learned since i came out that it frequently does on the yukon. i next fastened patch's trace the same length as my own. by this means we got on better, for i could put my hand into his collar and guide him effectually. this answered usually very well, but when our traces became entangled, it was no easy matter to extricate them in the frightful cold. the actual weight of the load did not trouble us as long as we kept on the frozen creek, as it was usually level; and after a few hours patch was not nearly so full of life and impetuosity, and things went easier. we camped for an hour when we were half way. i made some tea; we had found rather a snug corner amongst some thick pine bushes. when we reached the hill we had to cross, we had as much as we could do to pull the toboggan up the steep incline. patch worked well; he gave me the idea that he knew we were nearing our destination, and was delighted. so, after many heavy tugs, we reached the top, when i called a halt; but my companion was for dashing over it, and slithering down the other side without delay. by hanging on behind i stopped him, and addressed him seriously, angrily, at which he looked into my face, then gazed in the direction of the bells' shanty, and let out a long-drawn howl. here i unlashed the gun and fired a couple of shots, a signal i had agreed upon with may. she had been listening surely, for the smoke from the discharge had barely crept away ere the door flew open and i saw her wave a burning stick in token that my signal was observed, at which mr patch began to bark and howl melodiously: he fairly yelled with excitement, and i had difficulty in restraining him from tearing down the hill. by care and patience we got safely down, and drew our load to the shanty. indeed we drew it inside, for a breeze had sprung up, and it would have been a risk to handle anything in the open air. it delighted me to see the pleasure with which my new friend examined what i had brought. "what! bovril!" she exclaimed, "and whisky! oh, they will cure father! and sago, rice; and this lovely tinned fruit! why, what a stock of things you have; are you storekeeping? i thought you were a miner." i assured her that i was, and nothing more, but that my partner had been up the season before, had done well, and gained experience, so that when we came in during the summer we had brought a large stock of food--larger than was absolutely necessary--in case of accidents. i added that i was deeply thankful we had done so, as things had turned out. i begged her to use all she could, for her father's good, to say nothing of her own; and to remember that there was plenty more where this came from. her father was much better than when i first saw him, but he was still ill and frail. he welcomed me warmly, clasping my big rough hand in his thin white ones, saying as he did so, "welcome back. i never can thank you enough for all your goodness. you have saved my daughter's life, and i hope, too, i may recover and prove to you my gratitude." i cut this matter short, begging him to use what i had been so pleased to bring. his daughter, being present, went over a list of the dainties, as she called them, and was quite cheerful, which gladdened mr bell, and they both spoke hopefully of the future. it was not long before we two had a kettle boiling, food cooked, and were enjoying what she assured me was the best meal she had eaten in that region. bacon and beans, the staples with miners, had never been satisfactory food to her father and herself. naturally it was a delight to me to be thus familiarly associated with her. during my absence she had tidied the shanty, and had also donned a better dress--that is, a cleaner one--less worn and ragged. she had done something to her hair, and had tried to make her hands more presentable. her beauty was, i suppose, enhanced by this, and to me it seemed that if she was not so thin, and had a little more colour on her cheeks, and could lose the sad look that seldom left her face, she would be perfect. as for me, i had done nothing to improve my dress or looks. i did get some snow melted at my place, and rubbed and scrubbed my hands; but i could not say they were improved, though a portion of the grease and blackness was gone. we sat with her father for a while. he was a smoker, but all his tobacco was gone: he tried to join me, but could not manage it, although he was decidedly better. we propped him up, and he talked with me, and then of course they wished to know how i came to be in that part, and how i came across them, and about england; asked if i knew the part they came from, and said a little about where my people lived. he appeared to know our name, having visited in the neighbourhood, so that we got on well. he was very feeble, spoke with difficulty, and his daughter may, as he always called her, helped him out, finished sentences for him, and described to me what she knew he wished to tell me. as for how i came to be in that neighbourhood, that was easily explained. i told of meade's discovery the first time he came into the yukon; how he had returned this last summer, and had brought me with him. i told how fortunate we had been in getting gold, and so forth, and generalised a good deal. i said nothing about meade's death--i merely stated that he had left me, that i had been alone for months, had become heartily tired of it, and had determined to get to dawson "somehow" with what i could haul out. i was making preparation for this when i heard the shots, which may afterwards told me she fired every few hours for a week, hoping to attract some one; but of late she had quite despaired. they were certain they should both die. indeed, as i knew, when the joyful sound of my gunshots, and soon after the barking of the dog, roused hope in her, her father had swooned away, and but for my wonderful advent, and what i had in my bag, she believed he would not have rallied. i told her my intention had been to remain at dawson till spring, then return to our claim, finish up there with men to help, and go home in the autumn. "so i suppose you'll be carrying this out directly?" may asked. i shall henceforth call her may, though really at that time i addressed her as miss bell. "oh, not now. no; there is no need. i've given up the idea since i've been so fortunate as to find you and your father. you see, i was only going to dawson for the sake of some sort of company. i have been so terribly solitary; i have nothing to do there now. i shall not be so lonely if you'll allow me to come here sometimes." "why, surely," she laughed; "surely, we shall be happy enough to see you, as often as you can come. see what good you have done us; look at my dear father. i wish you could stay here altogether." i thanked her, and wished i could; but added that as everything i possessed was in our dug-out, which i described, it would hardly be right to leave it entirely unprotected. they assured me that i need have no anxiety on that score, that robberies were never committed in that country, and that even if any one came across my place it would be left untouched. i could hardly credit this, but as they understood how meade and i had come in, and had met so few people, they explained, and declared that i should be surprised at the good behaviour and honour amongst the miners, who, whatever other evils they did, had a strict regard for each other's property. "why," said mr bell, "i've known thousands of pounds' worth of gold to lie unguarded, in view of all passers-by, and it was never interfered with; that was in alaska, on the american side, where we know the laws are not respected as they are in canada; and here, under the british flag, we're as safe, oh, much safer, than in england, so far as thieving goes!" when may and i left him to sleep, we sat by the fire conversing. it was then i told her that i had something like lb. weight of gold, worth, i supposed, £ , , buried in my dug-out; it would be a serious matter if it were stolen--to others besides myself. she whispered to me that they had also in this shanty an immense quantity, more than i could imagine possible, adding, "when the others went away they left our share with us, and father and i have got a lot since. he was not so ill then, he could help me. after they went away he and i worked, as i tell you, and our ground is very rich. we picked out as much as i can lift, and there is a dump of pay-dirt, which is full of finer gold, to be washed in the spring. but, oh dear! if father is not better soon i shall despair." i tried to encourage her. i said i felt sure that it was only want of proper food that had made him ill; now that there was plenty, he would soon be all right. she shook her head, saying, "ah! you don't know. it is not all famine; he was very bad whilst yet we had food enough. but i must not despair." she tried to speak cheerfully. "three days ago we were hopeless, dying really; yet see how wonderfully, how mercifully we have been rescued and provided for. i will hope yet. please god, father will recover, then all will be well!" i said that was right. i begged her to look at the bright side of things, and i continued, "you spoke just now of helping your father to mine--do you mean that you have actually worked? yes? not underground, surely?" smiling, she told me she had not actually worked down a shaft at tunnelling or driving, but that she had done about everything else. they had been working in a mound beside the creek, had traced the gold into it along bed-rock, much as meade and i had. this mound had gold in it from the surface, under the nigger grass and moss; it was six to ten feet thick, and of course always frozen as hard as marble. they lit fires before it, then removed the dirt thus thawed. it was slow work, consisting principally in cutting firewood and keeping the fires going. she had become quite expert with an axe, she assured me. they allowed these fires to burn half a day, then raked them away, and generally found the ground was thawed a couple of feet in. often, she went on to explain to me, they found within a few inches of the rock the gold as thick as plums in a christmas pudding, and she declared she knew there was an immense fortune in their claim. i quite believed all this, for it was like our own experience. when i looked at her i was not surprised at her ability to do labouring work. she was one of those well-built girls that one sometimes sees, more often in britain than anywhere, who, having from their childhood been used to outdoor life, are physically able and as strong as men. i could realise that when may was in good health her powers would be fully up to gold-mining or any other work. withal there did not appear to be the slightest sign of that masculine style which is so horrible to see in women: she was soft spoken, eminently feminine, and one could not doubt she was in all respects a lady. she knew all about panning off and cradling, and even sluicing, and could do them all. i was of course curious to know how they came to be where i found them, and how long they had been in canada, and so forth; but i was diffident, and i did not like to ask her. i fancied they had not been very long from home. i had been several hours there. i did not wish to leave, but thinking i ought to, i went in to bid her father farewell, when they both begged me to stay a while, and i did linger longer, for i really was in no hurry. we had much conversation, which was delightful to me after my long silence. i found they had no books; so when i told them of my possessions they were envious, and charmed when i promised, next time i came, to bring some with me. i believe it was this prospect which made them willing for me to go, as i pledged myself to return in a very few days. i left them with a heavy heart, with very great regret. may asked me again to leave patch with them; but when i told her that she had her father to talk with, whilst i had only a dog for company, she declared she was ashamed of having made so cruel a request. my journey home was not a pleasant one. it was very dark, the sky was clouded, there was some wind and drifting snow. it was not so cold, however--it rarely is when the sky is overcast. but for patch's sagacity, we might easily have gone astray. so long as i kept my mind fixed on mary bell, remembered that i was not now solitary, i did well; but when, tired, cold, and miserable, i arrived at the hut so drear, so gloomy, i felt dreadful, and for a while i could barely look about me undismayed. however, being fatigued enough and hungry, and the big fire making me drowsy, patch and i were soon fed and fast, asleep, and forgetting our troubles and joys. the following days i passed far from pleasantly. i sat moping by the fire, only rousing for food or fuel. i did not even think of working. i could not go in to where i had left my poor friend's body to dig for gold--it was desecration, i thought; so i just sat eating, smoking, sleeping, and grumbling to myself, and longing for the time when i considered it would be right to go to the bells' again. certainly this was very simple of me. i might have been sure they would have been pleased enough to see me; but, as i have said before, i was very diffident with ladies, and, i suppose, much more so since i had lived that isolated life. however, i could not dismiss may's personality from my mind. i really did not try to--it was a delight to think about her. no matter what i did, or on what train of thought i was, everything led me to that young lady. her face was always before me, it had such a hold on my imagination. of course i had heard or read about love, the attraction between the sexes, and so forth, yet i never applied this knowledge to myself. i felt, even after the little i had seen of my sweet young friend, that i could do anything for her, that i would fain secure her continued companionship; yet, somehow, it never occurred to me to say to myself, "bertie, you're falling in love with her; have a care, my lad." this is the manner in which i sat mooning by my fire. i had long since hunted out all our literature and packed it. i went through the remainder of our eatables, finding a few things that my new friends had not received. what more could i do to pass the weary time? i could not start for four days at any rate, as the weather became terrible--wind, snow, and continual darkness. not a star or ray of light was visible when i went outside, as i very rarely did, for necessaries only. i can conceive nothing more dismal, nothing more frightful, than this four days' gale. it seemed to me the very forest would be uprooted; the hill shook, inside which i lived. alone in that awful turmoil was torment. i feared that the whole aspect of the country would be changed, that i should never find my friends again; indeed i fancied it was more than probable that they and their frail habitation must have been swept away. to live outdoors in such weather, to travel through it, i knew was impossible, and i wondered if any poor folk were journeying, and i pictured their sufferings. i little knew then that there were crowds of people hurrying into this very part--for i was ignorant that the news of these great discoveries of gold had already startled the world, and that all the passes and trails were crowded with folk trying to get in--and most of them what we call "tenderfeet," men, ay, and women too, who had never known privations before, to whom the idea of sleeping out of their comfortable beds had been till recently an event undreamed of. what they must be suffering i could imagine, and what many are suffering now, even during the winter of ' - , who can tell? although already much improvement has been made. on the fifth day behold an entirely different state of matters. the wind had dropped; the absolute quietness was painful. i peeped out: the cold was intense, and all nature was deep imbedded in fresh snow. the full moon was shilling brilliantly in the south, and the northern heavens were sown thick with stars, and the sky was cloudless. believing that some days of quiet weather were assured, i made ready for a start. our load this time was quite light, and we went off gleefully. patch quite knew where we were going, and made no scruple about his happiness. decidedly i was glad to be off, but i had some very grave anxieties. i was impatient to know if my friends had weathered the gale. having cut a large supply of fuel and carried it in before i left the last time, i knew that may had no need to go outside, and so i thought if the shanty had held together i might find all well. we soon skimmed up the creek--my dog and i--and camped again in the pine thicket for refreshment. here i shot two black foxes. they had, i suppose, scented the meat we had with us, for happening to look behind me just before we stopped, i saw them in our track. at first i thought of slipping patch after them; then i wondered if i left them unnoticed whether they would draw nearer, and come within gunshot; but i soon perceived that they were afraid, although they kept after us, so i gave up hope of getting them. when we camped we left the laden sleigh out in the open, thirty yards away--i had forgotten the foxes. patch was in the shelter with me eating; suddenly he stood up alert. fortunately i took him by the collar instantly, and looking under the branches saw one of the black beauties on the load, tearing at the cover to get at the meat, whilst the other was rooting in the snow close by. commanding patch by gesture to lie still, i raised my gun, and from the rifle-barrel drove a ball through the head of one, and as the other dashed away i bowled it over with buckshot, with which the second barrel was charged. i felt proud of this performance, for i had been talking to may about black fox-skins, and had promised to get her some. it was good to be able to do it so quickly. they were both very thin, mere skeletons, starving, which was why they had acted as they did; but their fur was very beautiful, and i tied them on the load with great content. arrived in due time at the hill-top, i fired the gun again, then very shortly after we drew up at the door, entering with the sleigh as before. may met me with a radiant face--shaking my hands most heartily, hardly giving me time to remove my mitts before she had me by the hand; and long before i had unlashed my snow-shoes she was praying me to come forward and see her father, who, she announced, was improving rapidly. he really seemed to be. she had rigged up a couch beside the fire, on which he sat wrapped in a blanket, but looking, as i thought on first seeing him, quite bright and cheerful. the books and papers pleased them mightily; it delighted me to see them so interested. may looked ever so much better; she had a little colour in her face now, and in spite of the very terrible storm, which had raged around their unsheltered hut with still more force than it had around me, so far as i could judge, and alarmed them greatly, they had certainly both improved. we talked incessantly. i found mr bell an interesting man, full of information on many subjects; his daughter was just like him in that respect. he was about sixty, and must have been, when in health, an able, stalwart man. they begged me to smoke, and i having no objection, started my pipe, which caused mr bell to try again, and this time he succeeded fairly for a little. i could, however, see pretty well that he was still very frail, requiring great care, and i felt half afraid that the excitement of my visit would harm him. but what was i to do? the shanty was but one room: i must either go altogether, or stay; there was nothing else for it. i put this to miss bell, who said decidedly that i must stay, that she knew my presence would do her father good, and he backed her up with much vigour, for him. the tears came to his eyes when he besought me to stay as long as i possibly could. what could i do, then, but accede to his wishes? for indeed i did not wish to go away--far, very far from it. this shanty was perhaps twenty feet by twelve; the floor was clay. the only furniture besides the two beds behind the blanket curtains was a very rough table of split wood, fastened on to four unbarked stakes driven into the ground. the seats were a couple of three-legged stools, a block or two of wood, and an empty keg. of table furniture there was nothing but some granite-ware cups and plates, some iron spoons, and a few knives and steel-pronged forks. their cooking gear was a frying-pan, a tin billy, black and battered, and an iron camp oven. i perceived they had no bread, only "flap-jacks," a species of griddle cake cooked in the frying-pan. i said something about this, which caused may to say that she could not make bread. "i'm a first-rate hand at it," said i; "let me make you some." "it's hardly fair to set a visitor to cooking," she answered, with a smile. "nonsense," i went on; "i'm a good all-round cook, really--i've had plenty of experience during the last few years; let me show you what i can do--i'd like to." blushing, she agreed, explaining that with a proper stove and the right appliances she had managed when they were in a civilised country, but here, she had to confess, she was a perfect failure. i set to work, much to their amusement, and as i busied myself they talked to me, and by degrees i got to understand how they came to be in this terrible predicament. i learned that their party originally consisted of four besides themselves: they had come up the yukon from st michael's, had rested a few days at dawson, and had then continued up the yukon, and by degrees had crept up a branch river, always prospecting, and without much success until they hit on this spot. here they had found gold plentiful. they all worked hard until winter was near, and it was time to go out. the four men were rough fellows, americans, who had been mining in alaska on and off for years--they believed them to be perfectly honest. they had got gold to about the value of £ each during the short time they had been working, and were anxious to get out and go home to the states that season, and return the following year. may and her father were willing enough to depart with them, but when the time arrived to start mr bell was attacked by an old complaint, a species of fainting fit, which always laid him by for weeks; so for him to undertake the terrible journey down their river to the yukon, and then down that river to fort cudahy, which they supposed was the only way out, and where they hoped to catch the last steamer going down that year, was impossible. the men were in a measure sympathetic; they waited a few days, trying to persuade my friends to risk the journey, but may would not agree. yet, if they did not go out then, they knew they would have to winter there. provisions were low; there certainly was not enough to last them all till spring. many and long were the discussions as to what should be done. these men being, as i have said, anxious to get out and home, arranged this plan at last. they would go, leaving with mr bell and his daughter all the food they had; they would make their way to dawson, and then hire indians or others to come up for them, bringing a good boat, laden with ample food. by that time it was hoped mr bell would be able to take the journey. this seemed to all such a sensible and practical plan that it was agreed to, and the four americans left. it would take four weeks at least before this help could arrive. it would have to come before the rivers were frozen, or else a very different mode of egress must be devised. sleighs and dogs are the only means of winter travel there. the men left early in october; the rescue party might be expected in november. that month arrived. mr bell had recovered; he and may worked at their claim, being very successful, but as the month went by, and no one came, they were very despondent. at the end of that month the river was solid; no hope was left to them of getting out by boat. when december had half gone they felt they were abandoned, and their food was short! they ate sparingly; week after week passed; the snow came and buried them; mr bell became feeble--ill; may had everything to do, wood to cut, cooking to attend to, and her father to nurse. their provisions were by that time very short, even the frozen salmon was nearly exhausted, and they had no means of obtaining another ounce of anything to eat! and now it was february. three days before i reached them they had consumed everything but a little tea, and were actually starving. as this sad narrative was ended, i placed on the table what i had cooked. "come, then," i exclaimed, "eat now; let us be thankful i arrived in time. no need for any more anxieties, but to get strong and well, and away from this terrible region." chapter ix. whilst may and i ate, mr bell had some oxtail soup, which i had brought. "how was it that those men did not keep their promise, and send you provisions and help?" i asked him. "well," said he, "i believe i can understand. they are not bad fellows, really, but were most anxious to get home to the states. two were married. no doubt they called at dawson, and made what they thought a good arrangement; but they could not stop to see it carried out. very likely the boat was just starting, and it would be their last chance to get off; they could not delay. no, i don't think they neglected us willingly." "had you known them long?" "we fell in with them at st michael's last june, when we came up the yukon. we did not come here to dig for gold?" "why! what on earth brought you then? storekeeping? you puzzle me." "oh! no. i'm a writer and an artist. i came up for a tacoma newspaper--to send articles and sketches out." i had noticed a few drawings fastened to the logs. they had interested me. may had informed me they were her father's work, and this was the explanation. "but you haven't been able to keep up correspondence with headquarters," i remarked. "have you sent anything to them? has anything been published?" "ah! that i don't know," he replied. "we sent some from circle city and a few sketches, but since that, nothing. you see we soon discovered there was the chance of making more money here at gold-digging than by newspaper work, and ultimately we got up this stewart river." "stewart river!" i exclaimed, "what makes you call this river so? this is the klondyke, or a branch of it." "no! no!" declared mr bell, "i assure you it is a tributary of the stewart, here." we had no map, no knowledge at all of the geography of the country. we only understood that the yukon ran through it, having its sources in the rocky mountains to the east, and ending in behring sea, in the arctic ocean, to the north-west. into this river we believed all other streams ran. i assured him that meade and i came down it from the east, passing the mouth of the stewart on the way to dawson, where we entered the thronda or klondyke, which we ascended for fifty miles or so; then we came up a branch perhaps forty miles, and there we camped and had stopped since. now, i had come farther up this same stream for ten or twelve miles, and found them. "certainly," i said, "we must be on a branch of the klondyke." mr bell was as sure that we were on the stewart. we could not settle it. i believed that it was, at most, one hundred miles from my dug-out to dawson, whilst he declared that from the shanty in which we were then talking it was more than two hundred and fifty! it was a puzzle which we could not and did not clear up then. after this digression the story of their adventures was continued. they told me about the gold they obtained before and after their companions left them, and of the arrangement which was made that they should register the claim in dawson on their way down, as they expected to find there some proper authority, whether canadian or american they did not then know. but i had been able to assure my friends that we were in canada, that all the klondyke was in canada; it was known to be seventy miles at least from the international boundary. this had pleased them greatly, for they knew the name of william ogilvy, the canadian government surveyor, who had been deputed to run the st parallel of north longitude to settle this. their party being the discoverers of this rich spot, they expected to receive large claims along the creek, and mr bell declared that he believed they were all really rich. "and yet," he went on, "with all this gold, we should have starved to death but for god's mercy and you." then i recounted what meade and i had done, adding that i supposed we also were wealthy. after this we talked about our doings in canada before we came to this far northern part. i told them of my going first to a district back of peterborough, in ontario, with the idea of settling. it was near buckhorn lake, very pretty and picturesque, with fine fishing and game, plenty of deer, and so forth, but no place for farming; therefore i came farther west, through manitoba--which i did not exactly like--on to broadview, in assiniboia. this caused them to exclaim, "why, that is where we went! how strange. who did you know there?" i mentioned the birds and fields, the scotts and wallises, and i found they were acquainted with them all. we spoke of the peculiarities of the settlers and the district, how promising all seemed to be at first. by degrees i made out that mr bell had been at one time in very comfortable circumstances in england. if he had but been content all might have been well, but his hobby was gardening and farming, and when he married he went into it. he had no experience, and did not possess the gift of money-making, so, naturally, in a very few years he came to grief. may was their only child. having some artistic skill and literary abilities, he attempted to make an income by their means. it was all but a failure. they dragged on a precarious existence till may was fifteen years of age, when they had a windfall, a legacy of £ . next to farming in england, mr bell's favourite theme was emigration. for years he had declared if they had only done that when they first married they would have been wise and in due time wealthy, and now that this bit of good fortune had come to them, nothing would do but they must carry out his scheme. friends remonstrated, experienced relatives tried to dissuade him. it was useless. may had received a good education, and had led an outdoor active life, and her father's plan was that she should go with him to canada, leaving her mother at home in the little kentish village where they had lived for years. there she was to remain until they two had made a new home for her in the great north-west. mrs bell was not so extremely sanguine, yet having still, in spite of all, unbounded belief in her husband's cleverness, she was by degrees led to consider that this would be a wise step, and in the end agreed to it. from all i could make out then, and have learned since, mr bell had not been either an extravagant or unsteady man. he was indeed a great favourite with every one, and regarded, as indeed he was, as an exceedingly clever person. he simply had not the faculty of money-making, as i have already said. may and her father emigrated then to canada in --he declaring, as he parted sorrowfully from his loving wife, that in less than a year he would return and take her out to a bright new home in that land of promise, manitoba. may and her father went direct to a village on the canadian pacific railway, west of winnipeg, called carberry. it was stated by the railway and steamship advertisements to be situated on "the beautiful plains," and that land was to be had for a mere song close to the railroad. on their arrival they found this was an exaggeration: no land could be obtained except at great price, and although undoubtedly it was a "plain" there, yet they failed to consider the dead level, most uninteresting prairie as "beautiful," and only by going "away back" many miles could they obtain a place within their means. then they moved on to broadview, and liked the look of things there. really, it is not so good a part as that round carberry, but there are many clumps of wood, called bluffs, and many blue lakelets, sleughs they call them; there is a more picturesque appearance to its surroundings which no doubt caused them to prefer it. at any rate, mr bell at once bought a place, an improved farm, with a decent frame-house upon it--decent, then, for those parts--and they were charmed with everything. it was in the fall when they took possession, and the fall is certainly the most delightful time of year in that part of the world. at once they wrote home, quite elated, to may's mother, telling her that in the early spring she was to join them, for that the long-looked-for prosperity had come to them. yet before the snow had been swept from the prairie the following spring all their enthusiasm had vanished! what with the extreme loneliness, the intense cold, and the dreadfully arduous work, labouring work, which they had to do themselves or starve, they concluded that it would never do to have mrs bell there. the climate, the labour, the isolation would never suit them or her, that was plain. in the midst of this sad disillusionment mr bell had an offer for the place and the stock. he jumped at the chance, and the next time they went still farther west, to a place called banff, in the rocky mountains. they reached there early in the season, and with the enthusiasm with which mr bell went at every new scheme, when they had been there only three days he wrote to his wife a letter full of the beauty and the glory of their surroundings; declaring that, at last--no mistake about it this time--they had found what they were in search of. he at once bought a piece of land with a little cottage thereon, and proceeded to start a garden, feeling convinced, he said, that with his knowledge of horticulture he could raise no end of vegetables and fruit, which would sell for an amazing price at the great hotel and amongst the crowd of wealthy visitors who came to that famous health-resort. there is no saying but this might have turned out well, although from what i know myself of the climate up there i think it very doubtful; but, anyway, this is what occurred. during that summer they were only preparing their ground; there were very few returns from it, scarcely any profits, but, as they said, when the crops and fruit-trees they had sown and planted had come to bearing the following year, all would wonder at their success. in the meantime mr bell had made some sketches of the grand scenes around banff,--they were exhibited for sale at the hotel. he also wrote some graphic descriptions of the place; these were published in newspapers in vancouver, winnipeg, and even in toronto. at the hotel mr bell and may met many of the visitors: there were many americans amongst them, who talked, as usual, very "big" of the chances of making fame and money in their country; amongst them was the proprietor of one of the leading tacoma papers. he was attracted by mr bell's drawings and printed articles, and this resulted in his making him what may and he considered a most excellent offer of employment. they were to go still farther west, to this same tacoma, on puget sound, on the pacific coast of the united states. there they were to live; but he was to go about, up and down the country, making drawings and writing, at what was considered very good pay. they were now quite sure they would be settled permanently there; mrs bell was to come out the following spring, and all looked, and was, bright and promising. they sold out at banff, and started afresh under the star-spangled banner. it will be gleaned from the foregoing that mr bell was a "rolling stone." the colonies are full of such. they are common enough in america especially. only a few months after they were settled in tacoma news came of the doings in alaska: i allude to reports of the gold being got there, and the impetus that the trade of the country was likely to receive. there was nothing yet sensational, but it caused mr bell to be commissioned to take what they called "the alaskan trip." he did this successfully, returning in the autumn, enthusiastic about the scenery and the future of that country. he brought back many drawings, notably one of sitka, the capital, and others of the famous lynn canal. this so gratified his employers that they arranged he should take a still more extended tour the following season. he was to cross the gulf of alaska to dutch harbour, on unalaska island, some miles from tacoma, thence miles north to st michael's in behring sea. this place lies miles north of the mouth of the yukon river. here he was to take a river steamer and proceed up the yukon some miles to the canadian frontier. he was to describe and picture all he saw. the proprietors of the newspaper, in the open-handed manner of successful americans, proposed that he should take his daughter with him, on what was considered to be a most delightful pleasure excursion--which is exactly what it was, up to a certain point. at st michael's a number of miners joined their steamer with whom they became acquainted. their talk was gold, gold--always gold. our travellers were deeply interested in all they heard about it. by-and-by the idea occurred to them that it would be a grand thing for their paper if they accompanied one of these parties, lived with them, helped them in their work, and thus become able to write, from personal experience, about a yukon miner's life. by the time they reached circle city all was arranged; from there mr bell sent back to tacoma all he had done, and told them his intention in his usual enthusiastic style. they had joined with four of the least objectionable of their fellow-voyagers. at fort cudahy, which they did not then seem to know was in canada, they bought a boat and some food, and ascended the yukon to dawson, at which, although merely a few shanties and a store or two, they were able to purchase a full outfit of provisions and necessaries, especially "alaskan strawberries," that is, pork and beans. they passed by the klondyke with scorn, being informed by all that it bore no gold--that it was just a famous salmon stream, no more. indeed, the meaning of its name, thron duick--thronda--throndike--or, as it has since been changed into, and seems likely to be for ever called, klondyke, is "plenty of fish." they travelled up the yukon, sometimes rowing, at others poling or towing against its swift current. at every likely spot their companions, experienced miners, prospected: they found gold everywhere, but not in paying quantities. may did not dislike the life, except the mosquito torture. she had her own tent, and the americans were kind and attentive to her, as is always their habit with ladies. she had a banjo, she sang nicely, she was an acquisition: they were proud of having so beautiful a damsel with them. this went on until early in july, when, near where the stewart river joins the yukon, they met a party just come down that stream who were all english, knew something of the bells' people at home, which made the meeting agreeable, and they camped together for a couple of days. the english party owned they had found gold enough to satisfy them, and showed samples. it was coarse and nuggety. this fired the ambition of the four yankees, who knew well that, until then, very little such gold had been got: they also knew that this indicated plenty more where that came from. naturally, they were keen to learn where the englishmen had found it. but the englishmen would not tell: they vaguely declared it was "up the stewart." in vain our party endeavoured to get some more definite information; they would only assure them that they believed every tributary of the stewart was rich. may had attracted the attention of one of these men, a young fellow of the better sort. for the short time they were together they were very friendly: he talked much of england, and what he was going to do when he returned there. may told him what she would do if she had made her pile as he had. at which he told her that she easily could make it, if she would follow his instructions, and that if she would engage not to tell others he would give her the route, and ended by making her promise that when she had made all she wanted, and returned to kent, she would let him know. she laughingly gave her word. so when they parted next day, he whispered: "up-stream, about fifty miles, the river forks. go up the branch that trends north-west, follow that for less than twenty miles, and you'll get gold enough." all this time mr bell had been taking notes and making sketches for his journal; but when these young englishmen described their good fortune, it excited him and caused him and may to desire to do as they had done, so they arranged to join in with the four americans, in work and profit, sharing equally. may was, you understand, an acquisition, and could in many ways do as much as a man. so now there were six in company, all gold-diggers. i did not hear many particulars of their journey up the stewart, only that they landed and tried for gold frequently, they usually got "a show," principally of flour-gold, but nothing that looked like a pile big enough for six. when they had gone up fifty miles, as they reckoned, a very likely looking branch went off to the south-east. the practical men of the party wanted to ascend it; but mr bell, knowing what may had heard, strenuously opposed this. having some little knowledge of geology, besides the gift of talking well, he made a plausible theory, and soon got them to agree to try their luck up the north-west stream. as they proceeded they found gold everywhere, and occasionally a coarse speck which encouraged them. one day they were camped beside a creek which joined the stewart, perhaps seventy miles from the yukon. the miners had gone off prospecting. may and her father scrambled up this creek: it was very picturesque, and he wished to make a drawing. whilst he worked with his pencil, may, as usual, poked about the rocks and bars. she carried a tin dish always, with which she had learned dexterously to wash and prospect. all was quiet, except the murmur of water running over the stones, the buzz of mosquitos, and the twitter of the humming-birds, who were darting amongst the flowers which were plentiful along the margin of the stream. may having been silent for some minutes, suddenly came to her father, pale, and looking strangely at him. he was alarmed, thinking perhaps a snake had bitten her. she pointed eagerly, and did not speak. going in the direction she indicated, he came to her dish. then he, too, was excited, for the bottom of it was covered with gold--and coarse gold, too! for some minutes they could neither of them do much more than stare with amazement. "where, where did you get it?" he asked. she showed him. he emptied the gold into the crown of his hat, and, bareheaded, scooped up another pan of gravel, which he washed, and found to be as full of gold as hers was. they were calmer now; but they looked at each other with immense satisfaction, for they realised what they had discovered. "may, my dear, we've got gold at last!" he exclaimed. "our fortune is made; but, oh! if we could but let your dear mother know--eh?" they were both in tears, quite overcome with emotion; but they were very thankful. every one carried a little gold scales, so they soon weighed what they had obtained. there were over twenty ounces, worth £ at least. that there was plenty more ground like it they made sure by trying several places around, and all gave splendid prospects. in an hour or two they had £ worth! then they hurried back to camp, joyful and grateful. may said she had much difficulty to calm her father, he was so exalted: she greatly feared he would have a fainting fit again. the others were still absent when they reached camp, but soon returned disheartened: they had found nothing. may began joking them, and asking if they had found stuff that would go five dollars to the dish. they dolefully replied, "no; nor any that would go one dollar, which would pay--but five cent stuff was all that they could hit on." "two dollars!" she cried. "oh, that's nothing; that will not satisfy me." she laughed as she cried, "fifty dollars to the pan is about my figure!" "fifty dollars!" one of them replied with a sneer. "i guess you'll not get that round this yere region." then her father offered to wager that he could lead them to a spot where they could get stuff as rich as she had said, within an hour. he said this in such a jovial way that they saw there was some deep meaning to it. and when mr bell nodded to may, and she produced the tin and upset it into a dish, and they saw the shine of the gold, there was a lively time. it was late, but light enough; no one could sleep. all hands rushed up to the place, each washed a pan of dirt, and every one showed gold--coarse gold, galore! no need to describe how they cached their boat, and moved their camp to the hillside near their find. how they built the shanty for may and her father, which we were then in, and hewed a couple of dug-outs for themselves. then for two months they worked away with pick and shovel, dish and sluice, almost day and night, till they had secured some eighteen hundred ounces, which gave them about £ each! then they planned that all should go home together for the winter. they purposed to secure their claim at the headquarters of the government in that region, which they supposed was circle city, for they believed then that all that country belonged to the united states. they intended, however, to stop off at dawson city to ascertain the truth. it was then that mr bell took sick, and the rest of the story transpired which i have already recounted. nearly all of what i have so far related was told by may, only here and there her father added a word of correction or explanation. for the last half-hour he had not spoken. may was sitting turned from him, but i could see his face, and i noticed that he had closed his eyes: i merely supposed that he was sleeping. when may ended her story we were silent for a minute. she turned to address him; the moment her eyes fell on him, she exclaimed in alarm, "he has fainted again! he is dead!" i was bewildered. "no, no! not that!" was all i could say; "he is only sleeping." kneeling beside him, she endeavoured to arouse him, but he did not stir. again she cried out that he was dead, and looked at me appealingly. but i had hold of his wrist, i could feel his pulse; it was weak, but i knew he was alive, and told her it was a recurrence of his old complaint--bad enough, but not so bad as she supposed. i brought whisky, forced some into his mouth, and before long we had the satisfaction of seeing him revive. may was now blaming herself for having allowed him to be agitated by our conversation, at which i also felt guilty, for had not my visit been the cause of it? we carried her father to his bed; i sat beside him with his sorrowing daughter for an hour. he slowly came to himself and knew us, but she declared that it would be many days before he would be anything like right again. it was terribly sad, i felt very deeply for her, yet i could do little to help; and fancying i would be better out of the way, i began to make preparations to depart. when may saw my intention she was strongly opposed to it, and begged me to remain, prayed me not to leave her there alone, and declared that if i had any kind feeling i would not think of going. i cannot remember all she said in her excitement; all i know is, that it being against my wish to go, i promised to stay a while, and when her father had rallied more i laid myself down beside the fire and soon fell asleep, for i was very weary. when i awoke i persuaded may to take some rest, whilst i sat by him, and as she was fagged out and quite exhausted she agreed to do so. then when he and i were alone he began to talk to me in a low weak voice. in vain i begged him to lie quietly, to try and sleep, and get well for his daughter's sake. but it was useless, he would not keep silent; he knew she was sleeping, and declared in an eager whisper that this being perhaps the only chance that he would ever have to speak privately to me, he must talk. what could i do but listen? "you know that i'm a dying man," were the first words he said. i was so overwhelmed with consternation at this, that i did not know what to reply to him. "oh, no!" i said at last; "surely, surely not; think how much better you are than you were a while ago. cheer up, sir; don't allow these sad ideas to take hold of you. you'll soon be well and up again, and ready to start for home." "nay, nay, my friend," he murmured; "that will never be. i shall not live many days." as he thus talked to me i was looking at him searchingly, and i believed that what he said was true. there was that grey drawn look on his countenance which i remembered so well on my lost friend meade's, and i realised in a flash that i was again to stand by whilst another died. there were complications here, too, that bewildered me. true, i should not be left alone as i had been before, but what terrible difficulties i should have to face! i should have this afflicted, broken-hearted girl to guard and care for, and what could i do for her? of course i am not wishing to convey the idea that i objected to doing all i possibly could for her. i felt so heartbroken on her account that i would willingly have given my heart's blood to help her, but i felt my ignorance and my incompetency. all this flashed through my consciousness whilst mr bell paused to take breath. i endeavoured to make him silent, but he would go on whispering continually. he repeated that as may was sleeping, he must tell me all he could, and he did tell me much, far more than i ever can repeat. he assured me he knew he never should recover, that he was equally sure that i should stand by his daughter after he was gone. he begged me to help her out and home to england, and to do my best to get the gold out too. i promised, of course. even if i had not learned to admire may, i should have done that--but here in this savage wilderness, although it was a supremely difficult task i knew, of course i would do my best for her. to say i loved her then would hardly explain my feelings; i had not thought of it in that light. i only knew that every thought and wish and aim was centred in her, and i was positively desperate when i realised what was in store for her, and what my incapability of efficacious help was. certainly i loved her--loved her with my whole heart and soul, but i did not recognise it then. i did not analyse, and here her father was giving her into my care and guidance! he proceeded slowly, but very clearly, with his observations. "all my life," said he, impressively, "i have been unfortunate. i never made money. i have always been in trouble about that. i'm a failure--that's what i am. my dear wife in england is broken-hearted about us. she has suffered for years the greatest of all earthly trials--the want of sufficient money. she is suffering now, and waiting, hoping against hope, that we will send for her to join us, or come home with plenty. and here, now, at last, we have got money, and are rich; the hope, the aim of my life is granted, and i must go and leave it! is it not sad? is it not wonderfully sad?" i said it was. i tried to talk to him as though i believed he might still hope--but ah! i knew, i knew. continuing, he said, "doesn't it almost seem unjust! we know that 'he doeth all things well.' we know there is one above in whom we have, or ought to have, perfect trust; and yet, my friend, desiring as i do to speak with all reverence of almighty god, doesn't it appear impossible that he should let me perish just when i have really attained my object, after all the struggles and trials of life?" i said it certainly did seem to us poor mortals very strange, but we just had to trust him, and i quoted what i had often heard my father repeat-- "god moves in a mysterious way, his wonders to perform." mr bell sighed deeply as he agreed with me. i tried to cheer him. i urged him to endeavour to get better, to look at the brighter side of affairs, for his daughter's sake, at least. i said, of course, i would stand by and aid her all i possibly could, with my life if need be. i would do all a man could to conduct her safely home to her mother, if he were taken; but i urged him again and again to try to pull himself together, and for all our sakes not to give up hope. he took all i said kindly; he clasped my hand in his, and promised to do his best, but whispered as we heard may stirring, "it's hopeless, bertie singleton--quite hopeless; but i'll try to hide the truth from may as long as possible." when may rejoined us he rallied wonderfully, and in a few hours had improved so greatly that i said something more about leaving, and again may begged and prayed me to remain with them, in which her father joined with her eagerly. most certainly i did not wish to leave them, but i was troubled about the way to stay. i suggested that i should erect a tent, bank it round with snow, use the yukon sheet-iron stove they had, and sleep in it. with plenty of pine brush, furs, and blankets, i should be all right. for in a tent, in the way i have described, one can keep warm with the thermometer many degrees below zero. we were planning this when she said, "but why not use one of the places the men made? come and see." wrapping up carefully and taking a firebrand, we two, and patch, who was true to may, and would hardly allow her to move without his knowing all about it, tramped through the snow to a den excavated in the same fashion as meade's and mine. it was absolutely dry inside--dismal enough certainly, but to me, used to such a dwelling, it offered a convenient lair. may returned to her father. i built a huge fire in the proper corner, and soon had a warm burrow for a sleeping-place. it was close to the shanty. if may hammered on her door i should hear it, and be with her in a moment. for a week mr bell continued to improve; may became quite cheerful. i did all i was able to aid them, kept up the fires, thawed snow for water, cooked, and made matters as pleasant as i could. we read and talked, and in many respects we had a happy time. plenty of food and firing and sweet companionship satisfied my ideas of rest then, and i was glad to notice that in spite of all the terrible surroundings may was looking well and strong. mr bell was able to sit up and talk cheerfully at times; but, notwithstanding, i noted no improvement in his appearance, and i feared greatly his daughter had much to suffer yet. i did not anticipate immediate danger though, and as i was obliged to visit my dug-out down the creek for another load, i arranged to go, and to be absent for two days only. since the night when may had slept whilst i sat by her father, he and i had no private conversation; it was impossible, as she never left the hut. but often he looked at me so sadly, perhaps in the middle of lively talk with her, that i was very much troubled, dreading what was coming. the day before i had arranged to start he was busy, just as poor meade was, writing--letters apparently. they seemed to be deeply affecting him. he was paler than usual, and struck me as being still more withered and shrunken. he looked as if there was but a feeble spark of life in him, which a breath would extinguish. how dare i hope that he would ever gain strength enough to take the terrible journey out? i knew may noticed this change in him: she begged him to rest, she hung round his couch, sadly troubled; and for the life of me i could not say anything to cheer her. she urged him to give up his writing, but all that he would answer was, "soon, my love--directly." he wrote only a little more after this, then folded the sheet, and with trembling hands placed it in an envelope and fastened it. then he looked up at her and me. his eyes were suffused with tears: i never saw so mournful a look upon a human face. it affected me deeply. what did may feel then? she glanced at me once only. i'll never forget that glance. clasping her father in her arms, she drew him frantically to her breast, crying, "father, dear father, tell me what is troubling you?" in a loud hoarse voice, speaking more powerfully than i had ever heard him, he said, "i was writing to your mother, may--bidding her farewell!" "farewell!--father. what do you mean?" she cried. "my dear, i have written 'good-bye' to her. i have finished; and--now--i must say--good-bye to you--my darling. yes--i'm going to leave you. it's all right. i have--known this--for a--long time. i'm going--to die here--may. i'll never--see dear england--again--nor your sweet mother. but i know--where my trust is, may. i know that--my redeemer--liveth. tell her--this, dear--we shall meet--in the beyond. and, may--my dearest--i leave you--in full faith--that you'll--get home. god will bless--your journey. don't fear. i leave you--in his hands--and in those--of this good friend--bertie singleton's. he'll do his best--for you. trust him. don't grieve--too much--for me." during this long, sad, and very solemn discourse, may had fixed a stony gaze upon him: her face was white as chalk, her eyes were staring wildly. she uttered no sound until he ceased to speak; then she gave a most piteous, woful cry, and sank insensible across the bed, his hand clasped in hers. i stepped forward, anxious to render some aid--i knew not what. he looked down upon his daughter, then wistfully at me. "it is well, my friend," he whispered; "my time has come. my sands of life have run out. i must go!" i put my hand out mechanically. he clasped it very tightly, with a nervous grip, and placed it on may's head, saying most gravely and yet so trustfully, "i leave her in god's hands--and yours. i know you will deal kindly with her, as i know my heavenly father will. i can trust you. i do. farewell, dear friend, farewell!" as the last words fluttered from his lips he lay back, closed his eyes, and after he had heaved a few feeble sighs, at longer and longer intervals, i knew that he, too, was dead! at which i threw myself upon my knees beside his couch, utterly unnerved--despondent--desperate. chapter x. how long i thus remained silent and despairing i do not know. i was aroused by may addressing me. "see," she whispered softly,--"see what has happened," and she pointed. "i know, i know," was all that i could utter. it was a profoundly miserable scene in that far-away shanty. the rough walls, the crevices between the logs stuffed with moss and mud; the earthen floor, worn into holes and inequalities; the huge fireplace, with its pile of smouldering logs; the dim light from the flickering slush-lamp; the blanket screen, drawn aside for the sake of air; the rough couch of leaves and rugs, on which her father was lying; and she, standing near, with her hands clasped, her face white as that upon which she gazed, with such a look of woe and despair on it, that it made me feel what no mere words can describe. thus we stood, patch sitting by the fire, turning his head occasionally, with the same look he bore when poor meade died. we remained in this position until the pent-up feelings of my distressed companion vented themselves in a moan, so pitiful, so heart-breaking, that i could not control myself. i felt i must do something. i grasped her by the arm, and exclaiming "come, come away," i drew her to the fire, and made her lie down upon a heap of blankets that happened to be there. then, taking a stool beside her, i endeavoured to say something to calm her, and to show how deeply i sympathised with and felt for her. she remained quite silent. she neither shed tears nor spoke, but lay there motionless, with staring eyes, with such an utterly lost look upon her face, that i began to fear she too would die. this thought so startled me that i suddenly spoke sharply to her. i forget what i said, but it roused her from her lethargy. startled by my exclamation, she regarded me with piercing earnestness, exclaiming, "what is to be done? what can be done?" "dear lady," i answered, speaking with deep feeling, "i cannot tell yet. we must decide on something. can you live on here alone? i see by your face that you cannot. can you undertake a journey through this terrible wilderness alone? of course you cannot; so we must throw all false delicacy aside: you and i are here, miles on miles from any other human beings. i will do all i can for you, we must work together, so try to calm yourself and think what will be best." she looked hard at me, and, i was thankful to see, trustfully; then she pointed towards the curtain which i had lowered. "what must be done with what is there?" she whispered, and she hid her face in her hands and wept. i was grateful to see the tears fall, for i knew that to any one in deep grief tears are a great relief. when she was calmer i talked gently with her. "we cannot bury him, the earth is frozen hard as steel. his poor body will be quite safe here; but could you live here with it?" i asked. may remained silent for some time, sobbing convulsively. at length she mastered her emotion, and exclaimed, "no! no! let us go away; cannot we start now and make our way to dawson? i am very strong, i am inured to cold and hardship--let us go; let us start away from this most terrible place; let us make our way to england, and my mother. oh, my friend, my dear friend, help me to get home!" considering how little experience i had had until quite recently with mourning and distress, even amongst men, and that i had never had any with women, i think i acted wisely in encouraging may to discuss and become interested about this idea of getting away. i led her to talk, believing it was the best thing for her. for an hour or two we discussed the subject in every aspect, until, indeed, i perceived it was very necessary for both of us to have food and sleep. i was delighted to see my dear companion eat a little, but when i suggested that she should turn into her usual sleeping-place, she broke down again, declaring that to be impossible. the position was terribly distressing, she could not even lie by the fire and sleep, although i promised to stay by. she showed perfect trust in me, much as a young child would, but begged me not to press her to lie down at all there. i knew that a good long sleep would greatly help her if she could obtain it, but i could think of nothing to suggest, until she asked me if i would mind sleeping there alone. i said "no," but wondered. "then," said she, "i think i should rest and sleep if i could be where you have been--in the dug-out--if patch could stay with me." i was surprised, but thankful, therefore we went there together. i made a big fire and left her with patch, to my great contentment. i slept for long. when i awoke i thought over the plans we had discussed; i weighed all the pros and cons, and tried to see the worst and best of the position of affairs. i prayed fervently to almighty god for help, that wisdom and strength might be vouchsafed both of us; i prayed that this dear girl, who had in his providence been put into my care, might be given power and fortitude to bear up against the afflictions she was now experiencing, and the terrible trials and adventures she, i knew, had yet to face. a great measure of peace, clearness of perception, and courage was bestowed on me; and when may came in by-and-by, i saw that she too had received refreshment and help, and was more like herself than she had been for many days. i lifted up my heart with thankfulness to him who had so blessed us. her first words were brave and encouraging. i could understand that she had weighed and realised, and was not going to give way to useless repinings, but would be my courageous friend, my trusty companion and my help, so long as we were together fighting our way through the innumerable difficulties that we knew beset us. we cooked breakfast, talked seriously for half an hour, then began to carry out our plans. our first duty was most distressing. we carried the body of mr bell to the little dug-out i had occupied, and she had slept in. here we deposited it, covering it with a blanket. may bore up bravely. i left her alone for a few moments; when she rejoined me outside she was silent. we secured the entrance against bears and foxes with rocks and logs. i fashioned a cross and fastened it above the door; on it i wrote that it was the burial-place of william bell, of hawkenhurst, kent, england, who died february , , and a few other particulars. we next secured the shanty. having removed all we wished to carry away, we nailed a paper to the door stating to whom it belonged, giving the names of the party and their residences, outside; adding that the adjacent claim--describing the position of the boundary stakes--was their property, who were the discoverers of the gold, and that it was duly registered according to law. as for the gold, we hid it safely: may had no fear of robbery, even if any one should wander that way, which was most unlikely, till spring at any rate. we packed my sled with the remaining food, apparel, and a few things she required--some blankets and her tent; then as we found we could haul the load easily, patch and i, we opened may's cache and added to our cargo fifty pounds' weight of gold, which was so much less to remove later, and so much saved in case bad characters should come across the place. may and her father had kept a diary, so by means of the memoranda i had preserved we were enabled to discover with some certainty not only the day her father died, but when poor meade "left." mr bell passed away february , , and meade, november , . there was at this season some daylight; the sky was for some hours beautiful with sunrise colours--and the twilight lasted, though the sun was not up for very long. we welcomed this promise of better times; indeed it was a great change from the monotony we had so long experienced. wrapped to the eyes in furs and blankets, may and i stood for a while impressed with the scene, whilst patch, to whom cold made no difference, gambolled to his heart's content in the dry and powdery snow. to us two poor human beings this cold appeared never to vary; it was intense always. we had no thermometer really to test it. we were rarely annoyed by wind; only once or twice whilst i was at the bells' place was there anything approaching a breeze, and then we did not leave the house. it was the st of february when we started, at noon, patch and i harnessed to the sled. on the summit of the hill we halted to take a parting look at the scene of so much sad interest to may, and of so much mingled pain and pleasure to me. she shed many tears; but i hurried on, for i knew that her grief, though natural enough, would do no good, and i did my best to interest her in our surroundings, and thus allured her to brighter thoughts. after this we got on famously. may had a pair of real indian snow-shoes, and though out of practice, soon got into the peculiar stride again. we arrived all well at my midway resting-place, where i shot the foxes: here we halted for tea and food. out of some pines i shot two brace of grouse. it had become night long before we reached my cabin, but the heavens were ablaze with northern lights, and we could see well to travel. very frequently i blazed trees along our course--that is, i slashed pieces of the bark off with my tomahawk, for i knew when the snow was gone the aspect of the country would be so changed that it would be no easy task, especially for strangers, to find their way without such indications. we had no adventures, and arrived in due time at my gloomy habitation. a grand fire was soon blazing, and may was installed mistress thereof. i showed her all i possessed, and my way of housekeeping. then as near as possible to the entrance we put up her tent substantially, lining it with blankets; we banked snow high up around it, brought in the usual layer of pine twigs, lit the stove, and thus made an exceedingly cosy sleeping-place for me, may rendering most efficient aid. and now commenced a most singular life, in many ways to me a very happy one. certainly my thoughts reverted often to the past, and i could not help thanking the good providence which had blessed me with the company of this dear girl to fill the gap caused by the loss of my friend meade, whose memory was, notwithstanding, very green with me, and whose absence from this changed aspect of our dugout home was to me inexpressibly sad. may was grieving sorely at the loss she had sustained, i saw. i admired the way, however, in which she bore up. she seldom allowed me to see how she suffered from the discomfort and the misery of the life she led. instead of complaining, she often expressed herself as most grateful to the almighty, and to me, for the many comforts and blessings we had. i was always grieving, though, that i could do so little to relieve her during what i knew must be a most miserable time; yet i had one great satisfaction, which, i admit, completely outweighed all my discomforts,--it was that i was so intimately associated with her, and it gratified me to know that i had been enabled to rescue and befriend her. for a time i feared that she could be experiencing no atom of pleasure or comfort, but she frequently assured me that she was perfectly content, and, knowing that it would be impossible to mend matters for the present, she looked on the least dismal aspect of the situation and made the best of it, like the good, wise, girl she was, which made her lot easier to bear and my burden of anxiety lighter. with a woman's tact she made the dismal burrow to appear brighter for her stay in it. there were few articles for her to manage with--brilliantly coloured blankets and a few skins of beasts we had killed was all. i think it was her sweet presence that, to my eyes, brightened matters more than anything, though often when i entered in a morning i saw some fresh evidence of her thoughtfulness and taste. we passed our days in company, cooking and eating, reading and talking. oh, how we talked! if some person could have peeped in at us when the slush-lamp was burning brightly, the fire was roaring up the chimney, and on the rough table an appetising meal was spread, they would have wondered. we were far better off, i fancy, than any others were that winter in the yukon region. certainly i was reconciled to my lot. still i felt deeply for and pitied may. [illustration: may and i in the dug-out.] sitting dreamily by the fire one day, talking of our past adventures and planning our future course, we got on to the subject of meade. i had been narrating how i met him, and how i came to be where i was and what he had done. "where is he now?" asked may. "will he come up here again in spring?" i said "no--he has gone for good and all; he'll never return to me!" "what! and left all his gold behind? you told me he had taken none away with him." i was nonplussed, confounded. i did not know what to answer. i hesitated. "is there some mystery?" she asked. "by your look i feel sure there is some other sorrowful story--you are trying to hide it from me. don't you wish me to know?--ah! i see there is. believe me, if it is something sad, i'll try to sympathise with you, as you have with me in my great sorrow, if that be possible." i thanked her, assured her that it was a very melancholy story,--then i told her all there was to tell, even to where i had deposited the body of my friend; and i explained what his wishes were about his share of the gold, and that i intended, the first thing after reaching england, to see his mother and fanny hume, and carry them out. it was a great satisfaction to me that may now knew all. there was henceforth nothing hidden from her. during this close companionship we had talked on every possible subject,--our past lives, our desires for our future, our friends and relatives, our hopes and aims,--until we knew each other perfectly. amongst other subjects we had some melancholy conversation about her father's death, which led to her speaking about his poor remains. she felt distressed when she thought of them lying in that place alone, so terribly alone, and frozen. "if they were buried in the earth it would seem more natural," she said once. "i believe i should feel much more at ease if that was done." i promised her if it could be, it should be,--certainly before we left that region it must be. "why can they not be treated in the same way as you have interred your friend's remains?" she asked. "there is no such tunnel up on your place--it cannot be done there." i shook my head in doubt. i was thinking, and the matter dropped. is it to be wondered that, day by day, as this sweet girl's character unfolded itself to me, i became more and more devoted to her? i cannot tell the moment when i realised that i loved her, when i felt that life held no greater prize for me than the affection of this, my dear companion in those vast solitudes. that she liked me, i believed; that she felt towards me in the least as i felt towards her, i dared not hope. often i gazed longingly at her, yearning for the time when i could honourably ask her the question which was uppermost in my mind--"could she ever love me?" in all our intimate conversations the subject of love had never been discussed. i was not brave enough to broach it, and she never did. but often, oh! how very often, we two compared notes about our future plans, how we would live our future lives. we pledged ourselves to lifelong friendship; we vowed that, whatever betided us in the years to come, if, please god, we ever reached home again, we two would ever be in touch with one another, and would aid each other to carry out the plans we concocted in that gloomy home we had up near the arctic circle. we each had plenty of money, or should have, if we succeeded in getting our gold away, and would then have the means to carry out the schemes we laid. what good we projected to our fellows! to all poor strugglers at home! what philanthropic associations we would help! may's ideas of a happy, useful life were exactly the same as mine, which impressed me more and more with the desire, the hope, that we two might live that life together. that the dear girl approved of me as a friend, i could not doubt, but that she had learned to love me i was not vain enough to believe. how could she love a rough, uncouth fellow like me, unkempt and dirty? i was all that then. it did not occur to me that she also was very far from presentable in civilised society. her dress, like mine, was one mass of grease and blackness: the life we led amongst the smoke of the miserable slush-lamps, the cooking and grubbing, with no free use of water, and no soap, for neither of us had any left, had caused us to become very disreputable-looking beings. however, it was her sweet face which attracted me. it never occurred to me to think that for the rest she was not a whit better dressed or cared for than i was. certainly i felt in honour bound to treat this girl with the utmost deference, yet i often dreaded that my strong feeling for her would show itself, and then good-bye to much of our content. for if even, impossible as i then thought it, she felt the same regard for me as i did for her, the difficulty of our position would be greatly increased. therefore i prayed god to enable me to control myself, and i am thankful to say he did, until the time arrived when it became possible for me to speak out plainly. for a week or two after the death of mr bell i always addressed her as miss bell, and she spoke to me as mr singleton. it was stiff and formal, but i had not the power to suggest any change. one day, however, we being both outside, busy at some necessary work, she called to me to help her lift, or do something for her, and as usual called me mr singleton. "oh!" i replied, "pray call me bertie--it is time that mister should be dropped, surely." she smiled, as she answered, "surely, surely it is, but you must call me may." i being quite agreeable to this arrangement, it was may and bertie between us from that time forward. chapter xi. gold-getting at this time was entirely given up: we scarcely mentioned the subject. were we satisfied with what we had obtained? i believe that we were to a great extent, for we knew that our claims were valuable, and we knew we could look to the future proceeds with assurance. as for may's party's claim, she could do nothing. she believed it was safe, legally registered; and the american partners would return in the spring, and she had all the documents which her father had drawn up to prove her interest in it. with my claim it was much the same; i knew i could prove my title to it. i believed then that it was only in the tunnel that the golden streak of gravel existed, and i really had not the courage to go in there to work alone, and of course i could not ask may to go in with me. she would have gone if i had, for she had a great objection to being alone, which i suppose was natural. she knew where meade's body was lying; she knew where we had got gold, and i showed her my store of it in the cache. three weeks passed, during which we did a mere nothing: we were waiting till the season was more advanced, when we should have longer days, and so we made ourselves as contented as we could. we had planned, however, that when may had recovered some peace of mind, and had regained her health and strength, i should go back to their shanty with my toboggan, and bring the rest of her gold down. i did this; i made the journey there and back in one day. she bravely wished to accompany me; it really was unnecessary, and after persuasion she consented to remain with patch for company. i did not bring all her gold that trip, for i had formed another plan. i loaded some of it on the sled, but i also brought her father's body with me! i had not told may of my intention, but i knew my scheme would please her. it was a melancholy undertaking, but i managed it all right, and crept silently back, and was able to take my burden into the tunnel without discovery. i left it there, came to may's door, and was welcomed home--it really seemed like home now. [illustration: "it was a melancholy undertaking."] i made some excuse about not bringing all her gold, and later, by manoeuvring, i managed to hew out a niche for the body of mr bell close to meade's; indeed i got it all done without her guessing anything. she knew i went out with pick and shovel, and supposed that it was something to do with mining. several days after, i told her what i had done. she was very grateful, and went with me to the place, and saw, with tear-dimmed eyes, where i had laid her father. shortly after i made another trip to her place and brought away the rest of her treasure; and then, in our burrow on the hillside, there were many thousand pounds' worth of bullion stowed away. all this time we were seriously talking about how and when we should get away; but as yet there were no signs of spring, further than increasing length of daylight. during this time a very curious thing happened as we sat one evening by our fire, may and i, talking and planning: she, with a wooden stick we used as a poker, was stirring the earth of the floor about, when she exclaimed, "why, there's a bit of gold!" it was so, a piece the size of a bean. i supposed, at first, that i had in some way dropped it there, but when she stirred the earth again and found another piece or two, we realised that it was pay dirt that our floor was composed of! this set us examining, and we soon discovered that not only was the earth beneath us, but the very walls and roof of our abode, full of gold! we scooped out with pick and shovel a large portion of one side of the dug-out, we carefully picked over the stuff we moved, and it was surprising how many coarse pieces we found. we had several meat tins full of small nuggets before a week went by, and we piled up before our door a heap--a dump--of what we knew was rich stuff, ready to be washed in spring. however, we two had become so used to finding gold before, that this experience did not excite us as you might suppose. we knew we had a rich claim here anyway, and that may's party had a rich one farther in; we realised we were well off, had each made a very decent pile, and were perfectly well aware that what was of most immediate importance was to get away to arrange for the safety of the gold we had actually got, and legally to secure our claims. our gold-digging, therefore, was more a pastime than a serious employment--we were eagerly looking forward to start for dawson. to wait till our creek opened in june, then float with all we possessed down it on the raft to its junction with the klondyke, where our boat was cached, seemed at first the only way for us; but could we wait so long? no. we discussed, we projected, we planned, and at last we determined to pack the toboggan with all that we three could drag, and depart at once. i had all my gear ready--may only needed a sleeping-bag, which we constructed--we cooked a good supply of food, packed all with fifty pounds of gold, and one bright noon-day we started, as we fondly hoped, to civilisation and home. to those who do not know what moving about in winter in that arctic region means, it may appear strange that we should have made so much ado about this journey of one hundred miles or so. if i had been alone i might have thought less of this undertaking. if i had had a man for a companion, or even if we two had had no experience, we might have gone at it more light-heartedly. but we not only had the terror of the journey to face, and well knew that it was likely to be a terribly arduous one indeed, but we were full of anxiety, when it came to the point, about the valuable stores and gear we must leave behind us, above all our great hoard of gold. as i have explained, the difficulty had been to decide whether to wait till the creek opened and go down with all that we possessed, or to leave the bulk behind, trusting to its safety. we had chosen the latter plan, for we were impatient, at any rate may was, to get away from this awful place--to get home, in fact. so, putting our trust in god's protection, we started. our course was plain, the creek formed an avenue through the trees. it was fairly level, though we encountered many ridges and drifts of snow, which was deep; but the weather having been calm for some time, it had settled down and packed a little. our load was very heavy, and the toboggan sunk in a good deal. patch and i hauled in front usually, and may pushed, but sometimes, to make a change, she hauled in front; but breaking the track was generally too hard for her. what made our load, probably lb. in weight, still harder to drag was that we could not pull with our snow-shoes on successfully, so gave them up, then sank in, often to our knees, sometimes to our waists; and many a time neither patch nor i seemed able to get any secure foothold. as for my dear girl, she bravely struggled on and did her best to aid us, but really many times had all that she could do to keep herself from sinking out of sight in the dry powdery snow. i don't believe we made three miles the first day. our camp that night was in a clump of stunted pines. we put up our two tents close beside each other, lighting a big fire in front which warmed them both, and really in our sleeping-bags we felt little cold. may's tent being by far the larger, in it i ate with her, then turned into my own shelter for the night. the following day i believe we made five miles. we were awfully fatigued; and having to put up tents, cut bedding, build the fire, and cook, was no light work after our day's march. that day i saw many tracks of wolves and foxes. i supposed my companion did not notice them, so i said nothing, for i did not wish to add to her discomfort the alarm of attacks from wild beasts. but i have learned since that she did see them and inwardly dreaded what they meant, yet kept her knowledge from me lest i should suffer more anxiety. she just "put her trust in god," she said, "and hoped he would protect us." for several days and nights we had perfect weather, cold of course, i suppose it was never less than ° or ° below zero. then on the seventh day--having made, we thought, fifty miles--as we were nearing the mouth of our creek, it began to blow! we well knew what that meant. the sky at noon was dark as night, the weird mountains were enshrouded in mists of driving snow. down in the sheltered avenue, where we were struggling along, it was yet a breeze only, but even that seemed to cut us to our very marrow in spite of our furs and wraps: we realised that we must halt at once, make shelter somehow, somewhere, and lie up whilst this storm should last. there was a high and rocky bank near the margin of the creek. i donned my snow-shoes and tramped across the snow to examine it, and fortunately found a sort of bay or gap between two huge boulders, which would protect us from most winds, and a big fire across the entrance would warm the air somewhat. here we pitched our tents, and here we lay for three days and nights whilst the tempest howled past us. providentially there was no snowfall, only banks of it were lifted up and carried past our retreat in clouds, which caused us to dread every moment that a blast would curl it in on us and smother us. however, mercifully we were spared this horror, and on the fourth day the sun came out as the wind dropped, and we were able to move on. but it was awful work: my heart bled for may,--i could not help but show how much i felt for her. i could not refrain from exclamations which, i know now, showed her where my thoughts were, and what i felt. she, dear girl, quite understood: for she assures me that during all this dreadful time her one thought and hope was that in the time to come, if it should please god to bring us out of these horrors, she would be able to devote her life to my happiness and consolation in part payment for what she is pleased to speak of as my devotion to her,--just as if any man would not willingly risk life and limb for any woman in such a case---just as if i, with such a girl as may, was not altogether glad to do anything and everything to help her. the following day we got to and camped in the cave where our boat was hidden. it was with difficulty i found the place, everything was so deeply bedded in snow,--very different to when i parted those months before with indian fan and jim. we had stowed the boat so safely that it was dry and free from snow, as the cave was. we camped that night in it, may taking up her quarters in the boat. for some time we had not noticed tracks of any kind; but the following morning, which was bright and calm, i left the cave to may a while, and tramped down to the edge of the larger klondyke river to make a survey of the route, and to discover, if possible, what the prospects were for our day's work. there i was struck with astonishment to notice numerous footmarks along the margin. to be sure they were covered with fresh drifted snow, but my woodcraft taught me that they had been made recently. there was a regular path, which looked to have been much travelled. certainly, i thought, it was a bear-track; and yet, knowing that those creatures hibernate, i was nonplussed. did the yukon bears behave as others, i wondered. perhaps the st elias grizzlies do not sleep the winter through. was it wolves? i looked anxiously; the traces were too large, and spaced differently to their tracks. however, there was a well-used way, and i was greatly troubled. we had by this time become so used to the toil and hardship of this mode of travel, that i was not surprised to find may in excellent spirits when i returned to camp. the brightness of the morning; the sunlight on the snow; the brilliant iridescence of the ice-bespangled branches of the trees, and the broader outlook across the white, wide expanse of the klondyke; the knowledge of our having attained the first stage of our momentous journey safely; indeed, the very finding of the boat, which was the first link, as one may term it, with civilisation,--did so cheer the dear girl that she greeted me almost joyously as she bustled about with our cooking arrangements. we had promised ourselves a sumptuous repast on reaching the klondyke, and i had fortunately knocked over a brace of grouse the day before, so we were reckoning on our breakfast. but i was certainly bothered by the tracks i had seen, and may, noticing my preoccupied aspect, rallied me thereon. this made me put on a brighter look, and in my mind i determined to say nothing, to take all due precautions, and to put my trust for the rest in the good god who had protected us hitherto. when we started on--gaily on may's part, trustfully on mine--we soon came to this track. patch instantly noticed it, and would not move on. he whined, whimpered, and nosed it; then looking up and down the path, he whined again. may was attracted by this proceeding. i endeavoured to pull ahead, saying nothing, merely calling to the dog to come on; but she, perceiving a trail of some kind, hesitated too. "is it a bear path?" she inquired. "bears hibernate, you know," was my reply; "they don't make paths like that in winter." "it must be caribou, or moose--perhaps there are cattle here, or, maybe, it's the track of people!" "people here!--not likely." i shook my head as i spoke. "who would be here, do you think?--indians? well, that might be, but i fancy they don't come about here at this season." "let us travel along it," said she; "it looks to be an easy way. whatever made it, appears to have chosen the smoothest route," for we could perceive the trail for some distance winding amongst the scattered timber along the margin of the stream. now, my idea was to get as far away from those suspicious footmarks as possible. i wished to take to the middle of the creek, and we did so by-and-by, after i had assured my companion that i considered the level ice out there promised a better road. but she was not very easily persuaded. i believe she had the idea in her head that this path was made by human beings, and she had, naturally, a strong desire for the fellowship of her kind. as for me, i had no belief in anything but bears, and as for getting amongst people again--i wanted to, simply because it was necessary if we were ever to get home; yet i rather disliked the idea, for i knew well it would be the ending of her sweet companionship. i cannot quite truly describe how i felt just then. certainly there was an immense amount of suffering in our life, but i thought little of my share in it, for was i not suffering with may? and i did not look forward with entire pleasure to its ending. only, for her dear sake, only to put an end to her discomfort, her misery, i knew what my duty was, and did it. we hauled our load out into the wide white lane and travelled down towards dawson. and as we moved slowly, laboriously onwards, i rarely took my eyes from where i knew that mysterious trail was winding through the timber. it was laborious work, truly. the snow was deep, and it was not packed. there averaged three feet of it, then there seemed to be a heavy crust, and if one broke through that, which we often did, we found a layer of slush--half-melted snow--sometimes but a few inches deep, at others a yard or more, and only under this was the solid ice of the river. i used to go ahead with my pole and sound where i thought it looked suspicious. often i thus steered clear of difficulty, and often i did not, for many a time the load, and may, and i, sunk in to such a depth that it was actually alarming. she bravely suppressed outcries and expressions of fear. she tried to laugh over these deplorable episodes, and sometimes i saw her gaze longingly on what she thought was a much better road in there amongst the trees, but, dear girl, she never tried to argue with me, or even to discuss the reason for my dislike to it. before noon our mocassins and leggings were wet and miserable. we ourselves were in a bath of perspiration. it was difficult to believe that it was freezing as hard as ever, and only when, after a few hundred yards of easy going, we halted to take breath, were we aware how cold it was, by our frozen leg-coverings. we camped for our mid-day food on a brush-clad point on the south side. it was absolutely still and clear. on taking off our snow-glasses the light was so painfully dazzling that we understood what snow-blindness meant, and gladly put them on again. i caused may here to change her foot-wear, as we were staying long enough to dry our wet mocassins by the fire. it was a snug corner we had chosen. we had a side view both up and down the klondyke and across it. as we sat, as usual talking of our future, patch suddenly stood up with bristling mane and gazed across the river. "there's something over there," said i; "that's just as he did when we first heard your shots up the creek there," and we gazed and listened intently, the dog as deeply interested as may and i were. i, supposing it was bear or wolf that had thus excited patch, felt thankful that we were on the side we were, and got my gun in order. patch's excitement increased. he began to bark. with difficulty i restrained him, and made him lie down. i stopped his barking, but i could not make him cease growling. this excited us, and we watched the opposite shore closely. may was the first to discover the cause. two men were tramping along the track across the river!--whether whites or indians they were too far off to see. the expression of my dear companion's face at this discovery was peculiar. she was flushed with excitement as she said to me, "come, let us call to them. oh, how splendid to see other people,--to realise that we are not alone in this dreadful country!" laying my mittened hand on her shoulder, i remarked, "stop--let us think: they may be friends or foes; we must be cautious. besides, what do we really want? we know our way, and we have all we need. it is satisfactory to know we are in an inhabited land, that is all." "oh, how terribly cautious and careful you are, bertie!" she exclaimed. "i should like to run over to those two men and greet them. but you know best; oh, yes, i'm sure you do, forgive my impetuosity--only it is so fine to know that we are really going home." the two men did not notice us--they kept steadily on: we could just see one was carrying a pack, the other pulling a little laden sledge behind him. they were heading up the river, and in due course would cross our trail, then, perhaps, would follow it, which was a serious aspect of the case indeed! they would not only find our boat, but could trace us to our dug-out, where all was at their mercy. what could be done? nothing. we could only put our trust in god that all would be well. i kept silence to may on these points, and hoped that she would not be troubled by the same fears. one thing satisfied us both now, and that was that the trail across the river was really made by people, and from what we saw of the way the strangers got along it, it was very much better than where we had been travelling, so with one accord we packed up, and with a will hauled our sled across the river and hit that trail. the fresh traces of the men were minutely examined. the leader had worn snow-shoes, the other boots--we could see the heel marks. this hardly pointed to indians, nor old hands--for all but the greenest tender-feet wear mocassins, in the winter there. this trail was a great improvement; we moved along it quickly--two miles an hour at least! we had gone perhaps five miles; it was, we thought, getting on for four that afternoon; we were resting, when against a rather dense growth of firs we thought we saw smoke rising. now you must understand that we were both in a flutter of excitement all that afternoon. we had said little to each other about it, but i know we felt that we were likely at any moment to meet with some adventure, pleasant or the reverse. we were all eyes and ears. i could see may glance hurriedly and look intently, now in one direction, now in another. even the dog appeared to be expecting something: as for me, i knew, of course, that very soon a great change would come in our lives, my thoughts were occupied with this subject, and i was trying to think how i should deal with every episode that i could imagine might arise. once or twice before, we had stopped to gaze around as may or i had cried, "what is that over there?" but up to the present it had turned out to be merely a curious stump, or uproot, or some such bush object. we were on the _qui vive_. so we considered for a little that we might be mistaken about this appearance also. it might be a wisp of snow lifted by the wind, or some shaken from the trees by a passing breeze: however, i soon saw that it was very blue, that it was rising steadily, that it was no hallucination, and that it was smoke, certainly. a very momentous time had arrived. "my dear may," i murmured, "that is smoke--that means a camp, most likely of white people. our lonely life ends the moment we arrive there." "oh, what a good thing!" she cried; "but why look so serious?" "god knows what will happen to us," said i. "we may find ourselves able at once to go on with comparative ease to dawson and home. we may find obstacles in our way--bad characters, who knows what? but any way we have up to now, through god's good mercy, been kept from any great harm, and we will trust him still." "why, of course we will," she interjected: "but why are you so sad?" "i cannot help feeling sad," i answered, "to know that you and i must now cease to be what we have been to each other; but remember that i shall not leave you, nor cease to help you all i can, until i know you are safe at home in england with your mother. whatever comes to pass during the next few hours, or until that happy time arrives, believe in me and trust me." "my dear bertie, my great friend, what is come to you? do you think i'm going to doubt you, or leave you now?" "i hope not, indeed, indeed," i interjected. "why, amongst these rough fellows," she went on, "as, of course, they will be, i shall want you beside me more and more. i shall, i expect, want your protection and advice more perhaps--though that can hardly be--than i have as yet needed it." "and you shall have it, may--be sure of that," said i. "one thing is certain, though, that whoever they are, whatever kind of people they may prove to be," she continued, "i shall, as you say, till we reach home and mother, look to you for companionship and guidance. so don't look any more like that at me; don't be downhearted now, but come, let us hurry on and find out what our fate is." then on we went. within a few minutes we were in sight of a camp. there were two log-shanties and a shelter or two; a huge chimney smoking, and other signs of humanity; a couple of figures were moving about; we had arrived at the haunts of men again! we had paid little attention to the trail of late, but now noticed that there were sleigh tracks branching from it here and there--dog's tracks, men's tracks: here were stumps lately cut, there the traces of where logs had been hauled out of the bush. now we were continually exclaiming to each other about these wonders. patch was excited--on the alert. when, a little farther on, he heard dogs barking, it was hard to control him. it was their noise, i suppose, that gave notice of our arrival, for we soon descried two or three persons looking towards us, whilst a couple of fine huskies came bounding through the snow, looking anything but friendly. however, they withdrew as we marched on, and were called off as we got close. when we at last halted near the first shanty, one man sung out to us, "welcome, friends! ye'll be frae quigly creek, i'll warrant. how goes it there?" [illustration: "welcome, friends."] oh, the blessed sound! a friendly human voice--a scotsman's voice! "nay," i answered; "i don't know where we're from exactly--up river somewhere: we've had a pretty hard time of it. what place is this?" "this place," the kindly voice made answer; "indeed, we canna give it a name--it's just the banks o' the klondyke river. but ye'll be prospecting, eh? have ye had luck? we've had a wee bittie. but come--come in bye; ye'll be gled o' something hot, nae doot, and the mistress 'll soon get the kettle on the boil." "mistress! is there a woman here, then? oh, that is grand! this lady here will be so glad of that," is about what i said. "ay, indeed, is there a woman! but who'd have thocht that one o' ye was ane," he laughed; and then shouted, "hi, maggie, lass, see here--here's a lady till ye;" but addressing us he went on, "but she isna fit tae' come out into this cold. come ben the hoose; we'll soon mak' a' richt." with that he led us to the shanty, saying as he did so to the other men, "let loose the dog, and see the others keep frae it. we'll hae to take these freends in, and see to them a while, nae doot." we were delighted with all this friendliness. we entered the shanty; it seemed a palace to us. the door was thickly curtained inside; there was a rough wooden floor, an immense fire roaring in the chimney, a table, chairs, and standing expectant amongst them was a youngish, nice-looking woman, beaming with good-nature. "did i hear ye cry there was a lady here?" she asked the man. "but which ane is it?" she went on, looking from may to me. "ye're baith sae rolled and smoothered up wi' claes and skins i canna tell." indeed it was no wonder the good soul was perplexed, for we were dressed pretty much alike, if dressing could be called the furs and blankets in which we were enveloped. may's skirt of serge, reaching to her knees, was so torn and ragged, very much as my frieze wrapper was, which i think reached nearer to my ankles than hers did to hers. i wore a cap with ears, and round my neck some fox-skins were muffled. she had a hood, a capote, a part of her outer garment: it was then drawn so closely round her face that nothing but her sweet eyes were visible. we had taken off our snow goggles as we entered. as our hostess spoke, we drew off our fur gauntlets; this gave her the clue. i suppose she knew at once by the hands which was the woman of us, for she immediately took may by the shoulder, crying, "ay! come you in here, i'll tend ye; and tam," to her husband, "you see till him. i'll no be lang awa'." then i threw off my wrappings and overalls, drew up to the fire, and gazed around me. i noted that i was in a good-sized shanty, rough, certainly, but it was light, for it had a large window by the side of the door, and there were pots and pans and crockery about, clean and brilliant, and to my unaccustomed eyes all looked luxuriant. our host was busily making up the fire, adjusting the tea-kettle, fetching in buckets of snow which he emptied into a huge iron pot hanging in the chimney, muttering as he did so, "she'll be wantin' water to wash her, my certie--for neither o' them looks to hae seen soap for a wee while." i heard him and smiled. "you're right," said i; "it is some months since we saw soap, and weeks since we could wash even our hands properly--this is an awfully dirty country." "eh! but it is, man," he forcibly replied; "but i wonder at ye, takin 'a wife wi' ye prospectin'. ye're tenderfeet, i daur wager--so are we for that maitter--but i wouldna tak' my wife into such wark, nay, nay. it's bad eneuch for her to stop here in this wee hoose, but to tak' a woman rampagin' through these woods and mountains is no' richt." he spoke so vehemently, almost angrily, that i could not stop him, but when he halted for breath, "hold on! hold on!" i cried; "that is not my wife, nor have i taken her out prospecting. hers is a sad strange story, so is mine. i found her away back. i'll tell you all about it by-and-by. i can only tell you this now, that miss bell--that's her name--mary bell--i must take to dawson and to england as soon as possible. can you help us?--will you?" as i spoke my host gazed at me, amazed. "to dawson! and hame to england! noo?--the noo?" he cried. "is the man daft? gude sakes! d'ye no' ken that it's just impossible to win awa' frae here the noo? it's too late, or too airly, at this time." "if money can induce you to aid us--we have some with us, and we'll pay you almost anything you like to get us to dawson at least," said i; but before i was half through the sentence i knew i had made a mistake. "it's gold, i suppose you mean," the man exclaimed,--rather angrily, i thought. "gold! well, we've got a wee bit oorsels here, and a tidy claim up this burn. we'll hae a decent pickle washed out before long; sae, ye ken, we're no' in need o' yer gold. if ye'd said grub, now, that would been o' far mair value, but gold or grub it's a' one, ye'll no get awa' frae here, my man, till the water opens in june." "grub!" i cried; "we've got a bit in our sled outside there, and up stream there's quite a heap of it yet: if that's all that's needed, you'll find that right." "man, i'm glad to hear it, for grub's mair valuable than gold in these parts the noo; but i say again, grub or gold, you'll no' get off to dawson for a wee!" "but why can't we get on?" i demanded. "we've got here; why can't we get farther? my companion is just as good as a man; what i can stand, she can, i believe." "man, man, i wonner at ye!" he exclaimed, with lifted hands and eyes. "d'ye no ken that the river is breaking up fast at this present moment?--half a mile below here it's a' under water; in a wee while it'll be just a grindin' mass o' ice and slush, no breathin' thing can live in it, the strongest boat that's built 'd be groon to powther in a meenute--and there's nae trail beside the stream. in the deep o' winter it's a' richt--ye can pull yer sleds along the ice well eneuch; and in summer, when the water's open, ye can get along fine; but just the noo! nay, it's no' possible." "this is bad hearing," i said; "i don't know what miss bell will think. we did so reckon of being able to reach dawson, to be in time for the first boat going down the yukon: when will that be? d'ye know, sir?" "dawson! dawson! what for d'ye want to take your lady freend to dawson? d'ye no understan' that it's no' place for decent folk at a'--let alane a woman. but be easy, man, ye're weel aff here, and ye'll get awa' doon to dawson lang before the first boat gangs doon, for ye ken the ice breaks up in these small streams lang before it does in the big river. i doot if there'll be a boat leave dawson till the end o' june, and some say the middle o' the month o' july! be easy then, and bide a wee; ye're well aff here, and if ye'll let us hae the grub ye spoke o' the noo, ye'll be far better aff, ay, very far better than in dawson waitin'. but let's see what the mistress and the young leddy says." just then the mistress came in to us for hot water. as she lifted a tin of it from the pot she said to me, "maister singleton, yer freend in bye has tell't me o' some o' yer doings and what ye want to do. just bide a wee while; we'll tak' time to settle a'. ye're a' richt here; and as for me, i'm pleased eneuch and thankful tae to hae sae braw a lassie's company, i warrant ye." "ay, ay," said tam, her husband; "that's what i'm sayin'. bide a wee." patch was at the door, howling for admission. said my host, "well hae him in, the mistress 'll no' mind," for i had told him a little about the dog, and the good fellow bounded to me and was happy. when may returned how changed she was! soap and water, comb and brush, a few simple feminine touches, a fresh handkerchief round her neck, and behold a figure that fairly dazzled me. as for me, i gazed at my hands and dress with shame and horror. mr bain, as i found his name was, saw my discomfiture. "come awa' ben, then!" he laughingly exclaimed; "we'll tak' some hot watter inby, and see what we can mak' o' you, my freend!" part of the shanty was divided off by a screen of blankets, behind it was their sleeping-place, and here i obtained what i needed very sadly--a wash. the sorting of my locks, though, as bain called it, was a business: they hung down to my shoulders, and a comb had not been through them for many days. bain lent me a change of clothes, and i returned to the living-room shortly, to be struck still more at my love's sweet looks, my darling's loving presence. quite a spread of good things was on the table. we had of late lived well, thanks to my stores, but we were hungry now, and our hostess heaped our plates--earthenware plates, how nice they felt--with all the good things she had. there did not seem to be much lack either. we were joined now by two other men, decent fellows. one was a scotchman, bain's brother; the other a canadian from peterborough, ontario. after this, as we sat around the fire smoking, i told our story. i did not say much about the gold; i admitted that we had got some, but made light of the quantity. may here and there put in a word or two of explanation when i came to her entry on the scene, and was not silent, though i tried to make her so, in praise of me. it was late, quite late, when i had finished. may was to have a bed by the fire; i was to accompany the two young fellows to their shanty and turn in with them. "and, d'ye mind," said mr bain, as we parted, "ye'll no be turnin' oot sae verra early the morn's morning. yon lassie 'll tak a lang rest, ye ken, sae sleep sae lang's ye're able, mr singleton, and sae gude nicht." patch accompanied me to my quarters, and thereafter made them his. chapter xii. "hae ye ony gold on yer sledge ootby, mr singleton?" asked bain, next morning; "because, if ye hae," he continued, "i'm thinkin' ye'd better bring it ben the hoose. my brither, here, and the other fellow's a' richt; but ye ken there's a wheen queer characters here aboot, and there's nae tellin'." "what! are there more people near?" i asked, surprised, for i had not noticed other habitations; but i went on, replying to his question about the gold, and told him that we had some, about fifty pounds' weight of it, but that may had it with her in her pack. "ech!" he exclaimed; "i thocht it was a heavy kin' o' bundle when i carried it in till her yestreen. but, man, fifty pounds' wecht! why, that's worth more than twa thoosan' punds. ye have been on to't rich; we've no got to that here yet. (i wondered what he would say if he knew all.) ye're askin' are there mony people hereaboot; indeed, then, there's a good number on the creek--there's twenty camps and more--maybe fifty men o' a' kinds workin' on their claims; mostly decent folk eneuch--mony like oorsels, frae the auld country; but there's a wheen suspicious bodies. but come awa' in; the lassie's a' richt, and we'll hae oor parritch." may was lovely; she and mrs bain were evidently the best of friends already, but she was so greatly changed in appearance that i hardly dared to address her familiarly. i don't know that i thought her any prettier; my admiration of her beauty had been so intense whilst she was alone with me in rags and squalor, that it could not be very much increased; but i certainly now regarded her with some awe, and it was with difficulty i called her may. i, too, no doubt, was presenting an improved appearance. soap is indeed a great civiliser, and sandy bain had shorn off some of my rough thatch that morning, and may looked at me, smiled, and called out, "why, what have you been doing, bertie? you are looking different!" "not so much changed as you are, may," i replied with a laugh. "you look just splendid." she blushed as she said, "well, come, come to breakfast." we sat long over our food, talking and planning. we made out that bain, his wife, and the other two came up to dawson by way of st michael's. they had lived a while previously in ontario, farming. they reached dawson early in the season; their idea being for mr and mrs bain to start storekeeping there, whilst the other two were to work at mining, for they had heard that gold was being found in alaska, and although the rush had not set in, they had somehow learned that large finds were very probable, and they had planned to be amongst the first to profit by the expected excitement. but a few weeks in that queer town satisfied them that they were not suited for that business or life, and when bain's brother, sandy, and the canadian, frank fuller, who had been up the river looking into the mining, returned in august, reporting that they had found and secured a claim which they believed would pay, and described the life up there as much quieter and easier than in dawson, they all determined to go and live together on this claim, and so came up in boats, bringing a good outfit with them, and some furniture. they built a couple of shanties apart from the other miners, rigged themselves up in some degree of comfort, and here they were, doing pretty well, they believed, but anxious for the waters to open, so that they could wash their heap of pay-dirt and know exactly what it was worth. these were very good people, may and i were sure,--quite trustworthy, and of the friendliest description; their welcome had been so extremely warm, and we were indeed thankful that our first encounter with our fellows had been so fortunate. mrs bain was evidently delighted to have a companion of her own sex: she told us that, hard as the life was, her greatest trouble had been that she had no woman near her, and she said things which showed us that she was quite sure we had come to stay. perceiving this to be the case, i knew i had better explain. "but we must be moving on, my friend and i," i began. "we are indeed grateful for your kind welcome, but we must get on to dawson, then to england--we must, indeed. i know all that you have said, bain--i believe that you are correct; still we cannot stay on here. we must get on to dawson; surely there's a hotel, or boarding-house, or something of the kind there, where we can stay till the river opens." they held up their hands in amazement. "why, what kin' o' daft folk are ye? hoot, toot!" cried bain; "gae doon to dawson! gae hame to england! it's just no' possible, as i've already tell't ye, mr singleton. it's no' possible for a man to do it; and for a bairn like you," turning to may, who certainly just then did not look much like battling through that wilderness, "it'd be clear shuicide--that's what it would be. nay, nay; ye'll just bide here wi' us till the waters open." "but, mr bain," quoth may, "i must get home to my mother. i am strong and able; surely, surely we can move on." "it's impossible; no possible, my lassie," he answered her. "no; you'll just hae to bide here, as i say, whether ye're willin' or no', until ye can gae doon stream in boats." "and when will that be?" she asked, and i replied, for i had heard all about it before from bain, and was pretty sure that he was right. "it will not be till the end of may, perhaps not till june," i told her. "indeed, i hear that often the yukon is not open to traffic till the middle of july." "what a country! what an awful country!" exclaimed may, distressfully. she looked to me for corroboration of what had been stated, or to contradict it, but i could only say i feared that our friends were right. i added, "however, our intention was to go down to dawson and wait for a boat to leave. from all we hear we are far better off with these good friends than we should be there, and as they assure us we can easily get down long before a boat can possibly navigate the yukon, i really think we must rest content--nay," i went on, "more than content; thankful for the good quarters we have come to. the only thing is, how can we thus inconvenience these friends? we must come to some arrangement about paying them at least, or else you and i, may, really will start on and camp beside the river for the few weeks that we must pass up here. what d'ye think?" the dear girl looked at me, sadly dismayed; but our host and hostess declared that i was right, and wise in all that i had said--as to "pay," however, that was a business question which we would now discuss. mrs bain would not hear of any discomfort or trouble being caused by may--she should stay with her as her guest and friend, she declared; and bain said he was more than agreeable. "but, my woman," said he to his wife; "it's no' want o' wull, it's just want o' means, ye ken. we can buy naething here--there's just food enough to last you and me and sandy and frank till we expect the river will open. how can we promise to feed these freends? it's just that, and only that, which fashes me." here i could simplify matters. "see here," said i; "on our sled is food enough for we two for several weeks, and up at our dug-out, that i've told you of, we have quite a food-supply, enough for a dozen people for several months. i will make an effort and go up there and fetch a load of it. will that do?" "do? why, of course it will," they replied; "fine that. in a couple of weeks or so the upper waters will be free from ice, then twa o' ye can gang up quite easy and bring your boat down, laden. so, it's a' settled. you, miss bell, will stay in this hoose wi' me and my wifie here; and you, mr singleton, will chum up wi' frank and sandy; but, of coorse, oor meals will a' be thegither eaten here." thus it was arranged; and after the day's discussion--for we took all day coming to this decision--may and i, having a moment's privacy, satisfied each other that it was wisely settled. of course i was not idle. i went to work next day with the men. the diggings were about a quarter of a mile from bain's shanties, on a little creek running into the klondyke. from a couple of hundred yards above the junction, claims were pegged out for half a mile or more, and tents and rough cabins were set up along its margin. it was not thickly timbered there, and what trees there were they were cutting down for mining purposes and fuel. it was very quiet, as most of the miners were working underground, and had shelters over their shafts and windlasses--so little was visible. heaps of gravel were being piled upon each claim, but it would not be till summer, when they were washing, that any real excitement would be seen. most of these heaps were reported to be very rich. the bains' claim was some distance up the creek. they had traced the pay-streak in from a bar on it. they had not sunk a shaft, but were removing the entire alluvium down to bed rock. they had four feet of pay-dirt, and only about the same quantity of moss, muck, and gravel from the surface down to it. they worked in the usual way through the solidly frozen ground, with fires. i, being well used to axe-work, went in for cutting the fuel for the purpose. the claim-owners were paying as much as ten dollars a-day, gladly, to any one who would work for them. there were very few who would do so for wages, though; so, as i did not reckon to take any pay from our friends, i felt that may and i were not under so great obligation to them. moreover, the stores we had brought, and the supply we possessed up-stream, was of the utmost value. it was a comfortable life we passed now--at least it seemed so to me after my experience; and may assured me that she was not dissatisfied--except, naturally, at the delay in getting homewards. but as that certainly could not be helped, we were both making ourselves contented. i met may at every meal, and passed the evenings in her company, but never alone. mrs bain never went outside the shanty. but occasionally, rarely, when it was what we called fine, may muffled up and came out, when she and i were able to compare notes, and plan. one very great perplexity we had, was about our gold cached up the creek. as yet we had only admitted to our friends that we had the fifty pounds' weight of it. we had spoken of our claims, certainly, and had said how sure we were that they would pay; but they had no idea of their richness. may and i talked whenever we had a chance together about this matter: she was all for telling these new friends and getting their advice. she was certain that they were perfectly true and trusty. so was i, and yet i advised caution. we could not easily decide. mrs bain was about eight-and-twenty,--a well-read, clever scotswoman, and very religious. she had in scotland considerable lung trouble. ontario had helped her, and now, strange as it may appear, in the intense cold and dreariness of this yukon country she had lost all signs of weakness, and considered herself a strong woman. still, her husband objected to her putting her head outside the place. "my woman," he was often saying, "you see to a' things ben the hoose; we'll see that ye get all ye want--wood, and snow for watter and a' things; and noo that ye hae this bonnie lassie for company, ye'll do fine." the weather was quite calm for two weeks after we arrived--cold, of course, except at midday for an hour or so. but we could see signs of spring coming. the snow was packing; there were bare patches on the hills and on the creek; the slush beneath the upper layer of snow was deeper and softer. i had the curiosity to go out on to the klondyke, and i found it very much worse than when may and i were on it. in places the ice was burst up, and i realised that it would have been impossible for us to move along it if we had been unwise enough to start. we would surely have had to camp somewhere on the way, and live in misery, perhaps many miles from any help. we were very far better off than that. a couple of miles up the klondyke the ice was at this time broken up, and by the strong current was being piled up on the bars and banks. every day made a change, and we saw that we could soon bring our boat down as was planned. therefore the time had arrived when we must make our journey up to my place, and so it became absolutely necessary that we two should settle what should be done about the gold. i fortunately got may outside, and had a talk with her about it. "shall i leave it where it is?" i asked, "and trust all will be well; or shall i try to bring some down secretly?" she was all for telling the truth to the bains and frank, and bespeaking their help. i was as certain as she was of their honesty and integrity, but i knew what a fascination gold has, and i thought it just possible that the knowledge of our riches might affect them, and cause them to do something unpleasant, and complicate affairs in some way. but may would not hear of this. "no, no!" she exclaimed; "they are good, true people. i say tell them all, and get their help." we talked this over for some time, and the result was that when we were gathered round the fire that evening, i made a clean breast of it. i told them what meade and i had found, and what may and her father had, and that, besides the stock of food which i had told about, there was this immense quantity of gold, and that the fifty pounds we had with us then was merely a sample of it. our story staggered them, especially our coming away and leaving it unprotected. we had, may and i, to go over again and again the history of our find, and the statement of the actual quantity we had obtained. we were obliged to explain about the lay of the gravel in which we had found it, and to give all the information we could about the likelihood of there being more about both places. as to this latter point we assured them that we believed the whole district was very rich. we told them what we had discovered even inside my dug-out, and before we separated that night they all became so excited that i foolishly began to dread they would do something troublesome. such is the effect of gold. i suppose nothing else could have made me suspicious of such worthy people. the following morning there was more discussion and more enthusiasm. in the end it was settled that sandy, frank, and i should go up, taking two sleds, with patch and their two dogs, who were trained, to help in hauling them. as they knew the canadian mining laws quite thoroughly, which we did not, they would help me to mark out our claim properly, then they would stake out one for themselves--for, as bain said, "the moment it is known in dawson what you have found up there, there'll be such a crowd o' folk rush up that it'll be better to hae freends alongside ye than strangers." this being quite true, we were well pleased. we also arranged to go on up to may's claim, and mark that out properly too. we laid some other plans, which will be explained later on. the trail up the klondyke,--which may and i had not used when we came down, because i fancied it was a bear-path,--it appeared, was the way by which all the miners went up the river in winter. it led up to the head, where for years a little mining had been going on. during the time we had been at bain's several parties had come down it. their reports had not been very favourable. i had questioned some of them closely, being anxious to discover if any of them had gone up what i called meade's creek; but so far as i could make out, no one had. they described some tracks they saw going up at one place though, which seemed to me to be ours, and they rather jeered at the idea of any one having been foolish enough to go there prospecting, as they declared, as all did then, that no gold, to pay grub even, was to be had, except clear up at the head of the main thronda stream. how little they knew; and how differently they talk about it now! we were off at once. the trail we found fairly good up to where our boat was cached. hereabouts the ice was disappearing from the stream. we saw we could easily get her out and afloat, which was satisfactory. we camped there that night. turning up meade's creek in the morning, it was all but free of ice; we found the way very bad beside it. the snow was gone in some places, but having light loads, we pushed on slowly but surely. we were, however, very much disgusted to notice the tracks of others having gone up rather recently. had they followed may's and mine, we wondered? had they come to our claim, and found our stores and gold? i was quite anxious, as you may guess. two persons had gone up: one wore moccasins, and drew a sled; the other wore boots--we saw the heel marks. this brought to my mind instantly the two may and i had seen when we were coming down. i was sure they were the same men's tracks. sandy knew them, too. he said they were all right, and decent fellows--the moccasins were worn by an old miner he called white-eyed williams, and the boots by an englishman who had come up during winter, who foolishly, he thought, stuck to knee-high boots. his name, he said, was coney. coney! why, that was the name, i remembered, of the young fellow who had showed us some attention, meade and me, when we arrived at skagway. i wondered if it could be the same. we hurried on excitedly, full of anxiety, for if they had discovered we had found gold there rich, there was no telling what they might be doing. with our light loads we got on very much faster than may and i did, in spite of the horrid state of the trail--half slushy snow, half morass; frozen every night, thawing every day. on the fourth evening out, when we were camped a few miles only below our old den, as darkness fell we perceived a fire burning in the distance. on investigation we found it to be two men halted on their way down. sandy hailed them. it was white-eyed williams and coney. i at once recognised the latter; he did not remember me, or our former meeting. we sat by their huge fire beside their one little tent, smoking and comparing notes. they informed us that they had tried here and there for many miles up the main river, as they called the klondyke, and had had no luck. they had seen a trail (my trail and may's) coming down this creek as they passed the mouth of it on their outward journey. they supposed it was just a couple like themselves who had been prospecting, and were returning disgusted. but on their own way back, unsuccessful, when they noticed the traces again, they followed them up, just for curiosity, to ascertain what their makers had been doing up there. this was intensely interesting to me, you may be sure. said coney, "not far up from here--we left this afternoon--we came to a dug-out; near it was the mouth of a big drive, a regular tunnel. a lot of work had been done there. the owners had only lately left--we made that out; and there was a notice stuck on the door of the shack, who it belonged to. we did not force our way into the crib, nor did we try their pile of pay-dirt, nor enter their tunnel, of course; but you bet we tried some stuff from the bankside along the creek, and, my word for it, friends, these fellows have hit on it good! white-eye and i washed out a few pans only--see, here's some of it," and he showed a handful of shining bits. "then we marked out a claim, and are hurrying down to register it, and if you men are wise you'll do the same to-morrow, for, depend upon it, it is very rich along the creek up there." i could hardly keep silent, i was in such an excited state on hearing this story. sandy was staring at me, and frank asked, "what were the names of the owners of this claim, then, which were stuck on the door?" "it was herbert singleton and percy meade," said coney. "well, i'm herbert singleton," i exclaimed; "it's my claim where you have been. we're on our way there now to bring away some grub, and to see that all is right." "well met!" coney cried. "well met! now we shall hear all about it. we know it's all right up there, but tell us all about it. honour bright, we'll keep it all as dark as possible." so what could i do but admit that i had a good claim there. i was as reticent as i could be, though. i thanked them for not having disturbed anything, and begged them for their own sake and ours to say as little about the place as might be, either on the creek where the bains were, or at dawson, when they reached it. this they promised willingly enough. we stopped with these fellows quite a time, talking things over, and arranging plans. we sent a message back to the bains by them. i pencilled a few lines to may, and we left them full of jubilation. when we were alone we did nothing but congratulate one another upon the good fortune of our secret being discovered by two men whom my companions were quite sure were honest fellows, though up to that time they had been unlucky in finding gold. coney, i perceived, was a well-bred englishman; in conversation he had mentioned names and places at home which assured me he was that. but that country, like every out-of-the-way corner of the globe, holds many such, many reliable enough and honourable, but also many just "ne'er-do-weels," and failures of all sorts, who have become blacklegs and gamblers. it is never wise to trust any man, certainly not a fellow-countryman, until you know. however, this one had said a few things which made me think well of him, so i did not regret that above our claim, where they had marked theirs out, we might hope to have decent neighbours; whilst below it, where, no doubt, frank and sandy bain would stake out theirs, we should have friends. we three were off by daybreak the following morning, soon reached our destination, and found all right and untouched by man or beast. the balance of the day we were occupied in examining the surroundings, pegging the claim out properly, testing the gravel about, and deciding just where my friends should take their claim. we passed the night in the dreary den where meade and i had spent those terrible days, and where may and i had sojourned so long. little had i dreamed of ever returning to it again. surely i had not imagined it possible to be there again so soon. having told my friends about meade's death, and may's father's, and where i had deposited their bodies, we proceeded, first thing next morning, to carry out our plan. it was to dig a grave on a knoll near by and bury them decently therein. to dig this grave it was necessary to proceed exactly as we did in mining. we lit a huge fire, when we had chosen the place, and left frank to attend to it, whilst sandy and i went up to may's claim, as we had all got to call it. we arrived there late that evening. we only took our sleeping-bags and a bit of food with us; patch hauled them on a sled. the good old dog knew the road well. i have not mentioned him lately--he was still may's pet and mine, as he was every one's. early next morning we marked out this claim, properly too, the size we knew six people were entitled to. we rectified the notices on the shanty door also, and, making no delay, hurried back to frank. we found that he had managed to get a grave sunk deep enough during our absence, and the following morning we reverently disinterred the bodies of my friends, took them up the hill, and laid them side by side in it. by may's desire i read the proper service from her own prayer-book, with which she had entrusted me for the purpose. we covered them in, raised a cairn of heavy rocks and boulders over them, and on the summit erected, very securely, a big wooden cross that we had fashioned for the purpose down at bain's, and had brought up with us. on it we had carved the names and so forth of those who were interred there. there, surely, it will remain and be respected for many a day. although, no doubt, all the ground about there will be turned up by miners, they will not disturb the spot made sacred by that grave. that night we opened our cache, and took our gold from its hiding-place. my companions only then appeared able to comprehend that all was true that may and i had told them. how they gloated over it! how they marvelled at it! as for me, i was more and more thankful at our good fortune. for now i felt confident that if god spared our lives, we should get all safely out, and i had it impressed upon me more and more that may would learn to love me, and i was looking forward with hope, with confidence, to the time when she and i, in england, would enjoy it all together. i have said little about the state of my mind on this subject. all i need say now is, that the more i saw of her, the more i loved her. my thoughts were ceaselessly of her, waking or sleeping. i longed eagerly for the time when i could tell her of my heart's desire, and beg from her one word of hope. there had been no opportunity of late for private conferences, for love-making. many a time i yearned to tell her all, for now that she had others about her, i felt i could with honour speak to her. it was quite different when we were living and journeying alone: then i felt constrained to be silent. yet now that i felt free to tell all, there was no opportunity. in that bitter climate, when we happened to be out together, it was as much as we could manage to discuss pure business affairs; to talk to her of love would have been impossible, and sadly out of place. yet in spite of all these difficulties, now and again, i know, a word or look escaped me, against my will perhaps, which showed the dear girl what i was thinking of; whilst the words of warmest friendship and looks of love she gave me frequently, led me to believe that when the right time came i should win her. i was impatient, but very happy at the bright prospect before me. with our two sleds heavily laden with gold and stores we hurried down. well, we could not hurry much, for the trail was terrible; the snow was nearly all gone. in places it was all that we three and the dogs could do to move one sled. once we had to unpack and portage. it took us three days' hard work to get down to our boat, but then we gladly saw that we could do the rest of the journey in her. and so we did, getting down stream in capital time, bringing her and her lading safely to the beach in front of bain's shanty early one morning before they were out of bed. i need not say we had a glorious welcome. i need not stay to tell all we did and said. my darling was the first to grasp my hand and joyfully greet me. fain would i have clasped her to my heart and told her then and there how much i loved her, and how i yearned for the time to come when we should be in deed and in truth all the world to one another. it was an exciting time. we spent all that day stowing away the gold safely, explaining about our journey, about the claims sandy and frank had marked. white-eyed williams and coney came in to supper; we turned out some of our eatables and had a glorious time. and before we separated, bain said he thought it would be very nice and proper if we were to render thanks to where we all knew thanks were due for all the mercies and good fortune that had been vouchsafed to us. so, having read an appropriate chapter or two from the good old book, he prayed a prayer of praise and gratitude, and we all felt the better for this simple service. chapter xiii. now, quickly, the weather changed and the spring advanced. we had some days almost mild, sometimes it rained instead of snowed, often a warm wind blew. at any rate it felt warm to us. anywhere else, i suppose, we should have called it winter, but, after our experience, we thought this prime, for we knew that spring was at hand. the creek, the klondyke even, were becoming quite free of ice, water lay about in pools: certainly every night all was frozen again, but whenever the sun burst through the mists and murk they thawed, and it was a teaser to get about. to travel down them, either by water or by trail, was simply impossible. white-eye and coney, who had been very boastful of the way in which they intended to go "right off" to dawson to register their claim, had to give it up. we had many interesting discussions during this time about the future means of travel in that region. supposing these gold discoveries were as great and as extensive as we had reason to expect they would be, we wondered what would be arranged for easier entrance and exit. should large crowds of people rush in, which we quite expected, how were they to be fed? how were stores to be brought? bain, a long-headed scotsman, pronounced dead against the st michael's route. the idea of journeying miles up the yukon, after the long and dangerous voyage of miles by ocean steamers across the gulf of alaska into behring sea, was absurd, he thought, especially as he averred that the river is only open for about three months, from july to october, and was then so full of bars, sandbanks, and shallows, snags and currents, that it is a most hazardous stream to navigate. when they came up, they were several times nearly being wrecked, and they passed half-a-dozen boats and scows fast on sandbanks, where they most probably still remained. i had fully described the way meade and i, with our two indians, had reached the klondyke. a road over the white pass i knew could be made with comparative ease, and from what we had heard of the chilcoot pass, that, too, might be made available for traffic. skagway, the landing-place for the white pass, was on tidal water, open always; it was easy to land people and goods there. then the distance across the pass being only about forty-three miles to the head waters of the yukon, say lake bennet, it did appear that must be the best road in. as for the miles cañon and the white horse rapids--the only serious obstacles on the way thence to dawson--we considered that with very little engineering skill, and but small outlay, they would be overcome, either by tramways or short canals. seeing that the distance from victoria, on vancouver island, to dawson _viâ_ st michael's is altogether about miles, and _viâ_ skagway and the white pass is but , this did seem common-sense. we had amongst our acquaintances on this diggings one or two canadians who had been about this region for years. they were always talking about a route "all canadian." all these landing-places i have mentioned are in american territory. we dispute that certainly. however, the yankees are in possession, and it is quite possible that they will continue to be so. but it seemed to bain--and i certainly agreed with him--that the canadian route they talked of had very little advantage, if any, over the white or even the chilcoot pass. their idea was to make telegraph creek, which is in canada, miles up the stickeen river from fort wrangel, the port for this country. they said that it had been already long used for traffic with the cassiar gold mines, and asserted that there is a trail from it to teslin lake, down which there is good navigation to the hootalinqua river, and so to the yukon and dawson. the distance from victoria they supposed to be about miles. but here, it seemed to us, were exactly the same difficulties, if not greater ones, than on the other routes. bain, who appeared to have studied the geography of this region before they entered it, having had the opportunity of examining the best maps available in victoria, was strong in the opinion that the canadian government should, and would ultimately, build, or cause to be built, a railway from a really undoubted canadian port, all through canadian territory, to dawson. if this goldfield proved to be what we expected, it would have to be done some day. his idea was that there should be a railway from fort simpson, in canada, where there is open water all the year round for ocean ships, to teslin lake, about miles in. indeed, he went so far as to maintain that this railway should be continued right down to dawson, for only by this means could the country be properly developed. no roads for teams could ever be satisfactory. the forage for cattle having all to be imported would alone cause this to be so. on the long journey animals could do little more than haul their own food. certainly, if easy roads were made across the passes, if steamers were put upon the lakes, if ways were made for getting past the cañons and rapids, large quantities of stores could be taken in during three or four months of open water. but he stuck to it, that only a railway will do all that must be done, if this canadian yukon country is to be exploited as it deserved to be. quartz reefs rich in gold were already known to exist. copper had been found too--there appeared to be immense deposits of it. coal existed also, and it is recognised that the supply of wood fuel for mining and domestic purposes will soon run short--a most important consideration, perhaps the most important of all. these reefs and copper and coal mines cannot be worked without heavy machinery, which cannot be handled or conveyed in by waggon or sleigh, neither can the products of these mines. a railway, and only a railway, could solve the problem. whether one will "pay" or not is quite another matter. in california, australia, and those parts of canada in which gold has hitherto been found abundantly, causing a large influx of people, the result has been that many who have made much or little have remained there, settling on the land or going into business, and so permanently developing the country. in the yukon this can never be. gold especially, and copper, and probably some other metals, are alone the product of the country. land being absolutely unproductive, and the climate terrible, no one will make a permanent home there. with such discussions, and much beside of purely local interest--such as how bill the butcher's claim was looking, and if tom the tinker had found any coarse gold in the hole he had last sunk, or what the chances were of mississippi sam and his partner the baltimore oriole finding good gold up at the creek-head where they had gone prospecting, when they may be expected back, and so forth,--with such topics of interest, i say, as these the time passed quickly. the increased heat of the sun was perceptibly lessening the snow on the ranges, the creeks were rising, the ice had disappeared, or was piled on the banks, where it was thawing rapidly. there was a great change perceptible--a change which was a source of constant interest to all of us; and to may and me it was a very great relief to see the road gradually opening for us to get away. during this time we had become pretty intimate with "coney." i learnt his proper name, found him a very genial companion--one very like my poor lost meade--and i liked him; so did we all. he had been unfortunate, and had not found a payable claim until now; and even now, the one he and white-eyed williams had marked above us, though it promised well, had yet to be proved. however, his hopes were high, and i could not help giving him every encouragement. knowing i was going home to england, he was most anxious that i should take letters from him to his people--nay, that i should visit them; and i, arguing that if not all right, he would hardly have done this, concluded that he was a reliable man. bain thought as i did, and it resulted that i, with may's entire accord, put all the affairs connected with our claims into their joint-hands--_i.e._, bain's and coney's--to manage for us. late in may there were many more evidences of spring. the nigger-grass had sprouted: i well remember may's delight with the first green blades i took her. a few days after, on bare patches amongst the snow, i found a few lovely flowers; we had no idea of their names, but spring had come, and we were charmed. there was plenty of water now to wash with; there was plenty to wash the heaps of wash-dirt, and the results were good. i, being handy with tools, made them a cradle, or rocker, and some sluice-boxes. there was much movement at the diggings: every one was busy on top, and the change from the drear monotony of the terrible winter was giving place to cheery looks and hopeful faces. one could tell that the arrival of running water had been made much use of in another way; for we hardly recognised some of our acquaintances, since they had been able to wash their faces successfully and put on clean clothing. that may had the knowledge of what was in my mind respecting her, i believed; but she carefully avoided giving me the opportunity of telling her about it. why, she cannot even now explain, but so it was. towards the end of may the sun had much power: no snow was lying in the open, but the land was in a terrible condition; the deep grass and moss, saturated with water, was a perfect morass, all but impossible to get through on foot. the trails between the shanties and to the diggings were mere ditches. those who had not good rubber or waterproof boots, or, better still, _muclucs_--which is the native name for mud moccasins, the soles of which are made waterproof with seal oil--were in a bad plight; for the water was icy cold, and we believed that there would soon be much sickness amongst these unfortunates. we noticed, however, that the miners were very good to each other. if one was known to be badly off for foot-gear, food, or clothing, those who were better supplied shared with and helped them. so far as we could judge, they were all a very decent, friendly crowd of men. we heard of no quarrels or rows amongst them, and saw none of that roughness and dissipation with which such gatherings are generally credited. it is true there was no whisky there at all; all hands were by force teetotallers. tea, strong and often, was drunk in gallons by every one. we were impatient. the days passed very slowly with me and may, for we were longing to be off; but every one assured us that, even if we were then at dawson, we should not be at all advanced, as we must wait there till the middle of june at least. no boat would yet start to descend the yukon. many who were said to know all about it declared it was often july before one could get away with safety. but on the st of june we determined to wait no longer; and, after much discussion, we stowed our gold and what furs and gear we wished to bring home in our boat, which we had recaulked and repaired, and, accompanied by frank and coney, we embarked. it was with mingled feelings we did so. undoubtedly we were glad enough to be really on our way to england. but to leave the bains was not pleasant: we regarded them, and they still are, amongst our truest and best of friends. besides them, there were several other good fellows to whom we had become attached. naturally, all were down to the water's edge to see the last of us, and to give us good wishes for our journey; nearly every man of them from the old country gave us letters and messages for their friends at home. we had a big bundle of the former, which we were pledged to deliver personally. we brought patch with us. may would not hear of parting with the dear dog until it was absolutely necessary. we started at daybreak. the current was swift, and the river was clear of ice; but along its margin much was still piled up, besides logs and rubbish. by noon the water had risen considerably, and was floating this stuff off, making it unsafe to travel; so on a sort of knoll or island in the stream we camped. at night, in the mountains, and at the heads of streams, frost holds sway, then the flow of water is arrested. but when the sun's heat melts the snow and ice up there, the body of water is increased and the current accelerated. we met several parties coming up the river--very hard work they had. the rush had begun already there. on the fourth day we reached the yukon and dawson city. as we neared the main river we had still more evidence of the rush. a very different state of things existed to that when we came up, and we met large numbers pushing up the klondyke. we passed numerous camps, and heard from some of them wonderful accounts of what was being done up the tributaries of that river. the topic was gold, naturally; but we also heard much about "grub," which appeared to be with many quite as important a subject. there was a scarcity of it, all declared, and there would be until the st michael's boats arrived. small heed was paid to us: a few remarks were made about may, wonder was expressed at her being up there; but all were so absorbed in their own affairs that they took little interest in us, which was precisely what we preferred. dawson was all alive too. the river front was still encumbered with ice, but we were assured that it was dissolving rapidly. in places men were building boats or repairing them, in others they were stowing outfits into them: there were no idlers. we landed just below the last shanty, and camped. then coney and i marched into the town. i was anxious to discover the store where i had found that nice englishwoman when i went there before to buy the canoe. i had planned to speak to her about obtaining decent quarters for may. i soon found the place, and had little difficulty; for after i had told this lady a portion of my darling's history and a few of her adventures, she begged me to bring her in and let her see her, any way. this i did at once; and they had hardly met before i was informed that may was to stop there until the boat sailed, which, we had ascertained, would be a week from the day we arrived. reports from down river, from cudahy, had been received in some way, and were favourable. there was only one steamboat at dawson preparing to go down; very few were going in her. the captain was anxious to make a rapid passage, as he knew there were crowds of people at st michael's, ready to pay big prices to get up. this just suited us, and i quickly secured our berths. the government official at dawson--some called him governor, some colonel, others inspector, or commissioner--we found to be an exceedingly affable and kindly gentleman. although he appeared to be overwhelmed with work, he gave me and frank and coney an hour of his time, during which he put all the business connected with our claims in order, and advised us what to do about the gold we had with us. thus in two days after we got to dawson city everything was settled, and we only had to pass the time as best we could until our noble ship should begin her journey out. we had brought a canoe down with us for my companions to return in, as it would have been impossible for them to get our heavy boat up against that powerful current. we sold her to a party who had just come in from lake teslin: they had been camped there all winter. we obtained dollars for her! may being comfortably placed at the store with a very kind and hospitable hostess, we three men did dawson--that is, we visited various stores, and examined their stocks and prices. there were plenty of fancy things--queer ornaments, toys, and such-like--which one wondered should have been brought up, whilst of real necessities there did not appear to be a very great supply. the prices were enormous: we made very few purchases. we looked in at some of the saloons, saw what was called "life," and, being disgusted with it, concluded that up on the mines was far better for comfort and for pocket. on the third day frank and coney, having had quite enough of it, started up the klondyke for home. they took patch with them: we could not take him down with us, and to have brought him home to england would really have been cruel--he would soon have died here. it was grievous saying farewell to that true and trusty friend. our parting with all of them was quite affecting. with these three, dog and men, was severed all connection with the horrors we had both experienced on the klondyke and the stewart. with tear-dimmed eyes dear may turned her face from the yukon, rushed down to the sea, and murmured-- "now a new life begins for you and me, bertie, my friend; but oh! how impatient i am to be off to england and my mother! how slow everything moves--everything but that great river!" "a new life indeed," i responded, "and, please god, a happy one." and i wondered if part of hers would be passed with me. i wondered, and i hoped, and longed to ask her what she thought about it. dawson city was at that time merely a couple of strings of rough shacks and shanties, interspersed with all manner of tents and temporary shelters. one row of buildings ran parallel with the yukon, and was called front street; the other, some distance behind, had no name then. all this part was on a low alluvial flat, said to hold gold enough to pay for working. the so-called streets were mere lines of rubbish-heaps and bog-holes. it was bad enough then; later, in the great heat of summer, pestilence would be sure to come, all said, for there was no attempt at sanitary arrangements. there were several large stores. some had substantial warehouses attached to them: here everything was supposed to be supplied. all were of wood, naturally; some had iron roofs, some canvas, and some were covered with turf. every other building was a saloon, a restaurant, or a hotel. these latter had the grandest, gaudiest names. there was the métropole and grand, the queen's, the victoria, the rossin house, and the windsor. the others, especially the saloons, were very fancifully christened. there was the nugget, woodbine, mascotte, the holborn restaurant, the elephant and castle, and delmonico's! all were of logs, or sods, or slabs; many were built of old meat-tins, covered with sacking or even tarred paper! there were a few women about. many of these places were "run" by women. the less said about many of them who were famous then the better. naturally everything for sale was fearfully expensive, and gold-dust was the only currency. every one carried gold about in a little buckskin bag called a sack: you see it sounded big to speak of a "sack of gold." on making a purchase, one handed one's sack to the storekeeper; he weighed out the amount, on the basis, then, of $ per ounce. it was considered "bad form"--rather mean--to watch him too closely. what were a few grains of gold in those flush, glorious times? fortunately, we did not need to make many purchases. our clothing was rough enough, truly, and terribly dilapidated, but every one was in the same condition: to have dressed better would have made us remarkable, and we desired to avoid notice. we could replenish our wardrobes in victoria. the headquarters of the mounted police in dawson were very complete and substantial log buildings. they were kept in such perfect order that they were an amazing contrast to the rest of the town. the good old british flag flew over them constantly, too. having arranged with the captain of the steamer that i could occupy my cabin on board after my friends had left, i found myself in clover. i took my meals ashore, as i had discovered a decent place where a fairly good meal could be had--fair, that is, for the klondyke--for one dollar. it was usually a plate of pork and beans, with a piece of pie made of dried apples or peaches, washed down with a basin of what was called coffee. sometimes salmon was to be had, and once i struck bear meat, and once stewed cariboo venison. i saw may every day. we rarely went out together. there was really nothing she cared to see, and as all the roads and trails about this frontier town were simply impassable with mud, and slush, and knee-deep water-holes, there was no pleasure in a walk. another reason was that women--ladies--being so rare there, her appearance on the street was the cause of some excitement: people would waylay us simply, i knew, to gaze with admiration on her sweet face. may disliked this so much, and of course i did, therefore she hardly went outside her quarters during the week we were in the town. with the help of frank and coney i had carried our gold on board the boat, and had stowed it amongst our furs and blankets. by the advice of the commissioner i had informed the captain about it--he knew him to be a trusty fellow. we had kept the actual amount of it secret, which he and many others were anxious enough to know. the result of this was, of course, that we were credited with possessing as many millions as we had thousands: that mattered little, for if we had had nothing, every one would have reported us to be a mass of coarse gold and nuggets. robberies of anything but food, and those very seldom, were never heard of. all seemed to have perfect confidence in the honesty of the crowd. we britishers and canadians believed that it was in consequence of the presence of the splendid body of mounted police. no doubt they had much to do with it, but the canadians are a law-abiding people, and the bulk of the foreigners had evidently great respect and confidence in the british flag and british law. the diggers, however, would have risen to a man to repel and punish any one found pilfering or gold-stealing. a species of lynch law had prevailed in that region for years, and the effect on the whole had made for good. it was on the twelfth day of june that the steam whistle howled at daybreak, and our boat's bell clanged ceaselessly for an hour--how they do love noise over there!--and i brought may and her bundles on board. the entire population of dawson city came to the water's edge to see us off, and yell their good wishes to us. then as the red sun arose across the yellow river, the stern-wheel began to beat the turbid stream, the ropes were cast off, and we were away. may and i were at last started for england and home! chapter xiv. our vessel was a curious affair. the hull was a long, square-ended barge. in this was the engine which worked the huge wheel astern. on the deck a large cargo could be carried; over that were cabins, ranged along both sides, with the dining-room between. a railed passage--a balcony--surrounded the vessel on this deck outside the sleeping-rooms, and above all was the hurricane deck, where the passengers mostly passed their time. the cabins were remarkably clean and comfortable: a chinaman looked after them. our food was excellent--considering. the boat being "light," we were expected to make a record passage down--twelve days, the captain said; but it all depended on the state of the ice in the lower river. there were only a dozen passengers besides ourselves--some of them were returning "sick," others because they were "sorry" they had come. four or five were reputed to have made their piles. these were very silent men: they spent their time smoking, expectorating, and playing poker. there was an american and his wife--californians--who were very genial and superior: they were excellent company. there were also a young englishman and an elderly scotsman. the americans were bound to san francisco to buy goods: they had wintered in dawson, and were returning later with their stock, and were going into storekeeping in dawson in an extensive way. the englishman and the scot had done very well on bonanza creek: they owned they had made enough to live in britain as they pleased. we did not stop at fort reliance; it is all but abandoned, and has been so for years. that is where the first whites settled in that region, and it is from this point that most of the places have been named,--forty, sixty, twelve mile posts were supposed to be these distances from reliance. the yukon is here five hundred yards in width; there are but few islands, and the current is regular. at forty mile post our boat was tied up for a few hours. this place is a small repetition of dawson, although, i believe, a much older settlement: it is on the south side of forty mile river, which here joins the yukon. it has several restaurants, billiard-halls, and bakeries, a blacksmith, and an opera-house! on the north side of the river lies cudahy, a smaller collection of stores and shanties. it has no opera-house, and would, in consequence, be unhappy but for fort constantine, which was established in . it is a station of the mounted police, who have several fine log buildings, so well cared for that they lend an air of civilisation to the place. from here to the boundary line between canada and the united states--the st parallel of west longitude--there is nothing worth noticing. the yukon there is about the same width as at reliance, but soon after entering american territory--_i.e._, alaska--it widens considerably. it continues thus for about one hundred miles, the banks on either hand being high and steep, with fine mountains inland. this portion is known as the upper ramparts. circle city we touched at. it had been a village of importance before dawson existed. the klondyke rush had taken away most of the inhabitants. we found it all but deserted. here we took in wood for fuel, and heard with pleasure that the ice had left the river for a long distance down. after this there are miles of very much wider river, but it is a network of channels amongst small islands. huge piles of ice were still to be seen on many shallows. at fort yukon, which lies north of the arctic circle, we found hard winter reigned; but the river was free of ice. it is miles below dawson. the stream is said to be seven miles wide here. the navigation is most perplexing, as the channel shifts continually. on the fifth day we came to floating ice, which extended from shore to shore. we moved slowly after it. it was drifting down at the rate of five miles an hour. during the short nights we tied up to the bank. at daylight, no ice being visible, we went on full speed until we overtook it. this continued till we were ten days out; then we came to a solid mass of ice, which was not moving. our captain, a bit of a philosopher, reckoned he had foreseen this delay and made light of it, but it was annoying to us. there were no dwellings, no signs of human or any other life here, nothing but the dismal pine-clad river banks, where, being so far north, it was still deep winter. we were stuck here four days. we were not a very lively party. cards kept a few employed, and there were a few books on board. there were also a number of newspapers of the previous september. these were full of interest to some of us. on the fourth day, suddenly, with an awful roar and turmoil, the ice broke up and started. we soon had clear water and went ahead again. no further stoppages occurred, we pushed on, and eighteen days from dawson we reached the delta of the yukon. here, the land being low and flat, and indeed then completely overflowed, we appeared to be on the open sea. we had to go eighty miles north through this to reach fort st michael, where our voyage in the stern-wheeler ended. the few miserable settlements, trading-posts, and indian rancheries which we had passed, or stopped at for firing, were all so perfectly uninteresting and monotonous that it is useless to even name them. the few inhabitants were generally busy in some way about the salmon. that fish was the all-absorbing topic here, as gold had been farther up. we met but one vessel going in. she had been fast in the ice all winter, since the previous september! she was slowly pounding up against the strong current with so much of her cargo that was unconsumed during their long detention. what she had left was principally household furniture and whisky!--which would not feed the hungry. near st michael's the mosquitoes discovered us, for it had now become intensely hot. those pests stuck to us persistently until we were well out to sea. may and i during this tedious time had become very friendly with our american fellow-passengers, mr and mrs parker. may was so constantly with that lady that i had few opportunities of even a word with her, which made me quite unhappy. i fancied, foolishly, that may's past affectionately friendly way with me had ended, that she had changed, and that now that we were with others, and my help not so necessary, she was gradually forsaking me. we were always in company, that is true, but she was never alone. it was rare now for her to call me bertie, and i observed a look on her sweet face when i called her may which caused me to think she did not like it. yes, i was very miserable. i was jealous of her close association with mrs parker, i was jealous of the kindly way in which she spoke to that lady's husband. i was very absurd, i know. i was poor company then for myself, or for any one. may had really changed very little in appearance, although she seemed to me to grow in beauty daily. with more civilised appliances, a few improvements in her dress, she became, in my eyes, the picture of all a girl should be. i longed to tell her this. i was annoyed, impatient, irritated at the obstacles which prevented me. may always had a sad expression. could one wonder at it? she was, i knew, still grieving over her lost father, and was anxious, filled with apprehension about her mother when she had heard the sad story she must tell her. i longed to help, to sympathise with her, indeed to be all in all to her, as i fancied i had been during that awful time up country. it was very foolish, very preposterous of me, i am aware. i should have realised that such companionship could never be again, unless she became my wife. really i knew it, and that is why i was so unhappy, and, as i see now, so stupid, for i then feared that she never could be that. this state of matters continued until towards the end of this portion of our journey. it had grown so unbearable that i had become somewhat reckless. i really felt that i must put an end to it in some way. it actually came into my mind that i had better, on arriving at st michael's, put her safely on board a ship bound for victoria and return to dawson and our claims up the klondyke. i said so to may one afternoon in the presence of mr and mrs parker. i spoke as if i had all but determined to do so. she turned pale, then red. she did not speak, but she looked at me so eagerly, so imploringly, so frightened, that i was puzzled. i was so abominably stupid that i attributed her expression of alarm to her fear of losing my help and guardianship. that she should be grieved at the mere prospect of parting with me, never entered my thick head that afternoon. i said that i believed i should be better employed in looking after our interests up the yukon than in going home in ease and luxury. "i'm sure you'll do very well and comfortably without me now, miss bell," i declared. at this nasty speech the dear girl looked at me so surprised, so very sorrowfully, that i half regretted what i had said. she kept silence for a little. "have you forgotten your promise to your friend meade? and to my poor father?" she asked me. i replied, with difficulty, i admit, i was so dreadfully down-hearted and distressed, "oh! you will do all there is to be done for meade, i'm sure, as well, nay, better than i can, and so that i know all will be carried out as he wished, that promise will be kept; and your father's desire will be carried out too if i see you off safely from this country--and that i will do, most certainly." "are you in earnest, bertie?" she seemed to be amazed. i assured her that was how i felt then,--that i thought it would be much better so. may was silent again. shortly she arose and walked slowly to her cabin. i fancied i observed a tear trickling down her cheek as she left us. "she is thinking about the past," i said to myself. that same evening, later,--indeed it was getting towards midnight--the sun had long set, but its brilliance was still in the sky--it did not leave it the whole night through at that season,--i was on deck, as i supposed alone, the steamer was pressing onward to the ocean down the rapidly flowing river, here quite broad. the distant mountains in the west and north towered up, violet, from a bank of rose-tinted mist, soft as carded wool. here and there ice-clad peaks were still gilded by the sun, which was far down behind them, whilst the moon was riding full behind me. i was in deep distress, broken-hearted, yet i have a clear remembrance of the scene on which i gazed that night. as i leant upon the rail and pondered upon what i and may had said earlier in the day, what our adventures together had been in the past, and what i had been foolish enough, as i at that moment considered, to imagine might be possible in the future, i was down-hearted and exceeding sad. my heart went out to may, i dwelt long and fondly on thoughts of her, but i could see no ray of hope, and could think of no reason why she should ever regard me as more than a friend; whilst i was longing, yearning, beside myself with love of her. "yes, oh! yes," i muttered to myself, "it is far better that i part with her,--far better, indeed, that i return to my work away back in the north." there was much vibration in the vessel. these craft are at best very fragile, very shaky. the beating paddle-wheel astern made so much noise that perfect quiet could not be attained anywhere on board. i was somewhere amidships, the stillest spot that i could find, yet i heard no footsteps, and had no idea that any one was near me. lifting up my eyes to heaven, i ejaculated something--i don't know what--some exclamation of despondency at the prospect of the life that i was contemplating in the upper yukon; but i do remember that i ended with the words, "and no may there!" as i uttered them a hand was laid softly on my arm. i turned round hastily, and there my darling stood, gazing at me steadily, with tear-filled eyes. "bertie!" she exclaimed, "bertie, what do you mean? what ails you? are you unwell? are you in some new grief? what do you mean by crying out 'and no may there'? tell me, my friend, my very dear friend, what is amiss, what you mean?" i was speechless for a little while. what could i say? i only stared at her distraught, i was overwhelmed with emotion, and i could not prevent my looks showing what i felt. "oh! may, may!" i murmured at last, "do you not understand? do you not comprehend the misery that i am suffering?" she was silent. she leant on the rail beside me, fixing her gaze upon the crimson glow beyond the mountain range. she was perfectly still and speechless. my agitation was very great--she and i were at last alone. i knew that the time had come when i must speak out. it was, i felt, now or never, yet my tongue refused to form a sentence; the thoughts that were whirling through my brain refused to be turned to words. for several minutes we two looked straight before us, seeing nothing, and were dumb. but in course of time i was able to speak; it was slowly and in broken sentences. "may," i began, "my dear friend may--my dearest friend--you are going home--shortly we must part. i am broken-hearted about it. you were such sweet company to me up in that fearful north; we have been through such awful scenes together. to me, though, they were the happiest times that i have ever known, or ever expect to know. i would willingly go back there, and end my days there, if you could be with me; but that being impossible, i have really, and truly, and seriously thought of late that it would be better for me to go back there alone, for i believe i should be happier in the scenes where you and i have dwelt together, where the memory of your dear presence will for ever cling, than at home in england separated from you." then i was silent again. shortly after this outburst may asked me why we must be separated; why, if her companionship was so necessary to my happiness, i could not have it easier and better in england than in alaska? what was i to reply to this? i muttered something, and she went on--"have we not laid our plans and schemes for our future lives? are we not going to carry them out? we are well off now as regards money. we believe we can do all we wish, thank god. what, then, is troubling you? why this sadness, this unhappiness? why do you speak of parting company and ending it all, and adding a greater--yes, i will admit it, a greater grief to me than any i have to bear, by talking thus of putting an end to the life together which we have contemplated with so much delight?" "why--why do i do this, may?" i cried excitedly. "why? because i love you--love you. do you understand why, now? don't you know that you are all the world to me, and more? don't you comprehend that the entire future is dark and dreadful to me, because i love you, yearn for you, and have no hope of winning your dear love in return? that is the reason, may. now you know this secret of my heart." again my dearest was speechless for some time: i saw the tears dropping, dropping from her sweet eyes; fain would i have clasped her to my heart and dried them, but i dared not. "bertie," she said then, softly. "yes; now i know your secret. but why? oh, why are you so sure that you cannot win my love?" i glanced at her bewildered. she turned to me, and i saw in her dear eyes a look i cannot describe, but i understood it. i was overcome with the joy of it, enchanted at the knowledge that suddenly flashed through my intelligence. i did not, could not, stop to analyse, but i knew she loved me. i knew that all my fears were follies, and that all my greatest desires, my fondest hopes, were granted, and that may was mine! what i said or did then i have no clear recollection; only this, that i seized my beloved's hands and drew her to me as she laid her head confidingly on my shoulder and whispered softly in my ear, "dearest, don't you know i love you?" we remained on deck together for a long while. for my part i was in the seventh heaven of delight and thankfulness. i could not find words to make my darling understand how great my joy was. i could but kiss her and draw her to my heart, whilst she murmured again and again to me the joyful words, "bertie, my dearest, best of friends, i love you." we parted only when the sun was about to rise above the north-eastern ranges. i went below, a gloriously happy man. i went to my berth rejoicing that never-to-be-forgotten morning on the lower yukon in alaska. to our fellow-passengers we believed that there could be no apparent change in us when we all met; but to me and to may how different all things seemed to be. when i glanced at her across the breakfast table, and saw the love-light in her eyes, i knew that she was, as i was, filled with gladness unspeakable. we hardly had three words together that morning, she was with mrs parker all the time; the whole forenoon she kept away from me. i hung around, smoked my pipe persistently, hoping every moment that she would join me--my face, i'm sure, showing my discontent. she came at last, saying, "don't you understand, my love, that we cannot be exhibiting to all these people what we are to each other? we must not expose ourselves to their remarks. be patient; my thoughts are always with you." "but why need you be with mrs parker always?" i enquired. "surely no one will be scandalised if you and i walk the deck together, or sit beside each other. we used to do so three days ago; why cannot we do so now?" "true," answered my sweetheart with a loving smile; "but we were not so self-conscious then. we know now what we are to one another; let us be patient." of course i was so full of rapture, so intensely pleased, that every syllable my dear one said to me had my immediate acquiescence. "oh, yes," said i, "i will be patient; but why should not people know? why don't you tell mrs parker of our happiness? she is a good woman, i feel sure, and if she knew the state of matters she would advise and help us. don't you wish that you could tell the bains and sandy, eh? how delighted they all would be." may did not tell me then, but afterwards she did, that mrs bain--woman-like--had discovered my darling's secret and mine also, and had prophesied to her what would happen "some day." not long after this i perceived may and mrs parker side by side, talking together intently, with so absorbed an aspect that i guessed what was their subject easily. after supper that evening mrs parker, catching me alone, congratulated me, declaring that she had made up her mind about us before the boat left dawson; and felt honoured that may had, at last, confided in her. she assured me that in all her travels, and amongst all her acquaintances, she had never come across a sweeter girl than may bell. so, thereafter, may and i had many a sweet hour together, contrived by this kind yankee friend, who, having plenty of wit and common-sense, arranged for us. i fancy every person on board knew that we were lovers by the time we landed at st michael's. this place is an irregularly built village on an island of the same name. it consists of a few large warehouses--russian buildings--a few log and frame houses and stores, and, when we were there, many shacks and temporary huts and camps. it is perfectly treeless, but the grass-covered rolling downs were so like the prairies of manitoba that may and i were impatient to go ashore and feel soft green sward beneath our feet again. several large sea-going ships and steamers were alongside the wharf or anchored in the roadstead, and there were numerous river-boats loading and preparing for their passage up to dawson. it was very evident, even before our boat touched land, that there was considerable excitement here. we were the first people down that season; this caused a crowd--all the inhabitants it seemed--to meet us, eager for our report. they swarmed on board before we were made fast, vehemently demanding information. "was it true?" "was gold being got as they had heard?" "was there any left?" this was the burden of their interrogations. there were wild-eyed fellows amongst them, who tackled every man of us almost savagely. there were women, too, just as anxious to hear what we could tell. some of these latter got hold of may, and the captain was surrounded by a clamouring mob. they hardly gave him the chance to make his ship fast. he referred them to the miners on board for information. he particularly indicated me--then i was attacked with a vengeance. questions poured upon me. the intelligence i gave sent most of the crowd half-cranky with delight. at once they were for dragging me ashore and treating me with all the grog and good things the place contained. they declared that nothing was too good for me, for what i had told them satisfied them that they were not too late, that all the gold was not yet extracted from the klondyke! as for may, i saw her being haled ashore by her female admirers, and she was looking quite alarmed. so soon as i could get my besiegers to listen i begged them to let me go to her. they did so, but they all accompanied me, and were then for both of us accepting unbounded hospitality. it seemed that our captain had let out that we had a lot of gold on board. we could not, and did not, deny this, but when it came to questions about the amount we answered mysteriously. that was enough; they were certain that the captain had been right when he put our treasure down as worth several millions! it was some time before we could break away from these enthusiasts. go where we would they followed us, each wanting a private word or two. it was an exciting time truly. there was one fine steamship leaving for victoria that very evening. with difficulty i got on board, interviewed her commander, a first-rate english sailor, and secured our passages. the parkers did the same. this ship, a well-known victoria trader, had brought up a full to overflowing complement of passengers. she was returning empty for another lot. we heard that victoria, vancouver, and all the inland towns of canada, all the american cities on puget sound, with san francisco and all california, were half-mad about these wonderful finds reported on the klondyke. the latest news from eastern canada and the states, from britain, and indeed from all the world, was that vast crowds were coming. we heard such stories, such wild, astounding stories about the doings up where we had come from. such exorbitant fortunes that had been made, such heaps of gold-dust, such nuggets, buckets full of them! flour-barrels full! kegs heaped up with them! we were told that in some of the creeks the precious metal was so plentiful that men had picked up piles in a few hours--that there was plenty for every one who could but reach the klondyke! it was in vain that we assured them that we knew nothing of such occurrences,--that we were sure it was mostly gross exaggeration. no one would listen to this; they said we were trying to deceive them, to hide the truth from them, for that it was well known we ourselves had so much gold with us that we were multi-millionaires already, and were hoping and scheming to make ourselves richer still. it was no use our arguing, our disclaiming--they knew far better than we did. we hardly heard a word about how the swarms, bound in, were to be fed. they knew that every ship had reached the port with heavy cargoes of food, they knew that the stores and warehouses here were full, but scarcely any one appeared to have an idea of getting it up to where the gold existed. they had very much to learn. with some scheming we managed to get our gold transferred to this other ship; then we sailed at midnight. this was a _real_ steamship, flying the british ensign, manned and served in proper british style. we had excellent quarters, a capital table--my darling girl and i were in the lap of luxury. i need not particularise much about this voyage. we had good weather, bright, clear, and not so cold, for our miles passage across behring sea to dutch harbour on the island of unalaska, the most important of the aleutian chain. its mountains were capped with eternal snow, but the greenness of the lower land was very charming. many vessels were lying here, as it is a supply station for the sealing and whaling fleets. here we remained but a few hours. we then entered the gulf of alaska, where a strong gale and a heavy sea was our fortune, as we steered almost due east, for miles, to victoria. arrived there, we found an excited crowd to meet us. newspaper men interviewed us, and the accounts they printed of what we had said and done, and of the amount of bullion we had with us, astonished, thrilled the world--_and us_! we only remained two days in victoria, at my old quarters at bella rocca. during that time we had to give full particulars to the authorities about meade's and mr bell's deaths. we delivered our gold to the bank of british columbia, feeling great relief when it was safe at last. we replenished our wardrobes, and became again decent-looking and civilised members of society. may cabled to her mother from victoria--she merely announced that she was safe and well and on her way home. she also wrote to a relative, begging her to break the awful news she had to tell to her mother, as we both thought this would be better than may arriving and suddenly telling her dreadful story. during our voyage from st michael's to dutch harbour, may and i had a quiet time, and we endeavoured to plan our future movements. my desire was that we should be married in victoria. i believed it would save much trouble and misunderstanding. but she would not agree to this. she declared that only at her mother's home would she become my wife. we went on board the yosemite late one evening, and were in vancouver early the following morning, and about noon the same day left by the c.p.r. for montreal. at vancouver we parted with mr and mrs parker, who were to take the boat bound south for san francisco. there were many tourists on our train, old-country folk and americans. the conductors were genial and polite; the porters attentive and kindly; the meals were excellent in the dining-car; the beds were wonderfully comfortable. it was a truly enjoyable trip we had through the selkirks and the rockies. we gazed with sad interest at the scenery about banff, then we bowled across the prairies past broadview, where the train, stopping for an hour or so, gave us the opportunity of greeting a few old friends. after five days' travel we arrived at montreal, stayed at st lawrence hall for two days, then went on board the allan steamer parmesian, and sailed for home. it appeared that the good folk of victoria must have told the people on the yosemite about us, and they must have passed the story on to the officials of the c.p.r at vancouver, for every one seemed to know where may and i had been, and what our experiences were, also the amount of gold we had brought out with us. every one was attracted to us: we were famous, and had to answer no end of questions, and repeat again and again the story of our adventures. we heard, and read subsequently, much about ourselves that was true enough, much that we certainly did not recognise. there was the same experience on board the parmesian, old and young seemed to be proud to hold a few minutes' conversation with either of us; but my dear girl was undoubtedly the heroine. may had become splendidly well. she was very cheerful, too. i did my best to keep her from dwelling upon sorrowful memories. when we reached england she was, as i was, thankful indeed; but now that she would be so quickly with her mother, she became very low-spirited and anxious. she dreaded, yet longed for, the sad meeting. she feared the effect upon her of what she had to say. i accompanied her south as far as maidstone, where a cousin met her, and she left me to hasten to her mother's arms. * * * * * * since that day three months have elapsed. a week ago there was a wedding at chart sutton, where mrs bell has been residing since her husband and her daughter went to canada. on our wedding-day mrs bell had sufficiently recovered her health and peace of mind to be present at the ceremony. my two brothers were with me, and many of may's friends. meade's mother and sister came, so did fanny hume. we have bought a little place near the sea, at bexhill, in sussex; that is where our home is to be. there is some talk of my going out to the klondyke in . i think it is my duty. my wife is dead against it. she has made me promise, at all events, to wait until reports can be received from bain and coney. they are due in june. * * * * * * at the end of june a letter came to hand from bain. it was written in march, and was brought out by the "yukon kid," a famous half-breed, on his dog-train, over the white pass to skagway. bain reported that soon after we left they sold their claim at a good price; then they all moved up to meade's creek and built a comfortable cabin. sandy bain went down as far as st michael's, bought a good outfit of stores, and was luckily able to get them up to dawson by an early boat. may's partners returned. they came in over the chilkoot pass, also bringing a good supply of food. they were grieved to hear of what mr bell and his daughter had suffered, and of the sad events that had ensued. they declared that they had made what they felt satisfied were reliable arrangements for their relief and rescue as they passed through dawson the previous autumn. they approved of the way in which may had left the claim, and recognised bain's and coney's right to receive her share of the gold they obtained, which they promised to hand over at the proper time. the claim was looking still most prosperous. meade's creek was staked out for miles above "discovery"--that is, our claim, meade's and mine--and for some distance below. so was the creek upon which may's party's claim was situated. trails had been cut, and on each creek a store or two had been started. a log church had been erected on meade's creek. service was held by volunteers almost every sabbath. about the gold, bain had very good news to tell. the dump which we had left had been washed. it was very rich. they had hired men to work for us, who had already got out another heap that looked to be as full of gold as ever. they had knocked away most of the hill in which we had our dug-out and our tunnel. bain's own claim looked well. they had already secured such an amount of gold, that he and his wife had serious thoughts of coming home the following autumn, leaving frank and sandy to go on mining, or to sell out when they got an offer good enough. he finished the business part of his letter by suggesting that i should await further reports before starting for the north-west again--that is, if i had any thought of coming. there was also some information about the route in by skagway, on which he said great work was being done. a road for vehicles was completed, bad places had been bridged, &c. a railroad was commenced over the white pass, and by the spring of it was confidently expected that it would be completed to lake bennet, the head of the navigation. steamboats had been constructed to traverse the lakes and rivers. stores, bunk-houses, and shelters had been erected along the trails. a tramway had been constructed round miles cañon and white horse rapids, and vast quantities of stores had fortunately been brought up from st michael's, so that no great fear of starvation existed. an aerial wire-way, which he thought little of, had been erected over the chilkoot pass. it carried no passengers, only merchandise and stores. thus it appeared that as in this short time such immense improvements had been made in the way in to the klondyke, we might expect in a year or two to be able to go in and out with speed and comfort in summer and autumn. but during the long and terrible winter there would be no easy way until a railroad was established. there was an enclosure from mrs bain to may. she sent her loving messages, and hoped before her missive reached her she would be may singleton. which is exactly what she is. patch was flourishing--every one's favourite. so i end our story. we are waiting for the latest news from meade's creek. but if no more gold is obtained from our claim on the klondyke, we have reason to be well content, and to be thankful to the giver of all good for his bounty to us. the end. printed by william blackwood and sons. ballads of a cheechako by robert w. service [british-born canadian poet-- - .] [note on text: italicized stanzas will be indented spaces. italicized words or phrases will be capitalised. lines longer than characters have been broken according to metre, and the continuation is indented two spaces.] [this etext was transcribed from an american edition.] ballads of a cheechako by robert w. service author of "the spell of the yukon" contents: to the man of the high north my rhymes are rough, and often in my rhyming men of the high north men of the high north, the wild sky is blazing; the ballad of the northern lights one of the down and out--that's me. stare at me well, ay, stare! the ballad of the black fox skin there was claw-fingered kitty and windy ike living the life of shame, the ballad of pious pete i tried to refine that neighbor of mine, honest to god, i did. the ballad of blasphemous bill i took a contract to bury the body of blasphemous bill mackie, the ballad of one-eyed mike this is the tale that was told to me by the man with the crystal eye, the ballad of the brand 'twas up in a land long famed for gold, where women were far and rare, the ballad of hard-luck henry now wouldn't you expect to find a man an awful crank the man from eldorado he's the man from eldorado, and he's just arrived in town, my friends the man above was a murderer, the man below was a thief; the prospector i strolled up old bonanza, where i staked in ninety-eight, the black sheep hark to the ewe that bore him: the telegraph operator i will not wash my face; the wood-cutter the sky is like an envelope, the song of the mouth-organ i'm a homely little bit of tin and bone; the trail of ninety-eight gold! we leapt from our benches. gold! we sprang from our stools. the ballad of gum-boot ben he was an old prospector with a vision bleared and dim. clancy of the mounted police in the little crimson manual it's written plain and clear lost "black is the sky, but the land is white-- l'envoi we talked of yesteryears, of trails and treasure, to the man of the high north my rhymes are rough, and often in my rhyming i've drifted, silver-sailed, on seas of dream, hearing afar the bells of elfland chiming, seeing the groves of arcadie agleam. i was the thrall of beauty that rejoices from peak snow-diademed to regal star; yet to mine aerie ever pierced the voices, the pregnant voices of the things that are. the here, the now, the vast forlorn around us; the gold-delirium, the ferine strife; the lusts that lure us on, the hates that hound us; our red rags in the patch-work quilt of life. the nameless men who nameless rivers travel, and in strange valleys greet strange deaths alone; the grim, intrepid ones who would unravel the mysteries that shroud the polar zone. these will i sing, and if one of you linger over my pages in the long, long night, and on some lone line lay a calloused finger, saying: "it's human-true--it hits me right"; then will i count this loving toil well spent; then will i dream awhile--content, content. men of the high north men of the high north, the wild sky is blazing; islands of opal float on silver seas; swift splendors kindle, barbaric, amazing; pale ports of amber, golden argosies. ringed all around us the proud peaks are glowing; fierce chiefs in council, their wigwam the sky; far, far below us the big yukon flowing, like threaded quicksilver, gleams to the eye. men of the high north, you who have known it; you in whose hearts its splendors have abode; can you renounce it, can you disown it? can you forget it, its glory and its goad? where is the hardship, where is the pain of it? lost in the limbo of things you've forgot; only remain the guerdon and gain of it; zest of the foray, and god, how you fought! you who have made good, you foreign faring; you money magic to far lands has whirled; can you forget those days of vast daring, there with your soul on the top o' the world? nights when no peril could keep you awake on spruce boughs you spread for your couch in the snow; taste all your feasts like the beans and the bacon fried at the camp-fire at forty below? can you remember your huskies all going, barking with joy and their brushes in air; you in your parka, glad-eyed and glowing, monarch, your subjects the wolf and the bear? monarch, your kingdom unravisht and gleaming; mountains your throne, and a river your car; crash of a bull moose to rouse you from dreaming; forest your couch, and your candle a star. you who this faint day the high north is luring unto her vastness, taintlessly sweet; you who are steel-braced, straight-lipped, enduring, dreadless in danger and dire in defeat: honor the high north ever and ever, whether she crown you, or whether she slay; suffer her fury, cherish and love her-- he who would rule he must learn to obey. men of the high north, fierce mountains love you; proud rivers leap when you ride on their breast. see, the austere sky, pensive above you, dons all her jewels to smile on your rest. children of freedom, scornful of frontiers, we who are weaklings honor your worth. lords of the wilderness, princes of pioneers, let's have a rouse that will ring round the earth. the ballad of the northern lights one of the down and out--that's me. stare at me well, ay, stare! stare and shrink--say! you wouldn't think that i was a millionaire. look at my face, it's crimped and gouged--one of them death-mask things; don't seem the sort of man, do i, as might be the pal of kings? slouching along in smelly rags, a bleary-eyed, no-good bum; a knight of the hollow needle, pard, spewed from the sodden slum. look me all over from head to foot; how much would you think i was worth? a dollar? a dime? a nickel? why, i'm the wealthiest man on earth. no, don't you think that i'm off my base. you'll sing a different tune if only you'll let me spin my yarn. come over to this saloon; wet my throat--it's as dry as chalk, and seeing as how it's you, i'll tell the tale of a northern trail, and so help me god, it's true. i'll tell of the howling wilderness and the haggard arctic heights, of a reckless vow that i made, and how i staked the northern lights. remember the year of the big stampede and the trail of ninety-eight, when the eyes of the world were turned to the north, and the hearts of men elate; hearts of the old dare-devil breed thrilled at the wondrous strike, and to every man who could hold a pan came the message, "up and hike". well, i was there with the best of them, and i knew i would not fail. you wouldn't believe it to see me now; but wait till you've heard my tale. you've read of the trail of ninety-eight, but its woe no man may tell; it was all of a piece and a whole yard wide, and the name of the brand was "hell". we heard the call and we staked our all; we were plungers playing blind, and no man cared how his neighbor fared, and no man looked behind; for a ruthless greed was born of need, and the weakling went to the wall, and a curse might avail where a prayer would fail, and the gold lust crazed us all. bold were we, and they called us three the "unholy trinity"; there was ole olson, the sailor swede, and the dago kid and me. we were the discards of the pack, the foreloopers of unrest, reckless spirits of fierce revolt in the ferment of the west. we were bound to win and we revelled in the hardships of the way. we staked our ground and our hopes were crowned, and we hoisted out the pay. we were rich in a day beyond our dreams, it was gold from the grass-roots down; but we weren't used to such sudden wealth, and there was the siren town. we were crude and careless frontiersmen, with much in us of the beast; we could bear the famine worthily, but we lost our heads at the feast. the town looked mighty bright to us, with a bunch of dust to spend, and nothing was half too good them days, and everyone was our friend. wining meant more than mining then, and life was a dizzy whirl, gambling and dropping chunks of gold down the neck of a dance-hall girl; till we went clean mad, it seems to me, and we squandered our last poke, and we sold our claim, and we found ourselves one bitter morning--broke. the dago kid he dreamed a dream of his mother's aunt who died-- in the dawn-light dim she came to him, and she stood by his bedside, and she said: "go forth to the highest north till a lonely trail ye find; follow it far and trust your star, and fortune will be kind." but i jeered at him, and then there came the sailor swede to me, and he said: "i dreamed of my sister's son, who croaked at the age of three. from the herded dead he sneaked and said: `seek you an arctic trail; 'tis pale and grim by the polar rim, but seek and ye shall not fail.'" and lo! that night i too did dream of my mother's sister's son, and he said to me: "by the arctic sea there's a treasure to be won. follow and follow a lone moose trail, till you come to a valley grim, on the slope of the lonely watershed that borders the polar brim." then i woke my pals, and soft we swore by the mystic silver flail, 'twas the hand of fate, and to-morrow straight we would seek the lone moose trail. we watched the groaning ice wrench free, crash on with a hollow din; men of the wilderness were we, freed from the taint of sin. the mighty river snatched us up and it bore us swift along; the days were bright, and the morning light was sweet with jewelled song. we poled and lined up nameless streams, portaged o'er hill and plain; we burnt our boat to save the nails, and built our boat again; we guessed and groped, north, ever north, with many a twist and turn; we saw ablaze in the deathless days the splendid sunsets burn. o'er soundless lakes where the grayling makes a rush at the clumsy fly; by bluffs so steep that the hard-hit sheep falls sheer from out the sky; by lilied pools where the bull moose cools and wallows in huge content; by rocky lairs where the pig-eyed bears peered at our tiny tent. through the black canyon's angry foam we hurled to dreamy bars, and round in a ring the dog-nosed peaks bayed to the mocking stars. spring and summer and autumn went; the sky had a tallow gleam, yet north and ever north we pressed to the land of our golden dream. so we came at last to a tundra vast and dark and grim and lone; and there was the little lone moose trail, and we knew it for our own. by muskeg hollow and nigger-head it wandered endlessly; sorry of heart and sore of foot, weary men were we. the short-lived sun had a leaden glare and the darkness came too soon, and stationed there with a solemn stare was the pinched, anaemic moon. silence and silvern solitude till it made you dumbly shrink, and you thought to hear with an outward ear the things you thought to think. oh, it was wild and weird and wan, and ever in camp o' nights we would watch and watch the silver dance of the mystic northern lights. and soft they danced from the polar sky and swept in primrose haze; and swift they pranced with their silver feet, and pierced with a blinding blaze. they danced a cotillion in the sky; they were rose and silver shod; it was not good for the eyes of man--'twas a sight for the eyes of god. it made us mad and strange and sad, and the gold whereof we dreamed was all forgot, and our only thought was of the lights that gleamed. oh, the tundra sponge it was golden brown, and some was a bright blood-red; and the reindeer moss gleamed here and there like the tombstones of the dead. and in and out and around about the little trail ran clear, and we hated it with a deadly hate and we feared with a deadly fear. and the skies of night were alive with light, with a throbbing, thrilling flame; amber and rose and violet, opal and gold it came. it swept the sky like a giant scythe, it quivered back to a wedge; argently bright, it cleft the night with a wavy golden edge. pennants of silver waved and streamed, lazy banners unfurled; sudden splendors of sabres gleamed, lightning javelins were hurled. there in our awe we crouched and saw with our wild, uplifted eyes charge and retire the hosts of fire in the battlefield of the skies. but all things come to an end at last, and the muskeg melted away, and frowning down to bar our path a muddle of mountains lay. and a gorge sheered up in granite walls, and the moose trail crept betwixt; 'twas as if the earth had gaped too far and her stony jaws were fixt. then the winter fell with a sudden swoop, and the heavy clouds sagged low, and earth and sky were blotted out in a whirl of driving snow. we were climbing up a glacier in the neck of a mountain pass, when the dago kid slipped down and fell into a deep crevasse. when we got him out one leg hung limp, and his brow was wreathed with pain, and he says: "'tis badly broken, boys, and i'll never walk again. it's death for all if ye linger here, and that's no cursed lie; go on, go on while the trail is good, and leave me down to die." he raved and swore, but we tended him with our uncouth, clumsy care. the camp-fire gleamed and he gazed and dreamed with a fixed and curious stare. then all at once he grabbed my gun and he put it to his head, and he says: "i'll fix it for you, boys"--them are the words he said. so we sewed him up in a canvas sack and we slung him to a tree; and the stars like needles stabbed our eyes, and woeful men were we. and on we went on our woeful way, wrapped in a daze of dream, and the northern lights in the crystal nights came forth with a mystic gleam. they danced and they danced the devil-dance over the naked snow; and soft they rolled like a tide upshoaled with a ceaseless ebb and flow. they rippled green with a wondrous sheen, they fluttered out like a fan; they spread with a blaze of rose-pink rays never yet seen of man. they writhed like a brood of angry snakes, hissing and sulphur pale; then swift they changed to a dragon vast, lashing a cloven tail. it seemed to us, as we gazed aloft with an everlasting stare, the sky was a pit of bale and dread, and a monster revelled there. we climbed the rise of a hog-back range that was desolate and drear, when the sailor swede had a crazy fit, and he got to talking queer. he talked of his home in oregon and the peach trees all in bloom, and the fern head-high, and the topaz sky, and the forest's scented gloom. he talked of the sins of his misspent life, and then he seemed to brood, and i watched him there like a fox a hare, for i knew it was not good. and sure enough in the dim dawn-light i missed him from the tent, and a fresh trail broke through the crusted snow, and i knew not where it went. but i followed it o'er the seamless waste, and i found him at shut of day, naked there as a new-born babe--so i left him where he lay. day after day was sinister, and i fought fierce-eyed despair, and i clung to life, and i struggled on, i knew not why nor where. i packed my grub in short relays, and i cowered down in my tent, and the world around was purged of sound like a frozen continent. day after day was dark as death, but ever and ever at nights, with a brilliancy that grew and grew, blazed up the northern lights. they rolled around with a soundless sound like softly bruised silk; they poured into the bowl of the sky with the gentle flow of milk. in eager, pulsing violet their wheeling chariots came, or they poised above the polar rim like a coronal of flame. from depths of darkness fathomless their lancing rays were hurled, like the all-combining search-lights of the navies of the world. there on the roof-pole of the world as one bewitched i gazed, and howled and grovelled like a beast as the awful splendors blazed. my eyes were seared, yet thralled i peered through the parka hood nigh blind; but i staggered on to the lights that shone, and never i looked behind. there is a mountain round and low that lies by the polar rim, and i climbed its height in a whirl of light, and i peered o'er its jagged brim; and there in a crater deep and vast, ungained, unguessed of men, the mystery of the arctic world was flashed into my ken. for there these poor dim eyes of mine beheld the sight of sights-- that hollow ring was the source and spring of the mystic northern lights. then i staked that place from crown to base, and i hit the homeward trail. ah, god! it was good, though my eyes were blurred, and i crawled like a sickly snail. in that vast white world where the silent sky communes with the silent snow, in hunger and cold and misery i wandered to and fro. but the lord took pity on my pain, and he led me to the sea, and some ice-bound whalers heard my moan, and they fed and sheltered me. they fed the feeble scarecrow thing that stumbled out of the wild with the ravaged face of a mask of death and the wandering wits of a child-- a craven, cowering bag of bones that once had been a man. they tended me and they brought me back to the world, and here i am. some say that the northern lights are the glare of the arctic ice and snow; and some that it's electricity, and nobody seems to know. but i'll tell you now--and if i lie, may my lips be stricken dumb-- it's a mine, a mine of the precious stuff that men call radium. i'ts a million dollars a pound, they say, and there's tons and tons in sight. you can see it gleam in a golden stream in the solitudes of night. and it's mine, all mine--and say! if you have a hundred plunks to spare, i'll let you have the chance of your life, i'll sell you a quarter share. you turn it down? well, i'll make it ten, seeing as you are my friend. nothing doing? say! don't be hard--have you got a dollar to lend? just a dollar to help me out, i know you'll treat me white; i'll do as much for you some day . . . god bless you, sir; good-night. the ballad of the black fox skin there was claw-fingered kitty and windy ike living the life of shame, when unto them in the long, long night came the man-who-had-no-name; bearing his prize of a black fox pelt, out of the wild he came. his cheeks were blanched as the flume-head foam when the brown spring freshets flow; deep in their dark, sin-calcined pits were his sombre eyes aglow; they knew him far for the fitful man who spat forth blood on the snow. "did ever you see such a skin?" quoth he; "there's nought in the world so fine-- such fullness of fur as black as the night, such lustre, such size, such shine; it's life to a one-lunged man like me; it's london, it's women, it's wine. "the moose-hides called it the devil-fox, and swore that no man could kill; that he who hunted it, soon or late, must surely suffer some ill; but i laughed at them and their old squaw-tales. ha! ha! i'm laughing still. "for look ye, the skin--it's as smooth as sin, and black as the core of the pit. by gun or by trap, whatever the hap, i swore i would capture it; by star and by star afield and afar, i hunted and would not quit. "for the devil-fox, it was swift and sly, and it seemed to fleer at me; i would wake in fright by the camp-fire light, hearing its evil glee; into my dream its eyes would gleam, and its shadow would i see. "it sniffed and ran from the ptarmigan i had poisoned to excess; unharmed it sped from my wrathful lead ('twas as if i shot by guess); yet it came by night in the stark moonlight to mock at my weariness. "i tracked it up where the mountains hunch like the vertebrae of the world; i tracked it down to the death-still pits where the avalanche is hurled; from the glooms to the sacerdotal snows, where the carded clouds are curled. "from the vastitudes where the world protrudes through clouds like seas up-shoaled, i held its track till it led me back to the land i had left of old-- the land i had looted many moons. i was weary and sick and cold. "i was sick, soul-sick, of the futile chase, and there and then i swore the foul fiend fox might scathless go, for i would hunt no more; then i rubbed mine eyes in a vast surprise--it stood by my cabin door. "a rifle raised in the wraith-like gloom, and a vengeful shot that sped; a howl that would thrill a cream-faced corpse-- and the demon fox lay dead. . . . yet there was never a sign of wound, and never a drop he bled. "so that was the end of the great black fox, and here is the prize i've won; and now for a drink to cheer me up--i've mushed since the early sun; we'll drink a toast to the sorry ghost of the fox whose race is run." ii. now claw-fingered kitty and windy ike, bad as the worst were they; in their road-house down by the river-trail they waited and watched for prey; with wine and song they joyed night long, and they slept like swine by day. for things were done in the midnight sun that no tongue will ever tell; and men there be who walk earth-free, but whose names are writ in hell-- are writ in flames with the guilty names of fournier and labelle. put not your trust in a poke of dust would ye sleep the sleep of sin; for there be those who would rob your clothes ere yet the dawn comes in; and a prize likewise in a woman's eyes is a peerless black fox skin. put your faith in the mountain cat if you lie within his lair; trust the fangs of the mother-wolf, and the claws of the lead-ripped bear; but oh, of the wiles and the gold-tooth smiles of a dance-hall wench beware! wherefore it was beyond all laws that lusts of man restrain, a man drank deep and sank to sleep never to wake again; and the yukon swallowed through a hole the cold corpse of the slain. iii. the black fox skin a shadow cast from the roof nigh to the floor; and sleek it seemed and soft it gleamed, and the woman stroked it o'er; and the man stood by with a brooding eye, and gnashed his teeth and swore. when thieves and thugs fall out and fight there's fell arrears to pay; and soon or late sin meets its fate, and so it fell one day that claw-fingered kitty and windy ike fanged up like dogs at bay. "the skin is mine, all mine," she cried; "i did the deed alone." "it's share and share with a guilt-yoked pair", he hissed in a pregnant tone; and so they snarled like malamutes over a mildewed bone. and so they fought, by fear untaught, till haply it befell one dawn of day she slipped away to dawson town to sell the fruit of sin, this black fox skin that had made their lives a hell. she slipped away as still he lay, she clutched the wondrous fur; her pulses beat, her foot was fleet, her fear was as a spur; she laughed with glee, she did not see him rise and follow her. the bluffs uprear and grimly peer far over dawson town; they see its lights a blaze o' nights and harshly they look down; they mock the plan and plot of man with grim, ironic frown. the trail was steep; 'twas at the time when swiftly sinks the snow; all honey-combed, the river ice was rotting down below; the river chafed beneath its rind with many a mighty throe. and up the swift and oozy drift a woman climbed in fear, clutching to her a black fox fur as if she held it dear; and hard she pressed it to her breast--then windy ike drew near. she made no moan--her heart was stone--she read his smiling face, and like a dream flashed all her life's dark horror and disgrace; a moment only--with a snarl he hurled her into space. she rolled for nigh an hundred feet; she bounded like a ball; from crag to crag she carromed down through snow and timber fall; . . . a hole gaped in the river ice; the spray flashed--that was all. a bird sang for the joy of spring, so piercing sweet and frail; and blinding bright the land was dight in gay and glittering mail; and with a wondrous black fox skin a man slid down the trail. iv. a wedge-faced man there was who ran along the river bank, who stumbled through each drift and slough, and ever slipped and sank, and ever cursed his maker's name, and ever "hooch" he drank. he travelled like a hunted thing, hard harried, sore distrest; the old grandmother moon crept out from her cloud-quilted nest; the aged mountains mocked at him in their primeval rest. grim shadows diapered the snow; the air was strangely mild; the valley's girth was dumb with mirth, the laughter of the wild; the still, sardonic laughter of an ogre o'er a child. the river writhed beneath the ice; it groaned like one in pain, and yawning chasms opened wide, and closed and yawned again; and sheets of silver heaved on high until they split in twain. from out the road-house by the trail they saw a man afar make for the narrow river-reach where the swift cross-currents are; where, frail and worn, the ice is torn and the angry waters jar. but they did not see him crash and sink into the icy flow; they did not see him clinging there, gripped by the undertow, clawing with bleeding finger-nails at the jagged ice and snow. they found a note beside the hole where he had stumbled in: "here met his fate by evil luck a man who lived in sin, and to the one who loves me least i leave this black fox skin." and strange it is; for, though they searched the river all around, no trace or sign of black fox skin was ever after found; though one man said he saw the tread of hoofs deep in the ground. the ballad of pious pete _"the north has got him."_ --yukonism. i tried to refine that neighbor of mine, honest to god, i did. i grieved for his fate, and early and late i watched over him like a kid. i gave him excuse, i bore his abuse in every way that i could; i swore to prevail; i camped on his trail; i plotted and planned for his good. by day and by night i strove in men's sight to gather him into the fold, with precept and prayer, with hope and despair, in hunger and hardship and cold. i followed him into gehennas of sin, i sat where the sirens sit; in the shade of the pole, for the sake of his soul, i strove with the powers of the pit. i shadowed him down to the scrofulous town; i dragged him from dissolute brawls; but i killed the galoot when he started to shoot electricity into my walls. god knows what i did he should seek to be rid of one who would save him from shame. god knows what i bore that night when he swore and bade me make tracks from his claim. i started to tell of the horrors of hell, when sudden his eyes lit like coals; and "chuck it," says he, "don't persecute me with your cant and your saving of souls." i'll swear i was mild as i'd be with a child, but he called me the son of a slut; and, grabbing his gun with a leap and a run, he threatened my face with the butt. so what could i do (i leave it to you)? with curses he harried me forth; then he was alone, and i was alone, and over us menaced the north. our cabins were near; i could see, i could hear; but between us there rippled the creek; and all summer through, with a rancor that grew, he would pass me and never would speak. then a shuddery breath like the coming of death crept down from the peaks far away; the water was still; the twilight was chill; the sky was a tatter of gray. swift came the big cold, and opal and gold the lights of the witches arose; the frost-tyrant clinched, and the valley was cinched by the stark and cadaverous snows. the trees were like lace where the star-beams could chase, each leaf was a jewel agleam. the soft white hush lapped the northland and wrapped us round in a crystalline dream; so still i could hear quite loud in my ear the swish of the pinions of time; so bright i could see, as plain as could be, the wings of god's angels ashine. as i read in the book i would oftentimes look to that cabin just over the creek. ah me, it was sad and evil and bad, two neighbors who never would speak! i knew that full well like a devil in hell he was hatching out, early and late, a system to bear through the frost-spangled air the warm, crimson waves of his hate. i only could peer and shudder and fear--'twas ever so ghastly and still; but i knew over there in his lonely despair he was plotting me terrible ill. i knew that he nursed a malice accurst, like the blast of a winnowing flame; i pleaded aloud for a shield, for a shroud--oh, god! then calamity came. mad! if i'm mad then you too are mad; but it's all in the point of view. if you'd looked at them things gallivantin' on wings, all purple and green and blue; if you'd noticed them twist, as they mounted and hissed like scorpions dim in the dark; if you'd seen them rebound with a horrible sound, and spitefully spitting a spark; if you'd watched it with dread, as it hissed by your bed, that thing with the feelers that crawls-- you'd have settled the brute that attempted to shoot electricity into your walls. oh, some they were blue, and they slithered right through; they were silent and squashy and round; and some they were green; they were wriggly and lean; they writhed with so hateful a sound. my blood seemed to freeze; i fell on my knees; my face was a white splash of dread. oh, the green and the blue, they were gruesome to view; but the worst of them all were the red. they came through the door, they came through the floor, they came through the moss-creviced logs. they were savage and dire; they were whiskered with fire; they bickered like malamute dogs. they ravined in rings like iniquitous things; they gulped down the green and the blue. i crinkled with fear whene'er they drew near, and nearer and nearer they drew. and then came the crown of horror's grim crown, the monster so loathsomely red. each eye was a pin that shot out and in, as, squidlike, it oozed to my bed; so softly it crept with feelers that swept and quivered like fine copper wire; its belly was white with a sulphurous light, its jaws were a-drooling with fire. it came and it came; i could breathe of its flame, but never a wink could i look. i thrust in its maw the fount of the law; i fended it off with the book. i was weak--oh, so weak--but i thrilled at its shriek, as wildly it fled in the night; and deathlike i lay till the dawn of the day. (was ever so welcome the light?) i loaded my gun at the rise of the sun; to his cabin so softly i slunk. my neighbor was there in the frost-freighted air, all wrapped in a robe in his bunk. it muffled his moans; it outlined his bones, as feebly he twisted about; his gums were so black, and his lips seemed to crack, and his teeth all were loosening out. 'twas a death's head that peered through the tangle of beard; 'twas a face i will never forget; sunk eyes full of woe, and they troubled me so with their pleadings and anguish, and yet as i rested my gaze in a misty amaze on the scurvy-degenerate wreck, i thought of the things with the dragon-fly wings, then laid i my gun on his neck. he gave out a cry that was faint as a sigh, like a perishing malamute, and he says unto me, "i'm converted," says he; "for christ's sake, peter, don't shoot!" * * * * * they're taking me out with an escort about, and under a sergeant's care; i am humbled indeed, for i'm 'cuffed to a swede that thinks he's a millionaire. but it's all gospel true what i'm telling to you-- up there where the shadow falls-- that i settled sam noot when he started to shoot electricity into my walls. the ballad of blasphemous bill i took a contract to bury the body of blasphemous bill mackie, whenever, wherever or whatsoever the manner of death he die-- whether he die in the light o' day or under the peak-faced moon; in cabin or dance-hall, camp or dive, mucklucks or patent shoon; on velvet tundra or virgin peak, by glacier, drift or draw; in muskeg hollow or canyon gloom, by avalanche, fang or claw; by battle, murder or sudden wealth, by pestilence, hooch or lead-- i swore on the book i would follow and look till i found my tombless dead. for bill was a dainty kind of cuss, and his mind was mighty sot on a dinky patch with flowers and grass in a civilized bone-yard lot. and where he died or how he died, it didn't matter a damn so long as he had a grave with frills and a tombstone "epigram". so i promised him, and he paid the price in good cheechako coin (which the same i blowed in that very night down in the tenderloin). then i painted a three-foot slab of pine: "here lies poor bill mackie", and i hung it up on my cabin wall and i waited for bill to die. years passed away, and at last one day came a squaw with a story strange, of a long-deserted line of traps 'way back of the bighorn range; of a little hut by the great divide, and a white man stiff and still, lying there by his lonesome self, and i figured it must be bill. so i thought of the contract i'd made with him, and i took down from the shelf the swell black box with the silver plate he'd picked out for hisself; and i packed it full of grub and "hooch", and i slung it on the sleigh; then i harnessed up my team of dogs and was off at dawn of day. you know what it's like in the yukon wild when it's sixty-nine below; when the ice-worms wriggle their purple heads through the crust of the pale blue snow; when the pine-trees crack like little guns in the silence of the wood, and the icicles hang down like tusks under the parka hood; when the stove-pipe smoke breaks sudden off, and the sky is weirdly lit, and the careless feel of a bit of steel burns like a red-hot spit; when the mercury is a frozen ball, and the frost-fiend stalks to kill-- well, it was just like that that day when i set out to look for bill. oh, the awful hush that seemed to crush me down on every hand, as i blundered blind with a trail to find through that blank and bitter land; half dazed, half crazed in the winter wild, with its grim heart-breaking woes, and the ruthless strife for a grip on life that only the sourdough knows! north by the compass, north i pressed; river and peak and plain passed like a dream i slept to lose and i waked to dream again. river and plain and mighty peak--and who could stand unawed? as their summits blazed, he could stand undazed at the foot of the throne of god. north, aye, north, through a land accurst, shunned by the scouring brutes, and all i heard was my own harsh word and the whine of the malamutes, till at last i came to a cabin squat, built in the side of a hill, and i burst in the door, and there on the floor, frozen to death, lay bill. ice, white ice, like a winding-sheet, sheathing each smoke-grimed wall; ice on the stove-pipe, ice on the bed, ice gleaming over all; sparkling ice on the dead man's chest, glittering ice in his hair, ice on his fingers, ice in his heart, ice in his glassy stare; hard as a log and trussed like a frog, with his arms and legs outspread. i gazed at the coffin i'd brought for him, and i gazed at the gruesome dead, and at last i spoke: "bill liked his joke; but still, goldarn his eyes, a man had ought to consider his mates in the way he goes and dies." have you ever stood in an arctic hut in the shadow of the pole, with a little coffin six by three and a grief you can't control? have you ever sat by a frozen corpse that looks at you with a grin, and that seems to say: "you may try all day, but you'll never jam me in"? i'm not a man of the quitting kind, but i never felt so blue as i sat there gazing at that stiff and studying what i'd do. then i rose and i kicked off the husky dogs that were nosing round about, and i lit a roaring fire in the stove, and i started to thaw bill out. well, i thawed and thawed for thirteen days, but it didn't seem no good; his arms and legs stuck out like pegs, as if they was made of wood. till at last i said: "it ain't no use--he's froze too hard to thaw; he's obstinate, and he won't lie straight, so i guess i got to--saw." so i sawed off poor bill's arms and legs, and i laid him snug and straight in the little coffin he picked hisself, with the dinky silver plate; and i came nigh near to shedding a tear as i nailed him safely down; then i stowed him away in my yukon sleigh, and i started back to town. so i buried him as the contract was in a narrow grave and deep, and there he's waiting the great clean-up, when the judgment sluice-heads sweep; and i smoke my pipe and i meditate in the light of the midnight sun, and sometimes i wonder if they was, the awful things i done. and as i sit and the parson talks, expounding of the law, i often think of poor old bill--and how hard he was to saw. the ballad of one-eyed mike _this is the tale that was told to me by the man with the crystal eye, as i smoked my pipe in the camp-fire light, and the glories swept the sky; as the northlights gleamed and curved and streamed, and the bottle of "hooch" was dry._ a man once aimed that my life be shamed, and wrought me a deathly wrong; i vowed one day i would well repay, but the heft of his hate was strong. he thonged me east and he thonged me west; he harried me back and forth, till i fled in fright from his peerless spite to the bleak, bald-headed north. and there i lay, and for many a day i hatched plan after plan, for a golden haul of the wherewithal to crush and to kill my man; and there i strove, and there i clove through the drift of icy streams; and there i fought, and there i sought for the pay-streak of my dreams. so twenty years, with their hopes and fears and smiles and tears and such, went by and left me long bereft of hope of the midas touch; about as fat as a chancel rat, and lo! despite my will, in the weary fight i had clean lost sight of the man i sought to kill. 'twas so far away, that evil day when i prayed to the prince of gloom for the savage strength and the sullen length of life to work his doom. nor sign nor word had i seen or heard, and it happed so long ago; my youth was gone and my memory wan, and i willed it even so. it fell one night in the waning light by the yukon's oily flow, i smoked and sat as i marvelled at the sky's port-winey glow; till it paled away to an absinthe gray, and the river seemed to shrink, all wobbly flakes and wriggling snakes and goblin eyes a-wink. 'twas weird to see and it 'wildered me in a queer, hypnotic dream, till i saw a spot like an inky blot come floating down the stream; it bobbed and swung; it sheered and hung; it romped round in a ring; it seemed to play in a tricksome way; it sure was a merry thing. in freakish flights strange oily lights came fluttering round its head, like butterflies of a monster size--then i knew it for the dead. its face was rubbed and slicked and scrubbed as smooth as a shaven pate; in the silver snakes that the water makes it gleamed like a dinner-plate. it gurgled near, and clear and clear and large and large it grew; it stood upright in a ring of light and it looked me through and through. it weltered round with a woozy sound, and ere i could retreat, with the witless roll of a sodden soul it wantoned to my feet. and here i swear by this cross i wear, i heard that "floater" say: "i am the man from whom you ran, the man you sought to slay. that you may note and gaze and gloat, and say `revenge is sweet', in the grit and grime of the river's slime i am rotting at your feet. "the ill we rue we must e'en undo, though it rive us bone from bone; so it came about that i sought you out, for i prayed i might atone. i did you wrong, and for long and long i sought where you might live; and now you're found, though i'm dead and drowned, i beg you to forgive." so sad it seemed, and its cheek-bones gleamed, and its fingers flicked the shore; and it lapped and lay in a weary way, and its hands met to implore; that i gently said: "poor, restless dead, i would never work you woe; though the wrong you rue you can ne'er undo, i forgave you long ago." then, wonder-wise, i rubbed my eyes and i woke from a horrid dream. the moon rode high in the naked sky, and something bobbed in the stream. it held my sight in a patch of light, and then it sheered from the shore; it dipped and sank by a hollow bank, and i never saw it more. _this was the tale he told to me, that man so warped and gray, ere he slept and dreamed, and the camp-fire gleamed in his eye in a wolfish way-- that crystal eye that raked the sky in the weird auroral ray._ the ballad of the brand 'twas up in a land long famed for gold, where women were far and rare, tellus, the smith, had taken to wife a maiden amazingly fair; tellus, the brawny worker in iron, hairy and heavy of hand, saw her and loved her and bore her away from the tribe of a southern land; deeming her worthy to queen his home and mother him little ones, that the name of tellus, the master smith, might live in his stalwart sons. now there was little of law in the land, and evil doings were rife, and every man who joyed in his home guarded the fame of his wife; for there were those of the silver tongue and the honeyed art to beguile, who would cozen the heart from a woman's breast and damn her soul with a smile. and there were women too quick to heed a look or a whispered word, and once in a while a man was slain, and the ire of the king was stirred; so far and wide he proclaimed his wrath, and this was the law he willed: "that whosoever killeth a man, even shall he be killed." now tellus, the smith, he trusted his wife; his heart was empty of fear. high on the hill was the gleam of their hearth, a beacon of love and cheer. high on the hill they builded their bower, where the broom and the bracken meet; under a grave of oaks it was, hushed and drowsily sweet. here he enshrined her, his dearest saint, his idol, the light of his eye; her kisses rested upon his lips as brushes a butterfly. the weight of her arms around his neck was light as the thistle down; and sweetly she studied to win his smile, and gently she mocked his frown. and when at the close of the dusty day his clangorous toil was done, she hastened to meet him down the way all lit by the amber sun. their dove-cot gleamed in the golden light, a temple of stainless love; like the hanging cup of a big blue flower was the topaz sky above. the roses and lilies yearned to her, as swift through their throng she pressed; a little white, fragile, fluttering thing that lay like a child on his breast. then the heart of tellus, the smith, was proud, and sang for the joy of life, and there in the bronzing summertide he thanked the gods for his wife. now there was one called philo, a scribe, a man of exquisite grace, carved like the god apollo in limb, fair as adonis in face; eager and winning in manner, full of such radiant charm, womenkind fought for his favor and loved to their uttermost harm. such was his craft and his knowledge, such was his skill at the game, never was woman could flout him, so be he plotted her shame. and so he drank deep of pleasure, and then it fell on a day he gazed on the wife of tellus and marked her out for his prey. tellus, the smith, was merry, and the time of the year it was june, so he said to his stalwart helpers: "shut down the forge at noon. go ye and joy in the sunshine, rest in the coolth of the grove, drift on the dreamy river, every man with his love." then to himself: "oh, beloved, sweet will be your surprise; to-day will we sport like children, laugh in each other's eyes; weave gay garlands of poppies, crown each other with flowers, pull plump carp from the lilies, rifle the ferny bowers. to-day with feasting and gladness the wine of cyprus will flow; to-day is the day we were wedded only a twelvemonth ago." the larks trilled high in the heavens; his heart was lyric with joy; he plucked a posy of lilies; he sped like a love-sick boy. he stole up the velvety pathway--his cottage was sunsteeped and still; vines honeysuckled the window; softly he peeped o'er the sill. the lilies dropped from his fingers; devils were choking his breath; rigid with horror, he stiffened; ghastly his face was as death. like a nun whose faith in the virgin is met with a prurient jibe, he shrank--'twas the wife of his bosom in the arms of philo, the scribe. tellus went back to his smithy; he reeled like a drunken man; his heart was riven with anguish; his brain was brooding a plan. straight to his anvil he hurried; started his furnace aglow; heated his iron and shaped it with savage and masterful blow. sparks showered over and round him; swiftly under his hand there at last it was finished--a hideous and infamous brand. that night the wife of his bosom, the light of joy in her eyes, kissed him with words of rapture; but he knew that her words were lies. never was she so beguiling, never so merry of speech (for passion ripens a woman as the sunshine ripens a peach). he clenched his teeth into silence; he yielded up to her lure, though he knew that her breasts were heaving from the fire of her paramour. "to-morrow," he said, "to-morrow"--he wove her hair in a strand, twisted it round his fingers and smiled as he thought of the brand. the morrow was come, and tellus swiftly stole up the hill. butterflies drowsed in the noon-heat; coverts were sunsteeped and still. softly he padded the pathway unto the porch, and within heard he the low laugh of dalliance, heard he the rapture of sin. knew he her eyes were mystic with light that no man should see, no man kindle and joy in, no man on earth save he. and never for him would it kindle. the bloodlust surged in his brain; through the senseless stone could he see them, wanton and warily fain. horrible! heaven he sought for, gained it and gloried and fell-- oh, it was sudden--headlong into the nethermost hell. . . . was this he, tellus, this marble? tellus . . . not dreaming a dream? ah! sharp-edged as a javelin, was that a woman's scream? was it a door that shattered, shell-like, under his blow? was it his saint, that strumpet, dishevelled and cowering low? was it her lover, that wild thing, that twisted and gouged and tore? was it a man he was crushing, whose head he beat on the floor? laughing the while at its weakness, till sudden he stayed his hand-- through the red ring of his madness flamed the thought of the brand. then bound he the naked philo with thongs that cut in the flesh, and the wife of his bosom, fear-frantic, he gagged with a silken mesh, choking her screams into silence; bound her down by the hair; dragged her lover unto her under her frenzied stare. in the heat of the hearth-fire embers he heated the hideous brand; twisting her fingers open, he forced its haft in her hand. he pressed it downward and downward; she felt the living flesh sear; she saw the throe of her lover; she heard the scream of his fear. once, twice and thrice he forced her, heedless of prayer and shriek-- once on the forehead of philo, twice in the soft of his cheek. then (for the thing was finished) he said to the woman: "see how you have branded your lover! now will i let him go free." he severed the thongs that bound him, laughing: "revenge is sweet", and philo, sobbing in anguish, feebly rose to his feet. the man who was fair as apollo, god-like in woman's sight, hideous now as a satyr, fled to the pity of night. _then came they before the judgment seat, and thus spoke the lord of the land: "he who seeketh his neighbor's wife shall suffer the doom of the brand. brutish and bold on his brow be it stamped, deep in his cheek let it sear, that every man may look on his shame, and shudder and sicken and fear. he shall hear their mock in the market-place, their fleering jibe at the feast; he shall seek the caves and the shroud of night, and the fellowship of the beast. outcast forever from homes of men, far and far shall he roam. such be the doom, sadder than death, of him who shameth a home."_ the ballad of hard-luck henry now wouldn't you expect to find a man an awful crank that's staked out nigh three hundred claims, and every one a blank; that's followed every fool stampede, and seen the rise and fall of camps where men got gold in chunks and he got none at all; that's prospected a bit of ground and sold it for a song to see it yield a fortune to some fool that came along; that's sunk a dozen bed-rock holes, and not a speck in sight, yet sees them take a million from the claims to left and right? now aren't things like that enough to drive a man to booze? but hard-luck smith was hoodoo-proof--he knew the way to lose. 'twas in the fall of nineteen four--leap-year i've heard them say-- when hard-luck came to hunker creek and took a hillside lay. and lo! as if to make amends for all the futile past, late in the year he struck it rich, the real pay-streak at last. the riffles of his sluicing-box were choked with speckled earth, and night and day he worked that lay for all that he was worth. and when in chill december's gloom his lucky lease expired, he found that he had made a stake as big as he desired. one day while meditating on the waywardness of fate, he felt the ache of lonely man to find a fitting mate; a petticoated pard to cheer his solitary life, a woman with soft, soothing ways, a confidant, a wife. and while he cooked his supper on his little yukon stove, he wished that he had staked a claim in love's rich treasure-trove; when suddenly he paused and held aloft a yukon egg, for there in pencilled letters was the magic name of peg. you know these yukon eggs of ours--some pink, some green, some blue-- a dollar per, assorted tints, assorted flavors too. the supercilious cheechako might designate them high, but one acquires a taste for them and likes them by-and-by. well, hard-luck henry took this egg and held it to the light, and there was more faint pencilling that sorely taxed his sight. at last he made it out, and then the legend ran like this-- "will klondike miner write to peg, plumhollow, squashville, wis.?" that night he got to thinking of this far-off, unknown fair; it seemed so sort of opportune, an answer to his prayer. she flitted sweetly through his dreams, she haunted him by day, she smiled through clouds of nicotine, she cheered his weary way. at last he yielded to the spell; his course of love he set-- wisconsin his objective point; his object, margaret. with every mile of sea and land his longing grew and grew. he practised all his pretty words, and these, i fear, were few. at last, one frosty evening, with a cold chill down his spine, he found himself before her house, the threshold of the shrine. his courage flickered to a spark, then glowed with sudden flame-- he knocked; he heard a welcome word; she came--his goddess came. oh, she was fair as any flower, and huskily he spoke: "i'm all the way from klondike, with a mighty heavy poke. i'm looking for a lassie, one whose christian name is peg, who sought a klondike miner, and who wrote it on an egg." the lassie gazed at him a space, her cheeks grew rosy red; she gazed at him with tear-bright eyes, then tenderly she said: "yes, lonely klondike miner, it is true my name is peg. it's also true i longed for you and wrote it on an egg. my heart went out to someone in that land of night and cold; but oh, i fear that yukon egg must have been mighty old. i waited long, i hoped and feared; you should have come before; i've been a wedded woman now for eighteen months or more. i'm sorry, since you've come so far, you ain't the one that wins; but won't you take a step inside--i'll let you see the twins." the man from eldorado he's the man from eldorado, and he's just arrived in town, in moccasins and oily buckskin shirt. he's gaunt as any indian, and pretty nigh as brown; he's greasy, and he smells of sweat and dirt. he sports a crop of whiskers that would shame a healthy hog; hard work has racked his joints and stooped his back; he slops along the sidewalk followed by his yellow dog, but he's got a bunch of gold-dust in his sack. he seems a little wistful as he blinks at all the lights, and maybe he is thinking of his claim and the dark and dwarfish cabin where he lay and dreamed at nights, (thank god, he'll never see the place again!) where he lived on tinned tomatoes, beef embalmed and sourdough bread, on rusty beans and bacon furred with mould; his stomach's out of kilter and his system full of lead, but it's over, and his poke is full of gold. he has panted at the windlass, he has loaded in the drift, he has pounded at the face of oozy clay; he has taxed himself to sickness, dark and damp and double shift, he has labored like a demon night and day. and now, praise god, it's over, and he seems to breathe again of new-mown hay, the warm, wet, friendly loam; he sees a snowy orchard in a green and dimpling plain, and a little vine-clad cottage, and it's--home. ii. he's the man from eldorado, and he's had a bite and sup, and he's met in with a drouthy friend or two; he's cached away his gold-dust, but he's sort of bucking up, so he's kept enough to-night to see him through. his eye is bright and genial, his tongue no longer lags; his heart is brimming o'er with joy and mirth; he may be far from savory, he may be clad in rags, but to-night he feels as if he owns the earth. says he: "boys, here is where the shaggy north and i will shake; i thought i'd never manage to get free. i kept on making misses; but at last i've got my stake; there's no more thawing frozen muck for me. i am going to god's country, where i'll live the simple life; i'll buy a bit of land and make a start; i'll carve a little homestead, and i'll win a little wife, and raise ten little kids to cheer my heart." they signified their sympathy by crowding to the bar; they bellied up three deep and drank his health. he shed a radiant smile around and smoked a rank cigar; they wished him honor, happiness and wealth. they drank unto his wife to be--that unsuspecting maid; they drank unto his children half a score; and when they got through drinking very tenderly they laid the man from eldorado on the floor. iii. he's the man from eldorado, and he's only starting in to cultivate a thousand-dollar jag. his poke is full of gold-dust and his heart is full of sin, and he's dancing with a girl called muckluck mag. she's as light as any fairy; she's as pretty as a peach; she's mistress of the witchcraft to beguile; there's sunshine in her manner, there is music in her speech, and there's concentrated honey in her smile. oh, the fever of the dance-hall and the glitter and the shine, the beauty, and the jewels, and the whirl, the madness of the music, the rapture of the wine, the languorous allurement of a girl! she is like a lost madonna; he is gaunt, unkempt and grim; but she fondles him and gazes in his eyes; her kisses seek his heavy lips, and soon it seems to him he has staked a little claim in paradise. "who's for a juicy two-step?" cries the master of the floor; the music throbs with soft, seductive beat. there's glitter, gilt and gladness; there are pretty girls galore; there's a woolly man with moccasins on feet. they know they've got him going; he is buying wine for all; they crowd around as buzzards at a feast, then when his poke is empty they boost him from the hall, and spurn him in the gutter like a beast. he's the man from eldorado, and he's painting red the town; behind he leaves a trail of yellow dust; in a whirl of senseless riot he is ramping up and down; there's nothing checks his madness and his lust. and soon the word is passed around--it travels like a flame; they fight to clutch his hand and call him friend, the chevaliers of lost repute, the dames of sorry fame; then comes the grim awakening--the end. iv. he's the man from eldorado, and he gives a grand affair; there's feasting, dancing, wine without restraint. the smooth beau brummels of the bar, the faro men, are there; the tinhorns and purveyors of red paint; the sleek and painted women, their predacious eyes aglow-- sure klondike city never saw the like; then muckluck mag proposed the toast, "the giver of the show, the livest sport that ever hit the pike." the "live one" rises to his feet; he stammers to reply-- and then there comes before his muddled brain a vision of green vastitudes beneath an april sky, and clover pastures drenched with silver rain. he knows that it can never be, that he is down and out; life leers at him with foul and fetid breath; and then amid the revelry, the song and cheer and shout, he suddenly grows grim and cold as death. he grips the table tensely, and he says: "dear friends of mine, i've let you dip your fingers in my purse; i've crammed you at my table, and i've drowned you in my wine, and i've little left to give you but--my curse. i've failed supremely in my plans; it's rather late to whine; my poke is mighty weasened up and small. i thank you each for coming here; the happiness is mine-- and now, you thieves and harlots, take it all." he twists the thong from off his poke; he swings it o'er his head; the nuggets fall around their feet like grain. they rattle over roof and wall; they scatter, roll and spread; the dust is like a shower of golden rain. the guests a moment stand aghast, then grovel on the floor; they fight, and snarl, and claw, like beasts of prey; and then, as everybody grabbed and everybody swore, the man from eldorado slipped away. v. he's the man from eldorado, and they found him stiff and dead, half covered by the freezing ooze and dirt. a clotted colt was in his hand, a hole was in his head, and he wore an old and oily buckskin shirt. his eyes were fixed and horrible, as one who hails the end; the frost had set him rigid as a log; and there, half lying on his breast, his last and only friend, there crouched and whined a mangy yellow dog. my friends the man above was a murderer, the man below was a thief; and i lay there in the bunk between, ailing beyond belief; a weary armful of skin and bone, wasted with pain and grief. my feet were froze, and the lifeless toes were purple and green and gray; the little flesh that clung to my bones, you could punch it in holes like clay; the skin on my gums was a sullen black, and slowly peeling away. i was sure enough in a direful fix, and often i wondered why they did not take the chance that was left and leave me alone to die, or finish me off with a dose of dope--so utterly lost was i. but no; they brewed me the green-spruce tea, and nursed me there like a child; and the homicide he was good to me, and bathed my sores and smiled; and the thief he starved that i might be fed, and his eyes were kind and mild. yet they were woefully wicked men, and often at night in pain i heard the murderer speak of his deed and dream it over again; i heard the poor thief sorrowing for the dead self he had slain. i'll never forget that bitter dawn, so evil, askew and gray, when they wrapped me round in the skins of beasts and they bore me to a sleigh, and we started out with the nearest post an hundred miles away. i'll never forget the trail they broke, with its tense, unuttered woe; and the crunch, crunch, crunch as their snowshoes sank through the crust of the hollow snow; and my breath would fail, and every beat of my heart was like a blow. and oftentimes i would die the death, yet wake up to life anew; the sun would be all ablaze on the waste, and the sky a blighting blue, and the tears would rise in my snow-blind eyes and furrow my cheeks like dew. and the camps we made when their strength outplayed and the day was pinched and wan; and oh, the joy of that blessed halt, and how i did dread the dawn; and how i hated the weary men who rose and dragged me on. and oh, how i begged to rest, to rest--the snow was so sweet a shroud; and oh, how i cried when they urged me on, cried and cursed them aloud; yet on they strained, all racked and pained, and sorely their backs were bowed. and then it was all like a lurid dream, and i prayed for a swift release from the ruthless ones who would not leave me to die alone in peace; till i wakened up and i found myself at the post of the mounted police. and there was my friend the murderer, and there was my friend the thief, with bracelets of steel around their wrists, and wicked beyond belief: but when they come to god's judgment seat--may i be allowed the brief. the prospector i strolled up old bonanza, where i staked in ninety-eight, a-purpose to revisit the old claim. i kept thinking mighty sadly of the funny ways of fate, and the lads who once were with me in the game. poor boys, they're down-and-outers, and there's scarcely one to-day can show a dozen colors in his poke; and me, i'm still prospecting, old and battered, gaunt and gray, and i'm looking for a grub-stake, and i'm broke. i strolled up old bonanza. the same old moon looked down; the same old landmarks seemed to yearn to me; but the cabins all were silent, and the flat, once like a town, was mighty still and lonesome-like to see. there were piles and piles of tailings where we toiled with pick and pan, and turning round a bend i heard a roar, and there a giant gold-ship of the very newest plan was tearing chunks of pay-dirt from the shore. it wallowed in its water-bed; it burrowed, heaved and swung; it gnawed its way ahead with grunts and sighs; its bill of fare was rock and sand; the tailings were its dung; it glared around with fierce electric eyes. full fifty buckets crammed its maw; it bellowed out for more; it looked like some great monster in the gloom. with two to feed its sateless greed, it worked for seven score, and i sighed: "ah, old-time miner, here's your doom!" the idle windlass turns to rust; the sagging sluice-box falls; the holes you digged are water to the brim; your little sod-roofed cabins with the snugly moss-chinked walls are deathly now and mouldering and dim. the battle-field is silent where of old you fought it out; the claims you fiercely won are lost and sold; but there's a little army that they'll never put to rout-- the men who simply live to seek the gold. the men who can't remember when they learned to swing a pack, or in what lawless land the quest began; the solitary seeker with his grub-stake on his back, the restless buccaneer of pick and pan. on the mesas of the southland, on the tundras of the north, you will find us, changed in face but still the same; and it isn't need, it isn't greed that sends us faring forth-- it's the fever, it's the glory of the game. for once you've panned the speckled sand and seen the bonny dust, its peerless brightness blinds you like a spell; it's little else you care about; you go because you must, and you feel that you could follow it to hell. you'd follow it in hunger, and you'd follow it in cold; you'd follow it in solitude and pain; and when you're stiff and battened down let someone whisper "gold", you're lief to rise and follow it again. yet look you, if i find the stuff it's just like so much dirt; i fling it to the four winds like a child. it's wine and painted women and the things that do me hurt, till i crawl back, beggared, broken, to the wild. till i crawl back, sapped and sodden, to my grub-stake and my tent-- there's a city, there's an army (hear them shout). there's the gold in millions, millions, but i haven't got a cent; and oh, it's me, it's me that found it out. it was my dream that made it good, my dream that made me go to lands of dread and death disprized of man; but oh, i've known a glory that their hearts will never know, when i picked the first big nugget from my pan. it's still my dream, my dauntless dream, that drives me forth once more to seek and starve and suffer in the vast; that heaps my heart with eager hope, that glimmers on before-- my dream that will uplift me to the last. perhaps i am stark crazy, but there's none of you too sane; it's just a little matter of degree. my hobby is to hunt out gold; it's fortressed in my brain; it's life and love and wife and home to me. and i'll strike it, yes, i'll strike it; i've a hunch i cannot fail; i've a vision, i've a prompting, i've a call; i hear the hoarse stampeding of an army on my trail, to the last, the greatest gold camp of them all. beyond the shark-tooth ranges sawing savage at the sky there's a lowering land no white man ever struck; there's gold, there's gold in millions, and i'll find it if i die, and i'm going there once more to try my luck. maybe i'll fail--what matter? it's a mandate, it's a vow; and when in lands of dreariness and dread you seek the last lone frontier, far beyond your frontiers now, you will find the old prospector, silent, dead. you will find a tattered tent-pole with a ragged robe below it; you will find a rusted gold-pan on the sod; you will find the claim i'm seeking, with my bones as stakes to show it; but i've sought the last recorder, and he's--god. the black sheep "the aristocratic ne'er-do-well in canada frequently finds his way into the ranks of the royal north-west mounted police." --extract. _hark to the ewe that bore him: "what has muddied the strain? never his brothers before him showed the hint of a stain." hark to the tups and wethers; hark to the old gray ram: "we're all of us white, but he's black as night, and he'll never be worth a damn_." i'm up on the bally wood-pile at the back of the barracks yard; "a damned disgrace to the force, sir", with a comrade standing guard; making the bluff i'm busy, doing my six months hard. "six months hard and dismissed, sir." isn't that rather hell? and all because of the liquor laws and the wiles of a native belle-- some "hooch" i gave to a siwash brave who swore that he wouldn't tell. at least they say that i did it. it's so in the town report. all that i can recall is a night of revel and sport, when i woke with a "head" in the guard-room, and they dragged me sick into court. and the o. c. said: "you are guilty", and i said never a word; for, hang it, you see i couldn't--i didn't know what had occurred, and, under the circumstances, denial would be absurd. but the one that cooked my bacon was grubbe, of the city patrol. he fagged for my room at eton, and didn't i devil his soul! and now he is getting even, landing me down in the hole. plugging away on the wood-pile; doing chores round the square. there goes an officer's lady--gives me a haughty stare-- me that's an earl's own nephew--that is the hardest to bear. to think of the poor old mater awaiting her prodigal son. tho' i broke her heart with my folly, i was always the white-haired one. (that fatted calf that they're cooking will surely be overdone.) i'll go back and yarn to the bishop; i'll dance with the village belle; i'll hand round tea to the ladies, and everything will be well. where i have been won't matter; what i have seen i won't tell. i'll soar to their ken like a comet. they'll see me with never a stain; but will they reform me?--far from it. we pay for our pleasure with pain; but the dog will return to his vomit, the hog to his wallow again. i've chewed on the rind of creation, and bitter i've tasted the same; stacked up against hell and damnation, i've managed to stay in the game; i've had my moments of sorrow; i've had my seasons of shame. that's past; when one's nature's a cracked one, it's too jolly hard to mend. so long as the road is level, so long as i've cash to spend. i'm bound to go to the devil, and it's all the same in the end. the bugle is sounding for stables; the men troop off through the gloom; an orderly laying the tables sings in the bright mess-room. (i'll wash in the prison bucket, and brush with the prison broom.) i'll lie in my cell and listen; i'll wish that i couldn't hear the laugh and the chaff of the fellows swigging the canteen beer; the nasal tone of the gramophone playing "the bandolier". and it seems to me, though it's misty, that night of the flowing bowl, that the man who potlatched the whiskey and landed me into the hole _was grubbe, that unmerciful bounder, grubbe, of the city patrol_. the telegraph operator i will not wash my face; i will not brush my hair; i "pig" around the place-- there's nobody to care. nothing but rock and tree; nothing but wood and stone, oh, god, it's hell to be alone, alone, alone! snow-peaks and deep-gashed draws corral me in a ring. i feel as if i was the only living thing on all this blighted earth; and so i frowst and shrink, and crouching by my hearth i hear the thoughts i think. i think of all i miss-- the boys i used to know; the girls i used to kiss; the coin i used to blow: the bars i used to haunt; the racket and the row; the beers i didn't want (i wish i had 'em now). day after day the same, only a little worse; no one to grouch or blame-- oh, for a loving curse! oh, in the night i fear, haunted by nameless things, just for a voice to cheer, just for a hand that clings! faintly as from a star voices come o'er the line; voices of ghosts afar, not in this world of mine; lives in whose loom i grope; words in whose weft i hear eager the thrill of hope, awful the chill of fear. i'm thinking out aloud; i reckon that is bad; (the snow is like a shroud)-- maybe i'm going mad. say! wouldn't that be tough? this awful hush that hugs and chokes one is enough to make a man go "bugs". there's not a thing to do; i cannot sleep at night; no wonder i'm so blue; oh, for a friendly fight! the din and rush of strife; a music-hall aglow; a crowd, a city, life-- dear god, i miss it so! here, you have moped enough! brace up and play the game! but say, it's awful tough-- day after day the same (i've said that twice, i bet). well, there's not much to say. i wish i had a pet, or something i could play. cheer up! don't get so glum and sick of everything; the worst is yet to come; god help you till the spring. god shield you from the fear; teach you to laugh, not moan. ha! ha! it sounds so queer-- alone, alone, alone! the wood-cutter _the sky is like an envelope, one of those blue official things; and, sealing it, to mock our hope, the moon, a silver wafer, clings. what shall we find when death gives leave to read--our sentence or reprieve?_ i'm holding it down on god's scrap-pile, up on the fag-end of earth; o'er me a menace of mountains, a river that grits at my feet; face to face with my soul-self, weighing my life at its worth; wondering what i was made for, here in my last retreat. last! ah, yes, it's the finish. have ever you heard a man cry? (sobs that rake him and rend him, right from the base of the chest.) that's how i've cried, oh, so often; and now that my tears are dry, i sit in the desolate quiet and wait for the infinite rest. rest! well, it's restful around me; it's quiet clean to the core. the mountains pose in their ermine, in golden the hills are clad; the big, blue, silt-freighted yukon seethes by my cabin door, and i think it's only the river that keeps me from going mad. by day it's a ruthless monster, a callous, insatiate thing, with oily bubble and eddy, with sudden swirling of breast; by night it's a writhing titan, sullenly murmuring, ever and ever goaded, and ever crying for rest. it cries for its human tribute, but me it will never drown. i've learned the lore of my river; my river obeys me well. i hew and i launch my cordwood, and raft it to dawson town, where wood means wine and women, and, incidentally, hell. hell and the anguish thereafter. here as i sit alone i'd give the life i have left me to lighten some load of care: (the bitterest part of the bitter is being denied to atone; lips that have mocked at heaven lend themselves ill to prayer.) _impotent as a beetle pierced on the needle of fate; a wretch in a cosmic death-cell, peaks for my prison bars; 'whelmed by a world stupendous, lonely and listless i wait, drowned in a sea of silence, strewn with confetti of stars_. see! from far up the valley a rapier pierces the night, the white search-ray of a steamer. swiftly, serenely it nears; a proud, white, alien presence, a glittering galley of light, confident-poised, triumphant, freighted with hopes and fears. i look as one looks on a vision; i see it pulsating by; i glimpse joy-radiant faces; i hear the thresh of the wheel. hoof-like my heart beats a moment; then silence swoops from the sky. darkness is piled upon darkness. god only knows how i feel. maybe you've seen me sometimes; maybe you've pitied me then-- the lonely waif of the wood-camp, here by my cabin door. some day you'll look and see not; futile and outcast of men, i shall be far from your pity, resting forevermore. _my life was a problem in ciphers, a weary and profitless sum. slipshod and stupid i worked it, dazed by negation and doubt. ciphers the total confronts me. oh, death, with thy moistened thumb, stoop like a petulant schoolboy, wipe me forever out!_ the song of the mouth-organ (with apologies to the singer of the "song of the banjo".) i'm a homely little bit of tin and bone; i'm beloved by the legion of the lost; i haven't got a "vox humana" tone, and a dime or two will satisfy my cost. i don't attempt your high-falutin' flights; i am more or less uncertain on the key; but i tell you, boys, there's lots and lots of nights when you've taken mighty comfort out of me. i weigh an ounce or two, and i'm so small you can pack me in the pocket of your vest; and when at night so wearily you crawl into your bunk and stretch your limbs to rest, you take me out and play me soft and low, the simple songs that trouble your heartstrings; the tunes you used to fancy long ago, before you made a rotten mess of things. then a dreamy look will come into your eyes, and you break off in the middle of a note; and then, with just the dreariest of sighs, you drop me in the pocket of your coat. but somehow i have bucked you up a bit; and, as you turn around and face the wall, you don't feel quite so spineless and unfit-- you're not so bad a fellow after all. do you recollect the bitter arctic night; your camp beside the canyon on the trail; your tent a tiny square of orange light; the moon above consumptive-like and pale; your supper cooked, your little stove aglow; you tired, but snug and happy as a child? then 'twas "turkey in the straw" till your lips were nearly raw, and you hurled your bold defiance at the wild. do you recollect the flashing, lashing pain; the gulf of humid blackness overhead; the lightning making rapiers of the rain; the cattle-horns like candles of the dead you sitting on your bronco there alone, in your slicker, saddle-sore and sick with cold? do you think the silent herd did not hear "the mocking bird", or relish "silver threads among the gold"? do you recollect the wild magellan coast; the head-winds and the icy, roaring seas; the nights you thought that everything was lost; the days you toiled in water to your knees; the frozen ratlines shrieking in the gale; the hissing steeps and gulfs of livid foam: when you cheered your messmates nine with "ben bolt" and "clementine", and "dixie land" and "seeing nellie home"? let the jammy banjo voice the younger son, who waits for his remittance to arrive; i represent the grimy, gritty one, who sweats his bones to keep himself alive; who's up against the real thing from his birth; whose heritage is hard and bitter toil; i voice the weary, smeary ones of earth, the helots of the sea and of the soil. i'm the steinway of strange mischief and mischance; i'm the stradivarius of blank defeat; in the down-world, when the devil leads the dance, i am simply and symbolically meet; i'm the irrepressive spirit of mankind; i'm the small boy playing knuckle down with death; at the end of all things known, where god's rubbish-heap is thrown, i shrill impudent triumph at a breath. i'm a humble little bit of tin and horn; i'm a byword, i'm a plaything, i'm a jest; the virtuoso looks on me with scorn; but there's times when i am better than the best. ask the stoker and the sailor of the sea; ask the mucker and the hewer of the pine; ask the herder of the plain, ask the gleaner of the grain-- there's a lowly, loving kingdom--and it's mine. the trail of ninety-eight i. gold! we leapt from our benches. gold! we sprang from our stools. gold! we wheeled in the furrow, fired with the faith of fools. fearless, unfound, unfitted, far from the night and the cold, heard we the clarion summons, followed the master-lure--gold! men from the sands of the sunland; men from the woods of the west; men from the farms and the cities, into the northland we pressed. graybeards and striplings and women, good men and bad men and bold, leaving our homes and our loved ones, crying exultantly--"gold!" never was seen such an army, pitiful, futile, unfit; never was seen such a spirit, manifold courage and grit. never has been such a cohort under one banner unrolled as surged to the ragged-edged arctic, urged by the arch-tempter--gold. "farewell!" we cried to our dearests; little we cared for their tears. "farewell!" we cried to the humdrum and the yoke of the hireling years; just like a pack of school-boys, and the big crowd cheered us good-bye. never were hearts so uplifted, never were hopes so high. the spectral shores flitted past us, and every whirl of the screw hurled us nearer to fortune, and ever we planned what we'd do-- do with the gold when we got it--big, shiny nuggets like plums, there in the sand of the river, gouging it out with our thumbs. and one man wanted a castle, another a racing stud; a third would cruise in a palace yacht like a red-necked prince of blood. and so we dreamed and we vaunted, millionaires to a man, leaping to wealth in our visions long ere the trail began. ii. we landed in wind-swept skagway. we joined the weltering mass, clamoring over their outfits, waiting to climb the pass. we tightened our girths and our pack-straps; we linked on the human chain, struggling up to the summit, where every step was a pain. gone was the joy of our faces, grim and haggard and pale; the heedless mirth of the shipboard was changed to the care of the trail. we flung ourselves in the struggle, packing our grub in relays, step by step to the summit in the bale of the winter days. floundering deep in the sump-holes, stumbling out again; crying with cold and weakness, crazy with fear and pain. then from the depths of our travail, ere our spirits were broke, grim, tenacious and savage, the lust of the trail awoke. "klondike or bust!" rang the slogan; every man for his own. oh, how we flogged the horses, staggering skin and bone! oh, how we cursed their weakness, anguish they could not tell, breaking their hearts in our passion, lashing them on till they fell! for grub meant gold to our thinking, and all that could walk must pack; the sheep for the shambles stumbled, each with a load on its back; and even the swine were burdened, and grunted and squealed and rolled, and men went mad in the moment, huskily clamoring "gold!" oh, we were brutes and devils, goaded by lust and fear! our eyes were strained to the summit; the weaklings dropped to the rear, falling in heaps by the trail-side, heart-broken, limp and wan; but the gaps closed up in an instant, and heedless the chain went on. never will i forget it, there on the mountain face, antlike, men with their burdens, clinging in icy space; dogged, determined and dauntless, cruel and callous and cold, cursing, blaspheming, reviling, and ever that battle-cry--"gold!" thus toiled we, the army of fortune, in hunger and hope and despair, till glacier, mountain and forest vanished, and, radiantly fair, there at our feet lay lake bennett, and down to its welcome we ran: the trail of the land was over, the trail of the water began. iii. we built our boats and we launched them. never has been such a fleet; a packing-case for a bottom, a mackinaw for a sheet. shapeless, grotesque, lopsided, flimsy, makeshift and crude, each man after his fashion builded as best he could. each man worked like a demon, as prow to rudder we raced; the winds of the wild cried "hurry!" the voice of the waters, "haste!" we hated those driving before us; we dreaded those pressing behind; we cursed the slow current that bore us; we prayed to the god of the wind. spring! and the hillsides flourished, vivid in jewelled green; spring! and our hearts' blood nourished envy and hatred and spleen. little cared we for the spring-birth; much cared we to get on-- stake in the great white channel, stake ere the best be gone. the greed of the gold possessed us; pity and love were forgot; covetous visions obsessed us; brother with brother fought. partner with partner wrangled, each one claiming his due; wrangled and halved their outfits, sawing their boats in two. thuswise we voyaged lake bennett, tagish, then windy arm, sinister, savage and baleful, boding us hate and harm. many a scow was shattered there on that iron shore; many a heart was broken straining at sweep and oar. we roused lake marsh with a chorus, we drifted many a mile; there was the canyon before us--cave-like its dark defile; the shores swept faster and faster; the river narrowed to wrath; waters that hissed disaster reared upright in our path. beneath us the green tumult churning, above us the cavernous gloom; around us, swift twisting and turning, the black, sullen walls of a tomb. we spun like a chip in a mill-race; our hearts hammered under the test; then--oh, the relief on each chill face!--we soared into sunlight and rest. hand sought for hand on the instant. cried we, "our troubles are o'er!" then, like a rumble of thunder, heard we a canorous roar. leaping and boiling and seething, saw we a cauldron afume; there was the rage of the rapids, there was the menace of doom. the river springs like a racer, sweeps through a gash in the rock; buts at the boulder-ribbed bottom, staggers and rears at the shock; leaps like a terrified monster, writhes in its fury and pain; then with the crash of a demon springs to the onset again. dared we that ravening terror; heard we its din in our ears; called on the gods of our fathers, juggled forlorn with our fears; sank to our waists in its fury, tossed to the sky like a fleece; then, when our dread was the greatest, crashed into safety and peace. but what of the others that followed, losing their boats by the score? well could we see them and hear them, strung down that desolate shore. what of the poor souls that perished? little of them shall be said-- on to the golden valley, pause not to bury the dead. then there were days of drifting, breezes soft as a sigh; night trailed her robe of jewels over the floor of the sky. the moonlit stream was a python, silver, sinuous, vast, that writhed on a shroud of velvet--well, it was done at last. there were the tents of dawson, there the scar of the slide; swiftly we poled o'er the shallows, swiftly leapt o'er the side. fires fringed the mouth of bonanza; sunset gilded the dome; the test of the trail was over--thank god, thank god, we were home! the ballad of gum-boot ben _he was an old prospector with a vision bleared and dim. he asked me for a grubstake, and the same i gave to him. he hinted of a hidden trove, and when i made so bold to question his veracity, this is the tale he told._ "i do not seek the copper streak, nor yet the yellow dust; i am not fain for sake of gain to irk the frozen crust; let fellows gross find gilded dross, far other is my mark; oh, gentle youth, this is the truth--i go to seek the ark. "i prospected the pelly bed, i prospected the white; the nordenscold for love of gold i piked from morn till night; afar and near for many a year i led the wild stampede, until i guessed that all my quest was vanity and greed. "then came i to a land i knew no man had ever seen, a haggard land, forlornly spanned by mountains lank and lean; the nitchies said 'twas full of dread, of smoke and fiery breath, and no man dare put foot in there for fear of pain and death. "but i was made all unafraid, so, careless and alone, day after day i made my way into that land unknown; night after night by camp-fire light i crouched in lonely thought; oh, gentle youth, this is the truth--i knew not what i sought. "i rose at dawn; i wandered on. 'tis somewhat fine and grand to be alone and hold your own in god's vast awesome land; come woe or weal, 'tis fine to feel a hundred miles between the trails you dare and pathways where the feet of men have been. "and so it fell on me a spell of wander-lust was cast. the land was still and strange and chill, and cavernous and vast; and sad and dead, and dull as lead, the valleys sought the snows; and far and wide on every side the ashen peaks arose. "the moon was like a silent spike that pierced the sky right through; the small stars popped and winked and hopped in vastitudes of blue; and unto me for company came creatures of the shade, and formed in rings and whispered things that made me half afraid. "and strange though be, 'twas borne on me that land had lived of old, and men had crept and slain and slept where now they toiled for gold; through jungles dim the mammoth grim had sought the oozy fen, and on his track, all bent of back, had crawled the hairy men. "and furthermore, strange deeds of yore in this dead place were done. they haunted me, as wild and free i roamed from sun to sun; until i came where sudden flame uplit a terraced height, a regnant peak that seemed to seek the coronal of night. "i scaled the peak; my heart was weak, yet on and on i pressed. skyward i strained until i gained its dazzling silver crest; and there i found, with all around a world supine and stark, swept clean of snow, a flat plateau, and on it lay--the ark. "yes, there, i knew, by two and two the beasts did disembark, and so in haste i ran and traced in letters on the ark my human name--ben smith's the same. and now i want to float a syndicate to haul and freight to town that noble boat." _i met him later in a bar and made a gay remark anent an ancient miner and an option on the ark. he gazed at me reproachfully, as only topers can; but what he said i can't repeat--he was a bad old man._ clancy of the mounted police in the little crimson manual it's written plain and clear that who would wear the scarlet coat shall say good-bye to fear; shall be a guardian of the right, a sleuth-hound of the trail-- in the little crimson manual there's no such word as "fail"-- shall follow on though heavens fall, or hell's top-turrets freeze, half round the world, if need there be, on bleeding hands and knees. it's duty, duty, first and last, the crimson manual saith; the scarlet rider makes reply: "it's duty--to the death." and so they sweep the solitudes, free men from all the earth; and so they sentinel the woods, the wilds that know their worth; and so they scour the startled plains and mock at hurt and pain, and read their crimson manual, and find their duty plain. knights of the lists of unrenown, born of the frontier's need, disdainful of the spoken word, exultant in the deed; unconscious heroes of the waste, proud players of the game, props of the power behind the throne, upholders of the name: for thus the great white chief hath said, "in all my lands be peace", and to maintain his word he gave his west the scarlet police. livid-lipped was the valley, still as the grave of god; misty shadows of mountain thinned into mists of cloud; corpselike and stark was the land, with a quiet that crushed and awed, and the stars of the weird sub-arctic glimmered over its shroud. deep in the trench of the valley two men stationed the post, seymour and clancy the reckless, fresh from the long patrol; seymour, the sergeant, and clancy--clancy who made his boast he could cinch like a bronco the northland, and cling to the prongs of the pole. two lone men on detachment, standing for law on the trail; undismayed in the vastness, wise with the wisdom of old-- out of the night hailed a half-breed telling a pitiful tale, "white man starving and crazy on the banks of the nordenscold." up sprang the red-haired clancy, lean and eager of eye; loaded the long toboggan, strapped each dog at its post; whirled his lash at the leader; then, with a whoop and a cry, into the great white silence faded away like a ghost. the clouds were a misty shadow, the hills were a shadowy mist; sunless, voiceless and pulseless, the day was a dream of woe; through the ice-rifts the river smoked and bubbled and hissed; behind was a trail fresh broken, in front the untrodden snow. ahead of the dogs ploughed clancy, haloed by steaming breath; through peril of open water, through ache of insensate cold; up rivers wantonly winding in a land affianced to death, till he came to a cowering cabin on the banks of the nordenscold. then clancy loosed his revolver, and he strode through the open door; and there was the man he sought for, crouching beside the fire; the hair of his beard was singeing, the frost on his back was hoar, and ever he crooned and chanted as if he never would tire:-- _"i panned and i panned in the shiny sand, and i sniped on the river bar; but i know, i know, that it's down below that the golden treasures are; so i'll wait and wait till the floods abate, and i'll sink a shaft once more, and i'd like to bet that i'll go home yet with a brass band playing before."_ he was nigh as thin as a sliver, and he whined like a moose-hide cur; so clancy clothed him and nursed him as a mother nurses a child; lifted him on the toboggan, wrapped him in robes of fur, then with the dogs sore straining started to face the wild. said the wild, "i will crush this clancy, so fearless and insolent; for him will i loose my fury, and blind and buffet and beat; pile up my snows to stay him; then when his strength is spent, leap on him from my ambush and crush him under my feet. "him will i ring with my silence, compass him with my cold; closer and closer clutch him unto mine icy breast; buffet him with my blizzards, deep in my snows enfold, claiming his life as my tribute, giving my wolves the rest." clancy crawled through the vastness; o'er him the hate of the wild; full on his face fell the blizzard; cheering his huskies he ran; fighting, fierce-hearted and tireless, snows that drifted and piled, with ever and ever behind him singing the crazy man. _"sing hey, sing ho, for the ice and snow, and a heart that's ever merry; let us trim and square with a lover's care (for why should a man be sorry?) a grave deep, deep, with the moon a-peep, a grave in the frozen mould. sing hey, sing ho, for the winds that blow, and a grave deep down in the ice and snow, a grave in the land of gold."_ day after day of darkness, the whirl of the seething snows; day after day of blindness, the swoop of the stinging blast; on through a blur of fury the swing of staggering blows; on through a world of turmoil, empty, inane and vast. night with its writhing storm-whirl, night despairingly black; night with its hours of terror, numb and endlessly long; night with its weary waiting, fighting the shadows back, and ever the crouching madman singing his crazy song. cold with its creeping terror, cold with its sudden clinch; cold so utter you wonder if 'twill ever again be warm; clancy grinned as he shuddered, "surely it isn't a cinch being wet-nurse to a looney in the teeth of an arctic storm." the blizzard passed and the dawn broke, knife-edged and crystal clear; the sky was a blue-domed iceberg, sunshine outlawed away; ever by snowslide and ice-rip haunted and hovered the fear; ever the wild malignant poised and panted to slay. the lead-dog freezes in harness--cut him out of the team! the lung of the wheel-dog's bleeding--shoot him and let him lie! on and on with the others--lash them until they scream! "pull for your lives, you devils! on! to halt is to die." there in the frozen vastness clancy fought with his foes; the ache of the stiffened fingers, the cut of the snowshoe thong; cheeks black-raw through the hood-flap, eyes that tingled and closed, and ever to urge and cheer him quavered the madman's song. colder it grew and colder, till the last heat left the earth, and there in the great stark stillness the bale fires glinted and gleamed, and the wild all around exulted and shook with a devilish mirth, and life was far and forgotten, the ghost of a joy once dreamed. death! and one who defied it, a man of the mounted police; fought it there to a standstill long after hope was gone; grinned through his bitter anguish, fought without let or cease, suffering, straining, striving, stumbling, struggling on. till the dogs lay down in their traces, and rose and staggered and fell; till the eyes of him dimmed with shadows, and the trail was so hard to see; till the wild howled out triumphant, and the world was a frozen hell-- then said constable clancy: "i guess that it's up to me." far down the trail they saw him, and his hands they were blanched like bone; his face was a blackened horror, from his eyelids the salt rheum ran; his feet he was lifting strangely, as if they were made of stone, but safe in his arms and sleeping he carried the crazy man. so clancy got into barracks, and the boys made rather a scene; and the o. c. called him a hero, and was nice as a man could be; but clancy gazed down his trousers at the place where his toes had been, and then he howled like a husky, and sang in a shaky key: _"when i go back to the old love that's true to the finger-tips, i'll say: `here's bushels of gold, love,' and i'll kiss my girl on the lips; `it's yours to have and to hold, love.' it's the proud, proud boy i'll be, when i go back to the old love that's waited so long for me."_ lost _"black is the sky, but the land is white-- (o the wind, the snow and the storm!)-- father, where is our boy to-night? pray to god he is safe and warm."_ _"mother, mother, why should you fear? safe is he, and the arctic moon over his cabin shines so clear-- rest and sleep, 'twill be morning soon."_ "it's getting dark awful sudden. say, this is mighty queer! where in the world have i got to? it's still and black as a tomb. i reckoned the camp was yonder, i figured the trail was here-- nothing! just draw and valley packed with quiet and gloom; snow that comes down like feathers, thick and gobby and gray; night that looks spiteful ugly--seems that i've lost my way. "the cold's got an edge like a jackknife--it must be forty below; leastways that's what it seems like--it cuts so fierce to the bone. the wind's getting real ferocious; it's heaving and whirling the snow; it shrieks with a howl of fury, it dies away to a moan; its arms sweep round like a banshee's, swift and icily white, and buffet and blind and beat me. lord! it's a hell of a night. "i'm all tangled up in a blizzard. there's only one thing to do-- keep on moving and moving; it's death, it's death if i rest. oh, god! if i see the morning, if only i struggle through, i'll say the prayers i've forgotten since i lay on my mother's breast. i seem going round in a circle; maybe the camp is near. say! did somebody holler? was it a light i saw? or was it only a notion? i'll shout, and maybe they'll hear-- no! the wind only drowns me--shout till my throat is raw. "the boys are all round the camp-fire wondering when i'll be back. they'll soon be starting to seek me; they'll scarcely wait for the light. what will they find, i wonder, when they come to the end of my track-- a hand stuck out of a snowdrift, frozen and stiff and white. that's what they'll strike, i reckon; that's how they'll find their pard, a pie-faced corpse in a snowbank--curse you, don't be a fool! play the game to the finish; bet on your very last card; nerve yourself for the struggle. oh, you coward, keep cool! "i'm going to lick this blizzard; i'm going to live the night. it can't down me with its bluster--i'm not the kind to be beat. on hands and knees will i buck it; with every breath will i fight; it's life, it's life that i fight for--never it seemed so sweet. i know that my face is frozen; my hands are numblike and dead; but oh, my feet keep a-moving, heavy and hard and slow; they're trying to kill me, kill me, the night that's black overhead, the wind that cuts like a razor, the whipcord lash of the snow. keep a-moving, a-moving; don't, don't stumble, you fool! curse this snow that's a-piling a-purpose to block my way. it's heavy as gold in the rocker, it's white and fleecy as wool; it's soft as a bed of feathers, it's warm as a stack of hay. curse on my feet that slip so, my poor tired, stumbling feet-- i guess they're a job for the surgeon, they feel so queerlike to lift-- i'll rest them just for a moment--oh, but to rest is sweet! the awful wind cannot get me, deep, deep down in the drift." _"father, a bitter cry i heard, out of the night so dark and wild. why is my heart so strangely stirred? 'twas like the voice of our erring child."_ _"mother, mother, you only heard a waterfowl in the locked lagoon-- out of the night a wounded bird-- rest and sleep, 'twill be morning soon."_ who is it talks of sleeping? i'll swear that somebody shook me hard by the arm for a moment, but how on earth could it be? see how my feet are moving--awfully funny they look-- moving as if they belonged to a someone that wasn't me. the wind down the night's long alley bowls me down like a pin; i stagger and fall and stagger, crawl arm-deep in the snow. beaten back to my corner, how can i hope to win? and there is the blizzard waiting to give me the knockout blow. oh, i'm so warm and sleepy! no more hunger and pain. just to rest for a moment; was ever rest such a joy? ha! what was that? i'll swear it, somebody shook me again; somebody seemed to whisper: "fight to the last, my boy." fight! that's right, i must struggle. i know that to rest means death; death, but then what does death mean?--ease from a world of strife. life has been none too pleasant; yet with my failing breath still and still must i struggle, fight for the gift of life. * * * * * seems that i must be dreaming! here is the old home trail; yonder a light is gleaming; oh, i know it so well! the air is scented with clover; the cattle wait by the rail; father is through with the milking; there goes the supper-bell. * * * * * mother, your boy is crying, out in the night and cold; let me in and forgive me, i'll never be bad any more: i'm, oh, so sick and so sorry: please, dear mother, don't scold-- it's just your boy, and he wants you. . . . mother, open the door. . . . _"father, father, i saw a face pressed just now to the window-pane! oh, it gazed for a moment's space, wild and wan, and was gone again!"_ _"mother, mother, you saw the snow drifted down from the maple tree (oh, the wind that is sobbing so! weary and worn and old are we)-- only the snow and a wounded loon-- rest and sleep, 'twill be morning soon."_ l'envoi we talked of yesteryears, of trails and treasure, of men who played the game and lost or won; of mad stampedes, of toil beyond all measure, of camp-fire comfort when the day was done. we talked of sullen nights by moon-dogs haunted, of bird and beast and tree, of rod and gun; of boat and tent, of hunting-trip enchanted beneath the wonder of the midnight sun; of bloody-footed dogs that gnawed the traces, of prisoned seas, wind-lashed and winter-locked; the ice-gray dawn was pale upon our faces, yet still we filled the cup and still we talked. the city street was dimmed. we saw the glitter of moon-picked brilliants on the virgin snow, and down the drifted canyon heard the bitter, relentless slogan of the winds of woe. the city was forgot, and, parka-skirted, we trod that leagueless land that once we knew; we saw stream past, down valleys glacier-girted, the wolf-worn legions of the caribou. we smoked our pipes, o'er scenes of triumph dwelling; of deeds of daring, dire defeats, we talked; and other tales that lost not in the telling, ere to our beds uncertainly we walked. and so, dear friends, in gentler valleys roaming, perhaps, when on my printed page you look, your fancies by the firelight may go homing to that lone land that haply you forsook. and if perchance you hear the silence calling, the frozen music of star-yearning heights, or, dreaming, see the seines of silver trawling across the sky's abyss on vasty nights, you may recall that sweep of savage splendor, that land that measures each man at his worth, and feel in memory, half fierce, half tender, the brotherhood of men that know the north. klondyke nuggets a brief description of the great gold regions in the northwest territories and alaska by joseph ladue founder of dawson city, n.w.t. explorer, miner and prospector september, preface. the extraordinary excitement arising from the reports of the discovery of gold in the klondyke region in the great canadian northwest is not surprising to one who, through personal residence and practical experience, is thoroughly conversant with the locality. having recently returned for a temporary stay, after a somewhat successful experience, i have received applications for information in numbers so great that it far exceeds my ability and the time at my disposal to make direct replies. i have therefore arranged with the american technical book co., vesey street, new york city, for the issue of this brief description, preparatory to the publication of my larger book, "klondyke facts," a book of pages, with illustrations and maps, in which will be found a vast fund of practical information, statistics, and all particulars sought for by those who intend emigrating to this wonderful country. it is well-nigh impossible to tell the truth of these recent discoveries of gold, but while i can only briefly describe the territory in this small work, it shall be my endeavor to give the intending prospector, in the large work above mentioned, as many facts as possible, and these may thoroughly be relied upon, as from one who has lived continuously in those regions since . joseph ladue. * * * * * klondyke nuggets chapter i. klondyke. klondyke! the word and place that has startled the civilized world is to-day a series of thriving mining camps on the yukon river and its tributaries in the canadian northwest territories. prior to august , , this section of the country had never been heard of. it was on this day that a man named henderson discovered the first gold. on the first day of the following month the writer commenced erecting the first house in this region and called the place dawson city, now the central point of the mining camps. dawson city is now the most important point in the new mining regions. its population in june, ; exceeded , ; by june next it cannot be less than , . it has a saw-mill, stores, churches, of the presbyterian, baptist, methodist and roman catholic denominations. it is the headquarters of the canadian northwest mounted police, _and perfect law and order is maintained_. it is at dawson city that the prospector files his claims with the government gold commissioner, in the recording offices. dawson city faces on one of the banks of the yukon river, and now occupies about a mile of the bank. it is at the junction of the klondyke river with the yukon river. it is here where the most valuable mining claims are being operated on a scale of profit that the world has hitherto never known. the entire country surrounding is teeming with mineral wealth. copper, silver and coal can be found in large quantities, but little or no attention is now being paid to these valuable minerals, as every one is engaged in gold-hunting and working the extraordinary placer mining claims already located. the entire section is given up to placer mining. very few claims had been filed for quartz mining. the fields of gold will not be exhausted in the near future. no man can tell what the end will be. from january to april, , about $ , , were taken out of the few placer claims then being worked. this was done in a territory not exceeding forty square miles. all these claims are located on klondyke river and the little tributaries emptying into it, and the districts are known as big bonanza, gold bottom and honker. i have asked old and experienced miners at dawson city who mined through california in bonanza days, and some who mined in australia, what they thought of the klondyke region, and their reply has invariably been, "the world never saw so vast and rich a find of gold as we are working now." dawson city is destined to be the greatest mining camp in the history of mining operations. chapter ii. klondyke facts. there is a great popular error in reference to the climate of the gold regions. many reports have appeared in the newspapers which are misleading. it has been even stated that the cold is excessive almost throughout the year. this is entirely a mis-statement. i have found i have suffered more from winter cold in northern new york than i ever did in alaska or the canadian northwest. i have chopped wood in my shirt-sleeves in front of my door at dawson city when the thermometer was degrees below zero, and i suffered no inconvenience. we account for this from the fact that the air is very dry. it is a fact that you do not feel this low temperature as much as you would below zero in the east. we usually have about three feet of snow in winter and it is as dry as sawdust. as we have no winter thaws no crust forms on the snow, therefore we travel from the various points that may be necessary with snowshoes. these may be purchased from the indians in the vicinity of dawson city at from $ . to $ . per pair according to the quality. the winter days are very short. in this region there are only two hours from sunrise to sunset. the sun rises and sets away in the south but there is no pitch darkness. the twilight lasts all night and the northern lights are very common. then in summer it is exactly the other way. the day there in july is about twenty hours long. the sun rising and setting in the north. a great deal has been said about the short seasons, but as a matter of fact a miner can work months in the year when in that region. spring opens about may st and the ice commences to break up about that time. the yukon river is generally clear of ice about may . the best part of the miner's work commences then and lasts till about october st. the winter commences in october but the miner keeps on working through the winter. the rainy season commences in the latter part of august and lasts two or three weeks. a fall of two feet of snow is considered heavy. there is a wide difference in the quantity of snow that accumulates on the coast and the ranges in the interior where the principal mining claims are located. while the fall of snow on the coast is heavy the depth of snow as far down as the yukon, stewart and klondyke rivers is inconsiderable. in my new work on this territory entitled "klondyke facts" i deal more largely on the climate of this region. there are still good diggings at circle city in alaska, but nearly all the miners have left for klondyke, not being satisfied with the pay dirt which they were working. i know at least good claims in circle city. fort cudahy, or as it is sometimes called forty mile creek, is now practically exhausted as a mining camp, and the miners have left for other diggings. there will undoubtedly be new and valuable diggings discovered very quickly along this region as it is certain that this enormous territory is rich in gold-bearing districts. the entire country is teeming with mineral wealth. when mining operations commence on coal it will be specially valuable for steamers on the various rivers and greatly assist transportation facilities. in the next few years there will certainly be recorded the most marvellous discoveries in this territory, usually thought to be only a land of snow and ice and fit only to be classed with the arctic regions. it is marvellous to state that for some years past we have been finding gold in occasional places in this territory, but from the poverty of the people no effort was made to prospect among the places reported. it is my belief that the greatest finds of gold will be made in this territory. it is safe to say that not per cent. of all the gold discovered so far has been on united states soil. the great mass of the work has been done on the northwest territory, which is under the canadian government. it is possible however that further discoveries will be made on american soil, but it is my opinion that the most valuable discoveries will be further east and south of the present claims, and would advise prospectors to work east and south of klondyke. the yukon river and its tributaries. "what the amazon is to south america, the mississippi to the central portion of the united states, the yukon is to alaska. it is a great inland highway, which will make it possible for the explorer to penetrate the mysterious fastnesses of that still unknown region. the yukon has its source in the rocky mountains of british columbia and the coast range mountains in southeastern alaska, about miles from the city of juneau, which is the present metropolis of alaska. but it is only known as the yukon river at the point where the pelly river, the branch that heads in british columbia, meets with the lewes river, which heads in southeastern alaska. this point of confluence is at fort selkirk, in the northwest territory, about miles south-east of the klondyke. the yukon proper is , miles in length. from fort selkirk it flows north-west miles, just touching the arctic circle; thence southward for a distance of , miles, where it empties into behring sea. it drains more than , square miles of territory, and discharges one-third more water into behring sea than does the mississippi into the gulf of mexico. at its mouth it is sixty miles wide. about , miles inland it widens out from one to ten miles. a thousand islands send the channel in as many different directions. only natives who are thoroughly familiar with the river are entrusted with the piloting of boats up the stream during the season of low water. even at the season of high water it is still so shallow as not to be navigable anywhere by seagoing vessels, but only by flat-bottomed boats with a carrying capacity of four to five hundred tons. the draft of steamers on the yukon should not exceed three and a half feet. "the yukon district, which is within the jurisdiction of the canadian government and in which the bulk of the gold has been found, has a total area, approximately, of , square miles, of which , square miles are included in the watershed of the yukon. illustrating this, so that it may appeal with definiteness to the reader, it may be said that this territory is greater by , square miles than the area of great britain, and is nearly three times that of all the new england states combined. "a further fact must be borne in mind. the yukon river is absolutely closed to navigation during the winter months. in the winter the frost-king asserts his dominion and locks up all approaches with impenetrable ice, and the summer is of the briefest. it endures only for twelve to fourteen weeks, from about the first of june to the middle of september. then an unending panorama of extraordinary picturesqueness is unfolded to the voyager. the banks are fringed with flowers, carpeted with the all-pervading moss or tundra. birds countless in numbers and of infinite variety in plumage, sing out a welcome from every treetop. pitch your tent where you will in midsummer, a bed of roses, a clump of poppies and a bunch of bluebells will adorn your camping. but high above this paradise of almost tropical exuberance giant glaciers sleep in the summit of the mountain wall, which rises up from a bed of roses. by september everything is changed. the bed of roses has disappeared before the icy breath of the winter king, which sends the thermometer down sometimes to seventy degrees below freezing point. the birds fly to the southland and the bear to his sleeping chamber in the mountains. every stream becomes a sheet of ice, mountain and valley alike are covered with snow till the following may. "that part of the basin of the yukon in which gold in greater or less quantities has actually been found lies partly in alaska and partly in british territory. it covers an area of some , square miles. but so far the infinitely richest spot lies some one hundred miles east of the american boundary, in the region drained by the klondyke and its tributaries. this is some three hundred miles by river from circle city. "we have described some of the beauties of the yukon basin in the summer season, but this radiant picture has its obverse side. "horseflies, gnats and mosquitoes add to the joys of living throughout the entire length of the yukon valley. the horsefly is larger and more poignantly assertive than the insect which we know by that name. in dressing or undressing, it has a pleasant habit of detecting any bare spot in the body and biting out a piece of flesh, leaving a wound which a few days later looks like an incipient boil. schwatka reports that one of his party, so bitten was completely disabled for a week. 'at the moment of infliction.' he adds, 'it was hard to believe that one was not disabled for life.' "the mosquitoes according to the same authority are equally distressing. they are especially fond of cattle, but without any reciprocity of affection. 'according to the general terms of the survival of the fittest and the growth of muscles most used to the detriment of others,' says the lieutenant in an unusual burst of humor, 'a band of cattle inhabiting this district, in the far future, would be all tail and no body, unless the mosquitoes should experience a change of numbers.'" i am indebted to wm. ogilvie, esq., for the following valuable information relative to the yukon district. "the yukon district comprises, speaking generally, that part of the northwest territories lying west of the water shed of the mackenzie river; most of it is drained by the yukon river and its tributaries. it covers a distance of about miles along the river from the coast range of mountains. "in campbell established fort selkirk at the confluence of the pelly and lewes rivers; it was plundered and destroyed in by the coast indians, and only the ruins now exist of what was at one time the most important post of the hudson's bay company to the west of the rocky mountains in the far north. in the hudson's bay company's officer was expelled from fort yukon by the united states government, they haying ascertained by astronomical observations that the post was not located in british territory. the officer thereupon ascended the porcupine to a point which was supposed to be within british jurisdiction, where he established rampart house; but in mr. j.h. turner of the united states coast survey found it to be miles within the lines of the united states. consequently in the post was moved miles further up the river to be within british territory. "the next people to enter the country for trading purposes were messrs. harper and mcquestion. they have been trading in the country since and have occupied numerous posts all along the river, the greater number of which have been abandoned. mr. harper is now located as a trader at fort selkirk, with mr. joseph ladue under the firm name of harper & ladue, and mr. mcquestion is in the employ of the alaska commercial company at circle city, which is the distributing point for the vast regions surrounding birch creek, alaska. in a number of miners entered the yukon country by the taiya pass; it is still the only route used to any extent by the miners, and is shorter than the other passes though not the lowest. in lieutenant schwatka crossed this same pass and descended the lewes and yukon rivers to the ocean. "the explorers found that in proximity to the boundary line there existed extensive and valuable placer gold mines, in which even then as many as three hundred miners were at work. mr. ogilvie determined, by a series of lunar observations, the point at which the yukon river is intersected by the st meridian, and marked the same on the ground. he also determined and marked the point at which the western affluent of the yukon, known as forty mile creek, is crossed by the same meridian line, that point being situated at a distance of about twenty-three miles from the mouth of the creek. this survey proved that the place which had been selected as the most convenient, owing to the physical conformation of the region, from which to distribute the supplies imported for the various mining camps, and from which to conduct the other business incident to the mining operations--a place situate at the confluence of the forty mile creek and the yukon, and to which the name of fort cudahy has been given--is well within canadian territory. the greater proportion of the mines then being worked mr. ogilvie found to be on the canadian side of the international boundary line, but he reported the existence of some mining fields to the south, the exact position of which with respect to the boundary he did not have the opportunity to fix. "the number of persons engaged in mining in the locality mentioned has steadily increased year by year since the date of mr. ogilvie's survey, and it is estimated that at the commencement of the past season not less than one thousand men were so employed. incident to this mineral development there must follow a corresponding growth in the volume of business of all descriptions, particularly the importation of dutiable goods, and the occupation of tracts of the public lands for mining purposes which according to the mining regulations are subject to the payment of certain prescribed dues and charges. the alaska commercial company, for many years subsequent to the retirement of the hudson's bay company, had a practical monopoly of the trade of the yukon, carrying into the country and delivering at various points along the river, without regard to the international boundary line or the customs laws and regulations of canada, such articles of commerce as were required for the prosecution of the fur trade and latterly of placer mining, these being the only two existing industries. with the discovery of gold, however, came the organization of a competing company known as the north american transportation and trading company, having its headquarters in chicago and its chief trading and distributing post at cudahy. this company has been engaged in this trade for over three years, and during the past season despatched two ocean steamers from san francisco to st. michael, at the mouth of the yukon, the merchandise from which was, at the last mentioned point, transhipped into river steamers and carried to points inland, but chiefly to the company's distributing centre within canadian territory. importations of considerable value, consisting of the immediately requisite supplies of the miners, and their tools, also reach the canadian portion of the yukon district from juneau, in the united states, by way of the taiya inlet, the mountain passes, and the chain of waterways leading therefrom to cudahy. upon none of these importations had any duty been collected, except a sum of $ , . paid to inspector constantine in , by the north american transportation and trading company and others, and it is safe to conclude, especially when it is remembered that the country produces none of the articles consumed within it except fresh meat, that a large revenue was being lost to the public exchequer under the then existing conditions. "for the purpose of ascertaining officially and authoritatively the condition of affairs to which the correspondence referred to in the next preceding paragraph relates, the honorable the president of the privy council, during the spring of , despatched inspector charles constantine, of the northwest mounted police force, accompanied by sergeant brown, to fort cudahy and the mining camps in its vicinity. the report made by mr. constantine on his return, established the substantial accuracy of the representations already referred to. the value of the total output of gold for the season of he estimated at $ , . "the facts recited clearly establish--first, that the time had arrived when it became the duty of the government of canada to make more efficient provision for the maintenance of order, the enforcement of the laws, and the administration of justice in the yukon country, especially in that section of it in which placer mining for gold is being prosecuted upon such an extensive scale, situated near to the boundary separating the northwest territories from the possessions of the united states in alaska; and, second, that while such measures as were necessary to that end were called for in the interests of humanity, and particularly for the security and safety of the lives and property of the canadian subjects of her majesty resident in that country who are engaged in legitimate business pursuits, it was evident that the revenue justly due to the government of canada, under its customs, excise and land laws, and which would go a long way to pay the expenses of government, was being lost for the want of adequate machinery for its collection. "accordingly in june last a detachment[ ] of twenty members of the mounted police force including officers was detailed for service in that portion of the northwest territories. the officer in command, in addition to the magisterial and other duties he is required to perform by virtue of his office and under instructions from the department of mounted police, was duly authorized to represent where necessary, and until other arrangements can be made, all the departments of the government having interests in that region. particularly he is authorized to perform the duties of dominion lands agent, collector of customs, and collector of inland revenue. at the same time instructions were given mr. william ogilvie, the surveyor referred to as having, with dr. dawson, been entrusted with the conduct of the first government expedition to the yukon, to proceed again to that district for the purpose of continuing and extending the work of determining the st meridian, of laying out building lots and mining claims, and generally of performing such duties as may be entrusted to him from time to time. mr. ogilvie's qualifications as a surveyor, and his previous experience as explorer of this section of the northwest, peculiarly fit him for the task. [footnote : the detachment was made up as follows:--inspector c. constantine, officer commanding yukon detachment n.w.m. police; inspector, d.a.e. strickland; assistant surgeon, a.e. wills; staff sergeants; corporals; constables.] "as it appears quite certain, from the report made by mr. ogilvie on his return to ottawa, in , and from the report of mr. constantine, that the operations of the miners are being conducted upon streams which have their sources in the united states territory of alaska, and flow into canada on their way to join the yukon, and as doubtless some of the placer diggings under development are situated on the united states side of the boundary it is highly desirable, both for the purpose of settling definitely to which country any land occupied for mining or other purposes actually belongs, and in order that the jurisdiction of the courts and officers of the united states and canada, for both civil and criminal purposes, may be established, that the determination of the st meridian west of greenwich from the point of its intersection with the yukon, as marked by mr. ogilvie in - , for a considerable distance south of the river, and possibly also for some distance to the north, should be proceeded with at once. mr. ogilvie's instructions require him to go on with the survey with all convenient speed, but in order that this work may be effective for the accomplishment of the object in view the co-operation of the government of the united states is necessary. correspondence is in progress through the proper authorities with a view to obtaining this co-operation. it may be mentioned that a united states surveyor has also determined the points at which the yukon river and forty mile creek are intersected by the st meridian." routes, distances, and transportation. after considerable experience i have decided that the best route for a man to take to the gold regions is from seattle, washington, to juneau, alaska, and then to dawson city, by the pass and waterways, and i will therefore describe this route more in detail than any of the others. i am devoting a special chapter to the outfit for travellers, and will therefore deal in this chapter with the route only. the traveller having paid his fare to seattle should on arrival there have not less than $ . this is the minimum sum necessary to pay his fare from seattle to juneau, purchase his outfit and supplies for one year and pay his necessary expenses in the gold region for that length of time. i think it deplorable that so many are starting at this time for the gold-fields. i do not recommend starting before march . i will return at that time to my claims on the klondyke, if it were wise to go sooner, i should certainly go. the reason march is best is that the season is better then. if a man has only, say, $ and wants to do his own packing over the taiya pass, it gives him time to do it by starting march , as he will then be in juneau april st. i fear a great deal of hardship for those who started out so as to reach juneau for winter travel. of course while i say $ is sufficient to go to dawson city, a man should take $ , or even more if possible as he will have many opportunities to invest the surplus. while prices will undoubtedly advance at dawson city owing to the large influx of people, i do not think the advance will be excessive. it has never been the policy of the two trading companies to take advantage of the miners. the traveller having arrived in juneau from seattle, a journey of miles by water, immediately purchases his complete outfit as described in another chapter. he then loses no time in leaving juneau for dyea, taking a small steamboat which runs regularly to this port via the lynn canal. dyea has recently been made a customs port of entry and the head of navigation this side of the taiya pass. the distance between juneau and dyea is about one hundred miles. from dyea, which is the timber-line, he packs his outfit to the foot of the taiya pass--the length of which to the summit is about miles. he must now carry his outfit up the pass, which he generally does in two or more trips according to the weight of his outfit, unless he is able to hire indians or mules; but so far there are very few indians to be hired and still fewer mules. he now starts for lake lindeman from the head of the pass, a distance of eight miles--the distance from dyea to lake lindeman being miles. at lake lindeman he commences to make his boat, for which he has brought the proper supplies in his outfit, with the exception of the timber, which he finds at lake lindeman. he spends one week at lake lindeman making his boat and getting ready for the long trip down the waterways to dawson city, the heart of the klondyke region. the trip through lake lindeman is short, the lake being only five miles long. at the foot of the lake he must portage to lake bennet, the portage however being very short, less than a mile. lake bennet is miles long, while going through this lake the traveller crosses the boundary between british columbia and the northwest territory. after going down lake bennet the traveller comes to caribou crossing--about four miles long, which takes him to lake tagish, twenty miles in length. after leaving tagish he finds himself in mud or marsh lake, miles long, then into the lynx river, on which he continues for miles till he comes to miles canyon, five-eighths of a mile long. immediately on leaving miles canyon he has three miles of what is called bad river work, which, while not hazardous, is dangerous from the swift current and from being very rocky. great care has to be taken in going down this part of the river. he now finds himself in white horse canyon the rapids of which are three-eighths of a mile in length and one of the most dangerous places on the trip, a man is here guarded by a sign, "keep a good lookout." no stranger or novice should try to run the white horse rapids alone in a boat. he should let his boat drop down the river guided by a rope with which he has provided himself in his outfit and which should be feet long. it would be better if the traveller should portage here, the miners having constructed a portage road on the west side and put down roller-ways in some places on which they roll their boats over. they have also made some windlasses with which they haul their boat up the hill till they are at the foot of the canyon. the white horse canyon is very rocky and dangerous and the current extremely swift. after leaving the white horse canyon he goes down the river to the head of lake labarge, a distance of miles. he can sit down and steer with the current, as he is going down the stream all the way. it is for this reason that in returning from the diggings he should take another route, of which he will get full particulars before leaving dawson; therefore i do not take the time to give a full description of the return trip via the yukon to st. michael. he now goes through lake labarge--for miles--till he strikes the lewes river, this taking him down to hootalinqua. he is now in the lewes river which takes him for miles to big salmon river and from big salmon river miles to little salmon river--the current all this time taking him down at the rate of five miles an hour. of course in the canyons it is very much swifter. the little salmon river takes him to five finger rapids, a distance of one hundred and twenty miles. in the five finger rapids the voyage should be made on the right side of the river, going with the current. these rapids are considered safe by careful management, but the novice will already have had sufficient experience in guiding his boat before reaching them. from five finger rapids the traveller goes six miles below, down the lewes, to the rink rapids. on going through the rink rapids, he continues on the lewes river to fort selkirk, the trading post of harper and ladue, where the pelly and lewes, at their junction, form the headwaters of the yukon. you are now at the head of the yukon river, and the worst part of your trip is over. you now commence to go down the yukon, and after a trip of ninety-eight miles, you are in the white river. you keep on the white river for ten miles, to the stewart river, and then twenty-five miles to fort ogilvie. you are now only forty miles from dawson city. your journey is now almost ended. after a forty-mile trip on the yukon, you arrive at dawson city, where the klondyke empties in the yukon. all through this trip you have been going through a mountainous country, the trees there being pine, a small amount of spruce, cottonwood and birch. you have not seen much game, if any, as it is growing scarce along that line of river, and very hard to find. the traveller had therefore better make preparation to depend on the provisions he has brought with him. if he has stopped to fish, he may have been successful in catching whitefish, grayling and lake trout, along the lakes and rivers. the total journey from seattle to dawson city has taken about two months. in connection with this trip from juneau to dawson city, it is perhaps better to give the reader the benefit of the trip of mr. william stewart, who writes from lake lindeman, may st, , as follows:-- "we arrived here at the south end of the lake last night by boat. we have had an awful time of it. the taiya pass is not a pass at all, but a climb right over the mountains. we left juneau on thursday, the twentieth, on a little boat smaller than the ferry at ottawa. there were over sixty aboard, all in one room about ten by fourteen. there was baggage piled up in one end so that the floor-space was only about eight by eight. we went aboard about three o'clock in the afternoon and went ashore at dyea at seven o'clock friday night. we got the indians to pack all our stuff up to the summit, but about fifty pounds each; i had forty-eight pounds and my gun. "we left dyea, an indian village, sunday, but only got up the river one mile. we towed all the stuff up the river seven miles, and then packed it to sheep camp. we reached sheep camp about seven o'clock at night, on the queen's birthday. a beautiful time we had, i can tell you, climbing hills with fifty pounds on our backs. it would not be so bad if we could strap it on rightly. "we left sheep camp next morning at four o'clock, and reached the summit at half-past seven. it was an awful climb--an angle of about fifty-five degrees. we could keep our hands touching the trail all the way up. it was blowing and snowing up there. we paid off the indians, and got some sleighs and sleighed the stuff down the hill. this hill goes down pretty swift, and then drops at an angle of fifty-five degrees for about forty feet, and we had to rough-lock our sleighs and let them go. there was an awful fog, and we could not see where we were going. some fellows helped us down with the first load, or there would have been nothing left of us. when we let a sleigh go from the top it jumps about fifty feet clear, and comes down in pieces. we loaded up the sleighs with some of our stuff, about two hundred and twenty-five pounds each, and started across the lakes. the trail was awful, and we waded through water and slush two and three feet deep. we got to the mouth of the canyon at about eight o'clock at night, done out. we left there that night, and pushed on again until morning. we got to the bottom of an awful hill, and packed all our stuff from there to the hill above the lake. we had about two and a half miles over hills, in snow and slush. i carried about five hundred pounds over that part of the trail. we had to get dogs to bring the stuff down from the summit to the head of the canyon. "we worked two days bringing the stuff over from the canyon to the hill above the lake. saturday we worked all day packing down the hill to the lake, and came here on a scow. we were out yesterday morning cutting down trees to build a boat. the timber is small, and i don't think we can get more than four-inch stuff. it rained all afternoon, and we couldn't do anything. there are about fifty boats of all sorts on lake bennet, which is about half a mile from here. i have long rubber boots up to the hips, and i did not have them on coming from the summit down, but i have worn them ever since. "we met barwell and lewis, of ottawa, to-day. they were out looking for knees for their boats. they left ottawa six weeks ago, and have not got any farther than we have. there was a little saw-mill going here, and they have their lumber sawn. we have it that warm some days here that you would fairly roast, and the next day you would be looking for your overcoat. everybody here seems to be taking in enough food to do them a couple of years. "we are now in canadian territory, after we passed the summit. i will have to catch somebody going through to dyea to give him this letter, but i don't know how long before i can get any one going through. this is the last you will hear from me until i get down to the klondyke." mr. stewart adds: "i wrote this in the tent at o'clock at night during twilight." if you take this trip in winter, however, you have to purchase a sled at juneau, and sled it over the frozen waterways to dawson city. for the benefit of my readers in canada and for parties leaving for the great northwest territory for the gold fields, i take pleasure in quoting the following description of a canadian route:-- "canadians should awaken to the fact that they have emphatically 'the inside track' to their own gold fields, a route not half the distance, largely covered by railways and steamboats, with supply stations at convenient intervals all the way. by this route the gold-fields can be reached in two months or six weeks, and the cost of travel is ridiculously cheap--nearly anybody can afford to go even now, and by the spring it should be fitted out for the accommodation of any amount of traffic. "the details of the information in the following article are given by mr. a.h.h. heming, the artist who accompanied mr. whitney in his journey towards the barren lands, and the data may be accepted as correct, as they were secured from the hudson bay officials. "the details of the inland canadian route, briefly, are as follows: by c.p.r. to calgary, and thence north by rail to edmonton; from there by stage to athabasca landing, miles; then, there is a continuous waterway for canoe travel to fort macpherson, at the mouth of the mackenzie river, from which point the peel river lies southward to the gold region. the exact figures are as follows: miles. edmonton to athabasca landing to port mcmurray fort chippewyan smith landing fort smith fort resolution fort providence fort simpson fort wrigley fort norman fort good hope fort macpherson ----- total "there are only two portages on this route of any size--that from edmonton to athabasca landing, over which there is a stage and wagon line, and at smith landing, sixteen miles, over which the hudson bay company has a tramway. there are four or five other portages of a few hundred yards, but with these exceptions there is a fine "down grade" water route all the way. it is the old hudson bay trunk line to the north that has been in use for nearly a century. wherever there is a lake or a long stretch of deep water river navigation the company has small freight steamers which ply back and forward during the summer between the portage points or shallows. with comparatively little expenditure the company or the government can improve the facilities along the line so that any amount of freight or any number of passengers can be taken into the gold region at less than half the time and cost that it takes americans to reach it from port st. michael, at the mouth of the yukon to the klondyke, exclusive of the steamer trip of miles from seattle to port st. michael. "canadians can leave here on a monday at . a.m., and reach edmonton on friday at p.m. from that point, a party of three men with a canoe, should reach fort macpherson easily in from to days, provided they are able-bodied young fellows with experience in that sort of travel. they will need to take canoes from here, unless they propose to hire indians with large birch bark canoes to carry them. birch bark canoes can be secured of any size up to the big ones manned by ten indians that carry three tons. but birch barks are not reliable unless indians are taken along to doctor them, and keep them from getting water-logged. the hudson bay company will also contract to take freight northward on their steamers until the close of navigation. travellers to the gold mines leaving now would probably reach fort macpherson before navigation closed. "the letter from rev. mr. stringer, the missionary, published in the spectator on july , shows that the ice had only commenced to run in the peel river, which is the water route south-east from fort macpherson into the gold region, on september last year. "any canadians who are anxious to get into the klondyke ahead of the americans can leave between now and august , reach fort macpherson, and if winter comes on they can exchange their canoes for dog trains, and reach the klondyke without half the difficulty that would be experienced on the alaska route. the great advantage of the inland route is that it is an organized line of communication. travellers need not carry any more food than will take them from one hudson bay post to the next, and then there is abundance of fish and wild fowl en route. they can also be in touch with such civilization as prevails up there, can always get assistance at the posts, and will have some place to stay should they fall sick or meet with an accident. if they are lucky enough to make their pile in the klondyke, they can come back by the dog sled route during the winter. (there is one winter mail to fort macpherson in winter.) dogs for teams can be purchased at nearly any of the line of hudson bay posts that form a chain of road-houses on the trip. "parties travelling alone will not need to employ guides until they get near fort macpherson, and from there on to the klondyke, as the rest of the route from edmonton is so well defined, having been travelled for years, that no guides are required. "you don't need a couple of thousand dollars to start for klondyke to-morrow by the edmonton route. all you need is a good constitution, some experience in boating and camping, and about $ . suppose a party of three decide to start. first they will need to purchase a canoe, about $ or less; first-class ticket from hamilton to edmonton, $ . ; second class, ditto, $ . ; cost of food at edmonton for three men for two months (should consist of pork, flour, tea and baking-powder), $ ; freight on canoe to edmonton, $ . total for three men from hamilton to fort macpherson, provided they travel second-class on the c.p.r. will be $ . . these figures are furnished by mr. heming, who has been over the route miles north of edmonton, and got the rest of his data from the hudson bay officials. "if three men chip in $ each they would have a margin of over $ for purchasing their tools and for transport from fort macpherson to the klondyke. this is how it may be done on the cheap, though mr. heming considers it ample for any party starting this summer. prices will likely rise on the route when the rush begins. if the hudson bay people are alive to their interests they will forward a large amount of supplies for fort macpherson immediately and make it the base of supplies for the klondyke during the coming winter. "parties should consist of three men each, as that is the crew of a canoe. it will take pounds of food to carry three men over the route. passengers on the c.p.r. are entitled to carry pounds of baggage. the paddling is all down stream, except when they turn south up peel river, and sails should be taken, as there is often a favorable wind for days. "there are large scows on the line, manned by ten men each and known as 'sturgeon heads.' they are like canal boats, but are punted along and are used by the hudson bay people for taking forward supplies to the forts. the return trip to the united states is usually made by the yukon steamers from dawson city direct to st. michael via the yukon and anvik river, thence by ocean steamer from st. michael to san francisco." the following letter is interesting to the prospector as showing the difficulties to overcome up the taiya pass to lake lindeman. _winnipeg_, july , . a letter has been received from george mcleod, one of the members of the winnipeg party of gold hunters that left here recently for the yukon. he wrote from lake lindeman under date of july , and states that the party expected to leave on the journey from the river a week later. they had a fine boat, with a freight capacity of two tons about completed. the real work of the expedition started when the small steamer which conveyed the party from juneau arrived at dyea. the men had to transfer their goods to a lighter one mile from shore, each man looking after his own packages. after getting everything ashore the party was organized for ascent of the mountain pass, which at the hardest point is , feet above sea level. mcleod and his chum, to save time and money too, engaged indians to pack their supplies over the mountains, but they had to carry their own bedding and grub to keep them on the road. it is fifteen miles to the summit of the pass and the party made twelve miles the first day, going into camp at night tired from climbing over rocks, stumps, logs and hills, working through rivers and creeks and pushing their way through brush. at the end of twelve miles they thought they had gone fifty. on the second day out they began to scale the summit of the mountain. hill after hill confronted them, each one being steeper than the last. there was snow on the top of the mountain, and rain was falling, and this added greatly to the difficulties of the ascent. in many places the men had to crawl on their hands and knees, so precipitous was the mountain side. time after time the men would slip back several inches, but they recovered themselves and went at it again. finally, the summit was gained, mcleod being the first of the party to reach the top. after resting and changing their clothes the descent was commenced. mcleod and his chums purchased sleighs, on which they loaded their goods and hauled for five miles. this was extremely laborious work, and the men were so used up working in the scorching sun that they were compelled to work at nights and sleep during the day. two days after the descent began the sleighs were abandoned, and the men packed the goods for three miles and a half. they were fortunate in securing the services of a man who had two horses to convey the goods to lake lindeman. mcleod says the worry in getting over the pass is terrible, and he has no desire to repeat the experience. he advises all who go in to have their goods packed all the way from dyea to lake lindeman. it costs or cents per pound for packing. mcleod expected that klondyke would not be reached before july . i think it specially valuable for the reader to give him the approximate distances to fort cudahy, which is below dawson city via the various routes. this table of distances has been prepared by mr. james ogilvie, and i also give a number of his notes which will be of great value to the traveller when making the trip from juneau to dawson city. approximate distances to fort cudahy. via st. michael. miles. san francisco to dutch harbor , seattle or victoria to dutch harbor , dutch harbor to st. michael st. michael to cudahy , via taiya pass. victoria to taiya , taiya to cudahy via stikine river. victoria to wrangell wrangell to telegraph creek telegraph creek to teslin lake teslin lake to cudahy distances from head of taiya inlet. miles head of canoe navigation, taiya river . forks of taiya river . summit of taiya pass . landing at lake lindeman . foot of lake lindeman . head of lake bennet . boundary line b.c. and n.w.t. (lat °) . foot of lake bennet . foot of caribou crossing (lake nares) . foot of tagish lake . head of marsh lake . foot of marsh lake . head of miles cañon . foot of miles cañon . head of white horse rapids . foot of white horse rapids . tahkeena river . head of lake labarge . foot of lake labarge . teslintoo river . big salmon river . little salmon river . five finger rapids . pelly river . white river . stewart river . sixty-mile creek . dawson city--the principal mining town . fort reliance . forty-mile river . boundary line. . "another route is now being explored between telegraph creek and teslin lake and will soon be opened. telegraph creek is the head of steamer navigation on the stikine river and is about miles from teslin lake. the yukon is navigable for steamers from its mouth to teslin lake, a distance of , miles. a road is being located by the dominion government. a grant of $ , has been made by the province of british columbia for opening it. "j. dalton, a trader, has used a route overland from chilkat inlet to fort selkirk. going up the chilkat and klaheela rivers, he crosses the divide to the tahkeena river and continues northward over a fairly open country practicable for horses. the distance from the sea to fort selkirk is miles. "last summer a juneau butcher sent head of cattle to cudahy. g. bounds, the man in charge, crossed the divide over the chilkat pass, followed the shore of lake arkell and, keeping to the east of dalton's trail, reached the yukon just below the rink rapids. here the cattle were slaughtered and the meat floated down on a raft to cudahy, where it retailed at $ a pound. "it is proposed to establish a winter road somewhere across the country travelled over by dalton and bounds. the yukon cannot be followed, the ice being too much broken, so that any winter road will have to be overland. a thorough exploration is now being made of all the passes at the head of lynn canal and of the upper waters of the yukon. in a few months it is expected that the best routes for reaching the district from lynn canal will be definitely known. "it is said by those familiar with the locality that the storms which rage in the upper altitudes of the coast range during the greater part of the time, from october to march, are terrific. a man caught in one of them runs the risk of losing his life, unless he can reach shelter in a short time. during the summer there is nearly always a wind blowing from the sea up chatham strait and lynn canal, which lie in almost a straight line with each other, and at the head of lynn canal are chilkat and chilkoot inlets. the distance from the coast down these channels to the open sea is about miles. the mountains on each side of the water confine the currents of air, and deflect inclined currents in the direction of the axis of the channel, so that there is nearly always a strong wind blowing up the channel. coming from the sea, this wind is heavily charged with moisture, which is precipitated when the air currents strike the mountains, and the fall of rain and snow is consequently very heavy. "in chilkat inlet there is not much shelter from the south wind, which renders it unsafe for ships calling there. capt. hunter told me he would rather visit any other part of the coast than chilkat. "to carry the survey from the island across to chilkoot inlet i had to get up on the mountains north of haines mission, and from there could see both inlets. owing to the bad weather i could get no observation for azimuth, and had to produce the survey from pyramid island to taiya inlet by reading the angles of deflection between the courses. at taiya inlet i got my first observation, and deduced the azimuths of my courses up to that point. taiya inlet has evidently been the valley of a glacier; its sides are steep and smooth from glacial action; and this, with the wind almost constantly blowing landward, renders getting upon the shore difficult. some long sights were therefore necessary. the survey was made up to the head of the inlet on the d of june. preparations were then commenced for taking the supplies and instruments over the coast range of mountains to the head of lake lindeman on the lewes river. commander newell kindly aided me in making arrangements with the indians, and did all he could to induce them to be reasonable in their demands. this, however, neither he nor any one else could accomplish. they refused to carry to the lake for less than $ per hundred pounds, and as they had learned that the expedition was an english one, the second chief of the chilkoot indians recalled some memories of an old quarrel which the tribe had with the english many years ago, in which an uncle of his was killed, and he thought we should pay for the loss of his uncle by being charged an exorbitant price for our packing, of which he had the sole control. commander newell told him i had a permit from the great father at washington to pass through his country safely, that he would see that i did so, and if the indians interfered with me they would be punished for doing so. after much talk they consented to carry our stuff to the summit of the mountain for $ per hundred pounds. this is about two-thirds of the whole distance, includes all the climbing and all the woods, and is by far the most difficult part of the way. "on the th of june indians, men, women and children, started for the summit. i sent two of my party with them to see the goods delivered at the place agreed upon. each carrier when given a pack also got a ticket, on which was inscribed the contents of the pack, its weight, and the amount the individual was to get for carrying it. they were made to understand that they had to produce these tickets on delivering their packs, but were not told for what reason. as each pack was delivered one of my men receipted the ticket and returned it. the indians did not seem to understand the import of this; a few of them pretended to have lost their tickets; and as they could not get paid without them, my assistant, who had duplicates of every ticket, furnished them with receipted copies, after examining their packs. "while they were packing to the summit i was producing the survey, and i met them on their return at the foot of the cañon, about eight miles from the coast, where i paid them. they came to the camp in the early morning before i was up, and for about two hours there was quite a hubbub. when paying them i tried to get their names, but very few of them would give any indian name, nearly all, after a little reflection, giving some common english name. my list contained little else than jack, tom, joe, charlie, &c. some of which were duplicated three and four times. i then found why some of them had pretended to lose their tickets at the summit. three or four who had thus acted presented themselves twice for payment, producing first the receipted ticket, afterwards the one they claimed to have lost, demanding pay for both. they were much taken aback when they found that their duplicity had been discovered. "these indians are perfectly heartless. they will not render even the smallest aid to each other without payment; and if not to each other, much less to a white man. i got one of them, whom i had previously assisted with his pack, to take me and two of my party over a small creek in his canoe. after putting us across he asked for money, and i gave him half a dollar. another man stepped up and demanded pay, stating that the canoe was his. to see what the result would be, i gave to him the same amount as to the first. immediately there were three or four more claimants for the canoe. i dismissed them with a blessing, and made up my mind that i would wade the next creek. "while paying them i was a little apprehensive of trouble, for they insisted on crowding into my tent, and for myself and the four men who were with me to have attempted to eject them would have been to invite trouble. i am strongly of the opinion that these indians would have been much more difficult to deal with if they had not known that commander newell remained in the inlet to see that i got through without accident. "while making the survey from the head of tide water i took the azimuths and altitudes of several of the highest peaks around the head of the inlet, in order to locate them, and obtain an idea of the general height of the peaks in the coast range. as it does not appear to have been done before, i have taken the opportunity of naming all the peaks, the positions of which i fixed in the above way. the names and altitudes appear on my map. "while going up from the head of canoe navigation on the taiya river i took the angles of elevation of each station from the preceding one. i would have done this from tide water up, but found many of the courses so short and with so little increase in height that with the instrument i had it was inappreciable. from these angles i have computed the height of the summit of the taiya pass,[ ] above the head of canoe navigation, as it appeared to me in june, , and find it to be , feet. what depth of snow there was i cannot say. the head of canoe navigation i estimate at about feet above tide water. dr. dawson gives it as feet. [footnote : the distance from the head of taiya inlet to the summit of the pass is miles, and the whole length of the pass to lake lindeman is miles. messrs. healy and wilson, dealers in general merchandise and miners' supplies at taiya, have a train of pack horses carrying freight from the head of lynn canal to the summit. they hope to be able to take freight through to lake lindeman with their horses during the present season.] "i determined the descent from the summit to lake lindeman by carrying the aneroid from the lake to the summit and back again, the interval of time from start to return being about eight hours. taking the mean of the readings at the lake, start and return, and the single reading at the summit, the height of the summit above the lake was found to be , feet. while making the survey from the summit down to the lake i took the angles of depression of each station from the preceding one, and from these angles i deduced the difference of height, which i found to be , feet, or feet more than that found by the aneroid. this is quite a large difference; but when we consider the altitude of the place, the sudden changes of temperature, and the atmospheric conditions, it is not more than one might expect. "while at juneau i heard reports of a low pass from the head of chilkoot inlet to the head waters of lewes river. during the time i was at the head of taiya inlet i made inquiries regarding it, and found that there was such a pass, but could learn nothing definite about it from either whites or indians. as capt. moore, who accompanied me, was very anxious to go through it, and as the reports of the taiya pass indicated that no wagon road or railroad could ever be built through it, while the new pass appeared, from what little knowledge i could get of it, to be much lower and possibly feasible for a wagon road, i determined to send the captain by that way, if i could get an indian to accompany him. this, i found, would be difficult to do. none of the chilkoots appeared to know anything of the pass, and i concluded that they wished to keep its existence and condition a secret. the tagish, or stick indians, as the interior indians are locally called, are afraid to do anything in opposition to the wishes of the chilkoots; so it was difficult to get any of them to join capt. moore; but after much talk and encouragement from the whites around, one of them named "jim" was induced to go. he had been through this pass before, and proved reliable and useful. the information obtained from capt. moore's exploration i have incorporated in my plan of the survey from taiya inlet, but it is not as complete as i would have liked. i have named this pass "white pass," in honor of the late hon. thos. white, minister of the interior, under whose authority the expedition was organized. commencing at taiya inlet, about two miles south of its north end, it follows up the valley, of the shkagway river to its source, and thence down the valley of another river which capt. moore reported to empty into the takone or windy arm of bove lake (schwatka). dr. dawson says this stream empties into taku arm, and in that event capt. moore is mistaken. capt. moore did not go all the way through to the lake, but assumed from reports he heard from the miners and others that the stream flowed into windy arm, and this also was the idea of the indian "jim" from what i could gather from his remarks in broken english and chinook. capt. moore estimates the distance from tide water to the summit at about miles, and from the summit to the lake at about to miles. he reports the pass as thickly timbered all the way through. "the timber line on the south side of the taiya pass, as determined by barometer reading, is about , feet above the sea, while on the north side it is about , feet below the summit. this large difference is due, i think, to the different conditions in the two places. on the south side the valley is narrow and deep, and the sun cannot produce its full effect. the snow also is much deeper there, owing to the quantity which drifts in from the surrounding mountains. on the north side the surface is sloping, and more exposed to the sun's rays. on the south side the timber is of the class peculiar to the coast, and on the north that peculiar to the interior. the latter would grow at a greater altitude than the coast timber. it is possible that the summit of white pass is not higher than the timber line on the north of the taiya pass, or about , feet above tide water, and it is possibly even lower than this, as the timber in a valley such as the white pass would hardly live at the same altitude as on the open slope on the north side. "capt. moore has had considerable experience in building roads in mountainous countries. he considers that this would be an easy route for a wagon road compared with some roads he has seen in british columbia. assuming his distances to be correct, and the height of the pass to be probably about correctly indicated, the grades would not be very steep, and a railroad could easily be carried through if necessary. "after completing the survey down to the lake, i set about getting my baggage down too. of all the indians who came to the summit with packs, only four or five could be induced to remain and pack down to the lake, although i was paying them at the rate of $ per hundred pounds. after one trip down only two men remained, and they only in hopes of stealing something. one of them appropriated a pair of boots, and was much surprised to find that he had to pay for them on being settled with. i could not blame them much for not caring to work, as the weather was very disagreeable--it rained or snowed almost continuously. after the indians left i tried to get down the stuff with the aid of my own men, but it was slavish and unhealthy labor, and after the first trip one of them was laid up with what appeared to be inflammatory rheumatism. the first time the party crossed, the sun was shining brightly, and this brought on snow blindness, the pain of which only those who have suffered from this complaint can realize. i had two sleds with me which were made in juneau specially for the work of getting over the mountains and down the lakes on the ice. with these i succeeded in bringing about a ton and a-half to the lakes, but found that the time it would take to get all down in this way would seriously interfere with the programme arranged with dr. dawson, to say nothing of the suffering of the men and myself, and the liability to sickness which protracted physical exertion under such uncomfortable conditions and continued suffering from snow blindness expose us to. i had with me a white man who lived at the head of the inlet with a tagish indian woman. this man had a good deal of influence with the tagish tribe, of whom the greater number were then in the neighborhood where he resided, trying to get some odd jobs of work, and i sent him to the head of the inlet to try and induce the tagish indians to undertake the transportation, offering them $ per hundred pounds. in the meantime capt. moore and the indian "jim" had rejoined me. i had their assistance for a day or two, and "jim's" presence aided indirectly in inducing the indians to come to my relief. "the tagish are little more than slaves to the more powerful coast tribes, and are in constant dread of offending them in any way. one of the privileges which the coast tribes claim is the exclusive right to all work on the coast or in its vicinity, and the tagish are afraid to dispute this claim. when my white man asked the tagish to come over and pack they objected on the grounds mentioned. after considerable ridicule of their cowardice, and explanation of the fact that they had the exclusive right to all work in their own country, the country on the side of the north side of the coast range being admitted by the coast indians to belong to the tagish tribe just as the coast tribes had the privilege of doing all the work on the coast side of the mountains, and that one of their number was already working with me unmolested, and likely to continue so, nine of them came over, and in fear and trembling began to pack down to the lake. after they were at work for a few days some of the chilkoots came out and also started to work. soon i had quite a number at work and was getting my stuff down quite fast. but this good fortune was not to continue. owing to the prevailing wet, cold weather on the mountains, and the difficulty of getting through the soft wet snow, the indians soon began to quit work for a day or two at a time, and to gamble with one another for the wages already earned. many of them wanted to be paid in full, but this i positively refused, knowing that to do so was to have them all apply for their earnings and leave me until necessity compelled them to go to work again. i once for all made them distinctly understand that i would not pay any of them until the whole of the stuff was down. as many of them had already earned from twelve to fifteen dollars each, to lose which was a serious matter to them, they reluctantly resumed work and kept at it until all was delivered. this done, i paid them off, and set about getting my outfit across the lake, which i did with my own party and the two peterborough canoes which i had with me. "these two canoes travelled about , miles by rail and about , miles by steamship before being brought into service. they did considerable work on chilkoot and tagish inlets, and were then packed over to the head of lewes river (lake lindeman), from where they were used in making the survey of lewes and yukon rivers. in this work they made about landings. they were then transported on sleighs from the boundary on the yukon to navigable water on the porcupine. "in the spring of they descended the latter river, heavily loaded, and through much rough water, to the mouth of bell's river, and up it to mcdougall's pass. they were then carried over the pass to poplar river and were used in going down the latter to peel river, and thence up mackenzie river , miles; or, exclusive of railway and ship carriage, they were carried about miles and did about , miles of work for the expedition, making in all about , landings in no easy manner and going through some very bad water. i left them at fort chipewyan in fairly good condition, and, with a little painting, they would go through the same ordeal again. "after getting all my outfit over to the foot of lake lindeman i set some of the party to pack it to the head of lake bennet. "i employed the rest of the party in looking for timber to build a boat to carry my outfit of provisions and implements down the river to the vicinity of the international boundary, a distance of about miles. it took several days to find a tree large enough to make plank for the boat i wanted, as the timber around the upper end of the lake is small and scrubby. my boat was finished on the evening of the th of july, and on the th i started a portion of the party to load it and go ahead with it and the outfit to the cañon. they had instructions to examine the cañon and, if necessary, to carry a part of the outfit past it--in any case, enough to support the party back to the coast should accident necessitate such procedure. with the rest of the party i started to carry on the survey, which may now be said to have fairly started ahead on the lakes. this proved tedious work, on account of the stormy weather. "in the summer months there is nearly always a wind blowing in from the coast; it blows down the lakes and produces quite a heavy swell. this would not prevent the canoes going with the decks on, but, as we had to land every mile or so, the rollers breaking on the generally flat beach proved very troublesome. on this account i found i could not average more than ten miles per day on the lakes, little more than half of what could be done on the river. "the survey was completed to the cañon on the th of july. there i found the party with the large boat had arrived on the th, having carried a part of the supplies past the cañon, and were awaiting my arrival to run through it with the rest in the boat. before doing so, however, i made an examination of the cañon. the rapids below it, particularly the last rapid of the series (called the white horse by the miners), i found would not be safe to run. i sent two men through the cañon in one of the canoes to await the arrival of the boat, and to be ready in case of an accident to pick us up. every man in the party was supplied with a life-preserver, so that should a casualty occur we would all have floated. those in the canoe got through all right; but they would not have liked to repeat the trip. they said the canoe jumped about a great deal more than they thought it would, and i had the same experience when going through in the boat. "the passage through is made in about three minutes, or at the rate of about - / miles an hour. if the boat is kept clear of the sides there is not much danger in high water; but in low water there is a rock in the middle of the channel, near the upper end of the cañon, that renders the passage more difficult. i did not see this rock myself, but got my information from some miners i met in the interior, who described it as being about yards down from the head and a little to the west of the middle of the channel. in low water it barely projects above the surface. when i passed through there was no indication of it, either from the bank above or from the boat. "the distance from the head to the foot of the cañon is five-eighths of a mile. there is a basin about midway in it about yards in diameter. this basin is circular in form, with steep sloping sides about feet high. the lower part of the cañon is much rougher to run through than the upper part, the fall being apparently much greater. the sides are generally perpendicular, about to feet high, and consist of basalt, in some places showing hexagonal columns. "the white horse rapids are about three-eighths of a mile long. they are the most dangerous rapids on the river, and are never run through in boats except by accident. they are confined by low basaltic banks, which, at the foot, suddenly close in and make the channel about yards wide. it is here the danger lies, as there is a sudden drop and the water rashes through at a tremendous rate, leaping and seething like a cataract. the miners have constructed a portage road on the west side, and put down rollways in some places on which to shove their boats over. they have also made some windlasses with which to haul their boats up hill, notably one at the foot of the cañon. this roadway and windlasses must have cost them many hours of hard labor. should it ever be necessary, a tramway could be built past the cañon on the east side with no great difficulty. with the exception of the five finger rapids these appear to be the only serious rapids on the whole length of the river. "five finger rapids are formed by several islands standing in the channel and backing up the water so much as to raise it about a foot, causing a swell below for a few yards. the islands are composed of conglomerate rock, similar to the cliffs on each side of the river, whence one would infer that there has been a fall here in past ages. for about two miles below the rapids there is a pretty swift current, but not enough to prevent the ascent of a steamboat of moderate power, and the rapids themselves i do not think would present any serious obstacle to the ascent of a good boat. in very high water warping might be required. six miles below these rapids are what are known as 'rink rapids,' this is simply a barrier of rocks, which extends from the westerly side of the river about half way across. over this barrier there is a ripple which would offer no great obstacle to the descent of a good canoe. on the easterly sides there is no ripple, and the current is smooth and the water apparently deep. i tried with a foot paddle, but could not reach the bottom. "on the th of august i met a party of miners coming out who had passed stewart river a few days before. they saw no sign of dr. dawson having been there. this was welcome news for me, as i expected he would have reached that point long before i arrived, on account of the many delays i had met with on the coast range. these miners also gave me the pleasant news that the story told at the coast about the fight with the indians at stewart river was false, and stated substantially what i have already repeated concerning it. the same evening i met more miners on their way out, and the next day met three boats, each containing four men. in the crew of one of them was a son of capt. moore, from whom the captain got such information as induced him to turn back and accompany them out. "next day, the th, i got to the mouth of the pelly, and found that dr. dawson had arrived there on the th. the doctor also had experienced many delays, and had heard the same story of the indian uprising in the interior. i was pleased to find that he was in no immediate want of provisions, the fear of which had caused me a great deal of uneasiness on the way down the river, as it was arranged between us in victoria that i was to take with me provisions for his party to do them until their return to the coast. the doctor was so much behind the time arranged to meet me that he determined to start for the coast at once. i therefore set about making a short report and plan of my survey to this point; and, as i was not likely to get another opportunity of writing at such length for a year, i applied myself to a correspondence designed to satisfy my friends and acquaintances for the ensuing twelve months. this necessitated three days' hard work. "on the morning of the th the doctor left for the outside world, leaving me with a feeling of loneliness that only those who have experienced it can realize. i remained at the mouth of the pelly during the next day taking magnetic and astronomical observations, and making some measurements of the river. on the th i resumed the survey and reached white river on the th. here i spent most of a day trying to ascend this river, but found it impracticable, on account of the swift current and shallow and very muddy water. the water is so muddy that it is impossible to see through one-eighth of an inch of it. the current is very strong, probably eight miles or more per hour, and the numerous bars in the bed are constantly changing place. after trying for several hours, the base men succeeded in doing about half a mile only, and i came to the conclusion that it was useless to try to get up this stream to the boundary with canoes. had it proved feasible i had intended making a survey of this stream to the boundary, to discover more especially the facilities it offered for the transport of supplies in the event of a survey of the international boundary being undertaken. "i reached stewart river on the th. here i remained a day taking magnetic observations, and getting information from a miner, named mcdonald, about the country up that river. mcdonald had spent the summer up the river prospecting and exploring. his information will be given in detail further on. "fort reliance was reached on the st of september, and forty mile river (cone-hill river of schwatka) on the th. in the interval between fort reliance and forty mile river there were several days lost by rain. "at forty mile river i made some arrangements with the traders there (messrs. harper & mcquestion) about supplies during the winter, and about getting indians to assist me in crossing from the yukon to the head of the porcupine, or perhaps on to the peel river. i then made a survey of the forty mile river up to the cañon. i found the canon would be difficult of ascent, and dangerous to descend, and therefore, concluded to defer further operations until the winter, and until after i had determined the longitude of my winter post near the boundary, when i would be in a much better position to locate the intersection of the international boundary with this river, a point important to determine on account of the number and richness of the mining claims on the river. "i left forty mile river for the boundary line between alaska and the northwest territories on the th september, and finished the survey to that point on the th. i then spent two days in examining the valley of the river in the vicinity of the boundary to get the most extensive view of the horizon possible, and to find a tree large enough to serve for a transit stand. "before leaving toronto i got mr. foster to make large brass plates with v's on them, which could be screwed firmly to a stump, and thus be made to serve as a transit stand. i required a stump at least inches in diameter to make a base large enough for the plates when properly placed for the transit. in a search which covered about four miles of the river bank, on both sides, i found only one tree as large as inches. i mention this fact to give an idea of the size of the trees along the river in this vicinity. i had this stump enlarged by firmly fixing pieces on the sides so as to bring it up to the requisite size. this done, i built around the stump a small transit house of the ordinary form and then mounted and adjusted my transit. meanwhile, most of the party were busy preparing our winter quarters and building a magnetic observatory. as i had been led to expect extremely low temperatures during the winter, i adopted precautionary measures, so as to be as comfortable as circumstances would permit during our stay there. description of the yukon, its affluent streams, and the adjacent country. "i will now give, from my own observation and from information received, a more detailed description of the lewes river, its affluent streams, and the resources of the adjacent country. "for the purpose of navigation a description of the lewes river begins at the head of lake bennet. above that point, and between it and lake lindeman, there is only about three-quarters of a mile of river, which is not more than fifty or sixty yards wide, and two or three feet deep, and is so swift and rough that navigation is out of the question. "lake lindeman is about five miles long and half a mile wide. it is deep enough for all ordinary purposes. lake bennet[ ] is twenty-six and a quarter miles long, for the upper fourteen of which it is about half a mile wide. about midway in its length an arm comes in from the west, which schwatka appears to have mistaken for a river, and named wheaton river. this arm is wider than the other arm down to that point, and is reported by indians to be longer and heading in a glacier which lies in the pass at the head of chilkoot inlet. this arm is, as far as seen, surrounded by high mountains, apparently much higher than those on the arm we travelled down. below the junction of the two arms the lake is about one and a half miles wide, with deep water. above the forks the water of the east branch is muddy. this is caused by the streams from the numerous glaciers on the head of the tributaries of lake lindeman. [footnote : a small saw-mill has been erected at the head of lake bennet; lumber for boat building sells at $ per m. boats feet long and feet beam are $ each. last year the ice broke up in the lake on the th june, but this season is earlier and the boats are expected to go down the lake about the st of june.] "a stream which flows into lake bennet at the south-west corner is also very dirty, and has shoaled quite a large portion of the lake at its mouth. the beach at the lower end of this lake is comparatively flat and the water shoal. a deep, wide valley extends northwards from the north end of the lake, apparently reaching to the cañon, or a short distance above it. this may have been originally a course for the waters of the river. the bottom of the valley is wide and sandy, and covered with scrubby timber, principally poplar and pitch-pine. the waters of the lake empty at the extreme north-east angle through a channel not more than one hundred yards wide, which soon expands into what schwatka called lake nares.[ ] through this narrow channel there is quite a current, and more than feet of water, as a foot paddle and a foot of arm added to its length did not reach the bottom. [footnote : the connecting waters between lake bennet and tagish lake constitute what is now called caribou crossing.] "the hills at the upper end of lake lindeman rise abruptly from the water's edge. at the lower end they are neither so steep nor so high. "lake nares is only two and a half miles long, and its greatest width is about a mile; it is not deep, but is navigable for boats drawing or feet of water; it is separated from lake bennet by a shallow sandy point of not more than yards in length. "no streams of any consequence empty into either of these lakes. a small river flows into lake bennet on the west side, a short distance north of the fork, and another at the extreme north-west angle, but neither of them is of any consequence in a navigable sense. "lake nares flows through a narrow curved channel into bove lake (schwatka). this channel is not more than or yards long, and the water in it appears to be sufficiently deep for boats that could navigate the lake. the land between the lakes along this channel is low, swampy, and covered with willows, and, at the stage in which i saw it, did not rise more than feet above the water. the hills on the south-west side slope up easily, and are not high; on the north side the deep valley already referred to borders it; and on the east side the mountains rise abruptly from the lake shore. "bove lake (called tagish lake by dr. dawson) is about a mile wide for the first two miles of its length, when it is joined by what the miners have called the windy arm. one of the tagish indians informed me they called it takone lake. here the lake expands to a width of about two miles for a distance of some three miles, when it suddenly narrows to about half a mile for a distance of a little over a mile, after which it widens again to about a mile and a half or more. "ten miles from the head of the lake it is joined by the taku arm from the south. this arm must be of considerable length, as it can be seen for a long distance, and its valley can be traced through the mountains much farther than the lake itself can be seen. it is apparently over a mile wide at its mouth or junction. "dr. dawson includes bove lake and these two arms under the common name of tagish lake. this is much more simple and comprehensive than the various names given them by travellers. these waters collectively are the fishing and hunting grounds of the tagish indians, and as they are really one body of water, there is no reason why they should not be all included under one name. "from the junction with the taku arm to the north end of the lake the distance is about six miles, the greater part being over two miles wide. the west side is very flat and shallow, so much so that it was impossible in many places to get our canoes to the shore, and quite a distance out in the lake there was not more than feet of water. the members of my party who were in charge of the large boat and outfit, went down the east side of the lake and reported the depth about the same as i found on the west side, with many large rocks. they passed through it in the night in a rainstorm, and were much alarmed for the safety of the boat and provisions. it would appear that this part of the lake requires some improvement to make it in keeping with the rest of the water system with which it is connected. "where the river debouches from it, it is about yards wide, and for a short distance not more than or feet deep. the depth is, however, soon increased to feet or more, and so continues down to what schwatka calls marsh lake. the miners call it mud lake, but on this name they do not appear to be agreed, many of them calling the lower part of tagish or bove lake "mud lake," on account of its shallowness and flat muddy shores, as seen along the west side, the side nearly always travelled, as it is more sheltered from the prevailing southerly winds. the term "mud lake" is, however, not applicable to this lake, as only a comparatively small part of it is shallow or muddy; and it is nearly as inapplicable to marsh lake, as the latter is not markedly muddy along the west side, and from the appearance of the east shore one would not judge it to be so, as the banks appear to be high and gravelly. "marsh lake is a little over nineteen miles long, and averages about two miles in width. i tried to determine the width of it as i went along with my survey, by taking azimuths of points on the eastern shore from different stations of the survey; but in only one case did i succeed, as there were no prominent marks on that shore which could be identified from more than one place. the piece of river connecting tagish and marsh lakes is about five miles long, and averages to yards in width, and, as already mentioned, is deep, except for a short distance at the head. on it are situated the only indian houses to be found in the interior with any pretension to skill in construction. they show much more labor and imitativeness than one knowing anything about the indian in his native state would expect. the plan is evidently taken from the indian houses on the coast, which appear to me to be a poor copy of the houses which the hudson's bay company's servants build around their trading posts. these houses do not appear to have been used for some time past, and are almost in ruins. the tagish indians are now generally on the coast, as they find it much easier to live there than in their own country. as a matter of fact, what they make in their own country is taken from them by the coast indians, so that there is little inducement for them to remain. "the lewes river, where it leaves marsh lake, is about yards wide, and averages this width as far as the cañon. i did not try to find bottom anywhere as i went along, except where i had reason to think it shallow, and there i always tried with my paddle. i did not anywhere find bottom with this, which shows that there is no part of this stretch of the river with less than six feet of water at medium height, at which stage it appeared to me the river was at that time. "from the head of lake bennet to the cañon the corrected distance is ninety-five miles, all of which is navigable for boats drawing feet or more. add to this the westerly arm of lake bennet, and the takone or windy arm of tagish lake, each about fifteen miles in length, and the taku arm of the latter lake, of unknown length, but probably not less than thirty miles, and we have a stretch of water of upwards of one hundred miles in length, all easily navigable; and, as has been pointed out, easily connected with taiya inlet through the white pass. "no streams of any importance enter any of these lakes so far as i know. a river, called by schwatka "mcclintock river," enters marsh lake at the lower end from the east. it occupies a large valley, as seen from the westerly side of the lake, but the stream is apparently unimportant. another small stream, apparently only a creek, enters the south-east angle of the lake. it is not probable that any stream coming from the east side of the lake is of importance, as the strip of country between the lewes and teslintoo is not more than thirty or forty miles in width at this point. "the taku arm of tagish lake, is, so far, with the exception of reports from indians, unknown; but it is equally improbable that any river of importance enters it, as it is so near the source of the waters flowing northwards. however, this is a question that can only be decided by a proper exploration. the cañon i have already described and will only add that it is five-eighths of a mile long, about feet wide, with perpendicular banks of basaltic rock from to feet high. "below the cañon proper there is a stretch of rapids for about a mile; then about half a mile of smooth water, following which are the white horse rapids, which are three-eighths of a mile long, and unsafe for boats. "the total fall in the cañon and succeeding rapids was measured and found to be feet. were it ever necessary to make this part of the river navigable it will be no easy task to overcome the obstacles at this point; but a tram or railway could, with very little difficulty, be constructed along the east side of the river past the cañon. "for some distance below the white horse rapids the current is swift and the river wide, with many gravel bars. the reach between these rapids and lake labarge, a distance of twenty-seven and a half miles, is all smooth water, with a strong current. the average width is about yards. there is no impediment to navigation other than the swift current, and this is no stronger than on the lower part of the river, which is already navigated; nor is it worse than on the saskatchewan and red rivers in the more eastern part of our territory. "about midway in this stretch the tahkeena river[ ] joins the lewes. this river is, apparently, about half the size of the latter. its waters are muddy, indicating the passage through a clayey district. i got some indefinite information about this river, from an indian who happened to meet me just below its mouth, but i could not readily make him understand me, and his replies were a compound of chinook, tagish, and signs, and therefore largely unintelligible. from what i could understand with any certainty, the river was easy to descend, there being no bad rapids, and it came out of a lake much larger than any i had yet passed. [footnote : the tahkeena was formerly much used by the chilkat indians as a means of reaching the interior, but never by the miners owing to the distance from the sea to its head.] "here i may remark that i have invariably found it difficult to get reliable or definite information from indians. the reasons for this are many. most of the indians it has been my lot to meet are expecting to make something, and consequently are very chary about doing or saying anything unless they think they will be well rewarded for it. they are naturally very suspicions of strangers, and it takes some time, and some knowledge of their language, to overcome this suspicion and gain their confidence. if you begin at once to ask questions about their country, without previously having them understand that you have no unfriendly motive in doing so, they become alarmed, and although you may not meet with a positive refusal to answer questions, you make very little progress in getting desired information. on the other hand i have met cases where, either through fear or hope of reward, they were only too anxious to impart all they knew or had heard, and even more if they thought it would please their hearer. i need hardly say that such information is often not at all in accordance with the facts. "i have several times found that some act of mine when in their presence has aroused either their fear, superstition or cupidity. as an instance: on the bell river i met some indians coming down stream as i was going up. we were ashore at the time, and invited them to join us. they started to come in, but very slowly, and all the time kept a watchful eye on us. i noticed that my double-barrelled shot gun was lying at my feet, loaded, and picked it up to unload it, as i knew they would be handling it after landing. this alarmed them so much that it was some time before they came in, and i don't think they would have come ashore at all had they not heard that a party of white men of whom we answered the description, were coming through that way (they had learned this from the hudson's bay company's officers), and concluded we were the party described to them. after drinking some of our tea, and getting a supply for themselves, they became quite friendly and communicative. "i cite these as instances of what one meets with who comes in contact with indians, and of how trifles affect them. a sojourn of two or three days with them and the assistance of a common friend would do much to disabuse them of such ideas, but when you have no such aids you must not expect to make much progress. "lake labarge is thirty-one miles long. in the upper thirteen it varies from three to four miles in width; it then narrows to about two miles for a distance of seven miles, when it begins to widen again, and gradually expands to about, two and a-half or three miles, the lower six miles of it maintaining the latter width. the survey was carried along the western shore, and while so engaged i determined the width of the upper wide part by triangulation at two points, the width of the narrow middle part at three points, and the width of the lower part, at three points. dr. dawson on his way out made a track survey of the eastern shore. the western shore is irregular in many places, being indented by large bays, especially at the upper and lower ends. these bays are, as a rule, shallow, more especially those at the lower end. "just above where the lake narrows in the middle there is a large island. it is three and a-half miles long and about half a mile in width. it is shown on schwatka's map as a peninsula, and called by him richtofen rocks. how he came to think it a peninsula i cannot understand, as it is well out in the lake; the nearest point of it to the western shore is upwards of half a mile distant, and the extreme width of the lake here is not more than five miles, which includes the depth of the deepest bays on the western side. it is therefore difficult to understand that he did not see it as an island. the upper half of this island is gravelly, and does not rise very high above the lake. the lower end is rocky and high, the rock being of a bright red color. "at the lower end of the lake there is a large valley extending northwards, which has evidently at one time been the outlet of the lake. dr. dawson has noted it and its peculiarities. his remarks regarding it will be found on pages - of his report entitled 'yukon district and northern portion of british columbia,' published in . "the width of the lewes river as it leaves the lake is the same as at its entrance, about yards. its waters when i was there were murky. this is caused by the action of the waves on the shore along the lower end of the lake. the water at the upper end and at the middle of the lake is quite clear, so much so that the bottom can be distinctly seen at a depth of or feet. the wind blows almost constantly down this lake, and in a high wind it gets very rough. the miners complain of much detention owing to this cause, and certainly i cannot complain of a lack of wind while i was on the lake. this lake was named after one mike labarge, who was engaged by the western union telegraph company, exploring the river and adjacent country for the purpose of connecting europe and america by telegraph through british columbia, and alaska, and across behring strait to asia, and thence to europe. this exploration took place in , but it does not appear that labarge then, nor for some years after, saw the lake called by his name. the successful laying of the atlantic cable in put a stop to this project, and the exploring parties sent out were recalled as soon as word could be got to them. it seems that labarge had got up as far as the pelly before he received his recall; he had heard something of a large lake some distance further up the river, and afterwards spoke of it to some traders and miners who called it after him. "after leaving lake labarge the river, for a distance of about five miles, preserves a generally uniform width and an easy current of about four miles per hour. it then makes a short turn round a low gravel point, and flows in exactly the opposite of its general course for a mile when it again turns sharply to its general direction. the current around this curve and for some distance below it--in all four or five miles--is very swift. i timed it in several places and found it from six to seven miles an hour. it then moderates to four or five, and continues so until the teslintoo river is reached, thirty-one and seven tenths miles from lake labarge. the average width of this part of the river is about yards, and the depth is sufficient to afford passage for boats drawing at least feet. it is, as a rule, crooked, and consequently a little difficult to navigate. "the teslintoo[ ] was so called by dr. dawson--this, according to information obtained by him, being the indian name. it is called by the miners 'hootalinkwa' or hotalinqua, and was called by schwatka, who appears to have bestowed no other attention to it, the newberry, although it is apparently much larger than the lewes. this was so apparent that in my interim reports i stated it as a fact. owing to circumstances already narrated, i had not time while at the mouth to make any measurement to determine the relative size of the rivers; but on his way out dr. dawson made these measurements, and his report, before referred to, gives the following values of the cross sections of each stream: lewes, , feet; teslintoo, , feet. in the same connection he states that the lewes appeared to be about foot above its lowest summer level, while the teslintoo appeared to be at its lowest level. assuming this to be so, and taking his widths as our data, it would reduce his cross section of the lewes to , feet. owing, however, to the current in the lewes, as determined by dr. dawson, being just double that of the teslintoo, the figures being . and . miles per hour, respectively, the discharge of the lewes, taking these figures again in , feet, and of the teslintoo , feet. to reduce the lewes to its lowest level the doctor says would make its discharge , feet. [footnote : the limited amount of prospecting that has been done on this river is said to be very satisfactory, fine gold having been found in all parts of the river. the lack of supplies is the great drawback to its development, and this will not be overcome to any extent until by some means heavy freight can be brought over the coast range to the head of the river. indeed, owing to the difficulties attending access and transportation, the great drawback to the entire yukon district at present is the want of heavy mining machinery and the scarcity of supplies. the government being aware of the requirements and possibilities of the country, has undertaken the task of making preliminary surveys for trails and railroads, and no doubt in the near future the avenue for better and quicker transportation facilities will be opened up.] "the water of the teslintoo is of a dark brown color, similar in appearance to the ottawa river water, and a little turbid. notwithstanding the difference of volume of discharge, the teslintoo changes completely the character of the river below the junction, and a person coming up the river would, at the forks, unhesitatingly pronounce the teslintoo the main stream. the water of the lewes is blue in color, and at the time i speak of was somewhat dirty--not enough so, however, to prevent one seeing to a depth of two or three feet. "at the junction of the lewes and teslintoo i met two or three families of the indians who hunt in the vicinity. one of them could speak a little chinook. as i had two men with me who understood his jargon perfectly, with their assistance i tried to get some information from him about the river. he told me the river was easy to ascend, and presented the same appearance eight days journey up as at the mouth; then a lake was reached, which took one day to cross; the river was then followed again for half a day to another lake, which took two days to traverse: into this lake emptied a stream which they used as a highway to the coast, passing by way of the taku river. he said it took four days when they had loads to carry, from the head of canoe navigation on the teslintoo to salt water on the taku inlet; but when they come light they take only one to two days. he spoke also of a stream entering the large lake from the east which came from a distance; but they did not seem to know much about it, and considered it outside their country. if their time intervals are approximately accurate, they mean that there are about miles of good river to the first lake, as they ought easily to make miles a day on the river as i saw it. the lake takes one day to traverse, and is at least miles long, followed by say of river, which brings us to the large lake, which takes two days to cross, say or more--in all about miles--say to the head of canoe navigation; while the distance from the head of lake bennet to the junction is only . assuming the course of the teslintoo to be nearly south (it is a little to the east of it), and throwing out every fourth mile for bends, the remainder gives us in arc three degrees and a quarter of latitude, which, deducted from ° ', the latitude of the junction, gives us ° ', or nearly the latitude of juneau. "to make sure that i understood the indian aright, and that he knew what he was speaking about, i got him to sketch the river and lake, as he described them, on the sand, and repeat the same several times. "i afterwards met mr. t. boswell, his brother, and another miner, who had spent most of the summer on the river prospecting, and from them i gathered the following: "the distance to the first, and only lake which they saw, they put at miles, and the lake itself they call at least miles long, as it took them four days to row in a light boat from end to end. the portage to the sea they did not appear to know anything about, but describe a large bay on the east side of the lake, into which a river of considerable size entered. this river occupies a wide valley, surrounded by high mountains. they thought this river must head near liard river. this account differs materially from that given by the indian, and to put them on their guard, i told them what he had told me, but they still persisted in their story, which i find differs a good deal from the account they gave dr. dawson, as incorporated in his report. "many years ago, sixteen i think, a man named monroe prospected up the taku and learned from the indians something of a large lake not far from that river. he crossed over and found it, and spent some time in prospecting, and then recrossed to the sea. this man had been at forty mile river, and i heard from the miners there his account of the appearance of the lake, which amounted generally to this: the boswells did not know anything about it." it was unfortunate the boswells did not remain at forty mile all winter, as by a comparison of recollections they might have arrived at some correct conclusion. "conflicting as these descriptions are, one thing is certain: this branch, if it has not the greater discharge, is the longer and more important of the two, and offers easy and uninterrupted navigation for more than double the distance which the lewes does, the cañon being only ninety miles above the mouth of the teslintoo. the boswells reported it as containing much more useful timber than the lewes, which indeed one would infer from its lower altitude. "assuming this as the main river, and adding its length to the lewes-yukon below the junction, gives upward of , miles of river, fully two-thirds of which runs through a very mountainous country, without an impediment to navigation. "some indefinite information, was obtained as to the position of this river in the neighborhood of marsh lake tending to show that the distance between them was only about thirty or forty miles. "between the teslintoo and the big salmon, so called by the miners, or d'abbadie by schwatka, the distance is thirty-three and a-half miles, in which the lewes preserves a generally uniform width and current. for a few miles below the teslintoo it is a little over the ordinary width, but then contracts to about two hundred yards which it maintains with little variation. the current is generally from four to five miles per hour. "the big salmon i found to be about one hundred yards wide near the mouth, the depth not more than four or five feet, and the current, so far as could be seen, sluggish. none of the miners i met could give me any information concerning this stream; but dr. dawson was more fortunate, and met a man who had spent most of the summer of prospecting on it. his opinion was that it might be navigable for small stern-wheel steamers for many miles. the valley, as seen from the mouth, is wide, and gives one the impression of being occupied by a much more important stream. looking up it, in the distance could be seen many high peaks covered with snow. as the date was august it is likely they are always so covered, which would make their probable altitude above the river , feet or more. "dr. dawson, in his report, incorporates fully the notes obtained from the miners. i will trespass so far on these as to say that they called the distance to a small lake near the head of the river, miles from the mouth. this lake was estimated to be four miles in length; another lake about miles above this was estimated to be twenty-four miles long, and its upper end distant only about eight miles from the teslintoo. these distances, if correct, make this river much more important than a casual glance at it would indicate; this, however, will be more fully spoken of under its proper head. "just below the big salmon the lewes takes a bend of nearly a right angle. its course from the junction with the tahkeena to this point is generally a little east of north; at this point it turns to nearly west for some distance. its course between here and its confluence with the pelly is north-west, and, i may add, it preserves this general direction down to the confluence with the porcupine. the river also changes in another respect; it is generally wider, and often expands into what might be called lakes, in which are islands. some of the lakes are of considerable length, and well timbered. "to determine which channel is the main one, that is, which carries the greatest volume of water, or is best available for the purposes of navigation, among these islands, would require more time than i could devote to it on my way down; consequently i cannot say more than that i have no reason to doubt that a channel giving six feet or more of water could easily be found. whenever, in the main channel, i had reason to think the water shallow, i tried it with my paddle, but always failed to find bottom, which gives upward of six feet. of course i often found less than this, but not in what i considered the main channel. "thirty-six and a quarter miles below the big salmon, the little salmon--the daly of schwatka--enters the lewes. this river is about yards wide at the mouth, and not more than two or three feet in depth. the water is clear and of a brownish hue; there is not much current at the mouth, nor as far as can be seen up the stream. the valley which, from the mouth, does not appear extensive, bears north-east for some distance, when it appears to turn more to the east. six or seven miles up, and apparently on the north side, some high cliffs of red rock, apparently granite, can be seen. it is said that some miners have prospected this stream, but i could learn nothing definite about it. "lewes river makes a turn here to the south-west, and runs in that direction six miles, when it again turns to the north-west for seven miles, and then makes a short, sharp turn to the south and west around a low sandy point, which will, at some day in the near future, be cut through by the current, which will shorten the river three or four miles. "eight miles below little salmon river, a large rock called the eagle's nest, stands up in a gravel slope on the easterly bank of the river. it rises about five hundred feet above the river, and is composed of a light gray stone. what the character of this rock is i could not observe, as i saw it only from the river, which is about a quarter of a mile distant. on the westerly side of the river there are two or three other isolated masses of apparently the same kind of rock. one of them might be appropriately called a mountain; it is south-west from the eagle's nest and distant from it about three miles. "thirty-two miles below eagle's nest rock, nordenskiold river enters from the west. it is an unimportant stream, being not more than one hundred and twenty feet wide at the mouth, and only a few inches deep. the valley, as far as can be seen, is not extensive, and, being very crooked, it is hard to tell what its general direction is. "the lewes, between the little salmon and the nordenskiold, maintains a width of from two to three hundred yards, with an occasional expansion where there are islands. it is serpentine in its course most of the way, and where the nordenskiold joins it is very crooked, running several times under a hill, named by schwatka tantalus butte, and in other places leaving it, for a distance of eight miles. the distance across from point to point is only half a mile. "below this to five finger rapids, so-called from the fact that five large masses of rock stand in mid-channel, the river assumes its ordinary straightness and width, with a current from four to five miles per hour. i have already described five finger rapids; i do not think they will prove anything more than a slight obstruction in the navigation of the river. a boat of ordinary power would probably have to help herself up with windlass and line in high water. "below the rapids, for about two miles, the current is strong--probably six miles per hour--but the water seems to be deep enough for any boat that is likely to navigate it. "six miles below this, as already noticed, rink rapids are situated. they are of no great importance, the westerly half of the stream only being obstructed. the easterly half is not in any way affected, the current being smooth and the water deep. "below five finger rapids about two miles a small stream enters from the east. it is called by dr. dawson tatshun river. it is not more than or feet wide at the mouth, and contains only a little clear, brownish water. here i met the only indians seen on the river between teslintoo and stewart rivers. they were engaged in catching salmon at the mouth of the tatshun, and were the poorest and most unintelligent indians it has ever been my lot to meet. it is needless to say that none of our party understood anything they said, as they could not speak a word of any language but their own. i tried by signs to get some information from them about the stream they were fishing in, but failed. i tried in the same way to learn if there were any more indians in the vicinity, but again utterly failed. i then tried by signs to find out how many days it took to go down to pelly river, but although i have never known these signs to fail in eliciting information in any other part of the territory, they did not understand. they appeared to be alarmed by our presence; and, as we had not yet been assured as to the rumor concerning the trouble between the miners and indians, we felt a little apprehensive, but being able to learn nothing from them we had to put our fears aside and proceed blindly. "between five finger rapids and pelly river, fifty-eight and a half-miles, no streams of any importance enter the lewes; in fact, with the exception of the tatshun, it may be said that none at all enter. "about a mile below rink rapids the river spreads out into a lake-like expanse, with many islands; this continues for about three miles, when it contracts to something like the usual width; but bars and small islands are very numerous all the way to pelly river. about five miles above pelly river there is another lake-like expanse filled with islands. the river here for three or four miles is nearly a mile wide, and so numerous and close are the islands that it is impossible to tell when floating among them where the shores of the river are. the current, too, is swift, leading one to suppose the water shallow; but i think even here a channel deep enough for such boats as will navigate this part of the river can be found. schwatka named this group of islands "ingersoll islands." "at the mouth of the pelly the lewes is about half a mile wide, and here too there are many islands, but not in groups as at ingersoll islands. "about a mile below the pelly, just at the ruins of fort selkirk, the yukon was found to be yards wide; about two-thirds being ten feet deep, with a current of about four and three-quarter miles per hour; the remaining third was more than half taken up by a bar, and the current between it and the south shore was very slack. "pelly river at its mouth is about two hundred yards wide, and continues this width as far up as could be seen. dr. dawson made a survey and examination of this river, which will be found in his report already cited, "yukon district and northern british columbia." "just here for a short distance the course of the yukon is nearly west, and on the south side, about a mile below the mouth of the lewes, stands all that remains of the only trading post ever built by white men in the district. this post was established by robert campbell, for the hudson's bay company in the summer of . it was first built on the point of land between the two rivers, but this location proving untenable on account of flooding by ice jams in the spring, it was, in the season of , moved across the river to where the ruins now stand. it appears that the houses composing the post were not finished when the indians from the coast on chilkat and chilkoot inlets came down the river to put a stop to the competitive trade which mr. campbell had inaugurated, and which they found to seriously interfere with their profits. their method of trade appears to have been then pretty much as it is now--very onesided. what they found it convenient to take by force they took, and what it was convenient to pay for at their own price they paid for. "rumors had reached the post that the coast indians contemplated such a raid, and in consequence the native indians in the vicinity remained about nearly all summer. unfortunately, they went away for a short time, and during their absence the coast indians arrived in the early morning, and surprised mr. campbell in bed. they were not at all rough with him, but gave him the privilege of leaving the place within twenty-four hours, after which he was informed that he was liable to be shot if seen by them in the locality. they then pillaged the place and set fire to it, leaving nothing but the remains of the two chimneys which are still standing. this raid and capture took place on the st august, . "mr. campbell dropped down the river, and met some of the local indians who returned with him, but the robbers had made their escape. i have heard that the local indians wished to pursue and overtake them, but to this mr. campbell would not consent. had they done so it is probable not many of the raiders would have escaped, as the superior local knowledge of the natives would have given them an advantage difficult to estimate, and the confidence and spirit derived from the aid and presence of a white man or two would be worth much in such a conflict. "mr. campbell went on down the river until he met the outfit for his post on its way up from fort yukon, which he turned back. he then ascended the pelly, crossed to the liard, and reached fort simpson, on the mackenzie, late in october. "mr. campbell's first visit to the site of fort selkirk was made in , under instructions from sir george simpson, then governor of the hudson's bay company. he crossed from the head waters of the liard to the waters of the pelly. it appears the pelly, where he struck it, was a stream of considerable size, for he speaks of its appearance when he first saw it from 'pelly banks,' the name given the bank from which he first beheld it, as a 'splendid river in the distance.' in june, , he descended the pelly to its confluence with the larger stream, which he named the 'lewes.' here he found many families of the native indians--'wood indians,' he called them. these people conveyed to him, as best they could by word and sign, the dangers that would attend a further descent of the river, representing that the country below theirs was inhabited by a tribe of fierce cannibals, who would assuredly kill and eat them. this so terrified his men that he had to return by the way he came, pursued, as he afterwards learned, by the indians, who would have murdered himself and party had they got a favorable opportunity. thus it was not until that he could establish, what he says he all along believed, 'that the pelly and yukon were identical.' this he did by descending the river to where the porcupine joins it, and where in fort yukon was established by mr. a.h. murray for the hudson's bay company. "with reference to the tales told him by the indians of bad people outside of their country, i may say that mackenzie tells pretty much the same story of the indians on the mackenzie when he discovered and explored that river in . he had the advantage of having indians along with him whose language was radically the same as that of the people he was coming among, and his statements are more explicit and detailed. everywhere he came in contact with them they manifested, first, dread of himself and party, and when friendship and confidence were established they nearly always tried to detain him by representing the people in the direction he was going as unnaturally bloodthirsty and cruel, sometimes asserting the existence of monsters with supernatural powers, as at manitou island, a few miles below the present fort good hope, and the people on a very large river far to the west of the mackenzie, probably the yukon, they described to him as monsters in size, power and cruelty. "in our own time, after the intercourse that there has been between them and the whites, more than a suspicion of such unknown, cruel people lurks in the minds of many of the indians. it would be futile for me to try to ascribe an origin for these fears, my knowledge of their language and idiosyncrasies being so limited. "nothing more was ever done in the vicinity of fort selkirk[ ] by the hudson's bay company after these events, and in the company was ordered by capt. charles w. raymond, who represented the united states government, to evacuate the post at fort yukon, he having found that it was west of the st meridian. the post was occupied by the company, however, for some time after the receipt of this order, and until rampart house was built, which was intended to be on british territory, and to take the trade previously done at fort yukon. [footnote : this is now a winter port for steamboats of the north american transportation and trading company, plying the yukon and its tributaries. there is also a trading post here owned by harper & ladue.] "under present conditions the company cannot very well compete with the alaska commercial company, whose agents do the only trade in the district,[ ] and they appear to have abandoned--for the present at least--all attempt to do any trade nearer to it than rampart house to which point, notwithstanding the distance and difficulties in the way, many of the indians on the yukon make a trip every two or three years to procure goods in exchange for their furs. the clothing and blankets brought in by the hudson's bay company they claim are much better than those traded on their own river by the americans. those of them that i saw who had any english blankets exhibited them with pride, and exclaimed 'good,' they point to an american blanket in contempt, with the remark 'no good,' and speak of their clothing in the same way. [footnote : since the date of this report the north american transportation and trading company, better known in the yukon valley as "captain healy's company," has established a number of posts on the river.] "on many maps of alaska a place named 'reed's house' is shown on or near the upper waters of stewart river. i made enquiries of all whom i thought likely to know anything concerning this post, but failed to elicit any information showing that there ever had been such a place. i enquired of mr. reid, who was in the company's service with mr. campbell at fort selkirk, and after whom i thought, possibly, the place had been called, but he told me he knew of no such post, but that there was a small lake at some distance in a northerly direction from fort selkirk, where fish were procured. a sort of shelter had been made at that point for the fishermen, and a few furs might have been obtained there, but it was never regarded as a trading post. "below fort selkirk, the yukon river is from five to six hundred yards broad, and maintains this width down to white river, a distance of ninety-six miles. islands are numerous, so much so that there are very few parts of the river where there are not one or more in sight. many of them are of considerable size, and nearly all are well timbered. bars are also numerous, but almost all are composed of gravel, so that navigators will not have to complain of shifting sand bars. the current as a general thing, is not so rapid as in the upper part of the river, averaging about four miles per hour. the depth in the main channel was always found to be more than six feet. "from pelly river to within twelve miles of white river the general course of the river is a little north of west; it then turns to the north, and the general course as far as the site of fort reliance is due north. "white river enters the main river from the west. at the mouth it is about two hundred yards wide, but a great part of it is filled with ever-shifting sand-bars, the main volume of water being confined to a channel not more than one hundred yards in width. the current is very strong, certainly not less than eight miles per hour. the color of the water bears witness to this, as it is much the muddiest that i have ever seen.[ ] [footnote : the white river very probably flows over volcanic deposits as its sediments would indicate; no doubt this would account for the discoloration of its waters. the volcanic ash appears to cover a great extent of the upper yukon basin drained by the lewes and pelly rivers. very full treatment of the subject is given by dr. dawson, in his report entitled "yukon district and northern portion of british columbia."] "i had intended to make a survey of part of this river as far as the international boundary, and attempted to do so; but after trying for over half a day, i found it would be a task of much labor and time, altogether out of proportion to the importance of the end sought, and therefore abandoned it. the valley as far as can be seen from the mouth, runs about due west for a distance of eight miles; it then appears to bear to the south-west; it is about two miles wide where it joins the pelly valley and apparently keeps the same width as far as it can be seen. "mr. harper, of the firm of harper & ladue, went up this river with sleds in the fall of a distance of fifty or sixty miles. he describes it as possessing the same general features all the way up, with much clay soil along its banks. its general course, as sketched by him on a map of mine, is for a distance of about thirty miles a little north-west, thence south-west thirty or thirty-five miles, when it deflects to the north-west running along the base of a high mountain ridge. if the courses given are correct it must rise somewhere near the head of forty mile river; and if so, its length is not at all in keeping with the volume of its discharge, when compared with the known length and discharge of other rivers in the territory. mr. harper mentioned an extensive flat south of the mountain range spoken of, across which many high mountain peaks could be seen. one of these he thought must be mount st. elias, as it overtopped all the others; but, as mount st. elias is about one hundred and eighty miles distant, his conclusion is not tenable. from his description of this mountain it must be more than twice the height of the highest peaks seen anywhere on the lower river, and consequently must be ten or twelve thousand feet above the sea. he stated that the current in the river was very swift, as far as he ascended, and the water muddy. the water from this river, though probably not a fourth of the volume of the yukon, discolors the water of the latter completely; and a couple of miles, below the junction the whole river appears almost as dirty as white river. "between white and stewart rivers, ten miles, the river spreads out to a mile and upwards in width, and is a maze of islands and bars. the survey was carried down the easterly shore, and many of the channels passed through barely afforded water enough to float the canoes. the main channel is along the westerly shore, down which the large boat went, and the crew reported plenty of water. "stewart river enters from the east in the middle of a wide valley, with low hills on both sides, rising on the north sides in steps or terraces to distant hills of considerable height. the river half a mile or so above the mouth, is two hundred yards in width. the current is slack and the water shallow and clear, but dark colored. "while at the mouth i was fortunate enough to meet a miner who had spent the whole of the summer of on the river and its branches prospecting and exploring. he gave me a good deal of information of which i give a summary. he is a native of new brunswick, alexander mcdonald by name, and has spent some years mining in other places, but was very reticent about what he had made or found. sixty or seventy miles up the stewart a large creek enters from the south which he called rose bud creek or river, and thirty or forty miles further up a considerable stream flows from the north-east, which appears to be beaver river, as marked on the maps of that part of the country. from the head of this stream he floated down on a raft taking five days to do so. he estimated his progress at forty or fifty miles each day, which gives a length of from two hundred to two hundred and fifty miles. this is probably an over-estimate, unless the stream is very crooked, which, he stated, was not the case. as much of his time would be taken up in prospecting, i should call thirty miles or less a closer estimate of his progress. this river is from fifty to eighty yards wide and was never more than four or five feet deep, often being not more than two or three; the current, he said, was not at all swift. above the mouth of this stream the main river is from one hundred to one hundred and thirty yards wide with an even current and clear water. sixty or seventy miles above the last-mentioned branch another large branch joins, which is possibly the main river. at the head of it he found a lake nearly thirty miles long, and averaging a mile and a half in width, which he called mayhew lake, after one of the partners in the firm of harper, mcquestion & co. "thirty miles or so above the forks on the other branch there are falls, which mcdonald estimated to be from one to two hundred feet in height. i met several parties who had seen these falls, and they corroborate this estimate of their height. mcdonald went on past the falls to the head of this branch and found terraced gravel hills to the west and north; he crossed them to the north and found a river flowing northward. on this he embarked on a raft and floated down it for a day or two, thinking it would turn to the west and join the stewart, but finding it still continuing north, and acquiring too much volume to be any of the branches he had seen while passing up the stewart, he returned to the point of his departure, and after prospecting among the hills around the head of the river, he started westward, crossing a high range of mountains composed principally of shales with many thin seams of what he called quartz, ranging from one to six inches in thickness. "on the west side of this range he found a river flowing out of what he called mayhew lake, and crossing this got to the head of beaver river, which he descended as before mentioned. "it is probable the river flowing northwards, on which he made a journey and returned, was a branch of peel river. he described the timber on the gravel terraces of the watershed as small and open. he was alone in this unknown wilderness all summer, not seeing even any of the natives. there are few men so constituted as to be capable of isolating themselves in such a manner. judging from all i could learn it is probable a light-draught steamboat could navigate nearly all of stewart iver and its tributaries. "from stewart river to the site of fort reliance,[ ] seventy-three and a quarter miles, the yukon is broad and full of islands. the average width is between a half and three quarters of a mile, but there are many expansions where it is over a mile in breadth; however, in these places it cannot be said that the waterway is wider than at other parts of the river, the islands being so large and numerous. in this reach no streams of any importance enter. [footnote : this was at one time a trading post occupied by messrs. harper & mcquestion.] "about thirteen miles below stewart river a large valley joins that of the river, but the stream occupying it is only a large creek. this agrees in position with what has been called sixty mile creek, which was supposed to be about that distance above fort reliance, but it does not agree with descriptions which i received of it; moreover as sixty mile creek is known to be a stream of considerable length, this creek would not answer its description. "twenty-two and a half miles from stewart river another and larger creek enters from the same side; it agrees with the descriptions of sixty mile creek, and i have so marked it on my map. this stream is of no importance, except for what mineral wealth may be found on it.[ ] [footnote : sixty mile creek is about one hundred miles long, very crooked, with a swift current and many rapids, and is therefore not easy to ascend. miller, glacier, gold, little gold and bedrock creeks are all tributaries of sixty mile. some of the richest discoveries in gold so far made in the interior since have been upon these creeks, especially has this been the case upon the two first mentioned. there is a claim upon miller creek owned by joseph boudreau from which over $ , worth of gold is said to have been taken out. freight for the mines is taken up forty mile creek in summer for a distance of miles, then portaged across to the heads of miller and glacier creeks. in the winter it is hauled in by dogs. the trip from cudahy to the post at the mouth of sixty mile river is made by ascending forty mile river a small distance, making a short portage to sixty mile river and running down with its swift current. coming back on the yukon, nearly the whole of the round trip is made down stream. indian creek enters the yukon from the east about miles below sixty mile. it is reported to be rich in gold, but owing to the scarcity of supplies its development has been retarded. at the mouth of sixty mile creek a townsite of that name is located, it is the headquarters for upwards of miners and where they more or less assemble in the winter months. messrs. harper & co. have a trading post and a saw-mill on an island at the mouth of the creek; both, of which are in charge of mr. j. ladue, one of the partners of the firm, and who was at one time in the employ of the alaska commercial company.] "six and a half miles above port reliance the thron-diuck[ ] river of the indians (deer river of schwatka) enters from the east. it is a small river about forty yards wide at the mouth, and shallow; the water is clear and transparent, and of beautiful blue color. the indians catch great numbers of salmon here. they had been fishing shortly before my arrival, and the river, for some distance up, was full of salmon traps. [footnote : dawson city is situated at the mouth of the thron-diuck now known as klondyke, and although it was located only a few months ago it is the scene of great activity. very rich deposits of gold have been lately found on bonanza creek and other affluents of the thron-diuck.] "a miner had prospected up this river for an estimated distance of forty miles, in the season of . i did not see him, but got some of his information at second hand. the water being so beautifully clear i thought it must come through a large lake not far up; but as far as he had gone no lakes were seen. he said the current was comparatively slack, with an occasional 'ripple' or small rapid. where he turned back the river is surrounded by high mountains, which were then covered with snow, which accounts for the purity and clearness of the water. "it appears that the indians go up this stream a long distance to hunt, but i could learn nothing definite as to their statements concerning it. "twelve and a half miles below fort reliance, the chandindu river, as named by schwatka, enters from the east. it is thirty to forty yards wide at the mouth, very shallow, and for half a mile up is one continuous rapid. its valley is wide and can be seen for a long distance looking north-eastward from the mouth. "between fort reliance and forty mile river (called cone hill river by schwatka) the yukon assumes its normal appearance, having fewer islands and being narrower, averaging four to six hundred yards wide, and the current being more regular. this stretch is forty-six miles long, but was estimated by the traders at forty, from which the forty mile river took its name. "forty mile river[ ] joins the main river from the west. its general course as far up as the international boundary, a distance of twenty-three miles, is south-west; after this it is reported by the miners to run nearer south. many of them claim to have ascended this stream for more than one hundred miles, and speak of it there as quite a large river. they say that at that distance it has reached the level of the plateau, and the country adjoining it they describe as flat and swampy, rising very little above the river. it is only a short distance across to the tanana river--a large tributary of the yukon--which is here described as an important stream. however, only about twenty-three miles of forty mile river are in canada; and the upper part of it and its relation to other rivers in the district have no direct interest for us. [footnote : forty mile townsite is situated on the south side of the forty mile river at its junction with the yukon. the alaska commercial company has a station here which was for some years in charge of l.n. mcquestion; there are also several blacksmith shops, restaurants, billiard halls, bakeries, an opera house and so on. rather more than half a mile below forty mile townsite the town of cudahy was founded on the north side of forty mile river in the summer of . it is named after a well known member of the north american transportation and trading company. in population and extent of business the town bears comparison with its neighbor across the river. the opposition in trade has been the means of very materially reducing the cost of supplies and living. the north american transportation and trading company has erected a saw-mill and some large warehouses. fort constantine was established here immediately upon the arrival of the mounted police detachment in the latter part of july, . it is described further on in an extract from inspector constantine's supplementary report for the year .] "forty mile river is one hundred to one hundred and fifty yards wide at the mouth, and the current is generally strong, with many small rapids. eight miles up is the so-called cañon; it is hardly entitled to that distinctive name, being simply a crooked contraction of the river, with steep rocky banks, and on the north side there is plenty of room to walk along the beach. at the lower end of the cañon there is a short turn and swift water in which are some large rocks; these cannot generally be seen, and there is much danger of striking them running down in a boat. at this point several miners have been drowned by their boats being upset in collision with these rocks. it is no great distance to either shore, and one would think an ordinary swimmer would have no difficulty in reaching land; but the coldness of the water soon benumbs a man completely and renders him powerless. in the summer of , an indian, from tanana, with his family, was coming down to trade at the post at the mouth of forty mile river; his canoe struck on these rocks and upset, and he was thrown clear of the canoe, but the woman and children clung to it. in the rough water he lost sight of them, and concluded that they were lost: it is said he deliberately drew his knife and cut his throat, thus perishing, while his family were hauled ashore by some miners. the chief of the band to which this indian belonged came to the post and demanded pay for his loss, which he contended was occasioned by the traders having moved from belle isle to forty mile, thus causing them to descend this dangerous rapid, and there is little doubt that had there not been so many white men in the vicinity he would have tried to enforce his demand. "the length of the so-called cañon is about a mile. above it the river up to the boundary is generally smooth, with swift current and an occasional ripple. the amount of water discharged by this stream is considerable; but there is no prospect of navigation, it being so swift and broken by small rapids. "from forty mile river to the boundary the yukon preserves the same general character as between fort reliance and forty mile, the greatest width being about half a mile and the least about a quarter. "fifteen miles below forty mile river a large mass of rock stands on the east bank. this was named by schwatka 'roquette rock,' but is known to the traders as old woman rock; a similar mass, on the west side of the river, being known as old man rock. "the origin of these names is an indian legend, of which the following is the version given to me by the traders;-- "in remote ages there lived a powerful shaman, pronounced tshaumen by the indians, this being the local name for what is known as medicine man among the indians farther south and east. the tshaumen holds a position and exercises an influence among the people he lives with, something akin to the wise men or magi of olden times in the east. in this powerful being's locality there lived a poor man who had the great misfortune to have an inveterate scold for a wife. he bore the infliction for a long time without murmuring, in hopes that she would relent, but time seemed only to increase the affliction; at length, growing weary of the unceasing torment, he complained to the tshaumen who comforted him, and sent him home with the assurance that all would soon be well. "shortly after this he went out to hunt, and remained away for many days endeavoring to get some provisions for home use, but without avail; he returned weary and hungry, only to be met by his wife with a more than usually violent outburst of scolding. this so provoked him that he gathered all his strength and energy for one grand effort and gave her a kick that sent her clean across the river. on landing she was converted into the mass of rock which remains to this day a memorial of her viciousness and a warning to all future scolds. the metamorphosis was effected by the tshaumen, but how the necessary force was acquired to send her across the river (here about half a mile wide), or whether the kick was administered by the tshaumen or the husband, my narrator could not say. he was altogether at a loss to account for conversion of the husband into the mass of rock on the west side of the river; nor can i offer any theory unless it is that he was _petrified_ by astonishment at the result. "such legends as this would be of interest to ethnologists if they could be procured direct from the indians, but repeated by men who have little or no knowledge of the utility of legendary lore, and less sympathy with it, they lose much of their value. "between forty mile river and the boundary line no stream of any size joins the yukon; in fact, there is only one stream, which some of the miners have named sheep creek, but as there is another stream further down the river, called by the same name, i have named it coal creek. it is five miles below forty mile, and comes in from the east, and is a large creek, but not at all navigable. on it some extensive coal seams were seen, which will be more fully referred to further on. * * * * * "at the boundary the river is somewhat contracted, and measures only , feet across in the winter; but in summer, at ordinary water level, it would be about one hundred feet wider. immediately below the boundary it expands to its usual width, which is about , feet. the area of the cross section measured is , feet, the sectional area of the teslintoo, as determined by dr. dawson and already referred to, is , feet; that of the lewes at the teslintoo, from the same authority, is , feet. had the above cross-section been reduced to the level at which the water ordinarily stands during the summer months, instead of to the height at which it stood in the middle of september when it was almost at its lowest, the sectional area would have been at least per cent more, and at spring flood level about double the above area. "it is a difficult matter to determine the actual discharge at the place of the cross-section, owing to the irregularity in the depth and current, the latter being in the deep channel at the east side, when i tried it in september, approximately . miles per hour; while on the bar in midstream it was not more than . miles per hour; and between the bar and the westerly shore there was very little current. "the river above this for some miles was no better for the purpose of cross-section measurement. at the boundary it is narrow and clear of bars and islands for some miles, but here i did not have an opportunity to determine the rate of the current before the river froze up, and after it froze the drift ice was jammed and piled so high that it would have been an almost endless task to cut holes through it. "the current from the boundary down to the confluence with the porcupine is said to be strong and much the same as that above; from the porcupine down, for a distance of five or six hundred miles it is called medium and the remainder easy. "from stewart river to the mouth of the yukon is about , miles, and the only difficult place in all this distance is the part near the confluence with the porcupine, which has evidently been a lake in past ages but is now filled with islands; it is said that the current here is swift, and the channels generally narrow, rendering navigation difficult." chapter iii. advice to beginners. men who are thinking of going to the klondyke regions and taking a trip of this character for the first time, will do well to carefully read the chapter on "outfit for miners." it is a great mistake to take anything except what is necessary; the trip is a long arduous one, and a man should not add one pound of baggage to his outfit that can be dispensed with. i have known men who have loaded themselves up with rifles, revolvers and shot-guns. this is entirely unnecessary. revolvers will get you into trouble, and there is no use of taking them with you, as large game of any character is rarely found on the trip. i have prospected through this region for some years and have only seen one moose. you will not see any large game whatever on your trip from juneau to dawson city, therefore do not take any firearms along. you will find a list of the implements for the miner in the chapter on "outfit for miners." the miners here are a very mixed class of people. they represent many nationalities and come from all climates. their lives are certainly not enviable. the regulation miner's cabin is by with walls six feet high and gables eight feet in height. the roof is heavily earthed and the cabin is generally kept very warm. two, or sometimes three or four men will live in a house of this size. the ventilation is usually bad, the windows being very small. those miners who do not work their claims during the winter confine themselves to these small huts most of the time. very often they become indolent and careless, only eating those things which are most easily cooked or prepared. during the busy time in summer when they are shovelling in, they work hard and for long hours, sparing little time for eating and much less for cooking. this manner of living is quite common amongst beginners, and soon leads to debility and sometimes to scurvy. old miners have learned from experience to value health more than gold, and they therefore spare no expense in procuring the best and most varied outfit of food that can be obtained. in a cold climate such as this, where it is impossible to get fresh vegetables and fruits, it is most important that the best substitutes for these should be provided. nature helps to supply these wants by growing cranberries and other wild fruits in abundance, but men in summer are usually too busy to avail themselves of these. the diseases met with in this country are dyspepsia, anaemia, scurvy caused by improperly cooked food, sameness of diet, overwork, want of fresh vegetables, overheated and badly ventilated houses; rheumatism, pneumonia, bronchitis, enteritis, cystitis and other acute diseases, from exposure to wet and cold; debility and chronic diseases, due to excesses. men coming to klondyke should be sober, strong and healthy. they should be practical men, able to adapt themselves quickly to their surroundings. special care should be taken to see that their lungs are sound, that they are free from rheumatism and rheumatic tendency, and that their joints, especially knee joints, are strong and have never been weakened by injury, synovitis or other disease. it is also very important to consider their temperaments. men should be of cheerful, hopeful dispositions and willing workers. those of sullen, morose natures, although they may be good workers, are very apt, as soon as the novelty of the country wears off, to become dissatisfied, pessimistic and melancholy. chapter iv. outfit for miners. in giving any advice for outfits for miners, i should first state that it is a great mistake to purchase anything whatever before arriving at juneau, alaska. this has been a supply point for that region for upwards of ten years, and store-keepers and supply companies carry in stock exactly what is necessary for the miners. you will find that their prices are reasonable, considering the difference in cost of transportation at any point you might decide to purchase from in the united states; in fact it is the saving of money to buy in juneau. in the matter of clothing, of course, it must be left to the individual taste and means of the purchaser, but the miners usually adopt the native costume of the region. the boots are generally made by the coast indians and are of different varieties. the water boot is made of seal and walrus. it is important to take a pair of rubber boots along. additional boots can be purchased at dawson city. the native boots cost from two to five dollars a pair. trousers are generally made from siberian fawn skins and the skin of the marmot or the ground squirrel. the outer garments are generally made of the marmot skin. the people at dawson city who are not engaged in mining, such as store-keepers, clerks, etc., generally wear these garments. good warm flannels are important. everything in the way of underwear is made of flannel, such as shirts. the cost of flannel shirts at dawson city is $ . rubber boots at dawson city are $ to $ . a pair. blankets and robes are used for bedding, and should be purchased at juneau. wolf skins make the best robes. good ones cost $ apiece, but cheaper ones can be obtained from the bear, mink, and red fox and arctic hare. warm socks are made from the skin of the arctic hare. if you have any delay at juneau, you will, probably, be asked to take trips to the giant glaciers, but my advice is to stay in juneau until the steamer is ready to start for dyea. you will need all the rest you can get before starting up the pass. in the matter of provisions, the following is a list which is considered sufficient to last a man on his trip from juneau to dawson city:-- pounds of flour, pounds of bacon, " " beans, " " butter, " " vegetables, cans of condensed milk, pounds of sugar, pound of tea, pounds of coffee, - pound of salt, pounds of corn meal, a small portion of pepper and mustard. the following utensils should be taken:-- frying pan, water kettle, yukon stove, bean pot, plates, tin drinking cup, tea pot, knife and fork, large and small cooking pan. the following tools should he brought as part of the outfit:--these will be found absolutely necessary to build a boat at lake lindeman:-- jack plane, whip saw, cross-cut saw, axe, hatchet, hunting-knife. pounds of assorted nails, pound of oakum, pounds of pitch, feet of rope, juneau sled. it is also necessary to have one good duck tent and a rubber blanket. a good piece of mosquito netting will not be heavy and will also be very great comfort on the trip. do not forget to put in a good supply of matches, and take a small supply of fishing tackle, hooks, etc. it is very important that you have a pair of snow glasses to guard against snow blindness. it will be interesting to know the prices at dawson city for supplies: when i left in june, . flour was sold in pound bags at $ . a bag. fresh beef was supplied at cents a pound. bacon was cents. coffee was cents per pound. brown sugar was cents per pound and granulated sugar was cents a pound. condensed milk was cents per can. pick axes were $ . each. miners' shovels were $ . each. lumber right at dawson city was $ . per thousand feet undressed, and $ . per thousand feet dressed. it is well perhaps to advise the traveller to supply himself with a small medicine box which can be purchased in juneau, but it is not necessary if he enjoys good rugged health. on arriving at dawson city, luxuries will be found to be very high; what is to be considered a very cheap cigar in the united states, two for cents, sells in dawson city at cents each. liquors command very high prices. whisky sells in the saloons for cents a glass, and fluctuates from $ . to $ . per gallon, according to the supplies received from the at present overtaxed transportation companies. there was about , gallons of whisky imported into the territory from canada the past year. smoking tobacco was selling at $ . a pound and good plug cut and fancy tobacco was selling at $ . a pound. the demand for medicine is very light, but the local traders carry a small stock of patent and proprietary medicines. chapter v. miners' luck. the reports already received of the finds of gold seem beyond belief but the greater part of them are actual facts, and the following came under my personal observation:-- alexander mcdonald, on claim no. , eldorado, on the klondyke, started drifting on his claim with four men. the men agreed to work the claim on shares, the agreement being that they should work on shares by each receiving half of what they could get out. the five together took out $ , . in twenty-eight days. the ground dug up was found to measure but square feet. this was an exceptional find. the men are of course working the claim and had square feet on the claim still to work out when i left for the east. people in the east or elsewhere can hardly realize what a small space a mining claim is in this vast and comparatively unexplored territory. william leggatt on claim no. , eldorado, together with william gates and a miner named shoots, purchased their claim from a miner named stewart, and his partner, for the sum of $ , . . they did not have money to make the payment in cash but made a first payment of $ , . with the agreement to pay the balance of the purchase price, $ , . , prior to july st, . they sunk a shaft and commenced taking out $ , . per day. they worked the pay dirt until about may , , when they found that they had taken out $ , . , and the space of the claim worked was only _twenty-four square feet_. a young man who went to the klondyke recently writes that he is taking out $ , . a day from his claim. it is stated on good authority that one claim yielded $ , in feet up and down the stream. clarence berry bought out his two partners, paying one $ , and the other $ , , and has taken up $ , from the winter dump alone. peter wiborg has purchased more ground. he purchased his partner's interest in a claim, paying $ , . a man by the name of wall has all he thinks he wants, and is coming out. he sold his interests for $ , . nearly all the gold is found in the creek bed on the bed rock, but there are a few good bench diggings. perhaps the most interesting reading in the _mining record_ is the letters written by men in the klondyke to friends in juneau. here is one from "casey" moran: dawson, march , . "friend george: don't pay any attention to what any one says, but come in at your earliest opportunity. my god! it is appalling to hear the truth, but nevertheless the world has never produced its equal before. well, come. that's all. your friend, "casey." burt shuler, writing from klondyke under date of june , says: "we have been here but a short time and we all have money. provisions are much higher than they were two years ago and clothing is clean out of sight. one of the a.c. co.'s boats was lost in the spring, and there will be a shortage of provisions again this fall. there is nothing that a man could eat or wear that he cannot get a good price for. first-class rubber boots are worth from an ounce of gold to $ a pair. the price of flour has been raised from $ to $ , as it was being freighted from forty mile. big money can be made by bringing a small outfit over the trail this fall. wages have been $ per day all winter, though a reduction to $ was attempted, but the miners quit work.... here is a creek that is eighteen miles long, and, as far as is known, without a miss. there are not enough men in the country to-day to work the claims. several other creeks show equal promise, but very little work has been done on the latter. i have seen gold dust until it seems almost as cheap as sawdust. if you are coming in, come prepared to stay two years at least; bring plenty of clothing and good rubber boots." thus far little attempt to mine quartz has been made in the interior of alaska and the northwest, although many quartz croppings have been seen. it would cost too much to take in the machinery and to build a plant until transportation facilities are better. in time, however, quartz mining operations will commence, for the placer mines were washed down from the mother veins somewhere. if the washings have made the richest placers in the world, what must the mother veins be? one dares hardly to imagine. this is a brief description of the gold region in the northwest. for further and more detailed information on routes and distances, transportations, mining laws, how to stake a claim, where to register your claim, modes of placer mining and quartz mining, return of gold from the diggings, mortality, cost of living, etc., i refer the reader to my book on this subject entitled "klondyke facts," a work of about pages. it is published in paper covers at cents a copy with maps and illustrations, and is sent postpaid by the publishers on receipt of cents. american technical book co., vesey street, new york, n.y., u.s.a. * * * * * *abc of electricity*. now in its d thousand. by wm. h. meadowcroft. volume, mo, cloth, cents fully illustrated. this excellent primary book has taken the first place in elementary scientific works. it has received the endorsement of thomas a edison. it is for every person desiring a knowledge of electricity, and is written in the simplest style so that a child can understand the work. it is what its title indicates, the first flight steps in electricity. *scholars' a b c of electricity*. by wm.h. meadowcroft. one volume, mo, illustrated, cloth, cents. the author of this work has designed it for the use of teachers and scholars. a large number of simple experiments have been added, with notes relative to the work. it is the primary book for school use. _a most important work of general interest_. *the x ray; or, photography of the invisible and its value in surgery* by william j. morton, m.d. written in collaboration with edwin w. hammer. volume, mo, cloth and silver, cents; paper, cents. everyone has been waiting for this work to give full information of professor rontgen's marvellous discovery. the work explains in clear and simple style how these extraordinary pictures are taken through solids. full description is given of the apparatus used, and the text is profusely illustrated with half tone illustrations giving fac-simile copies of the pictures taken from the negatives of the author. the subjects are varied. *the a b c of the x ray*. by wm.h. meadowcroft. volume, mo, cloth and gold, cloth; paper, cents. the first primary work on the subject. a book for the people. the author of "a b c of electricity," showed clearly in that work his ability to explain a technical subject for the laymen who know nothing of scientific terms. he has written this work about the x ray in his usual clear and simple style, and a wide circulation of this useful book is assured. the texts of the author is beautifully embellished with fine engravings, and nothing is omitted that will give the public a clear knowledge of this remarkable discovery of prof. rontgen. the public would do well to secure both of these important works. *the art of cooking by gas*. by marion harland pages, mo, paper, cents; cloth, cents. a timely work by a recognized authority. this new book shows the economy, cleanliness and comfort of cooking by gas there are nearly recipes which are excellent. this valuable work will save its price many times to all housekeepers. _any of the above books sent, postpaid, on receipt of price_ note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) the trail of ' a northland romance by robert w. service author of "the spell of the yukon" and "ballads of a cheechako" with illustrations by maynard dixon [illustration: we were in a caldron of fire. the roar of doom was in our ears (page )] new york dodd, mead and company copyright, , by dodd, mead and company entered at stationers' hall the quinn & boden co. press rahway, n. j. prelude the north wind is keening overhead. it minds me of the howl of a wolf-dog under the arctic stars. sitting alone by the glow of the great peat fire i can hear it high up in the braeside firs. it is the voice, inexorably scornful, of the great white land. oh, i hate it, i hate it! why cannot a man be allowed to forget? it is near ten years since i joined the eager army. i have travelled: i have been a pilgrim to the shrines of beauty; i have pursued the phantom of happiness even to the ends of the earth. still it is always the same--i cannot forget. why should a man be ever shadowed by the vampire wing of his past? have i not a right to be happy? money, estate, name, are mine, all that means an open sesame to the magic door. others go in, but i beat against its flinty portals with hands that bleed. no! i have no right to be happy. the ways of the world are open; the banquet of life is spread; the wonder-workers plan their pageants of beauty and joy, and yet there is no praise in my heart. i have seen, i have tasted, i have tried. ashes and dust and bitterness are all my gain. i will try no more. it is the shadow of the vampire wing. so i sit in the glow of the great peat fire, tired and sad beyond belief. thank god! at least i am home. everything is so little changed. the fire lights the oak-panelled hall; the crossed claymores gleam; the eyes in the mounted deer-heads shine glassily; rugs of fur cover the polished floor; all is comfort, home and the haunting atmosphere of my boyhood. sometimes i fancy it has been a dream, the great white silence, the lure of the gold-spell, the delirium of the struggle; a dream, and i will awake to hear garry calling me to shoot over the moor, to see dear little mother with her meek, sensitive mouth, and her cheeks as delicately tinted as the leaves of a briar rose. but no! the hall is silent. mother has gone to her long rest. garry sleeps under the snow. silence everywhere; i am alone, alone. so i sit in the big, oak-carved chair of my forefathers, before the great peat fire, a peak-faced drooping figure of a man with hair untimely grey. my crutch lies on the floor by my side. my old nurse comes up quietly to look at the fire. her rosy, wrinkled face smiles cheerfully, but i can see the anxiety in her blue eyes. she is afraid for me. maybe the doctor has told her--_something_. no doubt my days are numbered, so i am minded to tell of it all: of the big stampede, of the treasure trail, of the gold-born city; of those who followed the gold-lure into the great white land, of the evil that befell them, of garry and of berna. perhaps it will comfort me to tell of these things. to-morrow i will begin; to-night, leave me to my memories. berna! i spoke of her last. she rises before me now with her spirit-pale face and her great troubleful grey eyes, a little tragic figure, ineffably pitiful. where are you now, little one? i have searched the world for you. i have scanned a million faces. day and night have i sought, always hoping, always baffled, for, god help me, dear, i love you. among that mad, lusting horde you were so weak, so helpless, yet so hungry for love. with the aid of my crutch i unlatch one of the long windows, and step out onto the terrace. from the cavernous dark the snowflakes sting my face. yet as i stand there, once more i have a sense of another land, of imperious vastitudes, of a silent empire, unfathomably lonely. ghosts! they are all around me. the darkness teems with them, garry, my brother, among them. then they all fade and give way to one face.... _berna, i love you always. out of the night i cry to you, berna, the cry of a broken heart. is it your little, pitiful ghost that comes down to me? oh, i am waiting, waiting! here will i wait, berna, till we meet once more. for meet we will, beyond the mists, beyond the dreaming, at last, dear love, at last._ contents book i the road to anywhere book ii the trail book iii the camp book iv the vortex illustrations we were in a caldron of fire. the roar of doom was in our ears (p. ) frontispiece facing page "no," she said firmly, "you can't see the girl" then, as i hung half in, half out of the window, he clutched me by the throat "garry," i said, "this is--this is berna" this is the law of the yukon, and ever she makes it plain: "send not your foolish and feeble; send me your strong and your sane. strong for the red rage of battle; sane, for i harry them sore; send me men girt for the combat, men who are grit to the core; swift as the panther in triumph, fierce as the bear in defeat, sired of a bulldog parent, steeled in the furnace heat. send me the best of your breeding, lend me your chosen ones; them will i take to my bosom, them will i call my sons; them will i gild with my treasure, them will i glut with my meat; but the others--the misfits, the failures--i trample under my feet." --"songs of a sourdough." book i the road to anywhere can you recall, dear comrade, when we tramped god's land together, and we sang the old, old earth-song, for our youth was very sweet; when we drank and fought and lusted, as we mocked at tie and tether, along the road to anywhere, the wide world at our feet. along the road to anywhere, when each day had its story; when time was yet our vassal, and life's jest was still unstale; when peace unfathomed filled our hearts as, bathed in amber glory, along the road to anywhere we watched the sunsets pale. alas! the road to anywhere is pitfalled with disaster; there's hunger, want, and weariness, yet o we loved it so! as on we tramped exultantly, and no man was our master, and no man guessed what dreams were ours, as swinging heel and toe, we tramped the road to anywhere, the magic road to anywhere, the tragic road to anywhere such dear, dim years ago. --"songs of a sourdough." chapter i as far back as i can remember i have faithfully followed the banner of romance. it has given colour to my life, made me a dreamer of dreams, a player of parts. as a boy, roaming alone the wild heather hills, i have heard the glad shouts of the football players on the green, yet never ettled to join them. mine was the richer, rarer joy. still can i see myself in those days, a little shy-mannered lad in kilts, bareheaded to the hill breezes, with health-bright cheeks, and a soul happed up in dreams. and, indeed, i lived in an enchanted land, a land of griffins and kelpies, of princesses and gleaming knights. from each black tarn i looked to see a scaly reptile rise, from every fearsome cave a corby emerge. there were green spaces among the heather where the fairies danced, and every scaur and linn had its own familiar spirit. i peopled the good green wood with the wild creatures of my thought, nymph and faun, naiad and dryad, and would have been in nowise surprised to meet in the leafy coolness the great god pan himself. it was at night, however, that my dreams were most compelling. i strove against the tyranny of sleep. lying in my small bed, i revelled in delectable imaginings. night after night i fought battles, devised pageants, partitioned empires. i gloried in details. my rugged war-lords were very real to me, and my adventures sounded many periods of history. i was a solitary caveman with an axe of stone; i was a roman soldier of fortune; i was a highland outlaw of the rebellion. always i fought for a lost cause, and always my sympathies were with the rebel. i feasted with robin hood on the king's venison; i fared forth with dick turpin on the gibbet-haunted heath; i followed morgan, the buccaneer, into strange and exotic lands of trial and treasure. it was a wonderful gift of visioning that was mine in those days. it was the bird-like flight of the pure child-mind to whom the unreal is yet the real. then, suddenly, i arrived at a second phase of my mental growth in which fancy usurped the place of imagination. the modern equivalents of romance attracted me, and, with my increasing grasp of reality, my gift of vision faded. as i had hitherto dreamed of knight-errants, of corsairs and of outlaws, i now dreamed of cowboys, of gold-seekers, of beach-combers. fancy painted scenes in which i, too, should play a rousing part. i read avidly all i could find dealing with the far west, and ever my wistful gaze roved over the grey sea. the spirit of romance beaconed to me. i, too, would adventure in the stranger lands, and face their perils and brave their dangers. the joy of the thought exulted in my veins, and scarce could i bide the day when the roads of chance and change would be open to my feet. it is strange that in all these years i confided in no one. garry, who was my brother and my dearest friend, would have laughed at me in that affectionate way of his. you would never have taken us for brothers. we were so different in temperament and appearance that we were almost the reverse of each other. he was the handsomest boy i have ever seen, frank, fair-skinned and winning, while i was dark, dour and none too well favoured. he was the best runner and swimmer in the parish, and the idol of the village lads. i cared nothing for games, and would be found somewhere among the heather hills, always by my lone self, and nearly always with a story book in my pocket. he was clever, practical and ambitious, excelling in all his studies; whereas, except in those which appealed to my imagination, i was a dullard and a dreamer. yet we loved each others as few brothers do. oh, how i admired him! he was my ideal, and too often the hero of my romances. garry would have laughed at my hero-worship; he was so matter-of-fact, effective and practical. yet he understood me, my celtic ideality, and that shy reserve which is the armour of a sensitive soul. garry in his fine clever way knew me and shielded me and cheered me. he was so buoyant and charming he heartened you like spring sunshine, and braced you like a morning wind on the mountain top. yes, not excepting mother, garry knew me better than any one has ever done, and i loved him for it. it seems overfond to say this, but he did not have a fault: tenderness, humour, enthusiasm, sympathy and the beauty of a young god--all that was manfully endearing was expressed in this brother of mine. so we grew to manhood there in that west highland country, and surely our lives were pure and simple and sweet. i had never been further from home than the little market town where we sold our sheep. mother managed the estate till garry was old enough, when he took hold with a vigour and grasp that delighted every one. i think our little mother stood rather in awe of my keen, capable, energetic brother. there was in her a certain dreamy, wistful idealism that made her beautiful in my eyes, and to look on she was as fair as any picture. specially do i remember the delicate colouring of her face and her eyes, blue like deep corn-flowers. she was not overstrong, and took much comfort from religion. her lips, which were fine and sensitive, had a particularly sweet expression, and i wish to record of her that never once did i see her cross, always sweet, gentle, smiling. thus our home was an ideal one; garry, tall, fair and winsome; myself, dark, dreamy, reticent; and between us, linking all three in a perfect bond of love and sympathy, our gentle, delicate mother. chapter ii so in serenity and sunshine the days of my youth went past. i still maintained my character as a drone and a dreamer. i used my time tramping the moorland with a gun, whipping the foamy pools of the burn for trout, or reading voraciously in the library. mostly i read books of travel, and especially did i relish the literature of vagabondia. i had come under the spell of stevenson. his name spelled romance to me, and my fancy etched him in his lonely exile. forthright i determined i too would seek these ultimate islands, and from that moment i was a changed being. i nursed the thought with joyous enthusiasm. i would be a frontiersman, a trail-breaker, a treasure-seeker. the virgin prairies called to me; the susurrus of the giant pines echoed in my heart; but most of all, i felt the spell of those gentle islands where care is a stranger, and all is sunshine, song and the glowing bloom of eternal summer. about this time mother must have worried a good deal over my future. garry was now the young laird, and i was but an idler, a burden on the estate. at last i told her i wanted to go abroad, and then it seemed as if a great difficulty was solved. we remembered of a cousin who was sheep-ranching in the saskatchewan valley and had done well. it was arranged that i should join him as a pupil, then, when i had learned enough, buy a place of my own. it may be imagined that while i apparently acquiesced in this arrangement, i had already determined that as soon as i reached the new land i would take my destiny into my own hands. i will never forget the damp journey to glasgow and the misty landscape viewed through the streaming window pane of a railway carriage. i was in a wondrous state of elation. when we reached the great smoky city i was lost in amazement not unmixed with fear. never had i imagined such crowds, such houses, such hurry. the three of us, mother, garry and i, wandered and wondered for three days. folks gazed at us curiously, sometimes admiringly, for our cheeks were bright with highland health, and our eyes candid as the june skies. garry in particular, tall, fair and handsome, seemed to call forth glances of interest wherever he went. then as the hour of my departure drew near a shadow fell on us. i will not dwell on our leave-taking. if i broke down in unmanly grief, it must be remembered i had never before been from home. i was but a lad, and these two were all in all to me. mother gave up trying to be brave, and mingled her tears with mine. garry alone contrived to make some show of cheerfulness. alas! all my elation had gone. in its place was a sense of guilt, of desertion, of unconquerable gloom. i had an inkling then of the tragedy of motherhood, the tender love that would hold yet cannot, the world-call and the ruthless, estranging years, all the memories of clinging love given only to be taken away. "don't cry, sweetheart mother," i said; "i'll be back again in three years." "mind you do, my boy, mind you do." she looked at me woefully sad, and i had a queer, heartrending prevision i would never see her more. garry was supporting her, and she seemed to have suddenly grown very frail. he was pale and quiet, but i could see he was vastly moved. "athol," said he, "if ever you need me just send for me. i'll come, no matter how long or how hard the way." i can see them to this day standing there in the drenching rain, garry fine and manly, mother small and drooping. i can see her with her delicate rose colour, her eyes like wood violets drowned in tears, her tender, sensitive lips quivering with emotion. "good-bye, laddie, good-bye." i forced myself away, and stumbled on board. when i looked back again they were gone, but through the grey shadows there seemed to come back to me a cry of heartache and irremediable loss. "good-bye, good-bye." chapter iii it was on a day of early autumn when i stood knee-deep in the heather of glengyle, and looked wistfully over the grey sea. 'twas but a month later when, homeless and friendless, i stood on the beach by the cliff house of san francisco, and gazed over the fretful waters of another ocean. such is the romance of destiny. consigned, so to speak, to my cousin the sheep-raiser of the saskatchewan, i found myself setting foot on the strange land with but little heart for my new vocation. my mind, cramful of book notions, craved for the larger life. i was valiantly mad for adventure; to fare forth haphazardly; to come upon naked danger; to feel the bludgeonings of mischance; to tramp, to starve, to sleep under the stars. it was the callow boy-idea perpetuated in the man, and it was to lead me a sorry dance. but i could not overbear it. strong in me was the spirit of the gypsy. the joy of youth and health was brawling in my veins. a few thistledown years, said i, would not matter. and there was stevenson and his glamorous islands winning me on. so it came about i stood solitary on the beach by the seal rocks, with a thousand memories confusing in my head. there was the long train ride with its strange pictures: the crude farms, the glooming forests, the gleaming lakes that would drown my whole country, the aching plains, the mountains that rip-sawed the sky, the fear-made-eternal of the desert. lastly, a sudden, sunlit paradise, california. i had lived through a week of wizardry such as i had never dreamed of, and here was i at the very throne of western empire. and what a place it was, and what a people--with the imperious mood of the west softened by the spell of the orient and mellowed by the glamour of old spain. san francisco! a score of tongues clamoured in her streets and in her byways a score of races lurked austerely. she suckled at her breast the children of the old grey nations and gave them of her spirit, that swift purposeful spirit so proud of past achievement and so convinced of glorious destiny. i marvelled at the rush of affairs and the zest of amusement. every one seemed to be making money easily and spending it eagerly. every one was happy, sanguine, strenuous. at night market street was a dazzling alley of light, where stalwart men and handsome women jostled in and out of the glittering restaurants. yet amid this eager, passionate life i felt a dreary sense of outsideness. at times my heart fairly ached with loneliness, and i wandered the pathways of the park, or sat forlornly in portsmouth square as remote from it all as a gazer on his mountain top beneath the stars. i became a dreamer of the water front, for the notion of the south seas was ever in my head. i loafed in the sunshine, sitting on the pier-edge, with eyes fixed on the lazy shipping. these were care-free, irresponsible days, and not, i am now convinced, entirely misspent. i came to know the worthies of the wharfside, and plunged into an under-world of fascinating repellency. crimpdom eyed and tempted me, but it was always with whales or seals, and never with pearls or copra. i rubbed shoulders with eager necessity, scrambled for free lunches in frowsy bar-rooms, and amid the scum and débris of the waterside found much food for sober thought. yet at times i blamed myself for thus misusing my days, and memories of glengyle and mother and garry loomed up with reproachful vividness. i was, too, a seeker of curious experience, and this was to prove my undoing. the night-side of the city was unveiled to me. with the assurance of innocence i wandered everywhere. i penetrated the warrens of underground chinatown, wondering why white women lived there, and why they hid at sight of me. alone i poked my way into the opium joints and the gambling dens. vice, amazingly unabashed, flaunted itself in my face. i wondered what my grim, covenanting ancestors would have made of it all. i never thought to have seen the like, and in my inexperience it was like a shock to me. my nocturnal explorations came to a sudden end. one foggy midnight, coming up pacific street with its glut of saloons, i was clouted shrewdly from behind and dropped most neatly in the gutter. when i came to, very sick and dizzy in a side alley, i found i had been robbed of my pocketbook with nearly all my money therein. fortunately i had left my watch in the hotel safe, and by selling it was not entirely destitute; but the situation forced me from my citadel of pleasant dreams, and confronted me with the grimmer realities of life. i became a habitué of the ten-cent restaurant. i was amazed to find how excellent a meal i could have for ten cents. oh for the uncaptious appetite of these haphazard days! with some thirty-odd dollars standing between me and starvation, it was obvious i must become a hewer of wood and a drawer of water, and to this end i haunted the employment offices. they were bare, sordid rooms, crowded by men who chewed, swapped stories, yawned and studied the blackboards where the day's wants were set forth. only driven to labour by dire necessity, their lives, i found, held three phases--looking for work, working, spending the proceeds. they were the great unskilled, face to face with the necessary evil of toil. one morning, on seeking my favourite labour bureau, i found an unusual flutter among the bench-warmers. a big contractor wanted fifty men immediately. no experience was required, and the wages were to be two dollars a day. with a number of others i pressed forward, was interviewed and accepted. the same day we were marched in a body to the railway depot and herded into a fourth-class car. where we were going i knew not; of what we were going to do i had no inkling. i only knew we were southbound, and at long last i might fairly consider myself to be the shuttlecock of fortune. chapter iv i left san francisco blanketed in grey fog and besomed by a roaring wind; when i opened my eyes i was in a land of spacious sky and broad, clean sunshine. orange groves rushed to welcome us; orchards of almond and olive twinkled joyfully in the limpid air; tall, gaunt and ragged, the scaly eucalyptus fluttered at us a morning greeting, while snowy houses, wallowing in greenery, flashed a smile as we rumbled past. it seemed like a land of promise, of song and sunshine, and silent and apart i sat to admire and to enjoy. "looks pretty swell, don't it?" i will call him the prodigal. he was about my own age, thin, but sun-browned and healthy. his hair was darkly red and silky, his teeth white and even as young corn. his eyes twinkled with a humorsome light, but his face was shrewd, alert and aggressive. "yes," i said soberly, for i have always been backward with strangers. "pretty good line. the banana belt. old sol working overtime. blossom and fruit cavorting on the same tree. eternal summer. land of the _mañana_, the festive frijole, the never-chilly chili. ever been here before?" "no." "neither have i. glad i came, even if it's to do the horny-handed son of toil stunt. got the makings?" "no, i'm sorry; i don't smoke." "all right, guess i got enough." he pulled forth a limp sack of powdery tobacco, and spilled some grains into a brown cigarette paper, twisting it deftly and bending over the ends. then he smoked with such enjoyment that i envied him. "where are we going, have you any idea?" i asked. "search me," he said, inhaling deeply; "the guy in charge isn't exactly a free information bureau. when it comes to peddling the bull con he's there, but when you try to pry off a few slabs of cold hard fact it's his sunday off." "but," i persisted, "have you no idea?" "well, one thing you can bank on, they'll work the judas out of us. the gentle grafter nestles in our midst. this here's a cinch game and we are the fall guys. the contractors are a bum outfit. they'll squeeze us at every turn. there was two plunks to the employment man; they got half. twenty for railway fare; they come in on that. stop at certain hotels: a rake-off there. stage fare: more graft. five dollars a week for board: costs them two-fifty, and they will be stomach robbers at that. then they'll ring in twice as many men as they need, and lay us off half the time, so that we just about even up on our board bill. oh, i'm onto their curves all right." "then," i said, "if you know so much why did you come with us?" "well, if i know so much you just bet i know some more. i'll go one better. you watch my smoke." he talked on with a wonderful vivid manner and an outpouring knowledge of life, so that i was hugely interested. yet ever and anon an allusion of taste would betray him, and at no time did i fail to see that his roughness was only a veneer. as it turned out he was better educated by far than i, a yale boy taking a post-graduate course in the university of hard luck. my reserve once thawed, i told him much of my simple life. he listened, intently sympathetic. "say," said he earnestly when i had finished, "i'm rough-and-ready in my ways. life to me's a game, sort of masquerade, and i'm the worst masquerader in the bunch. but i know how to handle myself, and i can jolly my way along pretty well. now, you're green, if you'll excuse me saying it, and maybe i can help you some. likewise you're the only one in all the gang of hoboes that's my kind. come on, let's be partners." i felt greatly drawn to him and agreed gladly. "now," said he, "i must go and jolly along the other boys. aren't they a fierce bunch? coloured gentlemen, slavonians, polaks, dagoes, swedes--well, i'll go prospecting, and see what i can strike." he went among them with a jabber of strange terms, a bright smile and ready banter, and i could see that he was to be a quick favourite. i envied him for his ease of manner, a thing i could never compass. presently he returned to me. "say, partner, got any money?" there was something frank and compelling in his manner, so that i produced the few dollars i had left, and spread them before him. "that's all my wealth," i said smilingly. he divided it into two equal portions and returned one to me. he took a note of the other, saying: "all right, i'll settle up with you later on." he went off with my money. he seemed to take it for granted i would not object, and on my part i cared little, being only too eager to show i trusted him. a few minutes later behold him seated at a card-table with three rough-necked, hard-bitten-looking men. they were playing poker, and, thinks i: "here's good-bye to my money." it minded me of wolves and a lamb. i felt sorry for my new friend, and i was only glad he had so little to lose. we were drawing in to los angeles when he rejoined me. to my surprise he emptied his pockets of wrinkled notes and winking silver to the tune of twenty dollars, and dividing it equally, handed half to me. "here," says he, "plant that in your dip." "no," i said, "just give me back what you borrowed; that's all i want." "oh, forget it! you staked me, and it's well won. these guinneys took me for a jay. thought i was easy, but i've forgotten more than they ever knew, and i haven't forgotten so much either." "no, you keep it, please. i don't want it." "oh, come! put your scotch scruples in your pocket. take the money." "no," i said obstinately. "look here, this partnership of ours is based on financial equality. if you don't like my gate, you don't need to swing on it." "all right," said i tartly, "i don't want to." then i turned on my heel. chapter v on either side of us were swift hills mottled with green and gold, ahead a curdle of snow-capped mountains, above a sky of robin's-egg blue. the morning was lyric and set our hearts piping as we climbed the canyon. we breathed deeply of the heady air, exclaimed at sight of a big bee ranch, shouted as a mule team with jingling bells came swinging down the trail. with cries of delight we forded the little crystal stream wherever the trail plunged knee-deep through it. higher and higher we climbed, mile after mile, our packs on our shoulders, our hearts very merry. i was as happy as a holiday schoolboy, willing this should go on for ever, dreading to think of the grim-visaged toil that awaited us. about midday we reached the end. gangs of men were everywhere, ripping and tearing at the mountain side. there was a roar of blasting, and rocks hurtled down on us. bunkhouses of raw lumber sweated in the sun. everywhere was the feverish activity of a construction camp. we were assigned to a particular bunkhouse, and there was a great rush for places. it was floorless, doorless and in part roofless. above the medley of voices i heard that of the prodigal: "say, fellows, let's find the softest side of this board! strikes me the company's mighty considerate. all kinds of ventilation. good chance to study astronomy. wonder if i couldn't borrow a mattress somewhere? ha! good eye! watch me, fellows!" we saw him make for a tent nearby where horses were stabled. he reconnoitred carefully, then darted inside to come out in a twinkling, staggering under a bale of hay. "how's that for rustling? i guess i'm slow--hey, what? guess this is poor!" he was wadding his bunk with the hay, while the others looked on rather enviously. then, as a bell rang, he left off. "hash is ready, boys; last call to the dining-car. come on and see the pigs get their heads in the trough." we hurried to the cookhouse, where a tin plate, a tin cup, a tin spoon and a cast-iron knife was laid for each of us at a table of unplaned boards. a great mess of hash was ready, and excepting myself every one ate voraciously. i found something more to my taste, a can of honey and some soda crackers, on which i supped gratefully. when i returned to the bunkhouse i found my bunk had been stuffed with nice soft hay, and my blankets spread on top. i looked over to the prodigal. he was reading, a limp cigarette between his yellow-stained fingers. i went up to him. "it's very good of you to do this," i said. "oh no! not at all. don't mention it," he answered with much politeness, never raising his eyes from the book. "well," i said, "i've just got to thank you. and look here, let's make it up. don't let the business of that wretched money come between us. can't we be friends anyway?" he sprang up and gripped my hand. "sure! nothing i want more. i'm sorry. another time i'll make allowance for that shorter-catechism conscience of yours. now let's go over to that big fire they've made and chew the rag." so we sat by the crackling blaze of mesquite, sagebrush and live-oak limbs, while over us twinkled the friendly stars, and he told me many a strange story of his roving life. "you know, the old man's all broke up at me playing the fool like this. he's got a glue factory back in massachusetts. guess he stacks up about a million or so. wanted me to go into the glue factory, begin at the bottom, stay with it. 'stick to glue, my boy,' he says; 'become the glue king,' and so on. but not with little willie. life's too interesting a proposition to be turned down like that. i'm not repentant. i know the fatted calf's waiting for me, getting fatter every day. one of these days i'll go back and sample it." it was he i first heard talk of the great white land, and it stirred me strangely. "every one's crazy about it. they're rushing now in thousands, to get there before the winter begins. next spring there will be the biggest stampede the world has ever seen. say, scotty, i've the greatest notion to try it. let's go, you and i. i had a partner once, who'd been up there. it's a big, dark, grim land, but there's the gold, shining, shining, and it's calling us to go. somehow it haunts me, that soft, gleamy, virgin gold there in the solitary rivers with not a soul to pick it up. i don't care one rip for the value of it. i can make all i want out of glue. but the adventure, the excitement, it's that that makes me fit for the foolish house." he was silent a long time while my imagination conjured up terrible, fascinating pictures of the vast, unawakened land, and a longing came over me to dare its shadows. as we said good-night, his last words were: "remember, scotty, we're both going to join the big stampede, you and i." chapter vi i slept but fitfully, for the night air was nipping, and the bunkhouse nigh as open as a cage. a bonny morning it was, and the sun warmed me nicely, so that over breakfast i was in a cheerful humour. afterwards i watched the gang labouring, and showed such an injudicious interest that that afternoon i too was put to work. it was very simple. running into the mountain there was a tunnel, which they were lining with concrete, and it was the task of i and another to push cars of the stuff from the outlet to the scene of operations. my partner was a swede who had toiled from boyhood, while i had never done a day's work in my life. it was as much as i could do to lift the loaded boxes into the car. then we left the sunshine behind us, and for a quarter of a mile of darkness we strained in an uphill effort. from the roof, which we stooped to avoid, sheets of water descended. every now and then the heavy cars would run off the rails, which were of scantling, worn and frayed by friction. then my swede would storm in berserker rage, and we would lift till the veins throbbed in my head. never had time seemed so long. a convict working in the salt mines of siberia did not revolt more against his task than i. the sweat blinded me; a bright steel pain throbbed in my head; my heart seemed to hammer. never so thankful was i as when we had made our last trip, and sick and dizzy i put on my coat to go home. it was dark. there was a cable line running from the tunnel to the camp, and down this we shot in buckets two at a clip. the descent gave me a creepy sensation, but it saved a ten minutes' climb down the mountain side, and i was grateful. tired, wet and dirty, how i envied the prodigal lying warm and cosy on his fragrant hay. he was reading a novel. but the thought that i had earned a dollar comforted me. after supper he, with ginger and dutchy, played solo till near midnight, while i tossed on my bunk too weary and sore to sleep. next day was a repetition of the first, only worse. i ached as if i had been beaten. stiff and sore i dragged myself to the tunnel again. i lifted, strained, tugged and shoved with a set and tragic face. five hours of hell passed. it was noon. i nursed my strength for the after effort. angrily i talked to myself, and once more i pulled through. weary and slimy with wet mud, i shot down the cable line. snugly settled in his bunk, the prodigal had read another two hundred pages of "les misérables." yet--i reflected somewhat sadly--i had made two dollars. on the third day sheer obstinacy forced me to the tunnel. my self-respect goaded me on. i would not give in. i must hold this job down, i _must_, i must. then at the noon hour i fainted. no one saw me, so i gritted my teeth and once more threw my weight against the cars. once more night found me waiting to descend in the bucket. then as i stood there was a crash and shouts from below. the cable had snapped. my swede and another lay among the rocks with sorely broken bones. poor beggars! how they must have suffered jolting down that boulder-strewn trail to the hospital. somehow that destroyed my nerve. i blamed myself indeed. i flogged myself with reproaches, but it was of no avail. i would sooner beg my bread than face that tunnel once again. the world seemed to be divided into two parts, the rest of it and that tunnel. thank god, i didn't _have_ to go into it again. i was exultantly happy that i didn't. the prodigal had finished his book, and was starting another. that night he borrowed some of my money to play solo with. next day i saw the foreman. i said: "i want to go. the work up there's too hard for me." he looked at me kindly. "all right, sonny," says he, "don't quit. i'll put you in the gravel pit." so next day i found a more congenial task. there were four of us. we threw the gravel against a screen where the finer stuff that sifted through was used in making concrete. the work was heart-breaking in its monotony. in the biting cold of the morning we made a start, long before the sun peeped above the wall of mountain. we watched it crawl, snail-like, over the virgin sky. we panted in its heat. we saw it drop again behind the mountain wall, leaving the sky gorgeously barred with colour from a tawny orange glow to an ice-pale green--a regular _pousse café_ of a sunset. then when the cold and the dark surged back, by the light of the evening star we straightened our weary spines, and throwing aside pick and shovel hurried to supper. heigh-ho! what a life it was. resting, eating, sleeping; negative pleasures became positive ones. life's great principle of compensation worked on our behalf, and to lie at ease, reading an old paper, seemed an exquisite enjoyment. i was much troubled about the prodigal. he complained of muscular rheumatism, and except to crawl to meals was unable to leave his bunk. every day came the foreman to inquire anxiously if he was fit to go to work, but steadily he grew worse. yet he bore his suffering with great spirit, and, among that nondescript crew, he was a thing of joy and brightness, a link with that other world which was mine own. they nicknamed him "happy," his cheerfulness was so invincible. he played cards on every chance, and he must have been unlucky, for he borrowed the last of my small hoard. one morning i woke about six, and found, pinned to my blanket, a note from my friend. "dear scotty: "i grieve to leave you thus, but the cruel foreman insists on me working off my ten days' board. racked with pain as i am, there appears to be no alternative but flight. accordingly i fade away once more into the unknown. will write you general delivery, los angeles. good luck and good-bye. yours to a cinder, "happy." there was a hue and cry after him, but he was gone, and a sudden disgust for the place came over me. for two more days i worked, crushed by a gloom that momently intensified. clamant and imperative in me was the voice of change. i could not become toil-broken, so i saw the foreman. "why do you want to go?" he asked reproachfully. "well, sir, the work's too monotonous." "monotonous! well, that's the rummest reason i ever heard a man give for quitting. but every man knows his own business best. i'll give you a time-cheque." while he was making it out i wondered if, indeed, i did know my own business best; but if it had been the greatest folly in the world, i was bound to get out of that canyon. treasuring the slip of paper representing my labour, i sought one of the bosses, a sour, stiff man of dyspeptic tendencies. with a smile of malicious sweetness he returned it to me. "all right, take it to our oakland office, and you'll get the cash." expectantly i had been standing there, thinking to receive my money, the first i had ever earned (and to me so distressfully earned, at that). now i gazed at him very sick at heart: for was not oakland several hundred miles away, and i was penniless. "couldn't you cash it here?" i faltered at last. "no!" (very sourly). "couldn't you discount it, then?" "no!" (still more tartly). i turned away, crestfallen and smarting. when i told the other boys they were indignant, and a good deal alarmed on their own account. i made my case against the company as damning as i could, then, slinging my blankets on my back, set off once more down the canyon. chapter vii i was gaining in experience, and as i hurried down the canyon and the morning burgeoned like a rose, my spirits mounted invincibly. it was the joy of the open road and the care-free heart. like some hideous nightmare was the memory of the tunnel and the gravel pit. the bright blood in me rejoiced; my muscles tensed with pride in their toughness; i gazed insolently at the world. so, as i made speed to get the sooner to the orange groves, i almost set heel on a large blue envelope which lay face up on the trail. i examined it and, finding it contained plans and specifications of the work we had been at, i put it in my pocket. presently came a rider, who reined up by me. "say, young man, you haven't seen a blue envelope, have you?" something in the man's manner aroused in me instant resentment. i was the toiler in mud-stiffened overalls, he arrogant and supercilious in broadcloth and linen. "no," i said sourly, and, going on my way, heard him clattering up the canyon. it was about evening when i came onto a fine large plain. behind me was the canyon, gloomy like the lair of some evil beast, while before me the sun was setting, and made the valley like a sea of golden glaze. i stood, knight-errant-wise, on the verge of one of those enchanted lands of precious memory, seeking the princess of my dreams; but all i saw was a man coming up the trail. he was reeling homeward, with under one arm a live turkey, and swinging from the other a demijohn of claret. he would have me drink. he represented the christmas spirit, and his accent was scotch, so i up-tilted his demijohn gladly enough. then, for he was very merry, he would have it that we sing "auld lang syne." so there, on the heath, in the golden dance of the light, we linked our hands and lifted our voices like two daft folk. yet, for that it was christmas eve, it seemed not to be so mad after all. there was my first orange grove. i ran to it eagerly, and pulled four of the largest fruit i could see. they were green-like of rind and bitter sour, but i heeded not, eating the last before i was satisfied. then i went on my way. as i entered the town my spirits fell. i remembered i was quite without money and had not yet learned to be gracefully penniless. however, i bethought me of the time-cheque, and entering a saloon asked the proprietor if he would cash it. he was a german of jovial face that seemed to say: "welcome, my friend," and cold, beady eyes that queried: "how much can i get of your wad?" it was his eyes i noticed. "no, i don'd touch dot. i haf before been schvindled. himmel, no! you take him avay." i sank into a chair. catching a glimpse of my face in a bar mirror, i wondered if that hollow-cheeked, weary-looking lad was i. the place was crowded with revellers of the christmastide, and geese were being diced for. there were three that pattered over the floor, while in the corner the stage-driver and a red-haired man were playing freeze-out for one of them. i drowsed quietly. wafts of bar-front conversation came to me. "envelope ... lost plans ... great delay." suddenly i sat up, remembering the package i had found. "were you looking for some lost plans?" i asked. "yes," said one man eagerly, "did you find them?" "i didn't say i did, but if i could get them for you, would you cash this time-cheque for me?" "sure," he says, "one good turn deserves another. deliver the goods and i'll cash your time-cheque." his face was frank and jovial. i drew out the envelope and handed it over. he hurriedly ran through the contents and saw that all were there. "ha! that saves a trip to 'frisco," he said, gay with relief. he turned to the bar and ordered a round of drinks. they all had a drink on him, while he seemed to forget about me. i waited a little, then pressed forward with my time-cheque. "oh that," said he, "i won't cash that. i was only joshing." a feeling of bitter anger welled up within me. i trembled like a leaf. "you won't go back on your word?" i said. he became flustered. "well, i can't do it anyway. i've got no loose cash." what i would have said or done i know not, for i was nigh desperate; but at this moment the stage-driver, flushed with his victory at freeze-out, snatched the paper from my hand. "here, i'll discount that for you. i'll only give you five dollars for it, though." it called for fourteen, but by this time i was so discouraged i gladly accepted the five-dollar goldpiece he held out to tempt me. thus were my fortunes restored. it was near midnight and i asked the german for a room. he replied that he was full up, but as i had my blankets there was a nice dry shed at the back. alas! it was also used by his chickens. they roosted just over my head, and i lay on the filthy floor at the mercy of innumerable fleas. to complete my misery the green oranges i had eaten gave me agonizing cramps. glad, indeed, was i when day dawned, and once more i got afoot, with my face turned towards los angeles. chapter viii los angeles will always be written in golden letters in the archives of my memory. crawling, sore and sullen, from the clutch of toil, i revelled in a lotus life of ease and idleness. there was infinite sunshine, and the quiet of a public library through whose open windows came the fragrance of magnolias. living was incredibly cheap. for seventy-five cents a week i had a little sunlit attic, and for ten cents i could dine abundantly. there was soup, fish, meat, vegetables, salad, pudding and a bottle of wine. so reading, dreaming and roaming the streets, i spent my days in a state of beatitude. but even five dollars will not last for ever, and the time came when once more the grim face of toil confronted me. i must own that i had now little stomach for hard labour, yet i made several efforts to obtain it. however, i had a bad manner, being both proud and shy, and one rebuff in a day always was enough. i lacked that self-confidence that readily finds employment, and again i found myself mixing with the spineless residuum of the employment bureau. at last the morning came when twenty-five cents was all that remained to me in the world. i had just been seeking a position as a dish-washer, and had been rather sourly rejected. sitting solitary on the bench in that dreary place, i soliloquized: "and so it has come to this, that i, athol meldrum, of gentle birth and highland breeding, must sue in vain to understudy a scullion in a third-rate hash joint. i am, indeed, fallen. what mad folly is this that sets me lower than a menial? here i might be snug in the northwest raising my own fat sheep. a letter home would bring me instant help. yet what would it mean? to own defeat; to lose my self-esteem; to call myself a failure. no, i won't. come what may, i will play the game." at that moment the clerk wrote:-- "man wanted to carry banner." "how much do you want for that job?" i asked. "oh, two bits will hold you," he said carelessly. "any experience required?" i asked again. "no, i guess even you'll do for that," he answered cuttingly. so i parted with my last quarter and was sent to a sheeny store in broadway. here i was given a vociferous banner announcing: "great retiring sale," and so forth. with this hoisted i sallied forth, at first very conscious and not a little ashamed. yet by and by this feeling wore off, and i wandered up and down with no sense of my employment, which, after all, was one adapted to philosophic thought. i might have gone through the day in this blissful coma of indifference had not a casual glance at my banner thrilled me with horror. there it was in hideous, naked letters of red: "retireing sale." i reeled under the shock. i did not mind packing a banner, but a misspelt one.... i hurried back to the store, resolved to throw up my position. luckily the day was well advanced, and as i had served my purpose i was given a silver dollar. on this dollar i lived for a month. not every one has done that, yet it is easy to do. this is how i managed. in the first place i told the old lady who rented me my room that i could not pay her until i got work, and i gave her my blankets as security. there remained only the problem of food. this i solved by buying every day or so five cents' worth of stale bread, which i ate in my room, washing it down with pure spring water. a little imagination and lo! my bread was beef, my water wine. thus breakfast and dinner. for supper there was the pacific gospel hall, where we gathered nightly one hundred strong, bawled hymns, listened to sundry good people and presently were given mugs of coffee and chunks of bread. how good the fragrant coffee tasted and how sweet the fresh bread! at the end of the third week i got work as an orange-picker. it was a matter of swinging long ladders into fruit-flaunting trees, of sunshiny days and fluttering leaves, of golden branches plundered, and boxes filled from sagging sacks. there is no more ideal occupation. i revelled in it. the others were mexicans; i was "el gringo." but on an average i only made fifty cents a day. on one day, when the fruit was unusually large, i made seventy cents. possibly i would have gone on, contentedly enough, perched on a ladder, high up in the sunlit sway of treetops, had not the work come to an end. i had been something of a financier on a picayune scale, and when i counted my savings and found that i had four hundred and ninety-five cents, such a feeling of affluence came over me that i resolved to gratify my taste for travel. accordingly i purchased a ticket for san diego, and once more found myself southward bound. chapter ix a few days in san diego reduced my small capital to the vanishing point, yet it was with a light heart i turned north again and took the all-tie route for los angeles. if one of the alluring conditions of a walking tour is not to be overburdened with cash surely i fulfilled it, for i was absolutely penniless. the lord looks after his children, said i, and when i became too inexorably hungry i asked for bread, emphasising my willingness to do a stunt on the woodpile. perhaps it was because i was young and notably a novice in vagrancy, but people were very good to me. the railway track skirts the ocean side for many a sonorous league. the mile-long waves roll in majestically, as straight as if drawn with a ruler, and crash in thunder on the sandy beach. there were glorious sunsets and weird storms, with underhanded lightning stabs at the sky. i built little huts of discarded railway ties, and lit camp-fires, for i was fearful of the crawling things i saw by day. the coyote called from the hills. uneasy rustlings came from the sagebrush. my teeth, a-chatter with cold, kept me awake, till i cinched a handkerchief around my chin. yet, drenched with night-dews, half-starved and travel-worn, i seemed to grow every day stronger and more fit. between bondage and vagabondage i did not hesitate to choose. leaving the sea, i came to a country of grass and she-oaks very pretty to see, like an english park. i passed horrible tulé swamps, and reached a cattle land with corrals and solitary cowboys. there was a quaint old spanish mission that lingers in my memory, then once again i came into the land of the orange-groves and the irrigating ditch. here i fell in with two of the hobo fraternity, and we walked many miles together. one night we slept in a refrigerator car, where i felt as if icicles were forming on my spine. but walking was not much in their line, so next morning they jumped a train and we separated. i was very thankful, as they did not look over-clean, and i had a wholesome horror of "seam-squirrels." on arriving in los angeles i went to the post office. there was a letter from the prodigal dated new york, and inclosing fourteen dollars, the amount he owed me. he said: "i returned to the paternal roof, weary of my rôle. the fatted calf awaited me. nevertheless, i am sick again for the unhallowed swine-husks. meet me in 'frisco about the end of february, and i will a glorious proposition unfold. don't fail. i must have a partner and i want you. look for a letter in the general delivery." there was no time to lose, as february was nearly over. i took a steerage passage to san francisco, resolving that i would mend my fortunes. it is so easy to drift. i was already in the social slough, a hobo and an outcast. i saw that as long as i remained friendless and unknown nothing but degraded toil was open to me. surely i could climb up, but was it worth while? a snug farm in the northwest awaited me. i would work my way back there, and arrive decently clad. then none would know of my humiliation. i had been wayward and foolish, but i had learned something. the men who toiled, endured and suffered were kind and helpful, their masters mean and rapacious. everywhere was the same sordid grasping for the dollar. with my ideals and training nothing but discouragement and defeat would be my portion. oh, it is so easy to drift! i was sick of the whole business. chapter x what with steamer fare and a few small debts to settle, i found when i landed in san francisco that once more i was flatly broke. i was arrestively seedy, literally on my uppers, for owing to my long tramp my boots were barely holding together. there was no letter for me, and perhaps it was on account of my disappointment, perhaps on account of my extreme shabbiness, but i found i had quite lost heart. looking as i did, i would not ask any one for work. so i tightened my belt and sat in portsmouth square, cursing myself for the many nickels i had squandered in riotous living. two days later i was still drawing in my belt. all i had eaten was one meal, which i had earned by peeling half a sack of potatoes for a restaurant. i slept beneath the floor of an empty house out the presidio way. on this day i was drowsing on my bench when some one addressed me. "say, young fellow, you look pretty well used up." i saw an elderly, grey-haired man. "oh no!" i said, "i'm not. that's just my acting. i'm a millionaire in disguise, studying sociology." he came and sat by me. "come, buck up, kid, you're pretty near down and out. i've been studyin' you them two days." "two days," i echoed drearily. "it seems like two years." then, with sudden fierceness: "sir, i am a stranger to you. never in my life before have i tried to borrow money. it is asking a great deal of you to trust me, but it will be a most christian act. i am starving. if you have ten cents that isn't working lend it to me for the love of god. i'll pay you back if it takes me ten years." "all right, son," he said cheerfully; "let's go and feed." he took me to a restaurant where he ordered a dinner that made my head swim. i felt near to fainting, but after i had had some brandy, i was able to go on with the business of eating. by the time i got to the coffee i was as much excited by the food as if i had been drinking wine. i now took an opportunity to regard my benefactor. he was rather under medium height, but so square and solid you felt he was a man to be reckoned with. his skin was as brown as an indian's, his eyes light-blue and brightly cheerful, as from some inner light. his mouth was firm and his chin resolute. altogether his face was a curious blend of benevolence and ruthless determination. now he was regarding me in a manner entirely benevolent. "feel better, son? well, go ahead an' tell me as much of your story as you want to." i gave an account of all that had happened to me since i had set foot on the new land. "huh!" he ejaculated when i had finished. "that's the worst of your old-country boys. you haven't got the get-up an' nerve to rustle a job. you go to a boss an' tell him: 'you've no experience, but you'll do your best.' an american boy says: 'i can do anything. give me the job an' i'll just show you.' who's goin' to be hired? well, i think i can get you a job helpin' a gardener out alameda way." i expressed my gratitude. "that's all right," he said; "i'm glad by the grace of god i've been the means of givin' you a hand-up. better come to my room an' stop with me till somethin' turns up. i'm goin' north in three days." i asked if he was going to the yukon. "yes, i'm goin' to join this crazy rush to the klondike. i've been minin' for twenty years, arizona, colorado, all over, an' now i am a-goin' to see if the north hasn't got a stake for me." up in his room he told me of his life. "i'm saved by the grace of god, but i've been a bad man. i've been everything from a city marshal to boss gambler. i have gone heeled for two years, thinking to get my pass to hell at any moment." "ever killed any one?" i queried. he was beginning to pace up and down the room. "glory to god, i haven't, but i've shot.... there was a time when i could draw a gun an' drive a nail in the wall. i was quick, but there was lots that could give me cards and spades. quiet men, too, you would never think it of 'em. the quiet ones was the worst. meek, friendly, decent men, to see them drinkin' at a bar, but they didn't know fear, an' every one of 'em had a dozen notches on his gun. i know lots of them, chummed with them, an' princes they were, the finest in the land, would give the shirts off their backs for a friend. you'd like them--but lord be praised, i'm a saved man." i was deeply interested. "i know i'm talking as i shouldn't. it's all over now, an' i've seen the evil of my ways, but i've got to talk once in a while. i'm jim hubbard, known as 'salvation jim,' an' i know minin' from genesis to revelation. once i used to gamble an' drink the limit. one morning i got up from the card-table after sitting there thirty-six hours. i'd lost five thousand dollars. i knew they'd handed me out 'cold turkey,' but i took my medicine. "right then i said i'd be a crook too. i learned to play with marked cards. i could tell every card in the deck. i ran a stud-poker game, with a jap an' a chinaman for partners. they were quicker than white men, an' less likely to lose their nerve. it was easy money, like taking candy from a kid. often i would play on the square. no man can bluff strong without showing it. maybe it's just a quiver of the eyelash, maybe a shuffle of the foot. i've studied a man for a month till i found the sign that gave him away. then i've raised an' raised him till the sweat pricked through his brow. he was my meat. i went after the men that robbed me, an' i went one better. here, shuffle this deck." he produced a pack of cards from a drawer. "i'll never go back to the old trade. i'm saved. i trust in god, but just for diversion i keep my hand in." talking to me, he shuffled the pack a few times. "here, i'm dealing; what do you want? three kings?" i nodded. he dealt four hands. in mine there were three kings. taking up another he showed me three aces. "i'm out of practice," he said apologetically. "my hands are calloused. i used to keep them as soft as velvet." he showed me some false shuffles, dealing from under the deck, and other tricks. "yes, i got even with the ones that got my money. it was eat or be eaten. i went after the suckers. there was never a man did me dirt but i paid him with interest. of course, it's different now. the good book says: 'do good unto them that harm you.' i guess i would, but i wouldn't recommend no one to try and harm me. i might forget." the heavy, aggressive jaw shot forward; the eyes gleamed with a fearless ferocity, and for a moment the man took on an air that was almost tigerish. i could scarce believe my sight; yet the next instant it was the same cheerful, benevolent face, and i thought my eyes must have played me some trick. perhaps it was that sedate puritan strain in me that appealed to him, but we became great friends. we talked of many things, and most of all i loved to get him to tell of his early life. it was just like a story: thrown on the world while yet a child; a shoeblack in new york, fighting for his stand; a lumber-jack in the woods of michigan; lastly a miner in arizona. he told me of long months on the desert with only his pipe for company, talking to himself over the fire at night, and trying not to go crazy. he told me of the girl he married and worshipped, and of the man who broke up his home. once more i saw that flitting tiger-look appear on his face and vanish immediately. he told me of his wild days. "i was always a fighter, an' i never knew what fear meant. i never saw the man that could beat me in a rough-an'-tumble scrap. i was uncommon husky an' as quick as a cat, but it was my fierceness that won out for me. get a man down an' give him the leather. i've kicked a man's face to a jelly. it was kick, bite an' gouge in them days--anything went. "yes, i never knew fear. i've gone up unarmed to a man i knew was heeled to shoot me on sight, an' i've dared him to do it. just by the power of the eye i've made him take water. he thought i had a gun an' could draw quicker'n him. then, as the drink got hold of me, i got worse and worse. time was when i would have robbed a bank an' shot the man that tried to stop me. glory to god! i've seen the evil of my ways." "are you sure you'll never backslide?" i asked. "never! i'm born again. i don't smoke, drink or gamble, an' i'm as happy as the day's long. there was the drink. i would go on the water-wagon for three months at a stretch, but day and night, wherever i went, the glass of whisky was there right between my eyes. sooner or later it got the better of me. then one night i went half-sober into a gospel hall. the glass was there, an' i was in agony tryin' to resist it. the speaker was callin' sinners to come forward. i thought i'd try the thing anyway, so i went to the penitents' bench. when i got up the glass was gone. of course it came back, but i got rid of it again in the same way. well, i had many a struggle an' many a defeat, but in the end i won. it's a divine miracle." i wish i could paint or act the man for you. words cannot express his curious character. i came to have a great fondness for him, and certainly owed him a huge debt of gratitude. one day i was paying my usual visit to the post office, when some one gripped me by the arm. "hullo, scotty! by all that's wonderful. i was just going to mail you a letter." it was the prodigal, very well dressed and spruce-looking. "say, i'm so tickled i got you; we're going to start in two days." "start! where?" i asked. "why, for the golden north, for the land of the midnight sun, for the treasure-troves of the klondike valley." "you maybe," i said soberly; "but i can't." "yes you can, and you are, old sport. i fixed all that. come on, i want to talk to you. i went home and did the returned prodigal stunt. the old man was mighty decent when i told him it was no good, i couldn't go into the glue factory yet awhile. told him i had the gold-bug awful bad and nothing but a trip up there would cure me. he was rather tickled with the idea. staked me handsomely, and gave me a year to make good. so here i am, and you're in with me. i'm going to grubstake you. mind, it's a business proposition. i've got to have some one, and when you make the big strike you've got to divvy up." i said something about having secured employment as an under-gardener. "pshaw! you'll soon be digging gold-nuggets instead of potatoes. why, man, it's the chance of a lifetime, and anybody else would jump at it. of course, if you're afraid of the hardships and so on----" "no," i said quickly, "i'll go." "ha!" he laughed, "you're too much of a coward to be afraid. well, we're going to be blighted argonauts, but we've got to get busy over our outfits. we haven't got any too much time." so we hustled around. it seemed as if half of san francisco was klondike-crazy. on every hand was there speculation and excitement. all the merchants had their outfitting departments, and wild and vague were their notions as to what was required. we did not do so badly, though like every one else we bought much that was worthless and foolish. suddenly i bethought me of salvation jim, and i told the prodigal of my new friend. "he's an awfully good sort," i said; "white all through; all kinds of experience, and he's going alone." "why," said the prodigal, "that's just the man we want. we'll ask him to join us." i brought the two together, and it was arranged. so it came about that we three left san francisco on the fourth day of march to seek our fortunes in the frozen north. book ii the trail gold! we leaped from our benches. gold! we sprang from our stools. gold! we wheeled in the furrow, fired with the faith of fools. fearless, unfound, unfitted, far from the night and the cold, heard we the clarion summons, followed the master-lure--gold! chapter i "say! you're looking mighty blue. cheer up, darn you! what's the matter?" said the prodigal affectionately. and indeed there was matter enough, for had i not just received letters from home, one from garry and one from mother? garry's was gravely censorious, almost remonstrant. mother, he said, was poorly, and greatly put out over my escapade. he pointed out that i was in a fair way of being a rolling stone, and hoped that i would at once give up my mad notion of the south seas and soberly proceed to the northwest. mother's letter was reproachful, in parts almost distressful. she was failing, she said, and she begged me to be a good son, give up my wanderings and join my cousin at once. also she enclosed post-office orders for forty pounds. her letter, written in a fine faltering hand and so full of gentle affection, brought the tears to my eyes; so that it was very bleakly i leaned against the ship's rail and watched the bustle of departure. poor mother! dear old garry! with what tender longing i thought of those two in far-away glengyle, the scotch mist silvering the heather and the wind blowing caller from the sea. oh, for the clean, keen breath of it! yet alas, every day was the memory fading, and every day was i fitting more snugly into the new life. "i've just heard from the folks," i said, "and i feel like going back on you." "oh, beat it," he cried; "you can't renig now. you've got to see the thing through. mothers are all like that when you cut loose from their apron-strings. ma's scared stiff about me, thinks the devil's got an option on my future sure. they get wised up pretty soon. what you want to do is to get busy and make yourself acquainted. here i've been snooping round for the last two hours, and got a line on nearly every one on board. say! of all the locoed outfits this here aggregation has got everything else skinned to a hard-boiled finish. most of them are indoor men, ink-slingers and calico snippers; haven't done a day's hard work in their lives, and don't know a pick from a mattock. they've got a notion they've just got to get up there and pick big nuggets out of the water like cherries out of a cocktail. it's the limit." "tell me about them," i said. "well, see that young fellow standing near us?" i looked. he was slim, with gentle, refined features and an unnaturally fresh complexion. "that fellow was a pen-pusher in a mazuma emporium--i mean a bank clerk. pinklove's his name. he wanted to get hitched to some girl, but the directors wouldn't stand for it. now he's chucked his job and staked his savings on this trip. there's his girl in the crowd." bedded in that mosaic of human faces i saw one that was all sweetness, yet shamelessly tear-stained. "lucky beggar," i said, "to have some one who cares so much about his going." "unlucky, you mean, lad. you don't want to have any strings on you when you play this game." he pointed to a long-haired young man in a flowing-end tie. "see that pale-faced, artistic-looking guy alongside him. that's his partner. ineffectual, moony sort of a mut. he's a wood-carver; they call him globstock; told me his knowledge of wood-carving would come in handy when we came to make boats at lake bennett. then there's a third. see that little fellow shooting off his face?" i saw a weazened, narrow-chested mannikin, with an aggressive certainty of feature. "he's a professor, plumb-full of book dope on the yukon. he's mister wise mike. he knows it all. hear his monologue on 'how it should be done.' he's going to live on deck to inure himself to the rigours of the arctic climate. works with a pair of spring dumb-bells to get up his muscle so's he can shovel out the nuggets." our eyes roved round from group to group, picking out characteristic figures. "see that big bleached-blond englishman? came over with me on the pullman from new york. 'awfully bored, don't you know.' when we got to 'frisco, he says to me: 'thank god, old chappie, the worst part of the journey's over.' then there's romulus and remus, the twins, strapping young fellows. only way i know them apart is one laces his boots tight, the other slack. they think the world of each other." he swung around to where salvation jim was talking to two men. "there's a pair of winners. i put my money on them. nothing on earth can stop those fellows, native-born americans, all grit and get-up. see that tall one smoking a cigar and looking at the women? he's an athlete. name's mervin; all whipcord and whalebone; springy as a bent bow. he's a type of the swift. he's bound to get there. see the other. hewson's his name; solid as a tower; muscled like a bear; built from the ground up. he represents the strong. look at the grim, determined face of him. you can't down a man like that." he indicated another group. "now there's three birds of prey. bullhammer, marks and mosher. the big, pig-eyed heavy-jowled one is bullhammer. he's in the saloon business. the middle-sized one in the plug hat is marks. see his oily, yellow face dotted with pimples. he's a phoney piece of work; calls himself a mining broker. the third's jake mosher. he's an out-and-out gambler, a sure-thing man, once was a parson." i looked again. mosher had just taken off his hat. his high-domed head was of monumental baldness, his eyes close-set and crafty, his nose negligible. the rest of his face was mostly beard. it grew black as the pit to near the bulge of his stomach, and seemed to have drained his scalp in its rank luxuriance. across the deck came the rich, oily tones of his voice. "a bad-looking bunch," i said. "yes, there's heaps like them on board. there's a crowd of dance-hall girls going up, and the usual following of parasites. look at that halfbreed. there's a man for the country now, part scotch, part indian; the quietest man on the boat; light, but tough as wire nails." i saw a lean, bright-eyed brown man with flat features, smoking a cigarette. "say! just get next to those two jews, mike and rebecca winklestein. they're going to open up a sporty restaurant." the man was a small bandy-legged creature, with eyes that squinted, a complexion like ham fat and waxed moustaches. but it was the woman who seized my attention. never did i see such a strapping amazon, six foot if an inch, and massive in proportion. she was handsome too, in a swarthy way, though near at hand her face was sensuous and bold. yet she had a suave, flattering manner and a coarse wit that captured the crowd. dangerous, unscrupulous and cruel, i thought; a man-woman, a shrew, a termagant! but i was growing weary of the crowd and longed to go below. i was no longer interested, yet the voice of the prodigal droned in my ear. "there's an old man and his granddaughter, relatives of the winklesteins, i believe. i think the old fellow's got a screw loose. handsome old boy, though; looks like a hebrew prophet out of a job. comes from poland. speaks yiddish or some such jargon; only english he knows is 'klondike, klondike.' the girl looks heartbroken, poor little beggar." "poor little beggar!" i heard the words indeed, but my mind was far away. to the devil with polish jews and their granddaughters. i wished the prodigal would leave me to my own thoughts, thoughts of my highland home and my dear ones. but no! he persisted: "you're not listening to what i'm saying. look, why don't you!" so, to please him, i turned full round and looked. an old man, patriarchal in aspect, crouched on the deck. erect by his side, with her hand on his shoulder, stood a slim figure in black, the figure of a girl. indifferently my eyes travelled from her feet to her face. there they rested. i drew a deep breath. i forgot everything else. then for the first time i saw--berna. i will not try to depict the girl. pen descriptions are so futile. i will only say that her face was very pale, and that she had large pathetic grey eyes. for the rest, her cheeks were woefully pinched and her lips drooped wistfully. 'twas the face, i thought, of a virgin martyr with a fear-haunted look hard to forget. all this i saw, but most of all i saw those great, grey eyes gazing unseeingly over the crowd, ever so sadly fixed on that far-away east of her dreams and memories. "poor little beggar!" then i cursed myself for a sentimental impressionist and i went below. stateroom forty-seven was mine. we three had been separated in the shuffle, and i knew not who was to be my room-mate. feeling very downhearted, i stretched myself on the upper berth, and yielded to a mood of penitential sadness. i heard the last gang-plank thrown off, the great crowd cheer, the measured throb of the engines, yet still i sounded the depths of reverie. there was a bustle outside and growing darkness. then, as i lay, there came voices to my door, guttural tones blended with liquid ones; lastly a timid knock. quickly i answered it. "is this room number forty-seven?" a soft voice asked. even ere she spoke i divined it was the jewish girl of the grey eyes, and now i saw her hair was like a fair cloud, and her face fragile as a flower. "yes," i answered her. she led forward the old man. "this is my grandfather. the steward told us this was his room." "oh, all right; he'd better take the lower berth." "thank you, indeed; he's an old man and not very strong." her voice was clear and sweet, and there was an infinite tenderness in the tone. "you must come in," i said. "i'll leave you with him for a while so that you can make him comfortable." "thank you again," she responded gratefully. so i withdrew, and when i returned she was gone; but the old man slept peacefully. it was late before i turned in. i went on deck for a time. we were cleaving through blue-black night, and on our right i could dimly discern the coast festooned by twinkling lights. every one had gone below, i thought, and the loneliness pleased me. i was very quiet, thinking how good it all was, the balmy wind, the velvet vault of the night frescoed with wistful stars, the freedom-song of the sea; how restful, how sane, how loving! suddenly i heard a sound of sobbing, the merciless sobbing of a woman's breast. distinct above the hollow breathing of the sea it assailed me, poignant and insistent. wonderingly i looked around. then, in a shadow of the upper deck, i made out a slight girl-figure, crouching all alone. it was grey eyes, crying fit to break her heart. "poor little beggar!" i muttered. chapter ii "gr-r-r--you little brat! if you open your face to him i'll kill you, kill you, see!" the voice was madam winklestein's, and the words, hissed in a whisper of incredible malignity, arrested me as if i had been struck by a live wire. i listened. behind the stateroom door there followed a silence, grimly intense; then a dull pounding; then the same savage undertone. "see here, berna, we're next to you two--we're onto your curves. we know the old man's got the stuff in his gold-belt, two thousand in bills. now, my dear, my sweet little angel what thinks she's too good to mix with the likes o' us, we need the mon, see!" (knock, knock.) "and we're goin' to have it, see!" (knock, knock.) "that's where you come in, honey, you're goin' to get it for us. ain't you now, darlin'!" (knock, knock, knock.) faintly, very faintly, i heard a voice: "no." if it be possible to scream in a whisper, the woman did it. "you will! you will! oh! oh! oh! there's the cursed mule spirit of your mother in you. she'd never tell us the name of the man that was the ruin of 'er, blast 'er." "don't speak of my mother, you vile woman!" the voice of the virago contracted to an intensity of venom i have never heard the equal of. "vile woman! vile woman! you, you to call _me_ a vile woman, me that's been three times jined in holy wedlock.... oh, you bastard brat! you whelp of sin! you misbegotten scum! oh, i'll fix you for that, if i've got to swing for it." her scalding words were capped with an oath too foul to repeat, and once more came the horrible pounding, like a head striking the woodwork. unable to bear it any longer, i rapped sharply on the door. silence, a long, panting silence; then the sound of a falling body; then the door opened a little and the twitching face of madam appeared. "is there somebody sick?" i asked. "i'm sorry to trouble you, but i was thinking i heard groans and--i might be able to do something." piercingly she looked at me. her eyes narrowed to slits and stabbed me with their spite. her dark face grew turgid with impotent anger. as i stood there she was like to have killed me. then like a flash her expression changed. with a dirty bejewelled hand she smoothed her tousled hair. her coarse white teeth gleamed in a gold-capped smile. there was honey in her tone. "why, no! my niece in here's got a toothache, but i guess we can fix it between us. we don't need no help, thanks, young feller." "oh, that's all right," i said. "if you should, you know, i'll be nearby." then i moved away, conscious that her eyes followed me malevolently. the business worried me sorely. the poor girl was being woefully abused, that was plain. i felt indignant, angry and, last of all, anxious. mingled with my feelings was a sense of irritation that i should have been elected to overhear the affair. i had no desire just then to champion distressed damsels, least of all to get mixed up in the family brawls of unknown jewesses. confound her, anyway! i almost hated her. yet i felt constrained to watch and wait, and even at the cost of my own ease and comfort to prevent further violence. for that matter there were all kinds of strange doings on board, drinking, gambling, nightly orgies and hourly brawls. it seemed as if we had shipped all the human dregs of the san francisco deadline. never, i believe, in those times when almost daily the argonaut-laden boats were sailing for the golden north, was there one in which the sporting element was so dominant. the social hall reeked with patchouli and stale whiskey. from the staterooms came shrill outbursts of popular melody, punctuated with the popping of champagne corks. dance-hall girls, babbling incoherently, reeled in the passageways, danced on the cabin table, and were only held back from licentiousness by the restraint of their bullies. the day was one long round of revelry, and the night was pregnant with sinister sound. already among the better element a moral secession was apparent. convention they had left behind with their boiled shirts and their store clothes, and crazed with the idea of speedy fortune, they were even now straining at the leash of decency. it was a howling mob, elately riotous, and already infected by the virus of the goldophobia. oh, it was good to get on deck of a night, away from this saturnalia, to watch the beacon stars strewn vastly in the skyey uplift, to listen to the ancient threnody of the outcast sea. blue and silver the nights were, and crystal clear, with a keen wind that painted the cheek and kindled the eye. and as i sat in silent thought there came to me salvation jim. his face was grim, his eyes brooding. from the brilliantly lit social hall came a blare of music-hall melody. "i don't like the way of things a bit," he said; "i don't like it. look here now, lad, i've lived round mining camps for twenty years, i've followed the roughest callings on earth, i've tramped the states all over, yet never have i seen the beat of this. mind you, i ain't prejudiced, though i've seen the error of my ways, glory to god! i can make allowance once in a while for the boys gettin' on a jamboree, but by christmas! say! there's enough evil on this boat to stake a sub-section in hell. there's men should be at home with their dinky little mothers an' their lovin' wives an' children, down there right now in that cabin buyin' wine for them painted jezebels. "there's doctors an' lawyers an' deacons in the church back in old ohio, that never made a bad break in their lives, an' now they're rowin' like barroom bullies for the kisses of a baggage. in the bay-window of their souls the devil lolls an' grins an' god is freezin' in the attic. you mark my words, boy; there's a curse on this northern gold. the yukon's a-goin' to take its toll. you mark my words." "oh, jim," i said, "you're superstitious." "no, i ain't. i've just got a hunch. here we are a bit of floatin' iniquity glidin' through the mystery of them strange seas, an' the very officers on dooty sashed to the neck an' reekin' from the arms of the scented hussies below. it'll be god's mercy if we don't crash on a rock, an' go down good an' all to the bitter bottom. but it don't matter. sooner or later there's goin' to be a reckonin'. there's many a one shoutin' an' singin' to-night'll leave his bones to bleach up in that bleak wild land." "no, jim," i protested, "they will be all right once they get ashore." "right nothin'! they're a pack of fools. they think they've got a bulge on fortune. hear them a-howlin' now. they're all millionaires in their minds. there's no doubt with them. it's a cinch. they're spendin' it right now. you mark my words, young feller, for i'll never live to see them fulfilled--there's ninety in a hundred of all them fellers that's goin' to this here klondike will never make good, an' of the other ten, nine won't _do_ no good." "one per cent. that will keep their stakes--that's absurd, jim." "well, you'll see. an' as for me, i feel as sure as god's above us guidin' us through the mazes of the night, i'll never live to make the trip back. i've got a hunch. old jim's on his last stampede." he sighed, then said sharply: "did you see that feller that passed us?" it was mosher, the gambler and ex-preacher. "that man's a skunk, a renegade sky-pilot. i'm keepin' tabs on that man. maybe him an' me's got a score to settle one of them days. maybe." he went off abruptly, leaving me to ponder long over his gloomy words. we were now three days out. the weather was fine, and nearly every one was on deck in the sunshine. even bullhammer, marks and mosher had deserted the card-room for a time. the bank clerk and the wood-carver talked earnestly, planned and dreamed. the professor was busy expounding a theory of the gold origin to a party of young men from minnesota. silent and watchful the athletic mervin smoked his big cigar, while, patient and imperturbable, the iron hewson chewed stolidly. the twins were playing checkers. the winklesteins were making themselves solid with the music-hall clique. in and out among the different groups darted the prodigal, as volatile as a society reporter at a church bazaar. and besides these, always alone, austerely aloof as if framed in a picture by themselves, a picture of dignity and sweetness, were the jewish maid and her aged grandfather. although he was my room-mate i had seen but little of him. he was abed before i retired and i was up and out ere he awoke. for the rest i avoided the two because of their obvious connection with the winklesteins. surely, thought i, she cannot be mixed up with those two and be everything that's all right. yet there was something in the girl's clear eyes, and in the old man's fine face, that reproached me for my doubt. it was while i was thus debating, and covertly studying the pair, that something occurred. bullhammer and marks were standing by me, and across the deck came the acridly nasal tones of the dance-hall girls. i saw the libertine eyes of bullhammer rove incontinently from one unlovely demirep to another, till at last they rested on the slender girl standing by the side of her white-haired grandfather. appreciatively he licked his lips. "say, monkey, who's the kid with old whiskers there?" "search me, pete," said marks; "want a knockdown?" "betcher! seems kind-a standoffish, though, don't she?" "standoffish be darned! never yet saw the little bit of all right that could stand off sam marks. i'm a winner, i am, an' don' you forget it. just watch my splash." i must say the man was expensively dressed in a flashy way. his oily, pimple-garnished face wreathed itself in a smirk of patronising familiarity, and with the bow of a dancing master he advanced. i saw her give a quick start, bite her lip and shrink back. "good for you, little girl," i thought. but the man was in no way put out. "say, sis, it's all right. just want to interdooce you to a gentleman fren' o' mine." the girl gazed at him, and her dilated eyes were eloquent of fear and distrust. it minded me of the panic of a fawn run down by the hunter, so that i found myself trembling in sympathy. a startled moment she gazed; then swiftly she turned her back. this was too much for marks. he flushed angrily. "say! what's the matter with you? come off the perch there. ain't we good enough to associate with you? who the devil are you, anyhow?" his face was growing red and aggressive. he closed in on her. he laid a rough hand on her shoulder. thinking the thing had gone far enough i stepped forward to interfere, when the unexpected happened. suddenly the old man had risen to his feet, and it was a surprise to me how tall he was. into his face there had come the ghost of ancient power and command. his eyes blazed with wrath, and his clenched fist was raised high in anathema. then it came swiftly down on the head of marks, crushing his stiff hat tightly over his eyes. the climax was ludicrous in a way. there was a roar of laughter, and hearing it marks spluttered as he freed himself. with a curse of rage he would have rushed the old man, but a great hand seized him by the shoulder. it was the grim, taciturn hewson, and judging by the way his captive squirmed, his grip must have been peculiarly vise-like. the old man was pale as death, the girl crying, the passengers crowding round. every one was gabbling and curious, so feeling i could do no good, i went below. what was there about this slip of a girl that interested me so? ever and anon i found myself thinking of her. was it the conversation i had overheard? was it the mystery that seemed to surround her? was it the irrepressible instinct of my heart for the romance of life? with the old man, despite our stateroom propinquity, i had made no advances. with the girl i had passed no further words. but the gods of destiny act in whimsical ways. doubtless the voyage would have finished without the betterment of our acquaintance; doubtless our paths would have parted, nevermore to cross; doubtless our lives would have been lived out to their fulness and this story never have been told--had it not been for the luckless fatality of the box of grapes. chapter iii puget sound was behind us and we had entered on that great sea that stretched northward to the arctic barrens. misty and wet was the wind, and cold with the kiss of many icebergs. under a grey sky, glooming to purple, the gelid water writhed nakedly. spectral islands elbowed each other, to peer at us as we flitted past. still more wraithlike the mainland, fringed to the sea foam with saturnine pine, faded away into fastnesses of impregnable desolation. there was a sense of deathlike passivity in the land, of overwhelming vastitude, of unconquerable loneliness. it was as if i had felt for the first time the spirit of the wild; the wild where god broods amid his silence; the wild, his infinite solace and his sanctuary. as we forged through the vague sea lanes, we were like a glittering trinket on the bosom of the night. our mad merriment scarce ever abated. we were a blare of revelry and a blaze of light. excitement mounted to fever heat. in the midst of it the women with the enamelled cheeks reaped a bountiful harvest. i marvel now that, with all the besotted recklessness of those that were our pilots, we met with no serious mishap. "don't mind you much of a sunday-school picnic, does it?" commented the prodigal. "it's fierce the way the girls are prying some of these crazy jays loose from their wads. they're all plumb batty. i'm tired trying to wise them up. 'go and chase yourself,' they say; 'we're all right. don't matter if we do loosen up a bit now, there's all kinds of easy money waiting for us up there.' then they talk of what they're going to do when they've got the dough. one gazebo wants to buy a castle in the old country; another wants a racing stable; another a steam yacht. oh, they're a hot bunch of sports. they're all planning to have a purple time in the sweet by-and-bye. i don't hear any of them speak of endowing a home for decrepit wash-ladies or pensioning off their aged grandmothers. they make me sick. there's a cold juicy awakening coming." he was right. in their visionary leaps to affluence they soared to giddy heights. they strutted and bragged as if the millions were already theirs. to hear them, you would think they had an exclusive option on the treasure-troves of the klondike. yet, before and behind us, were dozens of similar vessels, bearing just as eager a mob of fortune-hunters, all drawn irresistibly northward by the golden magnet. nevertheless, it was hard not to be affected by the prevailing spirit of optimism. for myself the gold had but little attraction, but the adventure was very dear to my heart. once more the clarion call of romance rang in my ears, and i leapt to its summons. and indeed, i reflected, it was a wonderful kaleidoscope of a world, wherein i, but a half-year back cooling my heels in a highland burn, should be now part and parcel of this great argonaut army. already my native uncouthness was a thing of the past, and the quaint mannerisms of my scots tongue were yielding to the racy slang of the frontier. more to the purpose, too, i was growing in strength and wiry endurance. as i looked around me i realised that there were many less fitted for the trail than i, and there was none with such a store of glowing health. you may picture me at this time, a tallish young man, with a fine colour in my cheeks, black hair that curled crisply, and dark eyes that were either alight with eagerness or agloom with dreams. i have said that we were all more or less in a ferment of excitement, but to this i must make a reservation. one there was who, amid all our unrest, remained cold, distant and alien--the jewish girl, berna. even in the old man the gold fever betrayed itself in a visionary eye and a tremor of the lips; but the girl was a statue of patient resignation, a living reproof to our febrile and purblind imaginings. the more i studied her, the more out of place she seemed in my picture, and, almost unconsciously, i found myself weaving about her a fabric of romance. i endowed her with a mystery that piqued and fascinated me, yet without it i have no doubt i would have been attracted to her. i longed to know her uncommon well, to win her regard, to do something for her that should make her eyes rest very kindly on me. in short, as is the way of young men, i was beginning to grope blindly for that affection and sympathy which are the forerunners of passion and love. the land was wintry and the wind shrilled so that the attendant gulls flapped their wings hard in the face of it. the wolf-pack of the sea were snarling whitely as they ran. the decks were deserted, and so many of the brawlers were sick and lay like dead folk that it almost seemed as if a sabbath quiet lay on the ship. that day i had missed the old man, and on going below, found him lying as one sore stricken. a withered hand lay on his brow, and from his lips, which were almost purple, thin moans issued. "poor old beggar," i thought; "i wonder if i cannot do anything for him." and while i was thus debating, a timid knock came to the door. i opened it, and there was the girl, berna. there was a nervous anxiety in her manner, and a mute interrogation in her grey eyes. "i'm afraid he's a little sick to-day," i said gently; "but come in, won't you, and see him?" "thank you." pity, tenderness and love seemed to struggle in her face as she softly brushed past me. with some words of endearment, she fell on her knees beside him, and her small white hand sought his thin gnarled one. as if galvanised into life, the old man turned gratefully to her. "maybe he would care for some coffee," i said. "i think i could rustle him some." she gave me a queer, sad look of thanks. "if you could," she answered. when i returned she had the old man propped up with pillows. she took the coffee from me, and held the cup to his lips; but after a few sips he turned away wearily. "i'm afraid he doesn't care for that," i said. "no, i'm afraid he won't take it." she was like an anxious nurse hovering over a patient. she thought a while. "oh, if i only had some fruit!" then it was i bethought me of the box of grapes. i had bought them just before leaving, thinking they would be a grateful surprise to my companions. obviously i had been inspired, and now i produced them in triumph, big, plump, glossy fellows, buried in the fragrant cedar dust. i shook clear a large bunch, and once more we tried the old man. it seemed as if we had hit on the one thing needful, for he ate eagerly. she watched him for a while with a growing sense of relief, and when he had finished and was resting quietly, she turned to me. "i don't know how i can thank you, sir, for your kindness." "very easily," i said quickly; "if you will yourself accept some of the fruit, i shall be more than repaid." she gave me a dubious look; then such a bright, merry light flashed into her eyes that she was radiant in my sight. it was as if half a dozen years had fallen from her, revealing a heart capable of infinite joy and happiness. "if you will share them with me," she said simply. so, for the lack of chairs, we squatted on the narrow stateroom floor, under the old man's kindly eye. the fruit minded us of sunlit vines, and the careless rapture of the south. to me the situation was one of rare charm. she ate daintily, and as we talked, i studied her face as if i would etch it on my memory forever. in particular i noticed the wistful contour of her cheek, her sensitive mouth, and the fine modelling of her chin. she had clear, candid eyes and sweeping lashes, too. her ears were shell-like, and her hair soft, wavy and warm. these things i marked minutely, thinking she was more than beautiful--she was even pretty. i was in a state of extraordinary elation, like a man that has found a jewel in the mire. it must be remembered, lest i appear to be taking a too eager interest in the girl, that up till now the world of woman had been _terra incognita_ to me; that i had lived a singularly cloistered life, and that first and last i was an idealist. this girl had distinction, mystery and charm, and it is not to be wondered at that i found a joy in her presence. i proved myself a perfect artesian well of conversation, talking freely of the ship, of our fellow-passengers and of the chances of the venture. i found her wonderfully quick in the uptake. her mind seemed nimbly to outrun mine, and she divined my words ere i had them uttered. yet she never spoke of herself, and when i left them together i was full of uneasy questioning. next day the old man was still abed, and again the girl came to visit him. this time i noticed that much of her timid manner was gone, and in its stead was a shy friendliness. once more the box of grapes proved a mediator between us, and once more i found in her a reticent but sympathetic audience--so much so that i was frank in telling her of myself, my home and my kinsfolk. i thought that maybe my talk would weary her, but she listened with a bright-eyed regard, nodding her head eagerly at times. yet she spoke no word of her own affairs, so that when again i left them together i was as much in the dark as ever. it was on the third day i found the old man up and dressed, and berna with him. she looked brighter and happier than i had yet seen her, and she greeted me with a smiling face. then, after a little, she said: "my grandfather plays the violin. would you mind if he played over some of our old-country songs? it would comfort him." "no, go ahead," i said; "i wish he would." so she got an ancient violin, and the old man cuddled it lovingly and played soft, weird melodies, songs of the czech race, that made me think of romance, of love and hate, and passion and despair. piece after piece he played, as if pouring out the sadness and heart-hunger of a burdened people, until my own heart ached in sympathy. the wild music throbbed with passionate sweetness and despair. unobserved, the pale twilight stole into the little cabin. the ruggedly fine face of the old man was like one inspired, and with clasped hands, the girl sat, very white-faced and motionless. then i saw a gleam on her cheek, the soft falling of tears. somehow, at that moment, i felt drawn very near to those two, the music, the tears, the fervent sadness of their faces. i felt as if i had been allowed to share with them a few moments consecrated to their sorrow, and that they knew i understood. that day as i was leaving, i said to her: "berna, this is our last night on board." "yes." "to-morrow our trails divide, maybe never again to cross. will you come up on deck for a little while to-night? i want to talk to you." "talk to me?" she looked startled, incredulous. she hesitated. "please, berna, it's the last time." "all right," she answered in a low tone. then she looked at me curiously. chapter iv she came to meet me, lily-white and sweet. she was but thinly wrapped, and shivered so that i put my coat around her. we ventured forward, climbing over a huge anchor to the very bow of the boat, and crouching down in its peak, were sheltered from the cold breeze. we were cutting through smooth water, and crowding in on us were haggard mountains, with now and then the greenish horror of a glacier. overhead, in the desolate sky, the new moon nursed the old moon in her arms. "berna!" "yes." "you're not happy, berna. you're in sore trouble, little girl. i don't know why you come up to this god-forsaken country or why you are with those people. i don't want to know; but if there's anything i can do for you, any way i can prove myself a true friend, tell me, won't you?" my voice betrayed emotion. i could feel her slim form, very close to me, all a-tremble. in the filtered silver of the crescent moon, i could see her face, wan and faintly sweet. gently i prisoned one of her hands in mine. she did not speak at once. indeed, she was quiet for a long time, so that it seemed as if she must be stricken dumb, or as if some feelings were conflicting within her. then at last, very gently, very quietly, very sweetly, as if weighing her words, she spoke. "no, there's nothing you can do. you've been too kind all along. you're the only one on the boat that's been kind. most of the others have looked at me--well, you know how men look at a poor, unprotected girl. but you, you're different; you're good, you're honourable, you're sincere. i could see it in your face, in your eyes. i knew i could trust you. you've been kindness itself to grandfather and i, and i never can thank you enough." "nonsense! don't talk of thanks, berna. you don't know what a happiness it's been to help you. i'm sorry i've done so little. oh, i'm going to be sincere and frank with you. the few hours i've had with you have made me long for others. i'm a lonely beggar. i never had a sister, never a girl friend. you're the first, and it's been like sudden sunshine to me. now, can't i be really and truly your friend, berna; your friend that would do much for you? let me do something, anything, to show how earnestly i mean it?" "yes, i know. well, then, you are my dear, true friend--there, now." "yes,--but, berna! to-morrow you'll go and we'll likely never see each other again. what's the good of it all?" "well, what do you want? we will both have a memory, a very sweet, nice memory, won't we? believe me, it's better so. you don't want to have anything to do with a girl like me. you don't know anything about me, and you see the kind of people i'm going with. perhaps i am just as bad as they." "don't say that, berna," i interposed sternly; "you're all that's good and pure and sweet." "no, i'm not, either. we're all of us pretty mixed. but i'm not so bad, and it's nice of you to think those things.... oh! if i had never come on this terrible trip! i don't even know where we are going, and i'm afraid, afraid." "no, little girl." "yes, i can't tell you how afraid i am. the country's so savage and lonely; the men are so like brute beasts; the women--well, they're worse. and here are we in the midst of it. i don't know what's going to become of us." "well, berna, if it's like that, why don't you and your grandfather turn back? why go on?" "he will never turn back. he'll go on till he dies. he only knows one word of english and that's klondike, klondike. he mutters it a thousand times a day. he has visions of gold, glittering heaps of it, and he'll stagger and struggle on till he finds it." "but can't you reason with him?" "oh, it's all no use. he's had a dream. he's like a man that's crazy. he thinks he has been chosen, and that to him will a great treasure be revealed. you might as well reason with a stone. all i can do is to follow him, is to take care of him." "what about the winklesteins, berna?" "oh, they're at the bottom of it all. it is they who have inflamed his mind. he has a little money, the savings of a lifetime, about two thousand dollars; and ever since he came to this country, they've been trying to get it. they ran a little restaurant in new york. they tried to get him to put his little store in that. now they are using the gold as a bait, and luring him up here. they'll rob and kill him in the end, and the cruel part is--he's not greedy, he doesn't want it for himself--but for me. that's what breaks my heart." "surely you're mistaken, berna; they can't be so bad as that." "bad! i tell you they're _vile_. the man's a worm, and the woman, she's a devil incarnate. she's so strong and so violent in her tempers that when she gets drinking--well, it's just awful. i should know it, i lived with them for three years." "where?" "in new york. i came from the old country to them. they worked me in the restaurant at first. then, after a bit, i got employment in a shirt-waist factory. i was quick and handy, and i worked early and late. i attended a night school. i read till my eyes ached. they said i was clever. the teacher wanted me to train and be a teacher too. but what was the good of thinking of it? i had my living to get, so i stayed at the factory and worked and worked. then when i had saved a few dollars, i sent for grandfather, and he came and we lived in the tenement and were very happy for a while. but the winklesteins never gave us any peace. they knew he had a little money laid away, and they itched to get their hands on it. the man was always telling us of get-rich-quick schemes, and she threatened me in horrible ways. but i wasn't afraid in new york. up here it's different. it's all so shadowy and sinister." i could feel her shudder. "oh, berna," i said, "can't i help you?" she shook her head sadly. "no, you can't; you have enough trouble of your own. besides it doesn't matter about me. i didn't mean to tell you all this, but now, if you want to be a true friend, just go away and forget me. you don't want to have anything to do with me. wait! i'll tell you something more. i'm called berna wilovich. that's my grandfather's name. my mother ran away from home. two years later she came back--with me. soon after she died of consumption. she would never tell my father's name, but said he was a christian, and of good family. my grandfather tried to find out. he would have killed the man. so, you see, i am nameless, a child of shame and sorrow. and you are a gentleman, and proud of your family. now, see the kind of friend you've made. you don't want to make friends with such as i." "i want to make friends with such as need my friendship. what is going to happen to you, berna?" "happen! god knows! it doesn't matter. oh, i've always been in trouble. i'm used to it. i never had a really happy day in my life. i never expect to. i'll just go on to the end, enduring patiently, and getting what comfort i can out of things. it's what i was made for, i suppose." she shrugged her shoulders and shivered a little. "let me go now, my friend. it's cold up here; i'm chilled. don't look so terribly downcast. i expect i'll come out all right. something may happen. cheer up! maybe you'll see me a klondike queen yet." i could see that her sudden brightness but hid a black abyss of bitterness and apprehension. what she had told me had somehow stricken me dumb. there seemed a stark sordidness in the situation that repelled me. she had arisen and was about to step over the fluke of the great anchor, when i aroused myself. "berna," i said, "what you have told me wrings my heart. i can't tell you how terribly sorry i feel. is there nothing i can do for you, nothing to show i am not a mere friend of words and phrases? oh, i hate to let you go like this." the moon had gone behind a cloud. we were in a great shadow. she halted, so that, as we stood, we were touching each other. her voice was full of pathetic resignation. "what can you do? if we were going in together it might be different. when i met you at first i hoped, oh, i hoped--well, it doesn't matter what i hoped. but, believe me, i'll be all right. you won't forget me, will you?" "forget you! no, berna, i'll never forget you. it cuts me to the heart i can do nothing now, but we'll meet up there. we can't be divided for long. and you'll be all right, believe me too, little girl. be good and sweet and true and every one will love and help you. ah, you must go. well, well--god bless you, berna." "and i wish you happiness and success, dear friend of mine." her voice trembled. something seemed to choke her. she stood a moment as if reluctant to go. suddenly a great impulse of tenderness and pity came over me, and before i knew it, my arms were around her. she struggled faintly, but her face was uplifted, her eyes starlike. then, for a moment of bewildering ecstasy, her lips lay on mine, and i felt them faintly answer. poor yielding lips! they were cold as ice. chapter v never shall i forget the last i saw of her, a forlorn, pathetic figure in black, waving a farewell to me as i stood on the wharf. she wore, i remember, a low collar, and well do i mind the way it showed off the slim whiteness of her throat; well do i mind the high poise of her head, and the silken gloss of her hair. the grey eyes were clear and steady as she bade good-bye to me, and from where we stood apart, her face had all the pathetic sweetness of a madonna. well, she was going, and sad enough her going seemed to me. they were all for dyea, and the grim old chilcoot, with its blizzard-beaten steeps, while we had chosen the less precipitous, but more drawn-out, skagway trail. among them i saw the inseparable twins; the grim hewson, the silent mervin, each quiet and watchful, as if storing up power for a tremendous effort. there was the large unwholesomeness of madam winklestein, all jewellery, smiles and coarse badinage, and near her, her perfumed husband, squinting and smirking abominably. there was the old man, with his face of a hebrew seer, his visionary eye now aglow with fanatical enthusiasm, his lips ever muttering: "klondike, klondike"; and lastly, by his side, with a little wry smile on her lips, there was the white-faced girl. how my heart ached for her! but the time for sentiment was at an end. the clarion call to action rang out. inflexibly the trail was mustering us. the hour was come for every one to give of the best that was in him, even as he had never given it before. the reign of peace was over; the fight was on. on all sides were indescribable bustle, confusion and excitement; men shouting, swearing, rushing hither, thither; wrangling, anxious-eyed and distracted over their outfits. a mood of unsparing energy dominated them. their only thought was to get away on the gold-trail. a frantic eagerness impelled them; insistent, imperative; the trail called to them, and the light of the gold-lust smouldered and flamed in their uneasy eyes. already the spirit of the gold-trail was awakening. hundreds of scattered tents; a few frame buildings, mostly saloons, dance-halls and gambling joints; an eager, excited mob crowding on the loose sidewalks, floundering knee-deep in the mire of the streets, struggling and squabbling and cursing over their outfits--that is all i remember of skagway. the mountains, stark and bare to the bluff, seemed to overwhelm the flimsy town, and between them, like a giant funnel, a great wind was roaring. lawlessness was rampant, but it did not touch us. the thugs lay in wait for the men with pokes from the "inside." to the great cheechako army, they gave little heed. they were captained by one smith, known as "soapy," whom i had the fortune to meet. he was a pleasant-appearing, sociable man, and no one would have taken him for a desperado, a killer of men. one picture of skagway is still vivid in my memory. the scene is a saloon, and along with the prodigal, i am having a glass of beer. in a corner sits a befuddled old man, half asleep. he is long and lank, with a leathery face and a rusty goatee beard--as ragged, disreputable an old sinner as ever bellied up to a bar. suddenly there is a sound of shooting. we rush out and there are two toughs blazing away at each other from the sheltering corners of an opposite building. "hey, dad! there's some shootin' goin' on," says the barkeeper. the old man rouses and cocks up a bleary, benevolent eye. "shooting', did ye say? pshaw! them fellers don't know how to shoot. old dad'll show 'em how to shoot." he comes to the door, and lugging out a big rusty revolver, blazes away at one of the combatants. the man, with a howl of surprise and pain, limps away. the old man turns to the other fellow. bang! we see splinters fly, and a man running for dear life. "told you i'd show 'em how to shoot," remarks old dad to us. "thanks, i'll have a gin-fizz for mine." the prodigal developed a wonderful executive ability about this time; he was a marvel of activity, seemed to think of everything and to glory in his responsibility as a leader. always cheerful, always thoughtful, he was the brains of our party. he never abated in his efforts a moment, and was an example and a stimulus to us all. i say "all," for we had added the "jam-wagon"[a] to our number. it was the prodigal who discovered him. he was a tall, dissolute englishman, gaunt, ragged and verminous, but with the earmarks of a gentleman. he seemed indifferent to everything but whiskey and only anxious to hide himself from his friends. i discovered he had once been an officer in a hussar regiment, but he was obviously reluctant to speak of his past. a lost soul in every sense of the word, the north was to him a refuge and an unrestricted stamping-ground. so, partly in pity, partly in hope of winning back his manhood, we allowed him to join the party. pack animals were in vast demand, for it was considered a pound of grub was the equal of a pound of gold. old horses, fit but for the knacker's yard, and burdened till they could barely stand, were being goaded forward through the mud. any kind of a dog was a prize, quickly stolen if left unwatched. sheep being taken in for the butcher were driven forward with packs on their backs. even was there an effort to make pack animals out of pigs, but they grunted, squealed and rolled their precious burdens in the mire. what crazy excitement, what urging and shouting, what desperate device to make a start! we were lucky in buying a yoke of oxen from a packer for four hundred dollars. on the first day we hauled half of our outfit to canyon city, and on the second we transferred the balance. this was our plan all through, though in bad places we had to make many relays. it was simple enough, yet, oh, the travail of it! here is an extract from my diary of these days. "turn out at a.m. breakfasted on flapjacks and coffee. find one of our oxen dying. dies at seven o'clock. harness remaining ox and start to remove goods up canyon. find trail in awful condition, yet thousands are struggling to get through. horses often fall in pools of water ten to fifteen feet deep, trying to haul loads over the boulders that render trail almost impassable. drive with sleigh over places that at other times one would be afraid to walk over without any load. two feet of snow fell during the night, but it is now raining. rains and snows alternately. at night bitterly cold. hauled five loads up canyon to-day. finished last trip near midnight and turned in, cold, wet and played out." the above is a fairly representative day and of such days we were to have many ere we reached the water. slowly, with infinite effort, with stress and strain to every step of the way, we moved our bulky outfit forward from camp to camp. all days were hard, all exasperating, all crammed with discomfort; yet, bit by bit, we forged ahead. the army before us and the army behind never faltered. like a stream of black ants they were, between mountains that reared up swiftly to storm-smitten palisades of ice. in the darkness of night the army rested uneasily, yet at the first streak of dawn it was in motion. it was an endless procession, in which every man was for himself. i can see them now, bent under their burdens, straining at their hand-sleighs, flogging their horses and oxen, their faces crimped and puckered with fatigue, the air acrid with their curses and heavy with their moans. now a horse stumbles and slips into one of the sump-holes by the trail side. no one can pass, the army is arrested. frenzied fingers unhitch the poor frozen brute and drag it from the water. men, frantic with rage, beat savagely at their beasts of burden to make up the precious time lost. there is no mercy, no humanity, no fellowship. all is blasphemy, fury and ruthless determination. it is the spirit of the gold-trail. at the canyon head was a large camp, and there, very much in evidence, the gambling fraternity. dozens of them with their little green tables were doing a roaring business. on one side of the canyon they had established a camp. it was evening and we three, the prodigal, salvation jim and myself, strolled over to where a three-shell man was holding forth. "hullo!" says the prodigal. "it's our old friend jake. jake skinned me out of a hundred on the boat. wonder how he's making out?" it was mosher, with his bald head, his crafty little eyes, his flat nose, his black beard. i saw jim's face harden. he had always shown a bitter hatred of this man, and often i wondered why. we stood a little way off. the crowd thinned and filtered away until but one remained, one of the tall young men from minnesota. we heard mosher's rich voice. "say, pard, bet ten dollars you can't place the bean. see! i put the little joker under here, right before your eyes. now, where is it?" "here," said the man, touching one of the shells. "right you are, my hearty! well, here's your ten." the man from minnesota took the money and was going away. "hold on," said mosher; "how do i know you had the money to cover that bet?" the man laughed and took from his pocket a wad of bills an inch thick. "guess that's enough, ain't it?" quick as lightning mosher had snatched the bills from him, and the man from minnesota found himself gazing into the barrel of a six-shooter. "this here's my money," said mosher; "now you _git_." a moment only--a shot rang out. i saw the gun fall from mosher's hand, and the roll of bills drop to the ground. quickly the man from minnesota recovered them and rushed off to tell his party. then the men from minnesota got their winchesters, and the shooting began. from their camp the gamblers took refuge behind the boulders that strewed the sides of the canyon, and blazed away at their opponents. a regular battle followed, which lasted till the fall of night. as far as i heard, only one casualty resulted. a swede, about half a mile down the trail, received a spent bullet in the cheek. he complained to the deputy marshal. that worthy, sitting on his horse, looked at him a moment. then he spat comprehensively. "can't do anything, ole. but i'll tell you what. next time there's bullets flying round this section of the country, don't go sticking your darned whiskers in the way. see!" that night i said to jim: "how did you do it?" he laughed and showed me a hole in his coat pocket which a bullet had burned. "you see, having been in the game myself, i knew what was comin' and acted accordin'." "good job you didn't hit him worse." "wait a while, sonny, wait a while. there's something mighty familiar about jake mosher. he's mighty like a certain sam mosely i'm interested in. i've just written a letter outside to see, an' if it's him--well, i'm saved; i'm a good christian, but--god help him!" "and who was sam mosely, jim?" "sam mosely? sam mosely was the skunk that busted up my home an' stole my wife, blast him!" [a: a jam-wagon was the general name given to an englishman on the trail.] chapter vi day after day, each man of us poured out on the trail the last heel-tap of his strength, and the coming of night found us utterly played out. salvation jim was full of device and resource, the prodigal, a dynamo of eager energy; but it was the jam-wagon who proved his mettle in a magnificent and relentless way. whether it was from a sense of gratitude, or to offset the cravings that assailed him, i know not, but he crammed the days with merciless exertion. a curious man was the jam-wagon, brian wanless his name, a world tramp, a derelict of the seven seas. his story, if ever written, would be a human document of moving and poignant interest. he must once have been a magnificent fellow, and even now, with strength and will-power impaired, he was a man among men, full of quick courage and of a haughty temper. it was ever a word and a blow with him, and a fight to the desperate finish. he was insular, imperious and aggressive, and he was always looking for trouble. though taciturn and morose with men, the jam-wagon showed a tireless affection for animals. from the first he took charge of our ox; but it was for horses his fondness was most expressed, so that on the trail, where there was so much cruelty, he was constantly on the verge of combat. "that's a great man," said the prodigal to me, "a fighter from heel to head. there's one he can't fight, though, and that's old man booze." but on the trail every man was a fighter. it was fight or fall, for the trail would brook no weaklings. good or bad, a man must be a man in the primal sense, dominant, savage and enduring. the trail was implacable. from the start it cried for strong men; it weeded out its weaklings. i had seen these fellows on the ship feed their vanity with foolish fancies; kindled to ardours of hope, i had seen debauch regnant among them; now i was to see them crushed, cowed, overwhelmed, realising each, according to his kind, the menace and antagonism of the way. i was to see the weak falter and fall by the trail side; i was to see the fainthearted quail and turn back; but i was to see the strong, the brave, grow grim, grow elemental in their desperate strength, and tightening up their belts, go forward unflinchingly to the bitter end. thus it was the trail chose her own. thus it was, from passion, despair and defeat, the spirit of the trail was born. the spirit of the gold trail, how shall i describe it? it was based on that primal instinct of self-preservation that underlies our thin veneer of humanity. it was rebellion, anarchy; it was ruthless, aggressive, primitive; it was the man of the stone age in modern garb waging his fierce, incessant warfare with the forces of nature. spurred on by the fever of the gold-lust, goaded by the fear of losing in the race; maddened by the difficulties and obstacles of the way, men became demons of cruelty and aggression, ruthlessly thrusting aside and trampling down the weaker ones who thwarted their progress. of pity, humanity, love, there was none, only the gold-lust, triumphant and repellent. it was the survival of the fittest, the most tenacious, the most brutal. yet there was something grandly terrible about it all. it was a barbaric invasion, an army, each man fighting for his own hand under the banner of gold. it was conquest. every day, as i watched that human torrent, i realised how vast, how irresistible it was. it was epic, it was historical. many pitiful things i saw--men with haggard, hopeless faces, throwing their outfits into the snow and turning back broken-hearted; men staggering blindly on, exhausted to despair, then dropping wearily by the trail side in the bitter cold and sinister gloom; weaklings, every one. many terrible things i saw--men cursing each other, cursing the trail, cursing their god, and in the echo of their curses, grinding their teeth and stumbling on. then they would vent their fury and spite on the poor dumb animals. oh, what cruelty there was! the life of the brute was as nothing; it was the tribute of the trail; it was a sacrifice on the altar of human greed. long before dawn the trail awakened and the air was full of breakfast smells, chiefly that of burnt porridge: for pots were seldom scraped, neither were dishes washed. soon the long-drawn-out army was on the march, jaded animals straining at their loads, their drivers reviling and beating them. all the men were bearded, and many of them wore parkas. as many of the women had discarded petticoats, it was often difficult at a short distance to tell the sex of a person. there were tents built on sleighs, with faces of women and children peering out from behind. it was a wonderful procession, all classes, all nationalities, greybeards and striplings, parsons and prostitutes, rich and poor, filing past in their thousands, drawn desperately on by the golden magnet. one day we were making a trip with a load of our stuff when, just ahead, there was a check in the march, so i and the jam-wagon went forward to investigate. it was our old friend bullhammer in difficulties. he had rather a fine horse, and in passing a sump-hole, his sled had skidded and slipped downhill into the water. now he was belabouring the animal unmercifully, acting like a crazy man, shouting in a frenzy of rage. the horse was making the most gallant efforts i ever saw, but, with every fresh attempt, its strength weakened. time and again it came down on its knees, which were raw and bleeding. it was shining with sweat so that there was not a dry hair on its body, and if ever a dumb brute's eyes spoke of agony and fear, that horse's did. but bullhammer grew every moment more infuriated, wrenching its mouth and beating it over the head with a club. it was a sickening sight and, used as i was to the inhumanity of the trail, i would have interfered had not the jam-wagon jumped in. he was deadly pale and his eyes burned. "you infernal brute! if you strike that horse another blow, i'll break your club over your shoulders." bullhammer turned on him. surprise paralysed the man, rage choked him. they were both big husky fellows, and they drew up face to face. then bullhammer spoke. "curse you, anyway. don't interfere with me. i'll beat bloody hell out of the horse if i like, an' you won't say one word, see?" with that he struck the horse another vicious blow on the head. there was a quick scuffle. the club was wrenched from bullhammer's hand. i saw it come down twice. the man sprawled on his back, while over him stood the jam-wagon, looking very grim. the horse slipped quietly back into the water. "you ugly blackguard! i've a good mind to beat you within an ace of your life. but you're not worth it. ah, you cur!" he gave bullhammer a kick. the man got on his feet. he was a coward, but his pig eyes squinted in impotent rage. he looked at his horse lying shivering in the icy water. "get the horse out yourself, then, curse you. do what you please with him. but, mark you--i'll get even with you for this--i'll--get--even." he shook his fist and, with an ugly oath, went away. the block in the traffic was relieved. the trail was again in motion. when we got abreast of the submerged horse, we hitched on the ox and hastily pulled it out, and (the jam-wagon proving to have no little veterinary skill) in a few days it was fit to work again. * * * * * another week had gone and we were still on the trail, between the head of the canyon and the summit of the pass. day after day was the same round of unflinching effort, under conditions that would daunt any but the stoutest hearts. the trail was in a terrible condition, sometimes well-nigh impassable, and many a time, but for the invincible spirit of the prodigal, would i have turned back. he had a way of laughing at misfortune and heartening one when things seemed to have passed the limit of all endurance. here is another day selected from my diary: "rose at : a.m. and started for summit with load. trail all filled in with snow, and had dreadful time shovelling it out. load upsets number of times. got to summit at three o'clock. ox almost played out. snowing and blowing fearfully on summit. ox tired; tries to lie down every few yards. bitterly cold and have hard time trying to keep hands and feet from freezing. keep on going to make balsam city. arrived there about ten o'clock at night. clothing frozen stiff. snow from seven to one hundred feet deep. no wood within a quarter mile and then only soft balsam. had to go for wood. almost impossible to start fire. was near midnight when i had fire going well and supper cooked. eighteen hours on the trail without a square meal. the way of the klondike is hard, hard." and yet i believe, compared with others, we were getting along finely. every day, as the difficulties of the trail increased, i saw more and more instances of suffering and privation, and to many the name of the white pass was the death-knell of hope. i could see their faces blanch as they gazed upward at that white immensity; i could see them tighten their pack-straps, clench their teeth and begin the ascent; could see them straining every muscle as they climbed, the grim lines harden round their mouths, their eyes full of hopeless misery and despair; i could see them panting at every step, ghastly with fatigue, lurching and stumbling on under their heavy packs. these were the weaker ones, who, sooner or later, gave up the struggle. then there were the strong, ruthless ones, who had left humanity at home, who flogged their staggering skin-and-bone pack animals till they dropped, then, with a curse, left them to die. far, far above us the monster mountains nuzzled among the clouds till cloud and mountain were hard to tell apart. these were giant heights heaved up to the stars, where blizzards were cradled and the storm-winds born, stupendous horrific familiars of the tempest and the thunder. i was conscious of their absolute sublimity. it was like height piled on height as one would pile up sacks of flour. as jim remarked: "say, wouldn't it give you crick in the neck just gazin' at them there mountains?" how ant-like seemed the black army crawling up the icy pass, clinging to its slippery face in the blinding buffet of snow and rain! men dropped from its ranks uncared for and unpitied. heedless of those that fell, the gap closed up, the march went on. the great army crawled up and over the summit. far behind could we see them, hundreds, thousands, a countless host, all with "klondike" on their lips and the lust of the gold-lure in their hearts. it was the great stampede. "klondike or bust," was the slogan. it was ever on the lips of those bearded men. "klondike or bust"--the strong man, with infinite patience, righted his overturned sleigh, and in the face of the blinding blizzard, pushed on through the clogging snow. "klondike or bust"--the weary, trail-worn one raised himself from the hole where he had fallen, and stiff, cold, racked with pain, gritted his teeth doggedly and staggered on a few feet more. "klondike or bust"--the fanatic of the trail, crazed with the gold-lust, performed mad feats of endurance, till nature rebelled, and raving and howling, he was carried away to die. "'member joe?" some one would say, as a pack-horse came down the trail with, strapped on it, a dead, rigid shape. "joe used to be plumb-full of fun; always joshin' or takin' some guy off; well--that's joe." two weary, woe-begone men were pulling a hand-sleigh down from the summit. on it was lashed a man. he was in a high fever, raving, delirious. half-crazed with suffering themselves, his partners plodded on unheedingly. i recognised in them the bank clerk and the professor, and i hailed them. from black hollows their eyes stared at me unrememberingly, and i saw how emaciated were their faces. "spinal meningitis," they said laconically, and they were taking him down to the hospital. i took a look and saw in that mask of terror and agony the familiar face of the wood-carver. he gazed at me eagerly, wildly: "i'm rich," he cried, "rich. i've found it--the gold--in millions, millions. now i'm going outside to spend it. no more cold and suffering and poverty. i'm going down there to _live_, thank god, to live." poor globstock! he died down there. he was buried in a nameless grave. to this day i fancy his old mother waits for his return. he was her sole support, the one thing she lived for, a good, gentle son, a man of sweet simplicity and loving kindness. yet he lies under the shadow of those hard-visaged mountains in a nameless grave. the trail must have its tribute. chapter vii it was at balsam city, and things were going badly. marks and bullhammer had formed a partnership with the halfbreed, the professor and the bank clerk, and the arrangement was proving a regrettable one for the latter two. it was all due to marks. at the best of times, he was a cross-grained, domineering bully, and on the trail, which would have worn to a wire edge the temper of an angel, his yellow streak became an eyesore. he developed a chronic grouch, and it was not long before he had the two weaker men toeing the mark. he had a way of speaking of those who had gone up against him in the past and were "running yet," of shooting scrapes and deadly knife-work in which he had displayed a spirit of cold-blooded ferocity. both the professor and the bank clerk were men of peace and very impressionable. consequently, they conceived for marks a shuddering respect, not unmixed with fear, and were ready to stand on their heads at his bidding. on the halfbreed, however, his intimidation did not work. while the other two trembled at his frown, and waited on him hand and foot, the man of indian blood ignored him, and his face was expressionless. whereby he incurred the intense dislike of marks. things were going from bad to worse. the man's aggressions were daily becoming more unbearable. he treated the others like dagoes and on every occasion he tried to pick a quarrel with the halfbreed, but the latter, entrenching himself behind his indian phlegm, regarded him stolidly. marks mistook this for cowardice and took to calling the halfbreed nasty names, particularly reflecting on the good character of his mother. still the halfbreed took no notice, yet there was a contempt in his manner that stung more than words. this was the state of affairs when one evening the prodigal and i paid them a visit. marks had been drinking all day, and had made life a little hell for the others. when we arrived he was rotten-ripe for a quarrel. then the prodigal suggested a game of poker, so four of them, himself, marks, bullhammer and the halfbreed, sat in. at first they made a ten-cent limit, which soon they raised to twenty-five; then, at last, there was no limit but the roof. a bottle passed from mouth to mouth and several big jack-pots were made. bullhammer and the prodigal were about breaking even, marks was losing heavily, while steadily the halfbreed was adding to his pile of chips. through one of those freaks of chance the two men seemed to buck one another continually. time after time they would raise and raise each other, till at last marks would call, and always his opponent had the cards. it was exasperating, maddening, especially as several times marks himself was called on a bluff. the very fiend of ill-luck seemed to have gotten into him, and as the game proceeded, marks grew more flushed and excited. he cursed audibly. he always had good cards, but always somehow the other just managed to beat him. he became explosively angry and abusive. the halfbreed offered to retire from the game, but marks would not hear of it. "come on, you nigger!" he shouted. "don't sneak away. give me a chance to get my money back." so they sat down once more, and a hand was dealt. the halfbreed called for cards, but marks did not draw. then the betting began. after the second round the others dropped out, and marks and the halfbreed were left. the halfbreed was inimitably cool, his face was a perfect mask. marks, too, had suddenly grown very calm. they started to boost each other. both seemed to have plenty of money and at first they raised in tens and twenties, then at last fifty dollars at a clip. it was getting exciting. you could hear a pin drop. bullhammer and the prodigal watched very quietly. sweat stood on marks's forehead, though the halfbreed was utterly calm. the jack-pot held about three hundred dollars. then marks could stand it no longer. "i'll bet a hundred," he cried, "and see you." he triumphantly threw down a straight. "there, now," he snarled, "beat that, you stinking malamute." there was a perceptible pause. i felt sorry for the halfbreed. he could not afford to lose all that money, but his face showed no shade of emotion. he threw down his cards and there arose from us all a roar of incredulous surprise. for the halfbreed had thrown down a royal flush in diamonds. marks rose. he was now livid with passion. "you cheating swine," he cried; "you crooked devil!" quickly he struck the other on the face, a blow that drew blood. i thought for a moment the halfbreed would return the blow. into his eyes there came a look of cold and deadly fury. but, no! quickly bending down, he scooped up the money and left the tent. we stared at each other. "marvellous luck!" said the prodigal. "marvellous hell!" shouted marks. "don't tell me it's luck. he's a sharper, a dirty thief. but i'll get even. he's got to fight now. he'll fight with guns and i'll kill the son of a dog." he was drinking from the bottle in big gulps, fanning himself into an ungovernable fury with fiery objurgations. at last he went out, and again swearing he would kill the halfbreed, he made for another tent, from which a sound of revelry was coming. vaguely fearing trouble, the prodigal and i did not go to bed, but sat talking. suddenly i saw him listen intently. "hist! did you hear that?" i seemed to hear a sound like the fierce yelling of a wild animal. we hurried out. it was marks running towards us. he was crazy with liquor, and in one hand he flourished a gun. there was foam on his lips and he screamed as he ran. then we saw him stop before the tent occupied by the halfbreed, and throw open the flap. "come out, you dirty tin-horn, you crook, you indian bastard; come out and fight." he rushed in and came out again, dragging the halfbreed at arm's length. they were tussling together, and we flung ourselves on them and separated them. i was holding marks, when suddenly he hurled me off, and flourishing a revolver, fired one chamber, crying: "stand back, all of you; stand back! let me shoot at him. he's my meat." we stepped back pretty briskly, for marks had cut loose. in fact, we ducked for shelter, all but the halfbreed, who stood straight and still. marks took aim at the man waiting there so coolly. he fired, and a tide of red stained the other man's shirt, near the shoulder. then something happened. the halfbreed's arm rose quickly. a six-shooter spat twice. he turned to us. "i didn't want to do it, boys, but you see he druv' me to it. i'm sorry. he druv' me to it." marks lay in a huddled, quivering heap. he was shot through the heart and quite dead. chapter viii we were camping in paradise valley. before us and behind us the great cheechako army laboured along with infinite travail. we had suffered, but the trail of the land was near its end. and what an end! with every mile the misery and difficulty of the way seemed to increase. then we came to the trail of rotting horses. dead animals we had seen all along the trail in great numbers, but the sight as we came on this particular place beggared description. there were thousands of them. one night we dragged away six of them before we could find room to put up the tent. there they lay, sprawling horribly, their ribs protruding through their hides, their eyes putrid in the sunshine. it was like a battlefield, hauntingly hideous. and every day was adding to their numbers. the trail ran over great boulders covered with icy slush, through which the weary brutes sank to their bellies. struggling desperately, down they would come between two boulders. then their legs would snap like pipe-stems, and there usually they were left to die. one would see, jammed in the cleft of a rock, the stump of a hoof, or sticking up sharply, the jagged splinter of a leg; while far down the bluff lay the animal to which it belonged. one would see the poor dead brutes lying head and tail for an hundred yards at a stretch. one would see them deserted and desperate, wandering round foraging for food. they would come to the camp at night whinnying pitifully, and with a look of terrible entreaty on their starved faces. then one would take pity on them--and shoot them. i remember stumbling across a big, heavy horse one night in the gloom. it was swaying from side to side, and as i drew near i saw its throat was hideously cut. it looked at me with such agony in its eyes that i put my handkerchief over its face, and, with the blow of an axe, ended its misery. the most spirited of the horses were the first to fall. they broke their hearts in gallant effort. goaded to desperation, sometimes they would destroy themselves, throw themselves frantically over the bluff. oh, it was horrible! horrible! our own horse proved a ready victim. to tell the truth, no one but the jam-wagon was particularly sorry. if there was a sump-hole in sight, that horse was sure to flounder into it. sometimes twice in one day we had to unhitch the ox and pull him out. there was a place dug out of the snow alongside the trail, which was being used as a knacker's yard, and here we took him with a broken leg and put a bullet in his brain. while we waited there were six others brought in to be shot. it was a sunday and we were in the tent, indescribably glad of a day's rest. the jam-wagon was mending a bit of harness; the prodigal was playing solitaire. salvation jim had just returned from a trip to skagway, where he had hoped to find a letter from the outside regarding one jake mosher. his usually hale and kindly face was drawn and troubled. wearily he removed his snow-sodden clothes. "i always did say there was god's curse on this klondike gold," he said; "now i'm sure of it. there's a hoodoo on it. what it's a-goin' to cost, what hearts it's goin' to break, what homes it's goin' to wreck no man'll ever know. god only knows what it's cost already. but this last is the worst yet." "what's the matter, jim?" i said; "what last?" "why, haven't you heard? well, there's just been a snow-slide on the chilcoot an' several hundred people buried." i stared aghast. living as we did in daily danger of snow-slides, this disaster struck us with terror. "you don't say!" said the prodigal. "where?" "oh, somewhere's near lindeman. hundreds of poor sinners cut off without a chance to repent." he was going to improve on the occasion when the prodigal cut in. "poor devils! i guess we must know some of them too." he turned to me. "i wonder if your little polak friend's all right?" indeed my thoughts had just flown to berna. among the exigencies of the trail (when we had to fix our minds on the trouble of the moment and every moment had its trouble) there was little time for reflection. nevertheless, i had found at all times visions of her flitting before me, thoughts of her coming to me when i least expected them. pity, tenderness and a good deal of anxiety were in my mind. often i wondered if ever i would see her again. a feeling of joy and a great longing would sweep over me in the hope. at these words then of the prodigal, it seemed as if all my scattered sentiments crystallised into one, and a vast desire that was almost pain came over me. i suppose i was silent, grave, and it must have been some intuition of my thoughts that made the prodigal say to me: "say, old man, if you would like to take a run over the dyea trail, i guess i can spare you for a day or so." "yes, indeed, i'd like to see the trail." "oh, yes, we've observed your enthusiastic interest in trails. why don't you marry the girl? well, cut along, old chap. don't be gone too long." so next morning, travelling as lightly as possible, i started for bennett. how good it seemed to get off unimpeded by an outfit, and i sped past the weary mob, struggling along on the last lap of their journey. i had been in some expectation of the trail bettering itself, but indeed it appeared at every step to grow more hopelessly terrible. it was knee-deep in snowy slush, and below that seemed to be literally paved with dead horses. i only waited long enough at bennett to have breakfast. a pie nailed to a tent-pole indicated a restaurant, and there, for a dollar, i had a good meal of beans and bacon, coffee and flapjacks. it was yet early morning when i started for linderman. the air was clear and cold, ideal mushing weather, and already parties were beginning to struggle into bennett, looking very weary and jaded. on the trail a man did a day's work by nine in the morning, another by four in the afternoon, and a third by nightfall. you were lucky to get off at that. i was jogging along past the advance guard of the oncoming army, when who should i see but mervin and hewson. they looked thoroughly seasoned, and had made record time with a large outfit. in contrast to the worn, weary-eyed men with faces pinched and puckered, they looked insolently fit and full of fight. they had heard of the snow-slide but could give me no particulars. i inquired for berna and the old man. they were somewhere behind, between chilcoot and lindeman. "yes, they were probably buried under the slide. good-bye." i hurried forward, full of apprehension. a black stream of cheechakos were surging across lindeman; then i realised the greatness of the other advancing army, and the vastness of the impulse that was urging these indomitable atoms to the north. it was blowing quite hard and many had put up sails on their sleds with good effect. i saw a jew driving an ox, to which he had four small sleds harnessed. on each of these he had hoisted a small sail. suddenly the ox looked round and saw the sails. here was something that did not come within the scope of his experience. with a bellow of fear, he stampeded, pursued by a yelling hebrew, while from the chain of sleds articles scattered in all directions. when last i saw them in the far distance, jew and ox were still going. why was i so anxious about berna? i did not know, but with every mile my anxiety increased. a dim unreasoning fear possessed me. i imagined that if anything happened to her i would forever blame myself. i saw her lying white and cold as the snow itself, her face peaceful in death. why had i not thought more of her? i had not appreciated her enough, her precious sweetness and her tenderness. if only she was spared, i would show her what a good friend i could be. i would protect her and be near her in case of need. but then how foolish to think anything could have happened to her. the chances were one in a hundred. nevertheless, i hurried forward. i met the twins. they had just escaped the slide, they told me, and had not yet recovered from the shock. a little way back on the trail it was. i would see men digging out the bodies. they had dug out seventeen that morning. some were crushed as flat as pancakes. again, with a pain at my heart, i asked after berna and her grandfather. twin number one said they were both buried under the slide. i gasped and was seized with sudden faintness. "no," said twin number two, "the old man is missing, but the girl has escaped and is nearly crazy with grief. good-bye." once more i hurried on. gangs of men were shovelling for the dead. every now and then a shovel would strike a hand or a skull. then a shout would be raised and the poor misshapen body turned out. again i put my inquiries. a busy digger paused in his work. he was a sottish-looking fellow, and there was something of the glare of a ghoul in his eyes. "yes, that must have been the old guy with the whiskers they dug out early on from the lower end of the slide. relative, name of winklestein, took charge of him. took him to the tent yonder. won't let any one go near." he pointed to a tent on the hillside, and it was with a heavy heart i went forward. the poor old man, so gentle, so dignified, with his dream of a golden treasure that might bring happiness to others. it was cruel, cruel.... "say, what d'ye want here? get to hell outa this." the words came with a snarl. i looked up in surprise. there at the door of the tent, all a-bristle like a gutter-bred cur, was winklestein. chapter ix i stared at the man a moment, for little had i expected so gracious a reception. "mush on, there," he repeated truculently; "you're not wanted 'round here. mush! pretty darned smart." i felt myself grow suddenly, savagely angry. i measured the man for a moment and determined i could handle him. "i want," i said soberly, "to see the body of my old friend." "you do, do you? well, you darned well won't. besides, there ain't no body here." "you're a liar!" i observed. "but it's no use wasting words on you. i'm going on anyhow." with that i gripped him suddenly and threw him sideways with some force. one of the tent ropes took away his feet violently, and there on the snow he sprawled, glowering at me with evil eyes. "now," said i, "i've got a gun, and if you try any monkey business, i'll fix you so quick you won't know what's happened." the bluff worked. he gathered himself up and followed me into the tent, looking the picture of malevolent impotence. on the ground lay a longish object covered with a blanket. with a strange feeling of reluctant horror i lifted the covering. beneath it lay the body of the old man. he was lying on his back, and had not been squeezed out of all human semblance like so many of the others. nevertheless, he was ghastly enough, with his bluish face and wide bulging eyes. what had worn his fingers to the bone so? he must have made a desperate struggle with his bare hands to dig himself out. i will never forget those torn, nailless fingers. i felt around his waist. ha! the money belt was gone! "winklestein," i said, turning suddenly on the little jew, "this man had two thousand dollars on him. what have you done with it?" he started violently. a look of fear came into his eyes. it died away, and his face was convulsed with rage. "he did not," he screamed; "he didn't have a red cent. he's no more than an old pauper i was taking in to play the fiddle. he owes _me_, curse him! and who are you anyways, you blasted meddler, that accuses a decent man of being a body robber?" "i was this dead man's friend. i'm still his granddaughter's friend. i'm going to see justice done. this man had two thousand dollars in a gold belt round his waist. it belongs to the girl now. you've got to give it up, winklestein, or by----" "prove it, prove it!" he spluttered. "you're a liar; she's a liar; you're all a pack of liars, trying to blackmail a decent man. he had no money, i say! he had no money, and if ever he said so, he's a liar." "oh, you vile wretch!" i cried. "it's you that's lying. i've a mind to choke your dirty throat. but i'll hound you till i make you cough up that money. where's berna?" suddenly he had become quietly malicious. "find her," he jibed; "find her for yourself. and take yourself out of my sight as quickly as you please." i saw he had me over a barrel, so, with a parting threat, i left him. a tent nearby was being run as a restaurant, and there i had a cup of coffee. of the man who kept it, a fat, humorous cockney, i made enquiries regarding the girl. yes, he knew her. she was living in yonder tent with madam winklestein. "they sy she's tykin' on horful baht th' old man, pore kid!" i thanked him, gulped down my coffee, and made for the tent. the flap was down, but i rapped on the canvas, and presently the dark face of madam appeared. when she saw me, it grew darker. "what d'you want?" she demanded. "i want to see berna," i said. "then you can't. can't you hear her? isn't that enough?" surely i could hear a very low, pitiful sound coming from the tent, something between a sob and a moan, like the wailing of an indian woman over her dead, only infinitely subdued and anguished. i was shocked, awed, immeasurably grieved. "thank you," i said; "i'm sorry. i don't want to intrude on her in her hour of affliction. i'll come again." "all right," she laughed tauntingly; "come again." i had failed. i thought of turning back, then i thought i might as well see what i could of the far-famed chikoot, so once more i struck out. the faces of the hundreds i met were the same faces i had passed by the thousand, stamped with the seal of the trail, seamed with lines of suffering, wan with fatigue, blank with despair. there was the same desperate hurry, the same indifference to calamity, the same grim stoical endurance. a snowstorm was raging on the summit of the chikoot and the snow was drifting, covering the thousands of caches to the depth of ten and fifteen feet. i stood on the summit of that nearly perpendicular ascent they call the "scales." steps had been cut in the icy steep, and up these men were straining, each with a huge pack on his back. they could only go in single file. it was the famous "human chain." at regular distances, platforms had been cut beside the trail, where the exhausted ones might leave the ranks and rest; but if a worn-out climber reeled and crawled into one of the shelters, quickly the line closed up and none gave him a glance. the men wore ice-creepers, so that their feet would clutch the slippery surface. many of them had staffs, and all were bent nigh double under their burdens. they did not speak, their lips were grimly sealed, their eyes fixed and stern. they bowed their heads to thwart the buffetings of the storm-wind, but every way they turned it seemed to meet them. the snow lay thick on their shoulders and covered their breasts. on their beards the spiked icicles glistened. as they moved up step by step, it seemed as if their feet were made of lead, so heavily did they lift them. and the resting-places by the trail were never empty. you saw them in the canyon at the trail top, staggering in the wind that seemed to blow every way at once. you saw them blindly groping for the caches they had made but yesterday and now fathoms deep under the snowdrift. you saw them descending swiftly, dizzily, leaning back on their staffs, for the down trail was like a slide. in a moment they were lost to sight, but to-morrow they would come again, and to-morrow and to-morrow, the men of the chilcoot. the trail of travail--surely it was all epitomised in the tribulations of that stark ascent. from my eyrie on its blizzard-beaten crest i could see the human chain drag upward link by link, and every link a man. and as he climbed that pitiless treadmill, on each man's face there could be deciphered the palimpsest of his soul. oh, what a drama it was, and what a stage! the trail of ' --high courage, frenzied fear, despotic greed, unflinching sacrifice. but over all--its hunger and its hope, its passion and its pain--triumphed the dauntless spirit of the pathfinder--the mighty pioneer. [illustration: "no," she said firmly, "you can't see the girl"] then i knew, i knew. these silent, patient, toiling ones were the conquerors of the great white land; the men of the high north, the brotherhood of the arctic wild. no saga will ever glorify their deeds, no epic make them immortal. their names will be written in the snows that melt and vanish at the smile of spring; but in their works will they live, and their indomitable spirit will be as a beacon-light, shining down the dim corridors of eternity. * * * * * i slept at a bunkhouse that night, and next morning i again made a call at the tent within which lay berna. again madam, in a gaudy wrapper, answered my call, but this time, to my surprise, she was quite pleasant. "no," she said firmly, "you can't see the girl. she's all prostrated. we've given her a sleeping powder and she's asleep now. but she's mighty sick. we've sent for a doctor." there was indeed nothing to be done. with a heavy heart i thanked her, expressed my regrets and went away. what had got into me, i wondered, that i was so distressed about the girl. i thought of her continually, with tenderness and longing. i had seen so little of her, yet that little had meant so much. i took a sad pleasure in recalling her to mind in varying aspects; always she appeared different to me somehow. i could get no definite idea of her; ever was there something baffling, mysterious, half revealed. to me there was in her, beauty, charm, every ideal quality. yet must my eyes have been anointed, for others passed her by without a second glance. oh, i was young and foolish, maybe; but i had never before known a girl that appealed to me, and it was very, very sweet. so i went back to the restaurant and gave the fat cockney a note which he promised to deliver into her own hands. i wrote: "dear berna: i cannot tell you how deeply grieved i am over your grandfather's death, and how i sympathise with you in your sorrow. i came over from the other trail to see you, but you were too ill. now i must go back at once. if i could only have said a word to comfort you! i feel terribly about it. "oh, berna, dear, go back, go back. this is no country for you. if i can help you, berna, let me know. if you come on to bennett, then i will see you. "believe me again, dear, my heart aches for you. "be brave. "always affectionately yours, "athol meldrum." then once more i struck out for bennett. chapter x our last load was safely landed in bennett and the trail of the land was over. we had packed an outfit of four thousand pounds over a thirty-seven-mile trail and it had taken us nearly a month. for an average of fifteen hours a day we had worked for all that was in us; yet, looking back, it seems to have been more a matter of dogged persistence and patience than desperate endeavour and endurance. there is no doubt that to the great majority, the trail spelt privation, misery and suffering; but they were of the poor, deluded multitude that never should have left their ploughs, their desks and their benches. then there were others like ourselves to whom it meant hardship, more or less extreme, but who managed to struggle along fairly well. lastly, there was a minority to whom it was little more than discomfort. they were the seasoned veterans of the trail to whom its trials were all in the day's work. it was as if the great white land was putting us to the test, was weeding out the fit from the unfit, was proving itself a land of the strong, a land for men. and indeed our party was well qualified to pass the test of the trail. the prodigal was full of irrepressible enthusiasm, and always loaded to the muzzle with ideas. salvation jim was a mine of foresight and resource, while the jam-wagon proved himself an insatiable glutton for work. altogether we fared better than the average party. we were camped on the narrow neck of water between lindeman and bennett, and as hay was two hundred and fifty dollars a ton, the first thing we did was to butcher the ox. the next was to see about building a boat. we thought of whipsawing our own boards, but the timber near us was poor or thinned out, so that in the end we bought lumber, paying for it twenty cents a foot. we were all very unexpert carpenters; however, by watching others, we managed to make a decent-looking boat. these were the busy days. at bennett the two great cheechako armies converged, and there must have been thirty thousand people camped round the lake. the night was ablaze with countless camp-fires, the day a buzz of busy toil. everywhere you heard the racket of hammer and saw, beheld men in feverish haste over their boat-building. there were many fine boats, but the crude makeshift effort of the amateur predominated. some of them, indeed, had no more shape than a packing-case, and not a few resembled a coffin. anything that would float and keep out the water was a "boat." oh, it was good to think that from thenceforward, the swift, clear current would bear us to our goal. no more icy slush to the knee, no more putrid horse-flesh under foot, no more blinding blizzards and heart-breaking drift of snows. but the blue sky would canopy us, the gentle breezes fan us, the warm sun lock us in her arms. no more bitter freezings and sinister dawns and weary travail of mind and body. the hills would busk themselves in emerald green, the wild crocus come to gladden our eyes, the long nights glow with sunsets of theatric splendour. no wonder, in the glory of reaction, we exulted and laboured on our boat with brimming hearts. and always before us gleamed the golden magnet, making us chafe and rage against the stubborn ice that stayed our progress. the days were full of breezy sunshine and at all times the eager army watched the rotting ice with anxious eyes. in places it was fairly honeycombed now, in others corroded and splintered into silver spears. here and there it heaved up and cracked across in gaping chasms; again it sagged down suddenly. there were sheets of surface water and stretches of greenish slush that froze faintly overnight. in large, flaming letters of red, the lake was dangerous, near to a break-up, a death trap; yet every day the reckless ones were going over it to be that much nearer the golden goal. in this game of taking desperate chances, many a wild player lost, many a foolhardy one never reached the shore. no one will ever know the number of victims claimed by these black unfathomable waters. it was the professor who opened our eyes to the danger of crossing the lake. he and the bank clerk quarrelled over the wisdom of delay. the professor was positive it was quite safe. the ice was four feet thick. go fast over the weak spots and you would be all right. he argued, fumed and ranted. they were losing precious time, time which might mean all the difference between failure and success. it was expedient to get ahead of the rabble. he, for one, was no craven; he had staked his all on this trip. he had studied the records of arctic explorers. he thought he was no man's fool. if others were cowardly enough to hold back, he would go alone. the upshot of it was that one grey morning he took his share of the outfit and started off by himself. said the bank clerk, half crying: "poor old pondersby! in spite of the words we had, we parted the best of friends. we shook hands and i wished him all good-speed. i saw him twisting and wriggling among the patches of black and white ice. for a long time i watched him with a heavy heart. yet he seemed to be getting along nicely, and i was beginning to think he was right and to call myself a fool. he was getting quite small in the distance, when suddenly he seemed to disappear. i got the glasses. there was a big hole in the ice, no sleigh, no pondersby. poor old fellow!" there were many such cases of separation on the shores of lake bennett. parties who had started out on that trail as devoted chums, finished it as lifelong enemies. tempers were ground to a razor-edge; words dropped crudely; anger flamed to meet anger. you could scarcely blame them. they did not realise that the trail demanded all that was in a man of gentleness, patience and forbearance. poor human nature was strained and tested inexorably, and the most loving friends became the most deadly foes forevermore. one instance of this was the twins. "say," said the prodigal, "you ought to see romulus and remus. they're scrapping like cat and dog. seems they've had a bunch of trouble right along the line--you know how the trail brings out the yellow streak in a man. well, they're both fiery as hades, so after a particularly warm evening they swore that as soon as they got to bennett, they'd divvy up the stuff and each go off by his lonesome. somehow, they patched it up when they reached here and got busy on their boat. now it seems they've quarrelled worse than ever. romulus is telling remus his real name and _vice-versa_. they're raking up old grievances of their childhood days, and the end of it is they've once more decided to halve tip the outfit. they're mad enough to kill each other. they've even decided to cut their boat in two." it was truly so. we went and watched them. each had a bitter determination on his face. they were sawing the boat through the middle. afterwards, i believe, they patched up their ends and made a successful trip to dawson. the ice was going fast. strangers were still coming in over the trail with awful tales of its horrors. bennett was all excitement and seething life. thousands of ungainly boats, rafts and scows were waiting to be launched. already craft were beginning to come through from lindeman, rushing down the fierce torrent between the two lakes. from where we were camped we saw them pass. there were ugly rapids and a fang-like rock, against which many a luckless craft was piled up. it was the most fascinating thing in the world to watch these daring argonauts rush the rapids, to speculate whether or not they would get through. the stroke of an oar, a few feet to right or left, meant unspeakable calamity. poor souls! their faces of utter despair as they landed dripping from the water and saw their precious goods disappearing in the angry foam would have moved a heart of stone. as one man said, in the bitterness of his heart: "oh, boys, what a funny god we've got!" there was a man who came sailing through the passage with a fine boat and a rich outfit. he had lugged it over the trail at the cost of infinite toil and weariness. now his heart was full of hope. suddenly he was in the whirl of the current, then all at once loomed up the cruel rock. his face blanched with horror. frantically he tried to avoid it. no use. crash! and his frail boat splintered like matchwood. but this man was a fighter. he set his jaw. once more he went back over that deadly trail. he bought, at great expense, a new outfit and had packers hustle it over the trail. he procured a new boat. once more he sailed through the narrow canyon. his face was set and grim. suddenly, like some iron nemesis, once more loomed up the fatal rock. he struggled gallantly, but again the current seemed to grip him and throw him on that deadly fang. with another sickening crash he saw his goods sink in the seething waters. did he give up? no! a third time he struggled, weary, heartbroken, over that trail. he had little left now, and with that little he bought his third outfit, a poor, pathetic shadow of the former ones, but enough for a desperate man. once more he packed it over the trail, now a perfect avernus of horror. he reached the river, and in a third poor little boat, again he sailed down the passage. there was the swift-leaping current, the ugly tusk of rock staked with wreckage. a moment, a few feet, a turn of the oar-blade, and he would have been past. but, no! the rock seemed to fascinate him as the eyes of a snake fascinate a bird. he stared at it fearfully, a look of terror and despair. then for the third time, with a hideous crash, his frail boat was piled up in a pitiful ruin. he was beaten now. he climbed on the bank, and there, with a last look at the ugly snarl of waters, and the jagged up-thrust of that evil rock, he put a bullet smashing through his brain. * * * * * the ice was loose and broken. we were all ready to start in a few days. the mighty camp was in a ferment of excitement. every one seemed elated beyond words. on, once more, to eldorado! it was near midnight, but the sky, where the sun had dipped below the mountain rim, was a sea of translucent green, weirdly and wildly harmonious with the desolation of the land. on the bleak lake one could hear the lap of waves, while the high, rocky shore to the left was a black wall of shadow. i stood by the beach near our boat, all alone in the wan light, and tried to think calmly of the strange things that had happened to me. surely there was something of romance left in this old world yet if one would only go to seek it. here i was, sun-browned, strong, healthy, having come through many trials and still on the edge of adventure, when i might, but for my own headstrong perversity, have yet been vegetating on the hills of glengyle. a great exultation welled up in me, the voice of youth and ambition, the lust to conquer. i would succeed, i would wrest from the vast, lonely, mysterious north some of its treasure. i would be a conqueror. silent and abstracted, i looked into the brooding disk of sheeny sky, my eyes dream-troubled. then i felt a ghostly hand touch my arm, and with a great start of surprise, i turned. "berna!" chapter xi the girl was wearing a thin black shawl around her shoulders, but in the icy wind blowing from the lake, she trembled like a wand. her face was pale, waxen, almost spiritual in its expression, and she looked at me with just the most pitiably sweet smile in the world. "i'm sorry i startled you; but i wanted to thank you for your letter and for your sympathy." it was the same clear voice, with the throb of tender feeling in it. "you see, i'm all alone now." the voice faltered, but went on bravely. "i've got no one that cares about me any more, and i've been sick, so sick i wonder i lived. i knew you'd forgotten me, and i don't blame you. but i've never forgotten you, and i wanted to see you just once more." she was speaking quite calmly and unemotionally. "berna!" i cried; "don't say that. your reproach hurts me so. indeed i did try to find you, but it's such a vast camp. there are so many thousands of people here. time and again i inquired, but no one seemed to know. then i thought you must surely have gone back, and it's been such a busy time, building our boat and getting ready. no, berna, i didn't forget. many's and many's a night i've lain awake thinking of you, wondering, longing to see you again--but haven't you forgotten a little?" i saw the sensitive lips smile almost bitterly. "no! not even a little." "oh! i'm sorry, berna. i'm sorry i've looked after you so badly. i'll never forgive myself. you've been terribly sick, too. what a little white whisp you are! you look as if a breeze would blow you away. you shouldn't be out this night, girl. put my coat around you, come now." i wrapped her in it and saw with gladness her shivering cease. as i buttoned it at her throat i marvelled at the thinness of her, and at the delicacy of her face. in the opal light of the luminous sky her great grey eyes were lustrous. "berna," i said again, "why did you come in here, why? you should have gone back." "gone back," she repeated; "indeed i would have, oh, so gladly. but you don't understand--they wouldn't let me. after they had got all his money--and they _did_ get it, though they swear he had nothing--they made me come on with them. they said i owed them for his burial, and for the care and attention they gave me when i was sick. they said i must come on with them and work for them. i protested, i struggled. but what's the use? i can't do anything against them any more. i'm weak, and i'm terribly afraid of her." she shuddered, then a look of fear came into her eyes. i put my hand on her arm and drew her close to me. "i just slipped away to-night. she thinks i'm asleep in the tent. she watches me like a cat, and will scarce let me speak to any one. she's so big and strong, and i'm so slight and weak. she would kill me in one of her rages. then she tells every one i'm no good, an ingrate, everything that's bad. once when i threatened to run away, she said she would accuse me of stealing and have me put in gaol. that's the kind of woman she is." "this is terrible, berna. what have you been doing all the time?" "oh, i've been working, working for them. they've been running a little restaurant and i've waited on table. i saw you several times, but you were always too busy or too far away in dreams to see me, and i couldn't get a chance to speak. but we're going down the lake to-morrow, so i thought i would just slip away and say good-bye." "not good-bye," i faltered; "not good-bye." her tone was measured, her eyes closed almost. "yes, i'm afraid i must say it. when we get down there, it's good-bye, good-bye. the less you have to do with me, the better." "what do you mean?" "well, i mean this. these people are not decent. they're vile. i must go with them; i cannot get away. already, though i'm as pure as your sister would be, already my being with them has smirched me in everybody's eyes. i can see it by the way the men look at me. no, go your way and leave me to whatever fate is in store for me." "never!" i said harshly. "what do you take me for, berna?" "my friend ... you know, after his death, when i was so sick, i wanted to die. then i got your letter, and i felt i must see you again for--i thought a lot of you. no man's ever been so kind to me as you have. they've all been--the other sort. i used to think of you a good deal, and i wanted to do some little thing to show you i was really grateful. on the boat i used to notice you because you were so quiet and abstracted. then you were grandfather's room-mate and gentle and kind to him. you looked different from the others, too; your eyes were good----" "oh, come, berna, never mind that." "yes, i mean it. i just wanted to tell you the things a poor girl thought of you. but now it's all nearly over. we've neither of us got to think of each other any more ... and i just wanted to give you this--to remind you sometimes of berna." it was a poor little locket and it contained a lock of her silken hair. "it's worth nothing, i know, but just keep it for me." "indeed i will, berna, keep it always, and wear it for you. but i can't let you go like this. see here, girl, is there nothing i can do? nothing? surely there must be some way. berna, berna, look at me, listen to me! is there? what can i do? tell me, tell me, my girl." she seemed to sway to me gently. indeed i did not intend it, but somehow she was in my arms. she felt so slight and frail a thing, i feared to hurt her. then i felt her bosom heaving greatly, and i knew she was crying. for a little i let her cry, but presently i lifted up the white face that lay on my shoulder. it was wet with tears. again and again i kissed her. she lay passively in my arms. never did she try to escape nor hide her face, but seemed to give herself up to me. her tears were salt upon my lips, yet her own lips were cold, and she did not answer to my kisses. at last she spoke. her voice was like a little sigh. "oh, if it could only be!" "what, berna? tell me what?" "if you could only take me away from them, protect me, care for me. oh, if you could only _marry_ me, make me your wife. i would be the best wife in the world to you; i would work my fingers to the bone for you; i would starve and suffer for you, and walk the world barefoot for your sake. oh, my dear, my dear, pity me!" it seemed as if a sudden light had flashed upon my brain, stunning me, bewildering me. i thought of the princess of my dreams. i thought of garry and of mother. could i take her to them? "berna," i said sternly, "look at me." she obeyed. "berna, tell me, by all you regard as pure and holy, do you love me?" she was silent and averted her eyes. "no, berna," i said, "you don't; you're afraid. it's not the sort of love you've dreamed of. it's not your ideal. it would be gratitude and affection, love of a kind, but never that great dazzling light, that passion that would raise to heaven or drag to hell." "how do i know? perhaps that would come in time. i care a great deal for you. i think of you always. i would be a true, devoted wife----" "yes, i know, berna; but you don't love me, love me; see, dear. it's so different. you might care and care till doomsday, but it wouldn't be the other thing; it wouldn't be love as i have conceived of it, dreamed of it. listen, berna! here's where our difference in race comes in. you would rush blindly into this. you would not consider, test and prove yourself. it's the most serious matter in life to me, something to be looked at from every side, to be weighed and balanced." as i said this, my conscience was whispering fiercely: "oh, fool! coward! paltering, despicable coward! this girl throws herself on you, on your honour, chivalry, manhood, and you screen yourself behind a barrier of convention." however, i went on. "you might come to love me in time, but we must wait a while, little girl. surely that is reasonable? i care for you a great, great deal, but i don't know if i love you in the great way people should love. can't we wait a little, berna? i'll look after you, dear; won't that do?" she disengaged herself from me, sighing woefully. "yes, i suppose that'll do. oh, i'll never forgive myself for saying that to you. i shouldn't, but i was so desperate. you don't know what it meant to me. please forget it, won't you?" "no, berna, i'll never forget it, and i'll always bless you for having said it. believe me, dear, it will all come right. things aren't so bad. you're just scared, little one. i'll watch no one harms you, and love will come to both of us in good time, that love that means life and death, hate and adoration, rapture and pain, the greatest thing in the world. oh, my dear, my dear, trust me! we have known each other such a brief space. let us wait a little longer, just a little longer." "yes, that's right, a little longer." her voice was faint and toneless. she disengaged herself. "now, good-night; they may have missed me." almost before i could realise it she had disappeared amid the tents, leaving me there in the gloom with my heart full of doubt, self-reproach and pain. oh, despicable, paltering coward! chapter xii spring in the yukon! majestic mountains crowned with immemorial snow! the mad midnight melodies of birds! from the kindly stars to the leaves of grass that glimmer in the wind, a world pregnant with joy, a land jewel-bright and virgin-sweet! after the obsession of the long, long night, spring leaps into being with a sudden sun-thrilled joy, a radiant uplift. the shy emerald mantles the valleys and fledges the heights; the pussy-willows tremble by lake and stream; the wild crocus brims the hollows with a haze of violet; trailing his last ragged pennants of snow on the hills, winter makes his sullen retreat. perhaps i am over-sensitive, but i have ecstasied moments when to me it seems the grass is greener, the sky bluer than they are to most; i surrender my heart to wonder and joy; i am in tune with the triumphant cadence of things; i am an atom of praise; i live, therefore i exult. only in hyperbole could i express that golden spring, as we set sail on the sunlit waters of lake bennett. never had i felt so glad. and indeed it was a vastly merry mob that sailed with us, straining their eyes once more to the eldorado of their dreams. bottled-up spirits effervesced wildly; hearts beat bravely; hopes were high. the bitter landtrail was forgotten. the clear, bright water leaped laughingly at the bow; the gallant breeze was blowing behind. the strong men bared their breasts and drank of it deeply. yes, they were the strong, the fit, suffered by the north to survive, stiffened and braced and seasoned, the chosen of the test, the proven of the trail. songs of jubilation rang in the night air; men, eager-eyed and watchful, roared snatches of melody as they toiled at sweep and oar; banjos, mandolins, fiddles, flutes, mingled in maddest confusion. once more the great invading army of the cheechakos moved forward tumultuously, but now with mirth and rejoicing. the great calm night was never dark, the great deep lakes infinitely serene, the great mountains majestically solemn. in the lighted sky the pale ghost-moon seemed ever apologising for itself. the world was a grand harmonious symphony that even the advancing tide of the argonauts could not mar. yet, under all the mirth and gaiety, you could feel, tense, ruthless and dominant, the spirit of the trail. in that invincible onrush of human effort, as the oars bent with their strokes of might, as the sail bellied before the breeze, as the eager wave leapt at the bow, you could feel the passion that quickened their hearts and steeled their arms. klondike or bust! once more the slogan rang on bearded lips; once more the gold-lust smouldered in their eyes. the old primal lust resurged: to win at any cost, to thrust down those in the way, to fight fiercely, brutally, even as wolf-dogs fight, this was the code, the terrible code of the gold-trail. the basic passions up-leapt, envy and hate and fear triumphed, and with ever increasing excitement the great fleet of the gold-hunters strained onward to the valley of the treasure. of all who had started out with us but a few had got this far. of these mervin and hewson were far in front, victors of the trail, qualified to rank with the men of the high north, the sourdoughs of the yukon valley. somewhere in the fleet were the bank clerk, the halfbreed and bullhammer, while three days' start ahead were the winklesteins. "these jews have the only system," commented the prodigal; "they ran the 'elight' restaurant in bennett and got action on their beans and flour and bacon. the madam cooked, the old man did the chores and the girl waited on table. they've roped in a bunch of money, and now they've lit out for dawson in a nice, tight little scow with their outfits turned into wads of the long green." i kept a keen lookout for them and every day i hoped we would overtake their scow, for constantly i thought of berna. her little face, so wistfully tender, haunted me, and over and over in my mind i kept recalling our last meeting. at times i blamed myself for letting her go so easily, and then again i was thankful that i had not allowed my heart to run away with my head. for i was beginning to wonder if i had not given her my heart, given it easily, willingly and without reserve. and in truth at the idea i felt a strange thrill of joy. the girl seemed to me all that was fair, lovable and sweet. we were now skimming over tagish lake. with grey head bared to the breeze and a hymn stave on his lips, salvation jim steered in the strong sunlight. his face was full of cheer, his eyes alight with kindly hope. leaning over the side, the prodigal was dragging a spoon-bait to catch the monster trout that lived in those depths. the jam-wagon, as if disgusted at our enforced idleness, slumbered at the bow. as he slept i noticed his fine nostrils, his thin, bitter lips, his bare brawny arms, tattooed with strange devices. how clean he kept his teeth and nails! there was the stamp of the thoroughbred all over him. in what strange parts of the world had he run amuck? what fair, gracious women mourned for him in far-away england? ah, those enchanted days, the sky spaces abrim with light, the gargantuan mountains, the eager army of adventurers, undismayed at the gloomy vastness! we came to windy arm, rugged, desolate and despairful. down it, with menace and terror on its wings, rushes the furious wind, driving boats and scows crashing on an iron shore. in the night we heard shouts; we saw wreckage piled up on the beach, but we pulled away. for twelve weary hours we pulled at the oars, and in the end our danger was past. we came to lake tagish; a dead calm, a blazing sun, a seething mist of mosquitoes. we sweltered in the heat; we strained, with blistered hands, at the oars; we cursed and toiled like a thousand others of that grotesque fleet. there were boats of every shape, square, oblong, circular, three-cornered, flat, round--anything that would float. they were made mostly of boards, laboriously hand-sawn in the woods, and from a half-inch to four inches thick. black pitch smeared the seams of the raw lumber. they travelled sideways as well as in any other fashion. and in such crazy craft were thousands of amateur boatmen, sailing serenely along, taking danger with sang-froid, and at night, over their camp-fires, hilariously telling of their hairbreadth escapes. we entered the fifty-mile river; we were in a giant valley; tier after tier of benchland rose to sentinel mountains of austerest grandeur. there at the bottom the little river twisted like a silver wire, and down it rowed the eager army. they shattered the silence into wildest echo, they roused the bears out of their frozen sleep; the forest flamed from their careless fires. the river was our beast of burden now, a tireless, gentle beast. serenely and smoothly it bore us onward, yet there was a note of menace in its song. they had told us of the canyon and of the rapids, and as we pulled at the oars and battled with the mosquitoes, we wondered when the danger was coming, how we would fare through it when it came. then one evening as we were sweeping down the placid river, the current suddenly quickened. the banks were sliding past at a strange speed. swiftly we whirled around a bend, and there we were right on top of the dreadful canyon. straight ahead was what seemed to be a solid wall of rock. the river looked to have no outlet; but as we drew nearer we saw that there was a narrow chasm in the stony face, and at this the water was rearing and charging with an angry roar. the current was gripping us angrily now; there was no chance to draw back. at his post stood the jam-wagon with the keen, alert look of the man who loves danger. a thrill of excitement ran through us all. with set faces we prepared for the fight. i was in the bow. all at once i saw directly in front a scow struggling to make the shore. in her there were three people, two women and a man. i saw the man jump out with a rope and try to snub the scow to a tree. three times he failed, running along the bank and shouting frantically. i saw one of the women jump for the shore. then at the same instant the rope parted, and the scow, with the remaining woman, went swirling on into the canyon. chapter xiii all this i saw, and so fascinated was i that i forgot our own peril. i heard a shrill scream of fear; i saw the solitary woman crouch down in the bottom of the scow, burying her face in her hands; i saw the scow rise, hover, and then plunge downward into the angry maw of the canyon. the river hurried us on helplessly. we were in the canyon now. the air grew dark. on each side, so close it seemed we could almost touch them with our oars, were black, ancient walls, towering up dizzily. the river seemed to leap and buck, its middle arching four feet higher than its sides, a veritable hog-back of water. it bounded on in great billows, green, hillocky and terribly swift, like a liquid toboggan slide. we plunged forward, heaved aloft, and the black, moss-stained walls brindled past us. about midway in the canyon is a huge basin, like the old crater of a volcano, sloping upwards to the pine-fringed skyline. here was a giant eddy, and here, circling round and round, was the runaway scow. the forsaken woman was still crouching on it. the light was quite wan, and we were half blinded by the flying spray, but i clung to my place at the bow and watched intently. "keep clear of that scow," i heard some one shout. "avoid the eddy." it was almost too late. the ill-fated scow spun round and swooped down on us. in a moment we would have been struck and overturned, but i saw jim and the jam-wagon give a desperate strain at the oars. i saw the scow swirling past, just two feet from us. i looked again--then with a wild panic of horror i saw that the crouching figure was that of berna. i remember jumping--it must have been five feet--and i landed half in, half out of the water. i remember clinging a moment, then pulling myself aboard. i heard shouts from the others as the current swept them into the canyon. i remember looking round and cursing because both sweeps had been lost overboard, and lastly i remember bending over berna and shouting in her ear: "all right, i'm with you!" if an angel had dropped from high heaven to her rescue i don't believe the girl could have been more impressed. for a moment she stared at me unbelievingly. i was kneeling by her and she put her hands on my shoulders as if to prove to herself that i was real. then, with a half-sob, half-cry of joy, she clasped her arms tightly around me. something in her look, something in the touch of her slender, clinging form made my heart exult. once again i shouted in her ear. "it's all right, don't be frightened. we'll pull through, all right." once more we had whirled off into the main current; once more we were in that roaring torrent, with its fearsome dips and rises, its columned walls corroded with age and filled with the gloom of eternal twilight. the water smashed and battered us, whirled us along relentlessly, lashed us in heavy sprays; yet with closed eyes and thudding hearts we waited. then suddenly the light grew strong again. the primæval walls were gone. we were sweeping along smoothly, and on either side of us the valley sloped in green plateaus up to the smiling sky. i unlocked my arms and peered down to where her face lay half hidden on my breast. "thank god, i was able to reach you!" "yes, thank god!" she answered faintly. "oh, i thought it was all over. i nearly died with fear. it was terrible. thank god for you!" but she had scarce spoken when i realised, with a vast shock, that the danger was far from over. we were hurrying along helplessly in that fierce current, and already i heard the roar of the squaw rapids. ahead, i could see them dancing, boiling, foaming, blood-red in the sunset glow. "be brave, berna," i had to shout again; "we'll be all right. trust me, dear!" she, too, was staring ahead with dilated eyes of fear. yet at my words she became wonderfully calm, and in her face there was a great, glad look that made my heart rejoice. she nestled to my side. once more she waited. we took the rapids broadside on, but the scow was light and very strong. like a cork in a mill-stream we tossed and spun around. the vicious, mauling wolf-pack of the river heaved us into the air, and worried us as we fell. drenched, deafened, stunned with fierce, nerve-shattering blows, every moment we thought to go under. we were in a caldron of fire. the roar of doom was in our ears. giant hands with claws of foam were clutching, buffeting us. shrieks of fury assailed us, as demon tossed us to demon. was there no end to it? thud, crash, roar, sickening us to our hearts; lurching, leaping, beaten, battered ... then all at once came a calm; we must be past; we opened our eyes. we were again sweeping round a bend in the river in the shadow of a high bluff. if we could only make the bank--but, no! the current hurled us along once more. i saw it sweep under a rocky face of the hillside, and then i knew that the worst was coming. for there, about two hundred yards away, were the dreaded whitehorse rapids. "close your eyes, berna!" i cried. "lie down on the bottom. pray as you never prayed before." we were on them now. the rocky banks close in till they nearly meet. they form a narrow gateway of rock, and through those close-set jaws the raging river has to pass. leaping, crashing over its boulder-strewn bed, gaining in terrible impetus at every leap, it gathers speed for its last desperate burst for freedom. then with a great roar it charges the gap. but there, right in the way, is a giant boulder. water meets rock in a crash of terrific onset. the river is beaten, broken, thrown back on itself, and with a baffled roar rises high in the air in a raging hell of spume and tempest. for a moment the chasm is a battleground of the elements, a fierce, titanic struggle. then the river, wrenching free, falls into the basin below. "lie down, berna, and hold on to me!" we both dropped down in the bottom of the scow, and she clasped me so tightly i marvelled at the strength of her. i felt her wet cheek pressed to mine, her lips clinging to my lips. "now, dear, just a moment and it will all be over." once again the angry thunder of the waters. the scow took them nose on, riding gallantly. again we were tossed like a feather in a whirlwind, pitchforked from wrath to wrath. once more, swinging, swerving, straining, we pelted on. on pinnacles of terror our hearts poised nakedly. the waters danced a fiery saraband; each wave was a demon lashing at us as we passed; or again they were like fear-maddened horses with whipping manes of flame. we clutched each other convulsively. would it never, never end ... then ... then ... it seemed the last had come. up, up we went. we seemed to hover uncertainly, tilted, hair-poised over a yawning gulf. were we going to upset? mental agony screamed in me. but, no! we righted. dizzily we dipped over; steeply we plunged down. oh! it was terrible! we were in a hornets' nest of angry waters and they were stinging us to death; we were in a hollow cavern roofed over with slabs of seething foam; the fiery horses were trampling us under their myriad hoofs. i gave up all hope. i felt the girl faint in my arms. how long it seemed! i wished for the end. _the flying hammers of hell were pounding us, pounding us--oh, god! oh, god!..._ then, swamped from bow to stern, half turned over, wrecked and broken, we swept into the peaceful basin of the river below. chapter xiv on the flats around the whitehorse rapids was a great largess of wild flowers. the shooting stars gladdened the glade with gold; the bluebells brimmed the woodland hollow with amethyst; the fire-weed splashed the hills with the pink of coral. daintily swinging, like clustered pearls, were the petals of the orchid. in glorious profusion were begonias, violets, and iceland poppies, and all was in a setting of the keenest emerald. but over the others dominated the wild rose, dancing everywhere and flinging its perfume to the joyful breeze. boats and scows were lined up for miles along the river shore. on the banks water-soaked outfits lay drying in the sun. we, too, had shipped much water in our passage, and a few days would be needed to dry out again. so it was that i found some hours of idleness and was able to see a good deal of berna. madam winklestein i found surprisingly gracious. she smiled on me, and in her teeth, like white quartz, the creviced gold gleamed. she had a smooth, flattering way with her that disarmed enmity. winklestein, too, had conveniently forgotten our last interview, and extended to me the paw of spurious friendship. i was free to see berna as much as i chose. thus it came about that we rambled among the woods and hills, picking wild flowers and glad almost with the joy of children. in these few days i noted a vast change in the girl. her cheeks, pale as the petals of the wild orchid, seemed to steal the tints of the briar-rose, and her eyes beaconed with the radiance of sun-waked skies. it was as if in the poor child a long stifled capacity for joy was glowing into being. one golden day, with her cheeks softly flushed, her eyes shining, she turned to me. "oh, i could be so happy if i only had a chance, if i only had the chance other girls have. it would take so little to make me the happiest girl in the world--just to have a home, a plain, simple home where all was sunshine and peace; just to have the commonest comforts, to be care-free, to love and be loved. that would be enough." she sighed and went on: "then if i might have books, a little music, flowers--oh, it seems like a dream of heaven; as well might i sigh for a palace." "no palace could be too fair for you, berna, no prince too noble. some day, your prince will come, and you will give him that great love i told you of once." swiftly a shadow came into the bright eyes, the sweet mouth curved pathetically. "not even a beggar will seek me, a poor nameless girl travelling in the train of dishonour ... and again, i will never love." "yes, you will indeed, girl--infinitely, supremely. i know you, berna; you'll love as few women do. your dearest will be all your world, his smile your heaven, his frown your death. love was at the fashioning of you, dear, and kissed your lips and sent you forth, saying, 'there goeth my handmaiden.'" i thought for a while ere i went on. "you cared for your grandfather; you gave him your whole heart, a love full of self-sacrifice, of renunciation. now he is gone, you will love again, but the next will be to the last as wine is to water. and the day will come when you will love grandly. yours will be a great, consuming passion that knows no limit, no assuagement. it will be your glory and your shame. for him will your friends be foes, your light darkness. you will go through fire and water for your beloved's sake; your parched lips will call his name, your frail hands cling to him in the shadow of death. oh, i know, i know. love has set you apart. you will immolate yourself on his altars. you will dare, defy and die for him. i'm sorry for you, berna." her face hung down, her lips quivered. as for me, i was surprised at my words and scarce knew what i was saying. at last she spoke. "if ever i loved like that, the man i loved must be a king among men, a hero, almost a god." "perhaps, berna, perhaps; but not needfully. he may be a grim man with a face of power and passion, a virile, dominant brute, but--well, i think he will be more of a god. let's change the subject." i found she had all the sad sophistication of the lowly-born, yet with it an invincible sense of purity, a delicate horror of the physical phases of love. she was a finely motived creature with impossible ideals, but out of her stark knowledge of life she was naïvely outspoken. once i asked of her: "berna, if you had to choose between death and dishonour, which would you prefer?" "death, of course," she answered promptly. "death's a pretty hard proposition," i commented. "no, it's easy; physical death, compared with the other, compared with moral death." she was very emphatic and angry with me for my hazarded demur. in an atmosphere of disillusionment and moral miasma she clung undauntedly to her ideals. never was such a brave spirit, so determined in goodness, so upright in purity, and i blessed her for her unfaltering words. "may such sentiments as yours," i prayed, "be ever mine. in doubt, despair, defeat, oh life, take not away from me my faith in the pure heart of woman!" often i watched her thoughtfully, her slim, well-poised figure, her grey eyes that were fuller of soul than any eyes i have ever seen, her brown hair wherein the sunshine loved to pick out threads of gold, her delicate features with their fine patrician quality. we were dreamers twain, but while my outlook was gay with hope, hers was dark with despair. since the episode of the scow i had never ventured to kiss her, but had treated her with a curious reserve, respect and courtesy. indeed, i was diagnosing my case, wondering if i loved her, affirming, doubting on a very see-saw of indetermination. when with her i felt for her an intense fondness and at times an almost irresponsible tenderness. my eyes rested longingly on her, noting with tremulous joy the curves and shading of her face, and finding in its very defects, beauties. when i was away from her--oh, the easeless longing that was almost pain, the fanciful elaboration of our last talk, the hint of her graces in bird and flower and tree! i wanted her wildly, and the thought of a world empty of her was monstrous. i wondered how in the past we had both existed and how i had lived, carelessly, happy and serenely indifferent. i tried to think of a time when she should no longer have power to make my heart quicken with joy or contract with fear--and the thought of such a state was insufferable pain. was i in love? poor, fatuous fool! i wanted her more than everything else in all the world, yet i hesitated and asked myself the question. hundreds of boats and scows were running the rapids, and we watched them with an untiring fascination. that was the most exciting spectacle in the whole world. the issue was life or death, ruin or salvation, and from dawn till dark, and with every few minutes of the day, was the breathless climax repeated. the faces of the actors were sick with dread and anxiety. it was curious to study the various expressions of the human countenance unmasked and confronted with gibbering fear. yes, it was a vivid drama, a drama of cheers and tears, always thrilling and often tragic. every day were bodies dragged ashore. the rapids demanded their tribute. the men of the trail must pay the toll. sullen and bloated the river disgorged its prey, and the dead, without prayer or pause, were thrown into nameless graves. on our first day at the rapids we met the halfbreed. he was on the point of starting downstream. where was the bank clerk? oh, yes; they had upset coming through; when last he had seen little pinklove he was struggling in the water. however, they expected to get the body every hour. he had paid two men to find and bury it. he had no time to wait. we did not blame him. in those wild days of headstrong hurry and gold-delirium human life meant little. "another floater," one would say, and carelessly turn away. a callousness to death that was almost mediæval was in the air, and the friends of the dead hurried on, the richer by a partner's outfit. it was all new, strange, sinister to me, this unveiling of life's naked selfishness and lust. next morning they found the body, a poor, shapeless, sodden thing with such a crumpled skull. my thoughts went back to the sweet-faced girl who had wept so bitterly at his going. even then, maybe, she was thinking of him, fondly dreaming of his return, seeing the glow of triumph in his boyish eyes. she would wait and hope; then she would wait and despair; then there would be another white-faced woman saying, "he went to the klondike, and never came back. we don't know what became of him." verily, the way of the gold-trail was cruel. berna was with me when they buried him. "poor boy, poor boy!" she repeated. "yes, poor little beggar! he was so quiet and gentle. he was no man for the trail. it's a funny world." the coffin was a box of unplaned boards loosely nailed together, and the men were for putting him into a grave on top of another coffin. i protested, so sullenly they proceeded to dig a new grave. berna looked very unhappy, and when she saw that crude, shapeless pine coffin she broke down and cried bitterly. at last she dried her tears and with a happier look in her eyes bade me wait a little until she returned. soon again she came back, carrying some folds of black sateen over her arm. as she ripped at this with a pair of scissors, i noticed there was a deep frilling to it. also a bright blush came into her cheek at the curious glance i gave to the somewhat skimpy lines of her skirt. but the next instant she was busy stretching and tacking the black material over the coffin. the men had completed the new grave. it was only three feet deep, but the water coming in had prevented them from digging further. as we laid the coffin in the hole it looked quite decent now in its black covering. it floated on the water, but after some clods had been thrown down, it sank with many gurglings. it was as if the dead man protested against his bitter burial. we watched the grave-diggers throw a few more shovelsful of earth over the place, then go off whistling. poor little berna! she cried steadily. at last she said: "let's get some flowers." so out of briar-roses she fashioned a cross and a wreath, and we laid them reverently on the muddy heap that marked the bank clerk's grave. oh, the pitiful mockery of it! chapter xv soon i knew that berna and i must part, and but two nights later it came. it was near midnight, yet in no ways dark, and everywhere the camp was astir. we were sitting by the river, i remember, a little way from the boats. where the sun had set, the sky was a luminous veil of ravishing green, and in the elusive light her face seemed wanly sweet and dreamlike. a sad spirit rustled amid the shivering willows and a great sadness had come over the girl. all the happiness of the past few days seemed to have ebbed away from her and left her empty of hope. as she sat there, silent and with hands clasped, it was as if the shadows that for a little had lifted, now enshrouded her with a greater gloom. "tell me your trouble, berna." she shook her head, her eyes wide as if trying to read the future. "nothing." her voice was almost a whisper. "yes, there is, i know. tell me, won't you?" again she shook her head. "what's the matter, little chum?" "it's nothing; it's only my foolishness. if i tell you, it wouldn't help me any. and then--it doesn't matter. you wouldn't care. why should you care?" she turned away from me and seemed absorbed in bitter thought. "care! why, yes, i would care; i do care. you know i would do anything in the world to help you. you know i would be unhappy if you were unhappy. you know----" "then it would only worry you." she was regarding me anxiously. "now you must tell me, berna. it will worry me indeed if you don't." once more she refused. i pleaded with her gently. i coaxed, i entreated. she was very reluctant, yet at last she yielded. "well, if i must," she said; "but it's all so sordid, so mean, i hate myself; i despise myself that i should have to tell it." she kneaded a tiny handkerchief nervously in her fingers. "you know how nice madam winklestein's been to me lately--bought me new clothes, given me trinkets. well, there's a reason--she's got her eye on a man for me." i gave an exclamation of surprise. "yes; you know she's let us go together--it's all to draw him on. oh, couldn't you see it? didn't you suspect something? you don't know how bitterly they hate you." i bit my lip. "who's the man?" "jack locasto." i started. "have you heard of him?" she asked. "he's got a million-dollar claim on bonanza." had i heard of him! who had not heard of black jack, his spectacular poker plays, his meteoric rise, his theatric display? "of course he's married," she went on, "but that doesn't matter up here. there's such a thing as a klondike marriage, and they say he behaves well to his discarded mis----" "berna!" angry and aghast, i had stopped her. "never let me hear you utter that word. even to say it seems pollution." she laughed harshly, bitterly. "what's this whole life but pollution?... well, anyway, he wants me." "but you wouldn't, surely you wouldn't?" she turned on me fiercely. "what do you take me for? surely you know me better than that. oh, you almost make me hate you." suddenly she pressed the little handkerchief to her eyes. she fell to sobbing convulsively. vainly i tried to soothe her, whispering: "oh, my dear, tell me all about it. i'm sorry, girl, i'm sorry." she ceased crying. she went on in her fierce, excited way. "he came to the restaurant in bennett. he used to watch me a lot. his eyes were always following me. i was afraid. i trembled when i served him. he liked to see me tremble, it gave him a feeling of power. then he took to giving me presents, a diamond ring, a heart-shaped locket, costly gifts. i wanted to return them, but she wouldn't let me, took them from me, put them away. then he and she had long talks. i know it was all about me. that was why i came to you that night and begged you to marry me--to save me from him. now it's gone from bad to worse. the net's closing round me in spite of my flutterings." "but he can't get you against your will," i cried. "no! no! but he'll never give up. he'll try so long as i resist him. i'm nice to him just to humour him and gain time. i can't tell you how much i fear him. they say he always gets his way with women. he's masterly and relentless. there's a cold, sneering command in his smile. you hate him but you obey him." "he's an immoral monster, berna. he spares neither time nor money to gratify his whims where a woman is concerned. and he has no pity." "i know, i know." "he's intensely masculine, handsome in a vivid, gipsy sort of way; big, strong and compelling, but a callous libertine." "yes, he's all that. and can you wonder then my heart is full of fear, that i am distracted, that i asked you what i did? he is relentless and of all women he wants me. he would break me on the wheel of dishonour. oh, god!" her face grew almost tragic in its despair. "and everything's against me; they're all helping him. i haven't a single friend, not one to stand by me, to aid me. once i thought of you, and you failed me. can you wonder i'm nearly crazy with the terror of it? can you wonder i was desperate enough to ask you to save me? i'm all alone, friendless, a poor, weak girl. no, i'm wrong. i've one friend--death; and i'll die, i'll die, i swear it, before i let him get me." her words came forth in a torrent, half choked by sobs. it was hard to get her calmed. never had i thought her capable of such force, such passion. i was terribly distressed and at a loss how to comfort her. "hush, berna," i pleaded, "please don't say such things. remember you have a friend in me, one that would do anything in his power to help you." she looked at me a moment. "how can you help me?" i held both of her hands firmly, looking into her eyes. "by marrying you. will you marry me, dear? will you be my wife?" "no!" i started. "berna!" "no! i wouldn't marry you if you were the last man left in the world," she cried vehemently. "why?" i tried to be calm. "why! why, you don't love me; you don't care for me." "yes, i do, berna. i do indeed, girl. care for you! well, i care so much that--i beg you to marry me." "yes, yes, but you don't love me right, not in your great, grand way. not in the way you told me of. oh, i know; it's part pity, part friendship. it would be different if i cared in the same way, if--if i didn't care so very much more." "you do, berna; you love me like that?" "how do i know? how can i tell? how can any of us tell?" "no, dear," i said, "love has no limits, no bounds, it is always holding something in reserve. there are yet heights beyond the heights, that mock our climbing, never perfection; no great love but might have been eclipsed by a greater. there's a master key to every heart, and we poor fools delude ourselves with the idea we are opening all the doors. we are on sufferance, we are only understudies in the love drama, but fortunately the star seldom appears on the scene. however, this i know----" i rose to my feet. "since the moment i set eyes on you, i loved you. long before i ever met you, i loved you. i was just waiting for you, waiting. at first i could not understand, i did not know what it meant, but now i do, beyond the peradventure of a doubt; there never was any but you, never will be any but you. since the beginning of time it was all planned that i should love you. and you, how do you care?" she stood up to hear my words. she would not let me touch her, but there was a great light in her eyes. then she spoke and her voice was vibrant with passion, all indifference gone from it. "oh, you blind! you coward! couldn't you see? couldn't you feel? that day on the scow it came to me--love. it was such as i had never dreamed of, rapture, ecstasy, anguish. do you know what i wished as we went through the rapids? i wished that it might be the end, that in such a supreme moment we might go down clinging together, and that in death i might hold you in my arms. oh, if you'd only been like that afterwards, met love open-armed with love. but, no! you slipped back to friendship. i feel as if there were a barrier of ice between us now. i will try never to care for you any more. now leave me, leave me, for i never want to see you again." "yes, you will, you must, you must, berna. i'd sell my immortal soul to win that love from you, my dearest, my dearest; i'd crawl around the world to kiss your shadow. if you called to me i would come from the ends of the earth, through storm and darkness, to your side. i love you so, i love you so." i crushed her to me, i kissed her madly, yet she was cold. "have you nothing more to say than fine words?" she asked. "marry me, marry me," i repeated. "now?" now! i hesitated again. the suddenness of it was like a cold douche. god knows, i burned for the girl, yet somehow convention clamped me. "now if you wish," i faltered; "but better when we get to dawson. better when i've made good up there. give me one year, berna, one year and then----" "one year!" the sudden gleam of hope vanished from her eyes. for the third time i was failing her, yet my cursed prudence overrode me. "oh, it will pass swiftly, dear. you will be quite safe. i will be near you and watch over you." i reassured her, anxiously explaining how much better it would be if we waited a little. "one year!" she repeated, and it seemed to me her voice was toneless. then she turned to me in a sudden spate of passion, her face pleading, furrowed, wretchedly sad. "oh, my dear, my dear, i love you better than the whole world, but i hoped you would care enough for me to marry me now. it would have been best, believe me. i thought you would rise to the occasion, but you've failed me. well, be it so, we'll wait one year." "yes, believe me, trust me, dear; it will be all right. i'll work for you, slave for you, think only of you, and in twelve short months--i'll give my whole life to make you happy." "will you, dear? well, it doesn't matter now.... i've loved you." * * * * * all that night i wrestled with myself. i felt i ought to marry her at once to shield her from the dangers that encompassed her. she was like a lamb among a pack of wolves. i juggled with my conscience. i was young and marriage to me seemed such a terribly all-important step. yet in the end my better nature triumphed, and ere the camp was astir i arose. i was going to marry berna that day. a feeling of relief came over me. how had it ever seemed possible to delay? i was elated beyond measure. i hurried to tell her, i pictured her joy. i was almost breathless. love words trembled on my tongue tip. it seemed to me i could not bear to wait a moment. then as i reached the place where they had rested i gazed unbelievingly. a sickening sense of loss and failure crushed me. for the scow was gone. chapter xvi it was three days before we made a start again, and to me each day was like a year. i chafed bitterly at the delay. would those sacks of flour never dry? longingly i gazed down the big, blue yukon and cursed the current that was every moment carrying her farther from me. why her sudden departure? i had no doubt it was enforced. i dreaded danger. then in a while i grew calmer. i was foolish to worry. she was safe enough. we would meet in dawson. at last we were under way. once more we sped down that devious river, now swirling under the shadow of a steep bank, now steering around a sandspit. the scenery was hideous to me, bluffs of clay with pines peeping over their rims, willow-fringed flats, swamps of niggerhead, ugly drab hills in endless monotony. how full of kinks and hooks was the river! how vicious with snags! how treacherous with eddies! it was beginning to bulk in my thoughts almost like an obsession. then one day lake labarge burst on my delighted eyes. the trail was nearing its end. once more with swelling sail we drove before the wind. once more we were in a fleet of argonaut boats, and now, with the goal in sight, each man redoubled his efforts. perhaps the rich ground would all be gone ere we reached the valley. maddening thought after what we had endured! we must get on. there was not a man in all that fleet but imagined that fortune awaited him with open arms. they talked exultantly. their eyes shone with the gold-lust. they strained at sweep and oar. to be beaten at the last! oh, it was inconceivable! a tigerish eagerness filled them; a panic of fear and cupidity spurred them on. labarge was a dream lake, mirroring noble mountains in its depths (for soon after we made it, a dead calm fell). but we had no eyes for its beauty. the golden magnet was drawing us too strongly now. we cursed that exquisite serenity that made us sweat at the oars; we cursed the wind that never would arise; the currents that always were against us. in that breathless tranquillity myriads of mosquitoes assailed us, blinded us, covered our food as we ate, made our lives a perfect hell of misery. yet the trail was nearing its finish. what a relief it was when a sudden storm came up! white-caps tossed around us, and the wind drove us on a precipitous shore, so that we nearly came to a sorry end. but it was over at last, and we swept on into the thirty-mile river. a furious, hurling stream was this, that matched our mad, impatient mood; but it was staked with hidden dangers. we gripped our weary oars. keenly alert we had to be, steering and watching for rocks that would have ripped us from bow to stern. there was a famously terrible one, on which scows smashed like egg-shells under a hammer, and we missed it by a bare hand's-breadth. i felt sick to think of our bitterness had we piled up on it. that was an evil, ugly river, full of capricious turns and eddies, and the bluffs were high and steep. hootalinqua, big salmon, little salmon, these are names to me now. all i can remember is long days of toil at the oar, fighting the growing obsession of mosquitoes, ever pressing on to the golden valley. the ceaseless strain was beginning to tell on us. we suffered from rheumatism, we barked with cold. oh, we were weary, weary, yet the trail was nearing its end. one sunlit sabbath evening i remember well. we were drifting along and we came on a lovely glade where a creek joined the river. it was a green, velvety, sparkling place, and by the creek were two men whipsawing lumber. we hailed them jauntily and asked them if they had found prospects. were they getting out lumber for sluice-boxes? one of the men came forward. he was very tired, very quiet, very solemn. "no," he said, "we are sawing out a coffin for our dead." then we saw a limp shape in their boat and we hurried on, awed and abashed. the river was mud colour now, swirling in great eddies or convulsed from below with sudden upheavals. drifting on that oily current one seemed to be quite motionless, and only the gliding banks assured us of progress. the country seemed terrible to me, sinister, guilty, god-forsaken. at the horizon, jagged mountains stabbed viciously at the sky. the river overwhelmed me. sometimes it was a stream of blood, running into the eye of the setting sun, beautiful, yet weird and menacing. it broadened, deepened, and every day countless streams swelled its volume. islands waded in it greenly. always we heard it _singing_, a seething, hissing noise supposed to be the pebbles shuffling on the bottom. the days were insufferably hot and mosquito-curst; the nights chilly, damp and mosquito-haunted. i suffered agonies from neuralgia. never mind, it would soon be over. we were on our last lap. the trail was near its end. yes, it was indeed the homestretch. suddenly sweeping round a bend we raised a shout of joy. there was that great livid scar on the mountain face--the "slide," and clustered below it like shells on the seashore, an army of tents. it was the gold-born city. trembling with eagerness we pulled ashore. our troubles were over. at last we had gained our eldorado, thank god, thank god! a number of loafers were coming to meet us. they were strangely calm. "how about the gold?" said the prodigal; "lots of ground left to stake?" one of them looked at us contemptuously. he chewed a moment ere he spoke. "you cheechakers better git right home. there ain't a foot of ground to stake. everything in sight was staked last fall. the rest is all mud. there's nothing doin' an' there's ten men for every job! the whole thing's a fake. you cheechakers better git right home." yes, after all our travail, all our torment, we had better go right home. already many were preparing to do so. yet what of that great oncoming horde of which we were but the vanguard? what of the eager army, the host of the cheechakos? for hundreds of miles were lake and river white with their grotesque boats. beyond them again were thousands and thousands of others struggling on through mosquito-curst morasses, bent under their inexorable burdens. reckless, indomitable, hope-inspired, they climbed the passes and shot the rapids; they drowned in the rivers, they rotted in the swamps. nothing could stay them. the golden magnet was drawing them on; the spell of the gold-lust was in their hearts. and this was the end. for this they had mortgaged homes and broken hearts. for this they had faced danger and borne suffering: to be told to return. the land was choosing its own. all along it had weeded out the weaklings. now let the fainthearted go back. this land was only for the strong. yet it was sad, so much weariness, and at the end disenchantment and failure. verily the ways of the gold-trail were cruel. book iii the camp for once you've panned the speckled sand and seen the bonny dust, its peerless brightness blinds you like a spell; it's little else you care about; you go because you must, and you feel that you could follow it to hell. you'd follow it in hunger, and you'd follow it in cold; you'd follow it in solitude and pain; and when you're stiff and battened down let some one whisper "gold," you're lief to rise and follow it again. --"the prospector." chapter i i will always remember my first day in the gold-camp. we were well in front of the argonaut army, but already thousands were in advance of us. the flat at the mouth of bonanza was a congestion of cabins; shacks and tents clustered the hillside, scattered on the heights and massed again on the slope sweeping down to the klondike. an intense vitality charged the air. the camp was alive, ahum, vibrant with fierce, dynamic energy. in effect the town was but one street stretching alongside the water front. it was amazingly packed with men from side to side, from end to end. they lounged in the doorways of oddly assorted buildings, and jostled each other on the dislocated sidewalks. stores of all kinds, saloons, gambling joints flourished without number, and in one block alone there were half a dozen dance-halls. yet all seemed plethorically prosperous. many of the business houses were installed in tents. that huge canvas erection was a mining exchange; that great log barn a dance-hall. dwarfish log cabins impudently nestled up to pretentious three-story hotels. the effect was oddly staccato. all was grotesque, makeshift, haphazard. back of the main street lay the red-light quarter, and behind it again a swamp of niggerheads, the breeding-place of fever and mosquito. the crowd that vitalised the street was strikingly cosmopolitan. mostly big, bearded fellows they were, with here the full-blooded face of the saloon man, and there the quick, pallid mask of the gambler. women too i saw in plenty, bold, free, predacious creatures, a rustle of silk and a reek of perfume. till midnight i wandered up and down the long street; but there was no darkness, no lull in its clamorous life. i was looking for berna. my heart hungered for her; my eyes ached for her; my mind was so full of her there seemed no room for another single thought. but it was like looking for a needle in a strawstack to find her in that seething multitude. i knew no one, and it seemed futile to inquire regarding her. these keen-eyed men with eager talk of claims and pay-dirt could not help me. there seemed to be nothing for it but to wait. so with spirits steadily sinking zerowards i waited. we found, indeed, that there was little ground left to stake. the mining laws were in some confusion, and were often changing. several creeks were closed to location, but always new strikes were being made and stampedes started. so, after a session of debate, we decided to reserve our rights to stake till a good chance offered. it was a bitter awakening. like all the rest we had expected to get ground that was gold from the grass-roots down. but there was work to be had, and we would not let ourselves be disheartened. the jam-wagon had already deserted us. he was off up on eldorado somewhere, shovelling dirt into a sluice-box for ten dollars a day. i made up my mind i would follow him. jim also would get to work, while the prodigal, we agreed, would look after all our interests, and stake or buy a good claim. thus we planned, sitting in our little tent near the beach. we were in a congeries of tents. the beach was fast whitening with them. if one was in a hurry it was hard to avoid tripping over ropes and pegs. as each succeeding party arrived they had to go further afield to find camping-ground. and they were arriving in thousands daily. the shore for a mile was lined five deep with boats. scows had been hauled high and dry on the gravel, and there the owners were living. a thousand stoves were eloquent of beans and bacon. i met a man taking home a prize, a porterhouse steak. he was carrying it over his arm like a towel, paper was so scarce. the camp was a hive of energy, a hum of occupation. but how many, after they had paraded that mile-long street with its mud, its seething foam of life, its blare of gramophones and its blaze of dance-halls, ached for their southland homes again! you could read the disappointment in their sun-tanned faces. yet they were the eager navigators of the lakes, the reckless amateurs of the rivers. this was a something different from the trail. it was as if, after all their efforts, they had butted up against a stone wall. there was "nothing doing," no ground left, and only hard work, the hardest on earth. moreover, the country was at the mercy of a gang of corrupt officials who were using the public offices for their own enrichment. franchises were being given to the favourites of those in power, concessions sold, liquor permits granted, and abuses of every kind practised on the free miner. all was venality, injustice and exaction. "go home," said the man in the street; "the mining laws are rotten. all kinds of ground is tied up. even if you get hold of something good, them dam-robber government sharks will flim-flam you out of it. there's no square deal here. they tax you to mine; they tax you to cut a tree; they tax you to sell a fish; pretty soon they'll be taxing you to breathe. go home!" and many went, many of the trail's most indomitable. they could face hardship and danger, the blizzards, the rapids, nature savage and ravening; but when it came to craft, graft and the duplicity of their fellow men they were discouraged, discomfited. "say, boys, i guess i've done a slick piece of work," said the prodigal with some satisfaction, as he entered the tent. "i've bought three whole outfits on the beach. got them for twenty-five per cent. less than the cost price in seattle. i'll pull out a hundred per cent. on the deal. now's the time to get in and buy from the quitters. they so soured at the whole frame-up they're ready to pull their freights at any moment. all they want's to get away. they want to put a few thousand miles between them and this garbage dump of creation. they never want to hear the name of yukon again except as a cuss-word. i'm going to keep on buying outfits. you boys see if i don't clean up a bunch of money." "it's too bad to take advantage of them," i suggested. "too bad nothing! that's business; your necessity, my opportunity. oh, you'd never make a money-getter, my boy, this side of the millennium--and you scotch too." "that's nothing," said jim; "wait till i tell you of the deal i made to-day. you recollect i packed a flat-iron among my stuff, an' you boys joshed me about it, said i was bughouse. but i figured out: there's camp-meetin's an' socials up there, an' a nice, dinky, white shirt once in a way goes pretty good. anyway, thinks i, if there ain't no one else to dress for in that wilderness, i'll dress for the almighty. so i sticks to my old flat-iron." he looked at us with a twinkle in his eye and then went on. "well, it seems there's only three more flat-irons in camp, an' all the hot sports wantin' boiled shirts done up, an' all the painted jezebels hollerin' to have their lingery fixed, an' the wash-ladies just goin' round crazy for flat-irons. well, i didn't want to sell mine, but the old coloured lady that runs the bong tong laundry (an' a sister in the lord) came to me with tears in her eyes, an' at last i was prevailed on to separate from it." "how much, jim?" "well, i didn't want to be too hard on the old girl, so i let her down easy." "how much?" "well, you see there's only three or four of them flat-irons in camp, so i asked a hundred an' fifty dollars, an' quick's a flash, she took me into a store an' paid me in gold-dust." he flourished a little poke of dust in our laughing faces. "that's pretty good," i said; "everything seems topsy-turvy up here. why, to-day i saw a man come in with a box of apples which the crowd begged him to open. he was selling those apples at a dollar apiece, and the folks were just fighting to get them." it was so with everything. extraordinary prices ruled. eggs and candles had been sold for a dollar each, and potatoes for a dollar a pound; while on the trail in ' horse-shoe nails were selling at _a dollar a nail_. once more i roamed the long street with that awful restless agony in my heart. where was she, my girl, so precious now it seemed i had lost her? why does love mean so much to some, so little to others? perhaps i am the victim of an intensity of temperament, but i craved for her; i visioned evils befalling her; i pierced my heart with dagger-thrusts of fear for her. oh, if i only knew she was safe and well! every slim woman i saw in the distance looked to be her, and made my heart leap with emotion. yet always i chewed on the rind of disappointment. there was never a sign of berna. in the agitation and unrest of my mind i climbed the hill that overshadows the gold-born city. the dome they call it, and the face of it is vastly scarred, blanched as by a cosmic blow. there on its topmost height by a cairn of stone i stood at gaze, greatly awestruck. the view was a spacious one, and of an overwhelming grandeur. below me lay the mighty yukon, here like a silken ribbon, there broadening out to a pool of quicksilver. it seemed motionless, dead, like a piece of tinfoil lying on a sable shroud. the great valley was preternaturally still, and pall-like as if steeped in the colours of the long, long night. the land so vast, so silent, so lifeless, was round in its contours, full of fat creases and bold curves. the mountains were like sleeping giants; here was the swell of a woman's breast, there the sweep of a man's thigh. and beyond that huddle of sprawling titans, far, far beyond, as if it were an enclosing stockade, was the jagged outline of the rockies. quite suddenly they seemed to stand up against the blazing sky, monstrous, horrific, smiting the senses like a blow. their primordial faces were hacked and hewed fantastically, and there they posed in their immemorial isolation, virgin peaks, inviolate valleys, impregnably desolate and savagely sublime. and beyond their stormy crests, surely a world was consuming in the kilns of chaos. was ever anything so insufferably bright as the incandescent glow that brimmed those jagged clefts? that fierce crimson, was it not the hue of a cooling crucible, that deep vermillion the rich glory of a rose's heart? did not that tawny orange mind you of ripe wheat-fields and the exquisite intrusion of poppies? that pure, clear gold, was it not a bank of primroses new washed in april rain? what was that luminous opal but a lagoon, a pearly lagoon, with floating in it islands of amber, their beaches crisped with ruby foam? and, over all the riot of colour, that shimmering chrysoprase so tenderly luminous--might it not fitly veil the splendours of paradise? i looked to where gulped the mouth of bonanza, cavernously wide and filled with the purple smoke of many fires. there was the golden valley, silent for centuries, now strident with human cries, vehement with human strife. there was the timbered basin of the klondike bleakly rising to mountains eloquent of death. it was dominating, appalling, this vastness without end, this unappeasable loneliness. glad was i to turn again to where, like white pebbles on a beach, gleamed the tents of the gold-born city. somewhere amid that confusion of canvas, that muddle of cabins, was berna, maybe lying in some wide-eyed vigil of fear, maybe staining with hopeless tears her restless pillow. somewhere down there--oh, i must find her! i returned to the town. i was tramping its long street once more, that street with its hundreds of canvas signs. it was a city of signs. every place of business seemed to have its fluttering banner, and beneath these banners moved the ever restless throng. there were men from the mines in their flannel shirts and corduroys, their stetsons and high boots. there were men from the trail in sweaters and mackinaws, german socks and caps with ear-flaps. but all were bronzed and bearded, fleshless and clean-limbed. i marvelled at the seriousness of their faces, till i remembered that here was no problem of a languorous sunland, but one of grim emergency. it was a man's game up here in the north, a man's game in a man's land, where the sunlight of the long, long day is ever haunted by the shadow of the long, long night. oh, if i could only find her! the land was a great symphony; she the haunting theme of it. i bought a copy of the "nugget" and went into the sourdough restaurant to read it. as i lingered there sipping my coffee and perusing the paper indifferently, a paragraph caught my eye and made my heart glow with sudden hope. chapter ii here was the item: jack locasto loses $ , . "one of the largest gambling plays that ever occurred in dawson came off last night in the malamute saloon. jack locasto of eldorado, well known as one of the klondike's wealthiest claim-owners, claude terry and charlie haw were the chief actors in the game, which cost the first-named the sum of $ , . "locasto came to dawson from his claim yesterday. it is said that before leaving the forks he lost a sum ranging in the neighbourhood of $ , . last night he began playing in the malamute with haw and terry in an effort, it is supposed, to recoup his losses at the forks. the play continued nearly all night, and at the wind-up, locasto, as stated above, was loser to the amount of $ , . this is probably the largest individual loss ever sustained at one sitting in the history of klondike poker playing." jack locasto! why had i not thought of him before? surely if any one knew of the girl's whereabouts, it would be he. i determined i would ask him at once. so i hastily finished my coffee and inquired of the emasculated-looking waiter where i might find the klondike king. "oh, black jack," he said: "well, at the green bay tree, or the tivoli, or the monte carlo. but there's a big poker game on and he's liable to be in it." once more i paraded the seething street. it was long after midnight, but the wondrous glow, still burning in the northern sky, filled the land with strange enchantment. in spite of the hour the town seemed to be more alive than ever. parties with pack-laden mules were starting off for the creeks, travelling at night to avoid the heat and mosquitoes. men with lean brown faces trudged sturdily along carrying extraordinary loads on their stalwart shoulders. a stove, blankets, cooking utensils, axe and shovel usually formed but a part of their varied accoutrement. constables of the mounted police were patrolling the streets. in the drab confusion their scarlet tunics were a piercing note of colour. they walked very stiffly, with grim mouths and eyes sternly vigilant under the brims of their stetsons. women were everywhere, smoking cigarettes, laughing, chaffing, strolling in and out of the wide-open saloons. their cheeks were rouged, their eye-lashes painted, their eyes bright with wine. they gazed at the men like sleek animals, with looks that were wanton and alluring. a libertine spirit was in the air, a madcap freedom, an effluence of disdainful sin. i found myself by the stockade that surrounded the police reservation. on every hand i saw traces of a recent overflow of the river that had transformed the street into a navigable canal. now in places there were mudholes in which horses would flounder to their bellies. one of the police constables, a tall, slim englishman with a refined manner, proved to me a friend in need. "yes," he said, in answer to my query, "i think i can find your man. he's downtown somewhere with some of the big sporting guns. come on, we'll run him to earth." as we walked along we compared notes, and he talked of himself in a frank, friendly way. "you're not long out from the old country? thought not. left there myself about four years ago--i joined the force in regina. it's altogether different 'outside,' patrol work, a free life on the open prairie. here they keep one choring round barracks most of the time. i've been for six months now on the town station. i'm not sorry, though. it's all devilish interesting. wouldn't have missed it for a farm. when i write the people at home about it they think i'm yarning--stringing them, as they say here. the governor's a clergyman. sent me to harrow, and wanted to make a bishop out of me. but i'm restless; never could study; don't seem to fit in, don't you know." i recognised his type, the clean, frank, breezy englishman that has helped to make an empire. he went on: "yes, how the old dad would stare if i could only have him in dawson for a day. he'd never be able to get things just in focus any more. he would be knocked clean off the pivot on which he's revolved these thirty years. seems to me every one's travelling on a pivot in the old country. it's no use trying to hammer it into their heads there are more points of view than one. if you don't just see things as they see them, you're troubled with astigmatism. come, let's go in here." he pushed his way through a crowded doorway and i followed. it was the ordinary type of combined saloon and gambling-joint. in one corner was a very ornate bar, and all around the capacious room were gambling devices of every kind. there were crap-tables, wheel of fortune, the klondike game, keno, stud poker, roulette and faro outfits. the place was chock-a-block with rough-looking men, either looking on or playing the games. the men who were running the tables wore shades of green over their eyes, and their strident cries of "come on, boys," pierced the smoky air. in a corner, presiding over a stud-poker game, i was surprised to see our old friend mosher. he was dealing with one hand, holding the pack delicately and sending the cards with a dexterous flip to each player. miners were buying chips from a man at the bar, who with a pair of gold scales was weighing out dust in payment. my companion pointed to an inner room with a closed door. "the klondike kings are in there, hard at it. they've been playing now for twenty-four hours, and goodness knows when they'll let up." at that moment a peremptory bell rang from the room and a waiter hurried up. "there they are," said my friend, as the door opened. "there's black jack and stillwater willie and claude terry and charlie haw." eagerly i looked in. the men were wearied, their faces haggard and ghastly pale. quickly and coolly they fingered the cards, but in their hollow eyes burned the fever of the game, a game where golden eagles were the chips and thousand-dollar jack-pots were unremarkable. no doubt they had lost and won greatly, but they gave no sign. what did it matter? in the dumps waiting to be cleaned up were hundreds of thousands more; while in the ground were millions, millions. all but locasto were medium-sized men. stillwater willie was in evening-dress. he wore a red tie in which glittered a huge diamond pin, and yellow tan boots covered with mud. "how did he get his name?" i asked. "well, you see, they say he was the only one that funked the whitehorse rapids. he's a high flier, all right." the other two were less striking. haw was a sandy-haired man with shifty, uneasy eyes; terry of a bulldog type, stocky and powerful. but it was locasto who gripped and riveted my attention. he was a massive man, heavy of limb and brutal in strength. there was a great spread to his shoulders and a conscious power in his every movement. he had a square, heavy chin, a grim, sneering mouth, a falcon nose, black eyes that were as cold as the water in a deserted shaft. his hair was raven dark, and his skin betrayed the mexican strain in his blood. above the others he towered, strikingly masterful, and i felt somehow the power that emanated from the man, the brute force, the remorseless purpose. then the waiter returned with a tray of drinks and the door was closed. "well, you've seen him now," said chester of the police. "your only plan, if you want to speak to him, is to wait till the game breaks up. when poker interferes with your business, to the devil with your business. they won't be interrupted. well, old man, if you can't be good, be careful; and if you want me any time, ring up the town station. bye, bye." he sauntered off. for a time i strolled from game to game, watching the expressions on the faces of the players, and trying to take an interest in the play. yet my mind was ever on the closed door and my ear strained to hear the click of chips. i heard the hoarse murmurs of their voices, an occasional oath or a yawn of fatigue. how i wished they would come out! women went to the door, peered in cautiously, and beat a hasty retreat to the tune of reverberated curses. the big guns were busy; even the ladies must await their pleasure. oh, the weariness of that waiting! in my longing for berna i had worked myself up into a state that bordered on distraction. it seemed as if a cloud was in my brain, obsessing me at all times. i felt i must question this man, though it raised my gorge even to speak of her in his presence. in that atmosphere of corruption the thought of the girl was intolerably sweet, as of a ray of sunshine penetrating a noisome dungeon. it was in the young morn when the game broke up. the outside air was clear as washed gold; within it was foul and fetid as a drunkard's breath. men with pinched and pallid faces came out and inhaled the breeze, which was buoyant as champagne. beneath the perfect blue of the spring sky the river seemed a shimmer of violet, and the banks dipped down with the green of chrysoprase. already a boy was sweeping up the dirty, nicotine-frescoed sawdust from the floor. (it was his perquisite, and from the gold he panned out he ultimately made enough to put him through college.) then the inner door opened and black jack appeared. chapter iii he was wan and weary. around his sombre eyes were chocolate-coloured hollows. his thick raven hair was disordered. he had lost heavily, and, bidding a curt good-bye to the others, he strode off. in a moment i had followed and overtaken him. "mr. locasto." he turned and gave me a stare from his brooding eyes. they were vacant as those of a dope-fiend, vacant with fatigue. "jack locasto's my name," he answered carelessly. i walked alongside him. "well, sir," i said, "my name's meldrum, athol meldrum." "oh, i don't care what the devil your name is," he broke in petulantly. "don't bother me just now. i'm tired." "so am i," i said, "infernally tired; but it won't hurt you to listen to my name." "well, mr. athol meldrum, good-day." his voice was cold, his manner galling in its indifference, and a sudden anger glowed in me. "hold on," i said; "just a moment. you can very easily do me an immense favour. listen to me." "well, what do you want," he demanded roughly; "work?" "no," i said, "i just want a scrap of information. i came into the country with some jews the name of winklestein. i've lost track of them and i think you may be able to tell me where they are." he was all attention now. he turned half round and scrutinised me with deliberate intensity. then, like a flash, his rough manner changed. he was the polished gentleman, the san francisco club-lounger, the man of the world. he rasped the stubble on his chin; his eyes were bland, his voice smooth as cream. "winklestein," he echoed reflectively, "winklestein; seems to me i do remember the name, but for the life of me i can't recall where." he was watching me like a cat, and pretending to think hard. "was there a girl with them?" "yes," i said eagerly, "a young girl." "a young girl, ah!" he seemed to reflect hard again. "well, my friend, i'm afraid i can't help you. i remember noticing the party on the way in, but what became of them i can't think. i don't usually bother about that kind of people. well, good-night, or good-morning rather. this is my hotel." he had half entered when he paused and turned to me. his face was urbane, his voice suave to sweetness; but it seemed to me there was a subtle mockery in his tone. "i say, if i should hear anything of them, i'll let you know. your name? athol meldrum--all right, i'll let you know. good-bye." he was gone and i had failed. i cursed myself for a fool. the man had baffled me. nay, even i had hurt myself by giving him an inkling of my search. berna seemed further away from me than ever. home i went, discouraged and despairful. then i began to argue with myself. he must know where they were, and if he really had designs on the girl and was keeping her in hiding my interview with him would alarm him. he would take the first opportunity of warning the winklesteins. when would he do it? that very night in all likelihood. so i reasoned; and i resolved to watch. i stationed myself in a saloon from where i could command a view of his hotel, and there i waited. i think i must have watched the place for three hours, but i know it was a weariful business, and i was heartsick of it. doggedly i stuck to my post. i was beginning to think he must have evaded me, when suddenly coming forth alone from the hotel i saw my man. it was about midnight, neither light nor dark, but rather an absence of either quality, and the northern sky was wan and ominous. in the crowded street i saw locasto's hat overtopping all others, so that i had no difficulty in shadowing him. once he stopped to speak to a woman, once to light a cigar; then he suddenly turned up a side street that ran through the red-light district. he was walking swiftly and he took a path that skirted the swamp behind the town. i had no doubt of his mission. my heart began to beat with excitement. the little path led up the hill, clothed with fresh foliage and dotted with cabins. once i saw him pause and look round. i had barely time to dodge behind some bushes, and feared for a moment he had seen me. but no! on he went again faster than ever. i knew now i had divined his errand. he was at too great pains to cover his tracks. the trail had plunged among a maze of slender cotton-woods, and twisted so that i was sore troubled to keep him in view. always he increased his gait and i followed breathlessly. there were few cabins hereabouts; it was a lonely place to be so near to town, very quiet and thickly screened from sight. suddenly he seemed to disappear, and, fearing my pursuit was going to be futile, i rushed forward. i came to a dead stop. there was no one to be seen. he had vanished completely. the trail climbed steeply up, twisty as a corkscrew. these cursed poplars, how densely they grew! blindly i blundered forward. then i came to a place where the trail forked. panting for breath i hesitated which way to take, and it was in that moment of hesitation that a heavy hand was laid on my shoulder. "where away, my young friend?" it was locasto. his face was mephistophelian, his voice edged with irony. i was startled i admit, but i tried to put a good face on it. "hello," i said; "i'm just taking a stroll." his black eyes pierced me, his black brows met savagely. the heavy jaw shot forward, and for a moment the man, menacing and terrible, seemed to tower above me. "you lie!" like explosive steam came the words, and wolf-like his lips parted, showing his powerful teeth. "you lie!" he reiterated. "you followed me. didn't i see you from the hotel? didn't i determine to decoy you away? oh, you fool! you fool! who are you that would pit your weakness against my strength, your simplicity against my cunning? you would try to cross me, would you? you would champion damsels in distress? you pretty fool, you simpleton, you meddler----" suddenly, without warning, he struck me square on the face, a blinding, staggering blow that brought me to my knees as falls a pole-axed steer. i was stunned, swaying weakly, trying vainly to get on my feet. i stretched out my clenched hands to him. then he struck me again, a bitter, felling blow. i was completely at his mercy now and he showed me none. he was like a fiend. rage seemed to rend him. time and again he kicked me, brutally, relentlessly, on the ribs, on the chest, on the head. was the man going to do me to death? i shielded my head. i moaned in agony. would he never stop? then i became unconscious, knowing that he was still kicking me, and wondering if i would ever open my eyes again. chapter iv "long live the cold-feet tribe! long live the soreheads!" it was the prodigal who spoke. "this outfit buying's got gold-mining beaten to a standstill. here i've been three weeks in the burg and got over ten thousand dollars' worth of grub cached away. every pound of it will net me a hundred per cent. profit. i'm beginning to look on myself as a second john d. rockefeller." "you're a confounded robber," i said. "you're working a cinch-game. what's your first name? isaac?" he turned the bacon he was frying and smiled gayly. "snort away all you like, old sport. so long as i get the mon you can call me any old name you please." he was very sprightly and elate, but i was in no sort of mood to share in his buoyancy. physically i had fully recovered from my terrible manhandling, but in spirit i still writhed at the outrage of it. and the worst was i could do nothing. the law could not help me, for there were no witnesses to the assault. i could never cope with this man in bodily strength. why was i not a stalwart? if i had been as tall and strong as garry, for instance. true, i might shoot; but there the police would take a hand in the game, and i would lose out badly. there seemed to be nothing for it but to wait and pray for some means of retaliation. yet how bitterly i brooded over the business. at times there was even black murder in my heart. i planned schemes of revenge, grinding my teeth in impotent rage the while; and my feelings were complicated by that awful gnawing hunger for berna that never left me. it was a perfect agony of heart, a panic-fear, a craving so intense that at times i felt i would go distracted with the pain of it. perhaps i am a poor sort of being. i have often wondered. i either feel intensely, or i am quite indifferent. i am a prey to my emotions, a martyr to my moods. apart from my great love for berna it seemed to me as if nothing mattered. all through these stormy years it was like that--nothing else mattered. and now that i am nearing the end of my life i can see that nothing else has ever mattered. everything that happened appealed to me in its relation to her. it seemed to me as if i saw all the world through the medium of my love for her, and that all beauty, all truth, all good was but a setting for this girl of mine. "come on," said jim; "let's go for a walk in the town." the "modern gomorrah" he called it, and he was never tired of expatiating on its iniquity. "see that man there?" he said, pointing to a grey-haired pedestrian, who was talking to an emphatic blonde. "that man's a lawyer. he's got a lovely home in los angeles, an' three of the sweetest girls you ever saw. a young fellow needed to have his credentials o. k.'d by the purity committee before he came butting round that man's home. now he's off to buy wine for daisy of the deadline." the grey-haired man had turned into a saloon with his companion. "yes, that's dawson for you. we're so far from home. the good old moralities don't apply here. the hoary old yukon won't tell on us. we've been a sunday school superintendent for ten years. for fifty more we've passed up the forbidden fruit. every one else is helping themselves. wonder what it tastes like? wine is flowing like water. money's the cheapest thing in sight. cut loose, drink up. the orchestra's a-goin'. get your partners for a nice juicy two-step. come on, boys!" he was particularly bitter, and it really seemed in that general lesion of the moral fibre that civilisation was only a makeshift, a veneer of hypocrisy. "why should we marvel," i said, "at man's brutality, when but an æon ago we all were apes?" just then we met the jam-wagon. he had mushed in from the creeks that very day. physically he looked supreme. he was berry-brown, lean, muscular and as full of suppressed energy as an unsprung bear-trap. financially he was well ballasted. mentally and morally he was in the state of a volcano before an eruption. you could see in the quick breathing, in the restlessness of this man, a pent-up energy that clamoured to exhaust itself in violence and debauch. his fierce blue eyes were wild and roving, his lips twitched nervously. he was an atavism; of the race of those white-bodied, ferocious sea-kings that drank deep and died in the din of battle. he must live in the white light of excitement, or sink in the gloom of despair. i could see his fine nostrils quiver like those of a charger that scents the smoke of battle, and i realised that he should have been a soldier still, a leader of forlorn hopes, a partner of desperate hazards. as we walked along, jim did most of the talking in his favourite morality vein. the jam-wagon puffed silently at his briar pipe, while i, very listless and downhearted, thought largely of my own troubles. then, in the middle of the block, where most of the music-halls were situated, suddenly we met locasto. when i saw him my heart gave a painful leap, and i think my face must have gone as white as paper. i had thought much over this meeting, and had dreaded it. there are things which no man can overlook, and, if it meant death to me, i must again try conclusions with the brute. he was accompanied by a little bald-headed jew named spitzstein, and we were almost abreast of them when i stepped forward and arrested them. my teeth were clenched; i was all a-quiver with passion; my heart beat violently. for a moment i stood there, confronting him in speechless excitement. he was dressed in that miner's costume in which he always looked so striking. from his big stetson to his high boots he was typically the big, strong man of alaska, the conqueror of the wild. but his mouth was grim as granite, and his black eyes hard and repellent as those of a toad. "oh, you coward!" i cried. "you vile, filthy coward!" he was looking down on me from his imperious height, very coolly, very cynically. "who are you?" he drawled; "i don't know you." "liar as well as coward," i panted. "liar to your teeth. brute, coward, liar----" "here, get out of my way," he snarled; "i've got to teach you a lesson." once more before i could guard he landed on me with that terrible right-arm swing, and down i went as if a sledgehammer had struck me. but instantly i was on my feet, a thing of blind passion, of desperate fight. i made one rush to throw myself on this human tower of brawn and muscle, when some one pinioned me from behind. it was jim. "easy, boy," he was saying; "you can't fight this big fellow." spitzstein was looking on curiously. with wonderful quickness a crowd had collected, all avidly eager for a fight. above them towered the fierce, domineering figure of locasto. there was a breathless pause, then, at the psychological moment, the jam-wagon intervened. the smouldering fire in his eye had brightened into a fierce joy; his twitching mouth was now grim and stern as a prison door. for days he had been fighting a dim intangible foe. here at last was something human and definite. he advanced to locasto. "why don't you strike some one nearer your own size?" he demanded. his voice was tense, yet ever so quiet. locasto flashed at him a look of surprise, measuring him from head to foot. "you're a brute," went on the jam-wagon evenly; "a cowardly brute." black jack's face grew dark and terrible. his eyes glinted sparks of fire. "see here, englishman," he said, "this isn't your scrap. what are you butting in about?" "it isn't," said the jam-wagon, and i could see the flame of fight brighten joyously in him. "it isn't, but i'll soon make it mine. there!" quick as a flash he dealt the other a blow on the cheek, an open-handed blow that stung like a whiplash. "now, fight me, you coward." there and then locasto seemed about to spring on his challenger. with hands clenched and teeth bared, he half bent as if for a charge. then, suddenly, he straightened up. "all right," he said softly; "spitzstein, can we have the opera house?" "yes, i guess so. we can clear away the benches." "then tell the crowd to come along; we'll give them a free show." * * * * * i think there must have been five hundred men around that ring. a big australian pugilist was umpire. some one suggested gloves, but locasto would not hear of it. "no," he said, "i want to mark the son of a dog so his mother will never know him again." he had become frankly brutal, and prepared for the fray exultantly. both men fought in their underclothing. stripped down, the jam-wagon was seen to be much the smaller man, not only in height, but in breadth and weight. yet he was a beautiful figure of a fighter, clean, well-poised, firm-limbed, with a body that seemed to taper from the shoulders down. his fair hair glistened; his eyes were wary and cool, his lips set tightly. in the person of this living adversary he was fighting an unseen one vastly more dread and terrific. locasto looked almost too massive. his muscles bulged out. the veins in his forearms were cord-like. his great chest seemed as broad as a door. his legs were statuesque in their size and strength. in that camp of strong men probably he was the most powerful. and nowhere in the world could a fight have been awaited with greater zest. these men, miners, gamblers, adventurers of all kinds, pushed and struggled for a place. a great joy surged through them at the thought of the approaching combat. keen-eyed, hard-breathing, a-thrill with expectation, the crowd packed closer and closer. outside, people were clamouring for admission. they climbed on the stage, and into the boxes. they hung over the galleries. all told, there must have been a thousand of them. as the two men stood up it was like the lithe greek athlete compared with the brawny roman gladiator. "three to one on locasto," some one shouted. then a great hush came over the house, so that it might have been empty and deserted. time was called. the fight began. chapter v with one tiger-rush locasto threw himself on his man. there was no preliminary fiddling here; they were out for blood, and the sooner they wallowed in it the better. right and left he struck with mighty swings that would have felled an ox, but the jam-wagon was too quick for him. twice he ducked in time to avoid a furious blow, and, before locasto could recover, he had hopped out of reach. the big man's fist swished through the empty air. he almost overbalanced with the force of his effort, but he swung round quickly, and there was the jam-wagon, cool and watchful, awaiting his next attack. locasto's face grew fiendish in its sinister wrath; he shot forth a foul imprecation, and once more he hurled himself resistlessly on his foe. this time i thought my champion must go down, but no! with a dexterity that seemed marvellous, he dodged, ducked and side-stepped; and once more locasto's blows went wide and short. jeers began to go up from the throng. "even money on the little fellow," sang out a voice with the flat twang of a banjo. locasto glared round on the crowd. he was accustomed to lord it over these men, and the jeers goaded him like banderilleros goad a bull. again and again he repeated his tremendous rushes, only to find his powerful arms winnowing the empty air, only to see his agile antagonist smiling at him in mockery from the centre of the ring. not one of his sledgehammer smashes reached their mark, and the round closed without a blow having landed. from the mob of onlookers a chorus of derisive cheers went up. the little man with the banjo voice was holding up a poke of dust. "even money on the little one." a hum of eager conversation broke forth. i was at the ring-side. at the beginning i had been in an agony of fear for the jam-wagon. looking at the two men, it seemed as if he could hardly hope to escape terrible punishment at the hands of one so massively powerful, and every blow inflicted on him would have been like one inflicted on myself. but now i took heart and looked forward with less anxiety. again time was called, and locasto sprang up, seemingly quite refreshed by his rest. once more he plunged after his man, but now i could see his rushes were more under control, his smashing blows better timed, his fierce jabs more shrewdly delivered. again i began to quake for the jam-wagon, but he showed a wonderful quickness in his footwork, darting in and out, his hands swinging at his sides, a smile of mockery on his lips. he was deft as a dancing-master; he twinkled like a gleam of light, and amid that savage thresh of blows he was as cool as if he were boxing in the school gymnasium. "who is he?" those at the ring-side began to whisper. time and again it seemed as if he were cornered, but in a marvellous way he wormed himself free. i held my breath as he evaded blow after blow, some of which seemed to miss him by a mere hair's breadth. he was taking chances, i thought, so narrowly did he permit the blows to miss him. i was all keyed up, on edge with excitement, eager for my man to strike, to show he was not a mere ring-tactician. but the jam-wagon bided his time. and so the round ended, and it was evident that the crowd was of the same opinion as myself. "why don't he mix up a little?" said one. "give him time," said another. "he's all right: there's some class to that work." locasto came up for the third round looking sobered, subdued, grimly determined. evidently he had made up his mind to force his opponent out of his evasive tactics. he was wary as a cat. he went cautiously. yet again he assumed the aggressive, gradually working the jam-wagon into a corner. a collision was inevitable; there was no means of escape for my friend; that huge bulk, with its swinging, flail-like arms, menaced him hopelessly. suddenly locasto closed in. he swooped down on the jam-wagon. he had him. he shortened his right arm for a jab like the crash of a pile-driver. the arm shot out, but once again the jam-wagon was not there. he ducked quickly, and locasto's great fist brushed his hair. then, like lightning, the two came to a clinch. now, thought i, it's all off with the jam-wagon. i saw locasto's eyes dilate with ferocious joy. he had the other in his giant arms; he could crush him in a mighty hug, the hug of a grizzly, crush him like an egg-shell. but, quick as the snap of a trap, the jam-wagon had pinioned his arms at the elbow, so that he was helpless. for a moment he held him, then, suddenly releasing his arms, he caught him round the body, shook him with a mighty side-heave, gave him the cross-buttock, and, before he could strike a single blow, threw him in the air and dashed him to the ground. "time!" called the umpire. it was all done so quickly it was hard for the eye to follow, but a mighty cheer went up from the house. "two to one on the little fellow," called the banjo-voice. suddenly locasto rose to his feet. he was shamed, angered beyond all expression. heaving and panting, he lurched to his corner, and in his eyes there was a look that boded ill for his adversary. time again. with the lightness of a panther the jam-wagon sprang into the centre of the ring. more than halfway he met locasto, and now his intention seemed to be to draw his man on rather than to avoid him. i watched his every movement with a sense of thrilling fascination. he had resumed his serpentine movements, advancing and retreating with shadow-like quickness, feinting, side-stepping, pawing the air till he had his man baffled and bewildered. yet he never struck a blow. all this seemed to be getting on locasto's nerves. he was going steadily enough, trying by every means in his power to get the other man to "mix it up." he shouted the foulest abuse at him. "stand up like a man, you son of a dog, and fight." the smile left the jam-wagon's lips, and he settled down to business. i saw him edging up to locasto. he feinted wildly, then, stepping in closely, he swung a right and left to black jack's face. a moment later he was six feet away, with a bitter smile on his lips. with a fierce bellow of rage locasto, forgetting all his caution, charged him. he smashed his heavy right with all its might for the other's face, but, quick as the quiver of a bow-string, the jam-wagon side-stepped and the blow missed. then the jam-wagon shifted and brought his left, full-weight, crash on locasto's mouth. at that fierce triumphant blow there was the first dazzling blood-gleam, and the crowd screeched with excitement. in a wild whirlwind of fury locasto hurled himself on the jam-wagon, his arms going like windmills. any one of these blows, delivered in a vital spot, would have meant death, but his opponent was equal to this blind assault. dodging, ducking, side-stepping, blocking, he foiled the other at every turn, and, just before the round ended, drove his left into the pit of the big man's stomach, with a thwack that resounded throughout the building. once more time was called. the jam-wagon was bleeding about the knuckles. several of locasto's teeth had been loosened, and he spat blood frequently. otherwise he looked as fit as ever. he pursued his man with savage determination, and seemed resolved to get in a deadly body-blow that would end the fight. it was pretty to see the jam-wagon work. he was sprightly as a ballet dancer, as, weaving in and out, he dodged the other's blows. his arms swung at his sides, and he threw his head about in a manner insufferably mocking and tantalising. then he took to landing light body-blows, that grew more frequent till he seemed to be beating a regular tattoo on locasto's ribs. he was springy as a panther, elusive as an eel. as for locasto, his face was sober now, strained, anxious, and he seemed to be waiting with menacing eyes to get in that vital smash that meant the end. the jam-wagon began to put more force into his arms. he drove in a short-arm left to the stomach, then brought his right up to the other's chin. locasto swung a deadly knock-out blow at the jam-wagon, which just grazed his jaw, and the jam-wagon retaliated with two lightning rights and a nervous left, all on the big man's face. then he sprang back, for he was excited now. in and out he wove. once more he landed a hard left on locasto's heaving stomach, and then, rushing in, he rained blow after blow on his antagonist. it was a furious mix-up, a whirling storm of blows, brutal, savage and murderous. no two men could keep up such a gait. they came into a clinch, but this time the jam-wagon broke away, giving the deadly kidney blow as they parted. when time was called both men were panting hard, bruised and covered with blood. how the house howled with delight! all the primordial brute in these men was glowing in their hearts. nothing but blood could appease it. their throats were parched, their eyes wild. round six. locasto sprang into the centre of the ring. his face was hideously disfigured. only in that battered, blood-stained mask could i recognise the black eyes gleaming deadly hatred. rushing for the jam-wagon, he hurled him across the ring. again charging, he overbore him to the floor, but failed to hold him. then in the jam-wagon there awoke the ancient spirit of the berserker. he cared no more for punishment. he was insensible to pain. he was the sea-pirate again, mad with the lust of battle. like a fiend he tore himself loose, and went after his man, rushing him with a swift, battering hail of blows around the ring. like a tiger he was, and the violent lunges of locasto only infuriated him the more. now they were in a furious mix-up, and suddenly locasto, seizing him savagely, tried to whip him smashing to the floor. then the wonderful agility of the englishman was displayed. in a distance of less than a two-foot drop he turned completely like a cat. leaping up, he was free, and, getting a waist-hold with a cornish heave, he bore locasto to the floor. quickly he changed to a crotch-lock, and, lastly, holding locasto's legs, he brought him to a bridge and worked his weight up on his body. black jack, with a mighty heave, broke away and again regained his feet. this seemed to enrage the jam-wagon the more, for he tore after his man like a maddened bull. getting a hold with incredible strength, he lifted him straight up in the air and hurled him to the ground with sickening force. locasto lay there. his eyes were closed. he did not move. several men rushed forward. "he's all right," said a medical-looking individual; "just stunned. i guess you can call the fight over." the jam-wagon slowly put on his clothes. once more, in the person of locasto, he had successfully grappled with "old man booze." he was badly bruised about the body, but not seriously hurt in any way. shudderingly i looked down at locasto's face, beaten to a pulp, his body livid from head to foot. and then, as they bore him off to the hospital, i realised i was revenged. "did you know that man spitzstein was charging a dollar for admission?" queried the prodigal. "no!" "that's right. that darned little jew netted nearly a thousand dollars." chapter vi "let me introduce you," said the prodigal, "to my friend the 'pote.'" "glad to meet you," said the pote cheerfully, extending a damp hand. "just been having a dishwashing bee. excuse my dishybeel." he wore a pale-blue undershirt, white flannel trousers girt round the waist with a red silk handkerchief, very gaudy moccasins, and a rakish panama hat with a band of chocolate and gold. "take a seat, won't you?" through his gold-rimmed spectacles his eyes shone benevolently as he indicated an easy-looking chair. i took it. it promptly collapsed under me. "ah, excuse me," he said; "you're not onto the combination of that chair. i'll fix it." he performed some operation on it which made it less unstable, and i sat down gingerly. i was in a little log-cabin on the hill overlooking the town. through the bottle window the light came dimly. the walls showed the bark of logs and tufts of intersecting moss. in the corner was a bunk over which lay a bearskin robe, and on the little oblong stove a pot of beans was simmering. the pote finished his dishwashing and joined us, pulling on an old tuxedo jacket. "whew! glad that job's over. you know, i guess i'm fastidious, but i can't bear to use a plate for more than three meals without passing a wet rag over it. that's the worst of having refined ideas, they make life so complex. however, i mustn't complain. there's a monastic simplicity about this joint that endears it to me. and now, having immolated myself on the altar of cleanliness, i will solace my soul with a little music." he took down a banjo from the wall and, striking a few chords, began to sing. his songs seemed to be original, even improvisations, and he sang them with a certain quaintness and point that made them very piquant. i remember one of the choruses. it went like this: "in the land of pale blue snow where it's ninety-nine below, and the polar bears are dancing on the plain, in the shadow of the pole, oh, my heart, my life, my soul, i will meet thee when the ice-worms nest again." every now and then he would pause to make some lively comment. "you've never heard of the blue snow, cheechako? the rabbits have blue fur, and the ptarmigans' feathers are a bright azure. you've never had an ice-worm cocktail? we must remedy that. great dope. nothing like ice-worm oil for salads. oh, i forgot, didn't give you my card." i took it. it was engraved thus: ollie gaboodler. poetic expert. turning it over, i read: graduate of the university of hard knocks. all kinds of verse made to order with efficiency and dispatch. satisfaction guaranteed or money returned. a trial solicited. in memoriam odes a specialty. ballads, rondeaux and sonnets at modest prices. try our lines of love lyrics. leave orders at the comet saloon. i stared at him curiously. he was smoking a cigarette and watching me with shrewd, observant eyes. he was a blond, blue-eyed, cherubic youth, with a whimsical mouth that seemed to alternate between seriousness and fun. he laughed merrily at my look of dismay. "oh, you think it's a josh, but it's not. i've been a 'ghost' ever since i could push a pen. you know will wilderbush, the famous novelist? well, bill died six years ago from over-assiduous cultivation of john barleycorn, and they hushed it up. but every year there's a new novel comes from his pen. it's 'ghosts.' i was bill number three. isn't it rummy?" i expressed my surprise. "yes, it's a great joke this book-faking. wouldn't thackeray have lambasted the best sellers? a fancy picture of a girl on the cover, something doing all the time, and a happy ending--that's the recipe. or else be as voluptuous as velvet. wait till my novel, 'three minutes,' comes out. order in advance." "indeed i will," i said. he suddenly became grave. "if i only could take the literary game seriously i might make good. but i'm too much of a 'farceur.' well, one day we'll see. maybe the north will inspire me. maybe i'll yet become the spokesman of the frozen silence, the avatar of the great white land." he strutted up and down, inflating his chest. "have you framed up any dope lately?" asked the prodigal. "why, yes; only this morning, while i was eating my beans and bacon, i dashed off a few lines. i always write best when i'm eating. want to hear them?" he drew from his pocket an old envelope. "they were written to the order of stillwater willie. he wants to present them to one of the labelle sisters. you know--that fat lymphatic blonde, birdie labelle. it is short and sweet. he wants to have it engraved on a gold-backed hand-mirror he's giving her. "i see within my true love's eyes the wide blue spaces of the skies; i see within my true love's face the rose and lily vie in grace; i hear within my true love's voice the songsters of the spring rejoice. oh, why need i seek nature's charms-- i hold my true love in my arms. "how'll that hit her? there's such a lot of natural beauty about birdie." "do you get much work?" i asked. "no, it's dull. poetry's rather a drug on the market up here. it's just a side-line. for a living i clean shoes at the 'elight' barbershop--i, who have lingered on the sunny slopes of parnassus, and quenched my soul-thirst at the heliconian spring--gents' tans a specialty." "did you ever publish a book?" i asked. "sure! did you never read my 'rhymes of a rustler'? one reviewer would say i was the clear dope, the genuine eighteen-carat, jewelled-movement article; the next would aver i was the rankest dub that ever came down the pike. they said i'd imitated people, people i'd never read, people i'd never heard of, people i never dreamt existed. i was accused of imitating over twenty different writers. then the pedants got after me, said i didn't conform to academic formulas, advised me to steep myself in tradition. they talked about form, about classic style and so on. as if it matters so long as you get down the thing itself so that folks can see it, and feel it go right home to their hearts. i can write in all the artificial verse forms, but they're mouldy with age, back numbers. forget them. quit studying that old greek dope: study life, modern life, palpitating with colour, crying for expression. life! life! the sunshine of it was in my heart, and i just naturally tried to be its singer." "i say," said the prodigal from the bunk where he was lounging, in a haze of cigarette smoke, "read us that thing you did the other day, 'the last supper.'" the pote's eyes twinkled with pleasure. "all right," he said. then, in a clear voice, he repeated the following lines: "the last supper. marie vaux of the painted lips, and the mouth so mocking gay; a wanton you to the finger tips, that break men's hearts in play; a thing of dust i have striven for, honour and manhood given for, headlong for ruin driven for-- and this is the last, you say: drinking your wine with dainty sips, marie vaux of the painted lips. marie vaux of the painted lips, long have you held your sway; i have laughed at your merry quips, now is my time to pay. what we sow we must reap again; when we laugh we must weep again; so to-night we will sleep again, nor wake till the judgment day. 'tis a prison wine that your palate sips, marie vaux of the painted lips. marie vaux of the painted lips, down on your knees and pray; pray your last ere the moment slips, pray ere the dark and the terror grips, and the bright world fades away: pray for the good unguessed of us, pray for the peace and rest of us. here comes the shape in quest of us, now must we go away-- you and i in the grave's eclipse, marie vaux of the painted lips." just as he finished there came a knock at the door, and a young man entered. he had the broad smiling face of a comedian, and the bulgy forehead of a baptist missionary. the pote introduced him to me. "the yukon yorick." "hello," chuckled the newcomer, "how's the bunch? don't let me stampede you. how d'ye do, horace! glad to meet you." (he called everybody horace.) "just come away from a meeting of my creditors. what's that? have a slab of booze? hardly that, old fellow, hardly that. don't tempt me, horace, don't tempt me. remember i'm only a poor working-girl." he seemed brimming over with jovial acceptance of life in all its phases. he lit a cigar. "say, boys, you know old dingbats the lawyer. ha, yes. well, met him on front street just now. says i: 'horace, that was a pretty nifty spiel you gave us last night at the zero club.' he looked at me all tickled up the spine. ha, yes. he was pleased as punch. 'say, horace,' i says, 'i'm on, but i won't give you away. i've got a book in my room with every word of that speech in it.' he looked flabbergasted. so i have--ha, yes, the dictionary." he rolled his cigar unctuously in his mouth, with many chuckles and a histrionic eye. "no, don't tempt me, horace. remember, i'm only a poor working-girl. thanks, i'll just sit down on this soap-box. knew a man once, jobcroft was his name, charles alfred jobcroft, sat down on a custard pie at a pink tea; was so embarrassed he wouldn't get up. just sat on till every one else was gone. every one was wondering why he wouldn't budge: just sat tight." "i guess he _cussed hard_," ventured the prodigal. "oh, horace, spare me that! remember i'm only a poor working-girl. hardly that, old fellow. say, hit me with a slab of booze quick. make things sparkle, boys, make things sparkle." he drank urbanely of the diluted alcohol that passed for whisky. "hit me easy, boys, hit me easy," he said, as they refilled his glass. "i can't hold my hootch so well as i could a few summers ago--and many hard falls. talking about holding your 'hooch,' the best i ever saw was a man called podstreak, arthur frederick podstreak. you couldn't get that man going. the way he could lap up the booze was a caution. he would drink one bunch of boys under the table, then leave them and go on to another. he would start in early in the morning and keep on going till the last thing at night. and he never got hilarious even; it didn't seem to phase him; he was as sober after the twentieth drink as when he started. gee! but he was a wonder." the others nodded their heads appreciatively. "he was a fine, healthy-looking chap, too; the booze didn't seem to hurt him. never saw such a constitution. i often watched him, for i suspected him of 'sluffing,' but no! he always had a bigger drink than every one else, always drank whisky, always drank it neat, and always had a chaser of water after. i said to myself: 'what's your system?' and i got to studying him hard. then, one day, i found him out." "what was it?" "well, one day i noticed something. i noticed he always held his glass in a particular way when he drank, and at the same time he pressed his stomach in the region of the 'solar plexus.' so that night i took him aside. "'look here, podstreak,' i said, 'i'm next to you.' i really wasn't, but the bluff worked. he grew white. "'for heaven's sake, don't give me away,' he cried; 'the boys'll lynch me.' "'all right,' i said; 'if you'll promise to quit.' "then he made a full confession, and showed me how he did it. he had an elastic rubber bag under his shirt, and a tube going up his arm and down his sleeve, ending in a white nozzle inside his cuff. when he went to empty his glass of whisky he simply pressed some air out of the rubber bag, put the nozzle in the glass, and let it suck up all the whisky. at night he used to empty all the liquor out of the bag and sell it to a saloon-keeper. oh, he was a phoney piece of work. "'i've been a total abstainer (in private) for seven years,' he told me. 'yes,' i said, 'and you'll become one in public for another seven.' and he did." several men had dropped in to swell this bohemian circle. some had brought bottles. there was a painter who had been "hung," a mus bac., an ex-champion amateur pugilist, a silver-tongued orator, a man who had "suped" for mansfield, and half a dozen others. the little cabin was crowded, the air hazy with smoke, the conversation animated. but mostly it was a monologue by the inimitable yorick. suddenly the conversation turned to the immorality of the town. "now, i have a theory," said the pote, "that the regeneration of dawson is at hand. you know good is the daughter of evil, virtue the offspring of vice. you know how virtuous a man feels after a jag. you've got to sin to feel really good. consequently, sin must be good to be the means of good, to be the raw material of good, to be virtue in the making, mustn't it? the dance-halls are a good foil to the gospel-halls. if we were all virtuous, there would be no virtue in virtue, and if we were all bad no one would be bad. and because there's so much bad in this old burg of ours, it makes the good seem unnaturally good." the pote had the floor. "a friend of mine had a beautiful pond of water-lilies. they painted the water exultantly and were a triumphant challenge to the soul. folks came from far and near to see them. then, one winter, my friend thought he would clean out his pond, so he had all the nasty, slimy mud scraped away till you could see the silver gravel glimmering on the bottom. but the lilies, with all their haunting loveliness, never came back." "well, what are you driving at, you old dreamer?" "oh, just this: in the nasty mud and slime of dawson i saw a lily-girl. she lives in a cabin by the slide along with a jewish couple. i only caught a glimpse of her twice. they are unspeakable, but she is fair and sweet and pure. i would stake my life on her goodness. she looks like a young madonna----" he was interrupted by a shout of cynical laughter. "oh, get off your foot! a madonna in dawson--ra! ra!" he shut up abashed, but i had my clue. i waited until the last noisy roisterer had gone. "in the cabin by the slide?" i asked. he started, looked at me searchingly: "you know her?" "she means a good deal to me." "oh, i understand. yes, that long, queer cabin highest up the hill." "thanks, old chap." "all right, good luck." he accompanied me to the door, staring at the marvel of the glamorous northern midnight. "oh, for a medium to express it all! your pedantic poetry isn't big enough; prose isn't big enough. what we want is something between the two, something that will interpret life, and stir the great heart of the people. good-night." chapter vii very softly i approached the cabin, for a fear of encountering her guardians was in my heart. it was in rather a lonely place, perched at the base of that vast mountain abrasion they call the slide, a long, low cabin, quiet and dark, and surrounded by rugged boulders. carefully i reconnoitered, and soon, to my infinite joy, i saw the jewish couple come forth and make their way townward. the girl was alone. how madly beat my heart! it was a glooming kind of a night, and the cabin looked woefully bleak and solitary. no light came through the windows, no sound through the moss-chinked walls. i drew near. why this wild commotion of my being? what was it? anxiety, joy, dread? i was poised on the pinnacle of hope that overhangs the abyss of despair. fearfully i paused. i was racked with suspense, conscious of a longing so poignant that the thought of disappointment became insufferable pain. so violent was my emotion that a feeling almost of nausea overcame me. i knew now that i cared for this girl more than i had ever thought to care for woman. i knew that she was dearer to me than all the world else; i knew that my love for her would live as long as life is long. i knocked at the door. no answer. "berna," i cried in a faltering whisper. came the reply: "who is there?" "love, love, dear; love is waiting." then, at my words, the door was opened, and the girl was before me. i think she had been lying down, for her soft hair was a little ruffled, but her eyes were far too bright for sleep. she stood gazing at me, and a little fluttering hand went up to her heart as if to still its beating. "oh, my dear, i knew you were coming." a great radiance of joy seemed to descend on her. "you knew?" "i knew, yes, i knew. something told me you were come at last. and i've waited--how i've waited! i've dreamed, but it's not a dream now, is it, dear; it's you?" "yes, it's me. i've tried so hard to find you. oh, my dear, my dear!" i seized the sweet, soft hand and covered it with kisses. at that moment i could have kissed the shadow of that little hand; i could have fallen before her in speechless adoration; i could have made my heart a footstool for her feet; i could have given her, o, so gladly, my paltry life to save her from a moment's sorrow--i loved her so, i loved her so! "high and low i've sought you, beloved. morning, noon and night you've been in my brain, my heart, my soul. i've loved you every moment of my life. it's been desire feeding despair, and, o, the agony of it! thank god, i've found you, dear! thank god! thank god!" o love, look down on us and choir your harmonies! transported was i, speaking with whirling words of sweetest madness, tremulous, uplifted with rapture, scarce conscious of my wild, impassioned metaphors. it was she, most precious of all creation; she, my beloved. and there, in the doorway, she poised, white as a lily, lustrous-eyed, and with hair soft as sunlit foam. o divinity of love, look down on us thy children; fold us in thy dove-soft wings; illumine us in thy white radiance; touch us with thy celestial hands. bless us, love! how vastly alight were the grey eyes! how ineffably tender the sweet lips! a faint glow had come into her cheeks. "o, it's you, really, really you at last," she cried again, and there was a tremor, the surface ripple of a sob in that clear voice. she fetched a deep sigh: "and i thought i'd lost you forever. wait a moment. i'll come out." endlessly long the moment seemed, yet wondrously irradiate. the shadow had lifted from the world; the skies were alight with gladness; my heart was heaven-aspiring in its ecstasy. then, at last, she came. she had thrown a shawl around her shoulders, and coaxed her hair into charming waves and ripples. "come, let us go up the trail a little distance. they won't be back for nearly an hour." she led the way along that narrow path, looking over her shoulder with a glorious smile, sometimes extending her hand back to me as one would with a child. along the brow of the bluff the way wound dizzily, while far below the river swept in a giant eddy. for a long time we spoke no word. 'twas as if our hearts were too full for utterance, our happiness too vast for expression. yet, o, the sweetness of that silence! the darkling gloom had silvered into lustrous light, the birds were beginning again their mad midnight melodies. then, suddenly turning a bend in the narrow trail, a blaze of glory leapt upon our sight. "look, berna," i cried. the swelling river was a lake of saffron fire; the hills a throne of rosy garnet; the sky a dazzling panoply of rubies, girdled with flames of gold. we almost cringed, so gorgeous was its glow, so fierce its splendour. then, when we had seated ourselves on the hillside, facing the conflagration, she turned to me. "and so you found me, dear. i knew you would, somehow. in my heart i knew you would not fail me. so i waited and waited. the time seemed pitilessly long. i only thought of you once, and that was always. it was cruel we left so suddenly, not even time to say good-bye. i can't tell you how bad i felt about it, but i could not help myself. they dragged me away. they began to be afraid of you, and he bade them leave at once. so in the early morning we started." "i see, i see." i looked into the pools of her eyes; i sheathed her white hands in my brown ones, thrilling greatly at the contact of them. "tell me about it, child. has he bothered you?" "oh, not so much. he thinks he has me safe enough, trapped, awaiting his pleasure. but he's taken up with some woman of the town just now. by-and-bye he'll turn his attention to me." "terrible! terrible! berna, you wring my heart. how can you talk of such things in that matter-of-fact way--it maddens me." an odd, hard look ridged the corners of her mouth. "i don't know. sometimes i'm surprised at myself how philosophical i'm getting." "but, berna, surely nothing in this world would ever make you yield? o, it's horrible! horrible!" she leaned to me tenderly. she put my arms around her neck; she looked at me till i saw my face mirrored in her eyes. "nothing in the world, dear, so long as i have you to love me and help me. if ever you fail me, well, then it wouldn't matter much what became of me." "even then," i said, "it would be too awful for words. i would rather drag your body from that river than see you yield to him. he's a monster. his very touch is profanation. he could not look on a woman without cynical lust in his heart." "i know, my boy, i know. believe me and trust me. i would rather throw myself from the bluff here than let him put a hand on me. and so long as i have your love, dear, i'm safe enough. don't fear. o, it's been terrible not seeing you! i've craved for you ceaselessly. i've never been out since we came here. they wouldn't let me. they kept in themselves. he bade them. he has them both under his thumb. but now, for some reason, he has relaxed. they're going to open a restaurant downtown, and i'm to wait on table." "no, you're not!" i cried, "not if i have anything to say in the matter. berna, i can't bear to think of you in that garbage-heap of corruption down there. you must marry me--now." "now," she echoed, her eyes wide with surprise. "yes, right away, dear. there's nothing to prevent us. berna, i love you, i want you, i need you. i'm just distracted, dear. i never know a moment's peace. i cannot take an interest in anything. when i speak to others i'm thinking of you, you all the time. o, i can't bear it, dearest; have pity on me: marry me now." in an agony of suspense i waited for her answer. for a long time she sat there, thoughtful and quiet, her eyes cast down. at last she raised them to me. "you said one year." "yes, but i was sorry afterwards. i want you now. i can't wait." she looked at me gravely. her voice was very soft, very tender. "i think it better we should wait, dear. this is a blind, sudden desire on your part. i mustn't take advantage of it. you pity me, fear for me, and you have known so few other girls. it's generosity, chivalry, not love for poor little me. o, we mustn't, we mustn't. and then--you might change." "change! i'll never, never change," i pleaded. "i'll always be yours, absolutely, wholly yours, little girl; body and soul, to make or to mar, for ever and ever and ever." "well, it seems so sudden, so burning, so intense, your love, dear. i'm afraid, i'm afraid. maybe it's not the kind that lasts. maybe you'll tire. i'm not worth it, indeed i'm not. i'm only a poor ignorant girl. if there were others near, you would never think of me." "berna," i said, "if you were among a thousand, and they were the most adorable in all the world, i would pass over them all and turn with joy and gratitude to you. then, if i were an emperor on a throne, and you the humblest in all that throng, i would raise you up beside me and call you 'queen.'" "ah, no," she said sadly, "you were wise once. i saw it afterwards. better wait one year." "oh, my dearest," i reproached her, "once you offered yourself to me under any conditions. why have you changed?" "i don't know. i'm bitterly ashamed of that. never speak of it again." she went on very quietly, full of gentle patience. "you know, i've been thinking a great deal since then. in the long, long days and longer nights, when i waited here in misery, hoping always you would come to me, i had time to reflect, to weight your words. i remember them all: 'love that means life and death, that great dazzling light, that passion that would raise to heaven or drag to hell.' you have awakened the woman in me; i must have a love like that." "you have, my precious; you have, indeed." "well, then, let me have time to test it. this is june. next june, if you have not made up your mind you were foolish, blind, hasty, i will give myself to you with all the love in the world." "perhaps _you_ will change." she smiled a peculiar little smile. "never, never fear that. i will be waiting for you, longing for you, loving you more and more every day." i was bitterly cast down, crestfallen, numbed with the blow of her refusal. "just now," she said, "i would only be a drag on you. i believe in you. i have faith in you. i want to see you go out and mix in the battle of life. i know you will win. for my sake, dear, win. i would handicap you just now. there are all kinds of chances. let us wait, boy, just a year." i saw the pathetic wisdom of her words. "i know you fear something will happen to me. no! i think i will be quite safe. i can withstand him. after a while he will leave me alone. and if it should come to the worst i can call on you. you mustn't go too far away. i will die rather than let him lay a hand on me. till next june, dear, not a day longer. we will both be the better for the wait." i bowed my head. "very well," i said huskily; "and what will i do in the meantime?" "do! do what you would have done otherwise. do not let a woman divert the current of your life; let her swim with it. go out on the creeks! work! it will be better for you to go away. it will make it easier for me. here we will both torture each other. i, too, will work and live quietly, and long for you. the time will pass quickly. you will come and see me sometimes?" "yes," i answered. my voice choked with emotion. "now we must go home," she said; "i'm afraid they will be back." she rose, and i followed her down the narrow trail. once or twice she turned and gave me a bright, tender look. i worshipped her more than ever. was there ever maid more sweet, more gentle, more quick with anxious love? "bless her, o bless her," i sighed. "whatever comes, may she be happy." i adored her, but a great sadness filled my heart, and never a word i spoke. we reached the cabin, and on the threshold she paused. the others had not yet returned. she held out both hands to me, and her eyes were glittering with tears. "be brave, my dearest; it's all for my sake--if you love me." "i love you, my darling; anything for your sake. i'll go to-morrow." "we're betrothed now, aren't we, dearest?" "we're betrothed, my love." she swayed to me and seemed to fit into my arms as a sword fits into its sheath. my lips lay on hers, and i kissed her with a passionate joy. she took my face between her hands and gazed at me long and earnestly. "i love you, i love you," she murmured; "next june, my darling, next june." then she gently slipped away from me, and i was gazing blankly at the closed door. "next june," i heard a voice echo; and there, looking at me with a smile, was locasto. chapter viii it comes like a violent jar to be awakened so rudely from a trance of love, to turn suddenly from the one you care for most in all the world, and behold the one you have best reason to hate. nevertheless, it is not in human nature to descend rocket-wise from the ethereal heights of love. i was still in an exalted state of mind when i turned and confronted locasto. hate was far from my heart, and when i saw the man himself was regarding me with no particular unfriendliness, i was disposed to put aside for the moment all feelings of enmity. the generosity of the victor glowed within me. as he advanced to me his manner was almost urbane in its geniality. "you must forgive me," he said, not without dignity, "for overhearing you; but by chance i was passing and dropped upon you before i realised it." he extended his hand frankly. "i trust my congratulations on your good luck will not be entirely obnoxious. i know that my conduct in this affair cannot have impressed you in a very favourable light; but i am a badly beaten man. can't you be generous and let by-gones be by-gones? won't you?" i had not yet come down to earth. i was still soaring in the rarefied heights of love, and inclined to a general amnesty towards my enemies. as he stood there, quiet and compelling, there was an assumption of frankness and honesty about this man that it was hard to withstand. for the nonce i was persuaded of his sincerity, and weakly i surrendered my hand. his grip made me wince. "yes, again i congratulate you. i know and admire her. they don't make them any better. she's pure gold. she's a little queen, and the man she cares for ought to be proud and happy. now, i'm a man of the world, i'm cynical about woman as a rule. i respect my mother and my sisters--beyond that----" he shrugged his shoulders expressively. "but this girl's different. i always felt in her presence as i used to feel twenty-five years ago when i was a youth, with all my ideals untarnished, my heart pure, and woman holy in my sight." he sighed. "you know, young man, i've never told it to a soul before, but i'd give all i'm worth--a clear million--to have those days back. i've never been happy since." he drew away quickly from the verge of sentiment. "well, you mustn't mind me taking an interest in your sweetheart. i'm old enough to be her father, you know, and she touches me strangely. now, don't distrust me. i want to be a friend to you both. i want to help you to be happy. jack locasto's not such a bad lot, as you'll find when you know him. is there anything i can do for you? what are you going to do in this country?" "i don't quite know yet," i said. "i hope to stake a good claim when the chance comes. meantime i'm going to get work on the creeks." "you are?" he said thoughtfully; "do you know any one?" "no." "well, i'll tell you what: i've got laymen working on my eldorado claim; i'll give you a note to them if you like." i thanked him. "oh, that's all right," he said. "i'm sorry i played such a mean part in the past, and i'll do anything in my power to straighten things out. believe me, i mean it. your english friend gave me the worst drubbing of my life, but three days after i went round and shook hands with him. fine fellow that. we opened a case of wine to celebrate the victory. oh, we're good friends now. i always own up when i'm beaten, and i never bear ill-will. if i can help you in any way, and hasten your marriage to that little girl there, well, you can just bank on jack locasto: that's all." i must say the man could be most conciliating when he chose. there was a gravity in his manner, a suave courtesy in his tone, the heritage of his spanish forefathers, that convinced me almost in spite of my better judgment. no doubt he was magnetic, dominating, a master of men. i thought: there are two locastos, the primordial one, the indian, who had assaulted me; and the dignified genial one, the spaniard, who was willing to own defeat and make amends. why should i not take him as i found him? so, as he talked entertainingly to me, my fears were dissipated, my suspicions lulled. and when we parted we shook hands cordially. "don't forget," he said; "if you want help bank on me. i mean it now, i mean it." * * * * * 'twas early in the bright and cool of the morning when we started for eldorado, jim and i. i had a letter from locasto to ribwood and hoofman, the laymen, and i showed it to jim. he frowned. "you don't mean to say you've palled up with that devil," he said. "oh, he's not so bad," i expostulated. "he came to me like a man and offered me his hand in friendship. said he was ashamed of himself. what could i do? i've no reason to doubt his sincerity." "sincerity be danged. he's about as sincere as a tame rattlesnake. put his letter in the creek." but no! i refused to listen to the old man. "well, go your own gait," he said; "but don't say that i didn't warn you." we had crossed over the klondike to its left limit, and were on a hillside trail beaten down by the feet of miners and packers. cabins clustered on the flat, and from them plumes of violet smoke mounted into the golden air. already the camp was astir. men were chopping their wood, carrying their water. the long, long day was beginning. following the trail, we struck up bonanza, a small muddy stream in a narrow valley. down in the creek-bed we could see ever-increasing signs of an intense mining activity. on every claim were dozens of cabins, and many high cones of greyish muck. we saw men standing on raised platforms turning windlasses. we saw buckets come up filled with the same dark grey dirt, to be dumped over the edge of the platform. sometimes, where the dump had gradually arisen around man and windlass, the platform in the centre of that dark-greyish cone was twenty feet high. every mile the dumps grew more numerous, till some claims seemed covered with them. looking down from the trail, they were like innumerable anthills blocking up the narrow channel, and around them swarmed the little ant-men in never-resting activity. the golden valley opened out to us in a vista of green curves, and the cleft of it was packed with tents, cabins, dumps and tailing piles, all bedded in a blue haze of wood fires. "look at that great centipede striding across the valley," i said. "yes," said jim, "it's a long line of sluice-boxes. see the water a-shinin' in the sun. looks like some big golden-backed caterpillar." the little ants were shovelling into it from one of their heaps, and from that point it swirled on into the stream, a current of mud and stone. "seems to me that stream would wash away all the gold," i said. "i know it's all caught in the riffles, but i think if that dump was mine i would want sluice-boxes a mile long and about sixteen hundred riffles. but i guess they know what they are doing." about noon we descended into the creek-bed and came to the forks. it was a little town, a dawson in miniature, with all its sordid aspects infinitely accentuated. it had dance-halls, gambling dens and many saloons: every convenience to ease the miner of the plethoric poke. there in the din and daze and dirt we tarried awhile; then, after eating heartily, we struck up eldorado. here was the same feverish activity of gold-getting. every claim was valued at millions, and men who had rarely owned enough to buy a decent coat were crying in the saloons because life was not long enough to allow them to spend their sudden wealth. nevertheless, they were making a good stab at it. at the forks i enquired regarding ribwood and hoofman: "goin' to work for them, are you? well, they've got a blamed hard name. if you get a job elsewhere, don't turn it down." jim left me; he would work on no claim of locasto's, he said. he had a friend, a layman, who was a good man, belonged to the army. he would try him. so we parted. ribwood was a tall, gaunt cornishman, with a narrow, jutting face and a gloomy air; hoofman, a burly, beet-coloured australian with a bulging stomach. "yes, we'll put you to work," said hoofman, reading the letter. "get your coat off and shovel in." so, right away, i found myself in the dump-pile, jamming a shovel into the pay-dirt and swinging it into a sluice-box five feet higher than my head. keeping at this hour after hour was no fun, and if ever a man desisted for a moment the hard eyes of hoofman were upon him, and the gloomy ribwood had snatched up a shovel and was throwing in the muck furiously. "come on, boys," he would shout; "make the dirt fly. 'taint every part of the world you fellers can make your ten bucks a day." and it can be said that never labourer proved himself more worthy of his hire than the pick-and-shovel man of those early days. few could stand it long without resting. they were lean as wolves those men of the dump and drift, and their faces were gouged and grooved with relentless toil. well, for three days i made the dirt fly; but towards quitting time, i must say, its flight was a very uncertain one. again i suffered all the tortures of becoming toil-broken, the old aches and pains of the tunnel and the gravel-pit. towards evening every shovelful of dirt seemed to weigh as much as if it was solid gold; indeed, the stuff seemed to get richer and richer as the day advanced, and during the last half-hour i judged it must be nearly all nuggets. the constant hoisting into the overhead sluice-box somehow worked muscles that had never gone into action before, and i ached elaborately. in the morning the pains were fiercest. how i groaned until the muscles became limber. i found myself using very rough language, groaning, gritting my teeth viciously. but i stayed with the work and held up my end, while the laymen watched us sedulously, and seemed to grudge us even a moment to wipe the sweat out of our blinded eyes. i was glad, indeed, when, on the evening of the third day, ribwood came to me and said: "i guess you'd better work up at the shaft to-morrow. we want a man to wheel muck." they had a shaft sunk on the hillside. they were down some forty feet and were drifting in, wheeling the pay-dirt down a series of planks placed on trestles to the dump. i gripped the handles of a wheelbarrow loaded to overspilling, and steered it down that long, unsteady gangway full of uneven joins and sudden angles. time and again i ran off the track, but after the first day i became quite an expert at the business. my spirits rose. i was on the way of becoming a miner. chapter ix turning the windlass over the shaft was a little, tough mud-rat, who excited in me the liveliest sense of aversion. pat doogan was his name, but i will call him the "worm." the worm was the foulest-mouthed specimen i have yet met. he had the lowest forehead i have ever seen in a white man, and such a sharp, ferrety little face. his reddish hair had the prison clip, and his little reddish eyes were alive with craft and cruelty. i noticed he always regarded me with a peculiarly evil grin, that wrinkled up his cheeks and revealed his hideously blackened teeth. from the first he gave me a creepy feeling, a disgust as if i were near some slimy reptile. yet the worm tried to make up to me. he would tell me stories blended of the horrible and the grotesque. one in particular i remember. "youse wanta know how i lost me last job. i'll tell youse. you see, it was like dis. dere was two blackmoor guys dat got into de country dis spring; came by st. michaels; hindoos dey was. one of dem 'sicks' (an' dey looked sick, dey was so loose an' weary in der style) got a job from old man gustafson down de shaft muckin' up and fillin' de buckets. "well, dere was dat blackmoor down in de deep hole one day when i comes along, an' strikes old gus for a job. so, seein' as de man on de windlass wanted to quit, he passed it up to me, an' i took right hold an' started in. "say, i was feelin' powerful mean. i'd just finished up a two weeks' drunk, an' you tink de booze wasn't workin' in me some. i was seein' all kinds of funny t'ings. why, as i was a-turnin' away at dat ol' windlass dere was red spiders crawlin' up me legs. but i was wise. i wouldn't look at dem, give dem de go-by. den a yeller rat got gay wid me an' did some stunts on me windlass. but still i wouldn't let on. den dere was some green snakes dat wriggled over de platform like shiny streaks on de water. sure, i didn't like dat one bit, but i says, 'dere ain't no snakes in de darned country, pat, and you knows it. it's just a touch of de horrors, dat's all. just pass 'em up, boy; don't take no notice of dem.' "well, dis went on till i begins to get all shaky an' jumpy, an' i was mighty glad when de time came to quit, an' de boys down below gives me de holler to pull dem up. "so i started hoistin' wid dose snakes an' spiders an' rats jus' cavortin' round me like mad, when all to once who should i hoist outa de bowels of de earth but de very devil himself. "his face was black. i could see de whites of his eyes, an' he had a big dirty towel tied round his head. well, say, it was de limit. at de sight of dat ferocious monster comin' after old pat i gives one yell, drops de crank-handle of de windlass, an' makes a flyin' leap down de dump. i hears an awful shriek, an' de bucket an' de devil goes down smash to de bottom of de shaft, t'irty-five feet. but i kep' on runnin'. i was so scared. "well, how was i to know dey had a blackmoor down dere? he was a stiff when dey got him up, but how was i to know? so i lost me job." on another occasion he told me: "say, kid, youse didn't know as i was liable to fits, did youse? dat's so; eppylepsy de doctor tells me. dat's what i am scared of. you see, it's like dis: if one of dem fits should hit me when i'm hoistin' de boys outer de shaft, den it would be a pity. i would sure lose me job like de oder time." he was the most degraded type of man i had yet met on my travels, a typical degenerate, dirty, drunken, diseased. he had three suits of underclothing, which he never washed. he would wear through all three in succession, and when the last got too dirty for words he would throw it under his trunk and sorrowfully go back to the first, keeping up this rotation, till all were worn out. one day hoofman told me he wanted me to go down the shaft and work in the drift. accordingly, next morning i and a huge slav, by name dooley rileyvich, were lowered down into the darkness. the slav initiated me. every foot of dirt had to be thawed out by means of wood fires. we built a fire at the far end of the drift every night, covering the face we were working. first we would lay kindling, then dry spruce lying lengthways, then a bank of green wood standing on end to keep in the heat and shed the dirt that sloughed down from the roof. in the morning our fire would be burned out, and enough pay-dirt thawed to keep us picking all day. down there i found it the hardest work of all. we had to be careful that the smoke had cleared from the drift before we ventured in, for frequently miners were asphyxiated. indeed, the bad air never went entirely away. it made my eyes sore, my head ache. yet, curiously enough, so long as you were below it did not affect you so much. it was when you stepped out of the bucket and struck the pure outer air that you reeled and became dizzy. it was blinding, too. often at supper have my eyes been so blurred and sore i had to grope around uncertainly for the sugar bowl and the tin of cream. in the drift it was always cool. the dirt kept sloughing down on us, and we had really gone in too far for our own safety, but the laymen cared little for that. at the end of the drift the roof was so low we were bent almost double, picking at the face in all kinds of cramped positions, and dragging after us the heavy bucket. to the big slav it was all in the day's work, but to me it was hard, hard. the shaft was almost forty feet deep. for the first ten feet a ladder ran down it, then stopped suddenly as if the excavators had decided to abandon it. i often looked at this useless bit of ladder and wondered why it had been left unfinished. every morning the worm hoisted us down into the darkness, and at night drew us up. once he said to me: "say, wouldn't it be de tough luck if i was to take a fit when i was hoistin' youse up? such a nice bit of a boy, too, an' i guess i'd lose my job over de head of it." i said: "cut that out, or you'll have me so scared i won't go down." he grinned unpleasantly and said nothing more. yet somehow he was getting on my nerves terribly. it was one evening we had banked our fires and were ready to be hoisted up. dooley rileyvich went first, and i watched him blot out the bit of blue for a while. then, slowly, down came the bucket for me. i got in. i was feeling uneasy all of a sudden, and devoutly wished i were anywhere else but in that hideous hole. i felt myself leave the ground and rise steadily. the walls of the shaft glided past me. up, up i went. the bit of blue sky grew bigger, bigger. there was a star shining there. i watched it. i heard the creak, creak of the windlass crank. somehow it seemed to have a sinister sound. it seemed to say: "have a care, have a care, have a care." i was now ten feet from the top. the bucket was rocking a little, so i put out my hand and grasped the lowest rung of the ladder to steady myself. then, at that instant, it seemed the weight of the bucket pressing up against my feet was suddenly removed, and my arm was nigh jerked out of its socket. there i was hanging desperately on the lowest rung of the ladder, while, with a crash that made my heart sick, the bucket dashed to the bottom. at last, i realised, the worm had had his fit. quickly i gripped with both hands. with a great effort i raised myself rung by rung on the ladder. i was panic-stricken, faint with fear; but some instinct had made me hold on desperately. dizzily i hung all a-shudder, half-sobbing. a minute seemed like a year. ah! there was the face of dooley looking down on me. he saw me clinging there. he was anxiously shouting to me to come up. mastering an overpowering nausea i raised myself. at last i felt his strong arm around me, and here i swear it on a stack of bibles that brutish slav seemed to me like one of god's own angels. i was on firm ground once more. the worm was lying stiff and rigid. without a word the stalwart slav took him on his brawny shoulder. the creek was downhill but fifty yards. ere we reached it the worm had begun to show signs of reviving consciousness. when we got to the edge of the icy water he was beginning to groan and open his eyes in a dazed way. "leave me alone," he says to rileyvich; "you slavonian swine, lemme go." not so the slav. holding the wriggling, writhing little man in his powerful arms he plunged him heels over head in the muddy current of the creek. "i guess i cure dose fits anyway," he said grimly. struggling, spluttering, blaspheming, the little man freed himself at last and staggered ashore. he cursed rileyvich most comprehensively. he had not yet seen me, and i heard him wailing: "sure de boy's a stiff. just me luck; i've lost me job." chapter x "you'd better quit," said the prodigal. it was the evening of my mishap, and he had arrived unexpectedly from town. "yes, i mean to," i answered. "i wouldn't go down there again for a farm. i feel as weak as a sick baby. i couldn't stay another day." "well, that goes," said he. "it just fits in with my plans. i'm getting jim to come in, too. i've realised on that stuff i bought, made over three thousand clear profit, and with it i've made a dicker for a property on the bench above bonanza, gold hill they call it. i've a notion it's all right. anyway, we'll tunnel in and see. you and jim will have a quarter share each for your work, while i'll have an extra quarter for the capital i've put in. is it a go?" i said it was. "thought it would be. i've had the papers made out; you can sign right now." so i signed, and next day found us all three surveying our claim. we put up a tent, but the first thing to do was to build a cabin. right away we began to level off the ground. the work was pleasant, and conducted in such friendship that the time passed most happily. indeed, my only worry was about berna. she had never ceased to be at the forefront of my mind. i schooled myself into the belief that she was all right, but, thank god, every moment was bringing her nearer to me. one morning, when we were out in the woods cutting timber for the cabin, i said to jim: "did you ever hear anything more about that man mosely?" he stopped chopping, and lowered the axe he had poised aloft. "no, boy; i've had no mail at all. wait awhile." he swung his axe with viciously forceful strokes. his cheery face had become so downcast that i bitterly blamed myself for my want of tact. however, the cloud soon passed. about two days after that the prodigal said to me: "i saw your little guttersnipe friend to-day." "indeed, where?" i asked; for i had often thought of the worm, thought of him with fear and loathing. "well, sir, he was just getting the grandest dressing-down i ever saw a man get. and do you know who was handing it to him--locasto, no less." he lit a cigarette and inhaled the smoke. "i was just coming along the trail from the forks when i suddenly heard voices in the bush. the big man was saying: "'lookee here, pat, you know if i just liked to say half a dozen words i could land you in the penitentiary for the rest of your days.' "then the little man's wheedling voice: "'well, i did me best, jack. i know i bungled the job, but youse don't want to cast dem t'ings up to me. dere's more dan me orter be in de pen. dere's no good in de pot callin' de kettle black, is dere?' "then black jack flew off the handle. you know he's got a system of manhandling that's near the record in these parts. well, he just landed on the little man. he got him down and started to lambast the judas out of him. he gave him the 'leather,' and then some. i guess he'd have done him to a finish hadn't i been johnnie on the spot. at sight of me he gives a curse, jumps on his horse and goes off at a canter. well, i propped the little man against a tree, and then some fellows came along, and we got him some brandy. but he was badly done up. he kept saying: 'oh, de devil, de big devil, sure i'll give him his before i get t'rough.' funny, wasn't it?" "yes, it's strange;" and for some time i pondered over the remarkable strangeness of it. "that reminds me," said jim; "has any one seen the jam-wagon?" "oh yes," answered the prodigal; "poor beggar! he's down and out. after the fight he went to pieces, every one treating him, and so on. you remember bullhammer?" "yes." "well, the last i saw of the jam-wagon--he was cleaning cuspidors in bullhammer's saloon." * * * * * we had hauled the logs for the cabin, and the foundation was laid. now we were building up the walls, placing between every log a thick wadding of moss. every day saw our future home nearer completion. one evening i spied the saturnine ribwood climbing the hill to our tent. he hailed me: "say, you're just the man i want." "what for?" i asked; "not to go down that shaft again?" "no. say! we want a night watchman up at the claim to go on four hours a night at a dollar an hour. you see, there's been a lot of sluice-box robberies lately, and we're scared for our clean-up. we're running two ten-hour shifts now and cleaning up every three days; but there's four hours every night the place is deserted, and hoofman proposed we should get you to keep watch." "yes," i said; "i'll run up every evening if the others don't object." they did not; so the next night, and for about a dozen after that, i spent the darkest hours watching on the claim where previously i had worked. there was never any real darkness down there in that narrow valley, but there was dusk of a kind that made everything grey and uncertain. it was a vague, nebulous atmosphere in which objects merged into each other confusedly. bushes came down to within a few feet of where we were working, dense-growing alder and birch that would have concealed a whole regiment of sluice-robbers. it was the dimmest and most uncertain hour of the four, and i was sitting at my post of guard. as the night was chilly i had brought along an old grey blanket, similar in colour to the mound of the pay-dirt. there had been quite a cavity dug in the dump during the day, and into this i crawled and wrapped myself in my blanket. from my position i could see the string of boxes containing the riffles. over me brooded the vast silence of the night. by my side lay a loaded shot-gun. "if the swine comes," said ribwood, "let him have a clean-up of lead instead of gold." lying there, i got to thinking of the robberies. they were remarkable. all had been done by an expert. in some cases the riffles had been extracted and the gold scooped out; in others a quantity of mercury had been poured in at the upper end of the boxes, and, as it passed down, the "quick" had gathered up the dust. each time the robbers had cleaned up from two to three thousand dollars, and all within the past month. there was some mysterious master-crook in our midst, one who operated swiftly and surely, and left absolutely no clue of his identity. it was strange, i thought. what nerve, what cunning, what skill must this midnight thief be possessed of! what desperate chances was he taking! for, in the miners' eyes, cache-stealing and sluice-box robbing were in the same category, and the punishment was--well, a rope and the nearest tree of size. among those strong, grim men justice would be stern and swift. i was very quiet for a while, watching dreamily the dark shadows of the dusk. hist! what was that? surely the bushes were moving over there by the hillside. i strained my eyes. i was right: they were. i was all nerves and excitement now, my heart beating wildly, my eyes boring through the gloom. very softly i put out my hand and grasped the shot-gun. i watched and waited. a man was parting the bushes. stealthily, very stealthily, he peered around. he hesitated, paused, peered again, crouched on all-fours, crept forward a little. everything was quiet as a grave. down in the cabins the tired men slept peacefully; stillness and solitude. cautiously the man, crawling like a snake, worked his way to the sluice-boxes. none but a keen watcher could have seen him. again and again he paused, peered around, listened intently. very carefully, with my eyes fixed on him, i lifted the gun. now he had gained the shadow of the nearest sluice-box. he clung to the trestle-work, clung so closely you could scarce tell him apart from it. he was like a rat, dark, furtive, sinister. slowly i lifted the gun to my shoulder. i had him covered. i waited. somehow i was loath to shoot. my nerves were a-quiver. proof, more proof, i said. i saw him working busily, lying flat alongside the boxes. how crafty, how skilful he was! he was disconnecting the boxes. he would let the water run to the ground; then, there in the exposed riffles, would be his harvest. would i shoot ... now ... now.... then, in the midnight hush, my gun blazed forth. with one scream the man tumbled down, carrying along with him the disconnected box. the water rushed over the ground in a deluge. i must capture him. there he lay in that pouring stream.... now i had him. in that torrent of icy water i grappled with my man. over and over we rolled. he tried to gouge me. he was small, but oh, how strong! he held down his face. fiercely i wrenched it up to the light. heavens! it was the worm. i gave a cry of surprise, and my clutch on him must have weakened, for at that moment he gave a violent wrench, a cat-like twist, and tore himself free. men were coming, were shouting, were running in from all directions. "catch him!" i cried. "yonder he goes." but the little man was shooting forward like a deer. he was in the bushes now, bursting through everything, dodging and twisting up the hill. right and left ran his pursuers, mistaking each other for the robber in the semi-gloom, yelling frantically, mad with the excitement of a man-hunt. and in the midst of it all i lay in a pool of mud and water, with a sprained wrist and a bite on my leg. "why didn't you hold him?" shouted ribwood. "i couldn't," i answered. "i saved your clean-up, and he got some of the lead. besides, i know who he is." "you don't! who is he?" "pat doogan." "you don't say. well, i'm darned. you're sure?" "dead sure." "swear it in court?" "i will." "well, that's all right. we'll get him. i'll go into town first thing in the morning and get out a warrant for him." he went, but the next evening back he returned, looking very surly and disgruntled. "well, what about the warrant?" said hoofman. "didn't get it." "didn't get----" "no, didn't get it," snapped ribwood. "look here, hoofman, i met locasto. black jack says pat was cached away, dead to all the world, in the backroom of the omega saloon all night. there's two loafers and the barkeeper to back him up. what can we do in the face of that? say, young feller, i guess you mistook your man." "i guess i did not," i protested stoutly. they both looked at me for a moment and shrugged their shoulders. chapter xi time went on and the cabin was quietly nearing completion. the roof of poles was in place. it only remained to cover it with moss and thawed-out earth to make it our future home. i think these were the happiest days i spent in the north. we were such a united trio. each was eager to do more than the other, and we vied in little acts of mutual consideration. once again i congratulated myself on my partners. jim, though sometimes bellicosely evangelical, was the soul of kindly goodness, cheerfulness and patience. it was refreshing to know among so many sin-calloused men one who always rang true, true as the gold in the pan. as for the prodigal, he was a prince. i often thought that god at the birth of him must have reached out to the sunshine and crammed a mighty handful of it into the boy. surely it is better than all the riches in the world to have a temperament of eternal cheer. as for me, i have ever been at the mercy of my moods, easily elated, quickly cast down. i have always been abnormally sensitive, affected by sunshine and by shadows, vacillating, intense in my feelings. i was truly happy in those days, finding time in the long evenings to think of the scenes of stress and sorrow i had witnessed, reconstructing the past, and having importune me again and again the many characters in my life drama. always and always i saw the girl, elusively sweet, almost unreal, a thing to enshrine in that ideal alcove of our hearts we keep for our saints. (and god help us always to keep shining there a great light.) many others importuned me: pinklove, globstock, pondersby, marks, old wilovich, all dead; bullhammer, the jam-wagon, mosher, the winklesteins, plunged in the vortex of the gold-born city; and lastly, looming over all, dark and ominous, the handsome, bold, sinister face of locasto. well, maybe i would never see any of them again. yet more and more my dream hours were jealously consecrated to berna. how ineffably sweet were they! how full of delicious imaginings! how pregnant of high hope! o, i was born to love, i think, and i never loved but one. this story of my life is the story of berna. it is a thing of words and words and words, yet every word is berna, berna. feel the heartache behind it all. read between the lines, berna, berna. often in the evenings we went to the forks, which was a lively place indeed. here was all the recklessness and revel of dawson on a smaller scale, and infinitely more gross. here were the dance-hall girls, not the dazzling creatures in diamonds and paris gowns, the belles of the monte carlo and the tivoli, but drabs self-convicted by their coarse, puffy faces. here the men, fresh from their day's work, the mud of the claim hardly dry on their boot-tops, were buying wine with nuggets they had filched from sluice-box, dump and drift. there was wholesale robbery going on in the gold-camp. on many claims where the owners were known to be unsuspicious, men would work for small wages because of the gold they were able to filch. on the other hand, many of the operators were paying their men in trade-dust valued at sixteen dollars an ounce, yet so adulterated with black sand as to be really worth about fourteen. all these things contributed to the low morale of the camp. easy come, easy go with money, a wild intoxication of success in the air; gold gouged in glittering heaps from the ground during the day, and at night squandered in a carnival of lust and sin. the prodigal was always "snooping" around and gleaning information from most mysterious sources. one evening he came to us. "boys, get ready, quick. there's a rumour of a stampede for a new creek, ophir creek they call it, away on the other side of the divide somewhere. a prospector went down ten feet and got fifty-cent dirt. we've got to get in on this. there's a mob coming from dawson, but we'll get there before the rush." quickly we got together blankets and a little grub, and, keeping out of sight, we crawled up the hill under cover of the brush. soon we came to a place from which we could command a full view of the valley. here we lay down, awaiting developments. it was at the hour of dusk. scarfs of smoke wavered over the cabins down in the valley. on the far slope of eldorado i saw a hawk soar upwards. surely a man was moving amid the brush, two men, a dozen men, moving in single file very stealthily. i pointed them out. "it's the stampede," whispered jim. "we've got to get on to the trail of that crowd. travel like blazes. we can cut them off at the head of the valley." so we struck into the stampede gait, a wild, jolting, desperate pace, that made the wind pant in our lungs like bellows, and jarred our bones in their sockets. through brush and scrub timber we burst. thorny vines tore at us detainingly, swampy niggerheads impeded us; but the excitement of the stampede was in our blood, and we plunged down gulches, floundered over marshes, climbed steep ridges and crashed through dense masses of underwood. "throw away your blankets, boys," said the prodigal. "just keep a little grub. eldorado was staked on a stampede. maybe we're in on another eldorado. we must connect with that bunch if we break our necks." it was hours after when we overtook them, about a dozen men, all in the maddest hurry, and casting behind them glances of furtive apprehension. when they saw us they were hugely surprised. ribwood was one of the party. "hello," he says roughly; "any more coming after you boys?" "don't see them," said the prodigal breathlessly. "we spied you and cottoned on to what was up, so we made a fierce hike to get in on it. gee, i'm all tuckered out." "all right, get in line. i guess there's lots for us all. you're in on a good thing, all right. come along." so off we started again. the leader was going like one possessed. we blundered on behind. we were on the other side of the divide looking into another vast valley. what a magnificent country it was! what a great manoeuvring-ground it would make for an army! what splendid open spaces, and round smooth hills, and dimly blue valleys, and silvery winding creeks! it was veritably a park of the gods, and enclosing it was the monstrous, corrugated palisade of the rockies. but there was small time to look around. on we went in the same mad, heart-breaking hurry, mile after mile, hour after hour. "this is going to be a banner creek, boys," the whisper ran down the line. "we're in luck. we'll all be klondike kings yet." cheering, wasn't it? so on we went, hotter than ever, content to follow the man of iron who was guiding us to the virgin treasure. we had been pounding along all night, up hill and down dale. the sun rose, the dawn blossomed, the dew dried on the blueberry; it was morning. still we kept up our fierce gait. would our leader never come to his destination? by what roundabout route was he guiding us? the sun climbed up in the blue sky, the heat quivered; it was noon. we panted as we pelted on, parched and weary, faint and footsore. the excitement of the stampede had sustained us, and we scarcely had noted the flight of time. we had been walking for fourteen hours, yet not a man faltered. i was ready to drop with fatigue; my feet were a mass of blisters, and every step was intolerable pain to me. but still our leader kept on. "i guess we'll fool those trying to follow us," snapped ribwood grimly. suddenly the prodigal said to me: "say, you boys will have to go on without me. i'm all in. go ahead, i'll follow after i'm rested up." he dropped in a limp heap on the ground and instantly fell asleep. several of the others had dropped out too. they fell asleep where they gave up, utterly exhausted. we had now been going sixteen hours, and still our leader kept on. "you're pretty tough for a youngster," growled one of them to me. "keep it up, we're almost there." so i hobbled along painfully, though the desire to throw myself down was becoming imperative. just ahead was jim, sturdily holding his own. the others were reduced to a bare half-dozen. it was about four in the afternoon when we reached the creek. up it our leader plunged, till he came to a place where a rude shaft had been dug. we gathered around him. he was a typical prospector, a child of hope, lean, swarthy, clear-eyed. "here it is, boys," he said. "here's my discovery stake. now you fellows go up or down, anywhere you've a notion to, and put in your stakes. you all know what a lottery it is. maybe you'll stake a million-dollar claim, maybe a blank. mining's all a gamble. but go ahead, boys. i wish you luck." so we strung out, and, coming in rotation, jim and i staked seven and eight below discovery. "seven's a lucky number for me," said jim; "i've a notion this claim's a good one." "i don't care," i said, "for all the gold in the world. what i want is sleep, sleep, rest and sleep." so i threw myself down on a bit of moss, and, covering my head with my coat to ward off the mosquitoes, in a few minutes i was dead to the world. chapter xii i was awakened by the prodigal. "rouse up," he was saying; "you've slept right round the clock. we've got to get back to town and record those claims. jim's gone three hours ago." it was five o'clock of a crystal yukon morning, with the world clear-cut and fresh as at the dawn of things. i was sleep-stupid, sore, stiff in every joint. racking pains made me groan at every movement, and the chill night air had brought on twinges of rheumatism. i looked at my location stake, beside which i had fallen. "i can't do it," i said; "my feet are out of business." "you must," he insisted. "come, buck up, old man. bathe your feet in the creek, and then you'll feel as fit as a fighting-cock. we've got to get into town hot-foot. they've got a bunch of crooks at the gold office, and we're liable to lose our claims if we are late." "have you staked, too?" "you bet. i've got thirteen below. hurry up. there's a wild bunch coming from town." i groaned grievously, yet felt mighty refreshed by a dip in the creek. then we started off once more. every few moments we would meet parties coming post-haste from town. they looked worn and jaded, but spread eagerly up and down. there must have been several hundred of them, all sustained by the mad excitement of the stampede. we did not take the circuitous route of the day before, but one that shortened the distance by some ten miles. we travelled a wild country, crossing unknown creeks that have since proved gold-bearing, and climbing again the high ridge of the divide. then once more we dropped down into the bonanza basin, and by nightfall we had reached our own cabin. we lay down for a few hours. it seemed my weary head had just touched the pillow when once more the inexorable prodigal awakened me. "come on, kid, we've got to get to dawson when the recording office opens." so once more we pelted down bonanza. fast as we had come, we found many of those who had followed us were ahead. the north is the land of the musher. in that pure, buoyant air a man can walk away from himself. any one of us thought nothing of a fifty-mile tramp, and one of eighty was scarcely considered notable. it was about nine in the morning when we got to the gold office. already a crowd of stampeders were waiting. foremost in the crowd i saw jim. the prodigal looked thoughtful. "look here," he said, "i guess it's all right to push in with that bunch, but there's a slicker way of doing it for those that are 'next.' of course, it's not according to hoyle. there's a little side-door where you can get in ahead of the gang. see that fellow, ten-dollar jim they call him; well, they say he can work the oracle for us." "no," i said, "you can pay him ten dollars if you like. i'll take my chance in the regulation way." so the prodigal slipped away from me, and presently i saw him admitted at the side entrance. surely, thought i, there must be some mistake. the public would not "stand for" such things. there was quite a number ahead of me, and i knew i was in for a long wait. i will never forget it. for three days, with the exception of two brief sleep-spells, i had been in a fierce helter-skelter of excitement, and i had eaten no very satisfying food. as i stood in that sullen crowd i swayed with weariness, and my legs were doubling under me. invisible hands were dragging me down, throwing dust in my eyes, hypnotising me with soporific gestures. i staggered forward and straightened up suddenly. on the outskirts of the crowd i saw the prodigal trying to locate me. when he saw me he waved a paper. "come on, you goat," he shouted; "have a little sense. i'm all fixed up." i shook my head. an odd sense of fair play in me made me want to win the game squarely. i would wait my turn. noon came. i saw jim coming out, tired but triumphant. "all right," he megaphoned to me; "i'm through. now i'll go and sleep my head off." how i envied him. i felt i, too, had a "big bunch" of sleep coming to me. i was moving forward slowly. bit by bit i was wedging nearer the door. i watched man after man push past the coveted threshold. they were all miners, brawny, stubble-chinned fellows with grim, determined faces. i was certainly the youngest there. "what have you got?" asked a thick-set man on my right. "eight below," i answered. "gee! you're lucky." "what'll you take for it?" asked a tall, keen-looking fellow on my left. "five thousand." "give you two." "no." "well, come round and see me to-morrow at the dominion, and we'll talk it over. my name's gunson. bring your papers." "all right." something like dizziness seized me. five thousand! the crowd seemed to be composed of angels and the sunshine to have a new and brilliant quality of light and warmth. five thousand! would i take it? if the claim was worth a cent it ought to be worth fifty thousand. i soared on rosy wings of optimism. i revelled in dreams. my claim! mine! eight below! other men had bounded into affluence. why not i? no longer did i notice the flight of time. i was ready to wait till doomsday. a new lease of strength came to me. i was near the wicket now. only two were ahead of me. a clerk was recording their claims. one had thirty-four above, the other fifty-two below. the clerk looked flustered, fatigued. his dull eyes were pursy with midnight debauches; his flesh sagged. in contrast with the clean, hard, hawk-eyed miners, he looked blotched and unwholesome. crossly he snatched from the other two their miner's certificates, made the entries in his book, and gave them their receipts. it was my turn now. i dashed forward eagerly. then i stopped, for the man with the bleary eyes had shut the wicket in my face. "three o'clock," he snapped. "couldn't you take mine?" i faltered; "i've been waiting now these seven hours." "closing time," he ripped out still more tartly; "come again to-morrow." there was a growling thunder from the crowd behind, and the weary, disappointed stampeders slouched away. body and soul of me craved for sleep. beyond an overwhelming desire for rest, i was conscious of nothing else. my eyelids were weighted with lead. i lagged along dejectedly. at the hotel i saw the prodigal. "get fixed up?" "no, too late." "you'd better take advantage of the general corruption and the services of ten-dollar jim." i was disheartened, disgusted, desperate. "i will," i said. then, throwing myself on the bed, i launched on a dreamless sea of sleep. chapter xiii next morning bright and early found me at the side-door, and the tall man admitted me. i slipped a ten-dollar gold piece into his palm, and presently found myself waiting at the yet unopened wicket. outside i could see the big crowd gathering for their weary wait. i felt a sneaking sense of meanness, but i did not have long to enjoy my despicable sensations. the recording clerk came to the wicket. he was very red-faced and watery-eyed. involuntarily i turned my head away at the reek of his breath. "i want to record eight below on ophir," i said. he looked at me curiously. he hesitated. "what name?" he asked. i gave it. he turned up his book. "eight below, you say. why, that's already recorded." "can't be," i retorted. "i just got down from there yesterday after planting my stakes." "can't help it. it's recorded by some one else, recorded early yesterday." "look here," i exclaimed; "what kind of a game are you putting up on me? i tell you i was the first on the ground. i alone staked the claim." "that's strange," he said. "there must be some mistake. anyway, you'll have to move on and let the others get up to the wicket. you're blocking the way. all i can do is to look into the matter for you, and i've got no time now. come back to-morrow. next, please." the next man pushed me aside, and there i stood, gaping and gasping. a man in the waiting line looked at me pityingly. "it's no use, young fellow; you'd better make up your mind to lose that claim. they'll flim-flam you out of it somehow. they've sent some one out now to stake over you. if you kick, they'll say you didn't stake proper." "but i have witnesses." "it don't matter if you call the angel gabriel to witness, they're going to grab your claim. them government officials is the crookedest bunch that ever made fuel for hell-fire. you won't get a square deal; they're going to get the fat anyhow. they've got the best claims spotted, an' men posted to jump them at the first chance. oh, they're feathering their nests all right. they're like a lot of greedy pike just waiting to gobble down all they can. a man can't buy wine at twenty dollars per, and make dance-hall flossies presents of diamond tararas on a government salary. that's what a lot of them are doing. wine and women, and their wives an' daughters outside thinkin' they're little tin gods. somehow they've got to foot the bill. oh, it's a great country." i was stunned with disappointment. "what you want," he continued, "is to get a pull with some of the officials. why, there's friends of mine don't need to go out of town to stake a claim. only the other day a certain party known to me, went to--well, i mustn't mention names, anyway, he's high up in the government, and a friend of quebec suzanne's,--and says to him,'i want you to get number so and so on hunker recorded for me. of course i haven't been able to get out there, but--' "the government bug puts his hands to his ears. 'don't give me any unnecessary information,' he says; 'you want so and so recorded, sam. well, that's all right. i'll fix it.' "that was all there was to it, and when next day a man comes in post-haste claiming to have staked it, it was there recorded in sam's name. get a stand-in, young fellow." "but surely," i said, "somehow, somewhere there must be justice. surely if these facts were represented at ottawa and proof forthcoming----" "ottawa!" he gave a sniffing laugh. "ottawa! why, it's some of the big guns at ottawa that's gettin' the cream of it all. the little fellows are just lapping up the drips. look at them big concessions they're selling for a song, good placer ground that would mean pie to the poor miner, closed tight and everlastingly tied up. how is it done? why, there's some politician at the bottom of the whole business. look at the liquor permits--crude alcohol sent into the country by the thousand gallons, diluted to six times its bulk, and sold to the poor prospector for whisky at a dollar a drink. an' you can't pour your own drinks at that." "well," i said, "i'm not going to be cheated out of my claim. if i've got to move heaven and earth----" "you'll do nothing of the kind. if you get sassy there's the police to put the lid on you. you can talk till you're purple round the gills. it won't cut no figure. they've got us all cinched. we've just got to take our medicine. it's no use goin' round bellyaching. you'd better go away and sit down." and i did. chapter xiv i had to see berna at once. already i had paid a visit to the paragon restaurant, that new and glittering place of resort run by the winklesteins, but she was not on duty. i saw madam, resplendent in her false jewellery, with her beetle-black hair elaborately coiffured, and her large, bold face handsomely enamelled. she looked the picture of fleshy prosperity, a big handsome jewess, hawk-eyed and rapacious. in the background hovered winklestein, his little, squeezed-up, tallowy face beaded with perspiration. but he was dressed quite superbly, and his moustache was more wondrously waxed than ever. i mingled with the crowd of miners, and in my rough garb, swarthy and bearded as i was, the jewish couple did not know me. as i paid her, madam gave me a sharp glance. but there was no recognisant gleam in her eyes. in the evening i returned. i took a seat in one of the curtained boxes. at the long lunch-counter rough-necked fellows perched on tripod stools were guzzling food. the place was brilliantly lit up, many-mirrored and flashily ornate in gilt and white. the bill of fare was elaborate, the prices exalted. in the box before me a white-haired lawyer was entertaining a lady of easy virtue; in the box behind, a larrikin quartette from the pavilion theatre were holding high revelry. there was no mistaking the character of the place. in the heart of the city's tenderloin it was a haunt of human riff-raff, a palace of gilt and guilt, a first scene in the nightly comedy of "the lobster." i was feeling profoundly depressed, miserable, disgusted with everything. for the first time i began to regret ever leaving home. out on the creeks i was happy. here in the town the glaring corruption of things jarred on my nerves. and it was in this place berna worked. she waited on these wantons; she served those swine. she heard their loose talk, their careless oaths. she saw them foully drunk, staggering off to their shameful assignations. she knew everything. o, it was pitiful; it sickened me to the soul. i sat down and buried my face in my hands. "order, please." i knew that sweet voice. it thrilled me, and i looked up suddenly. there was berna standing before me. she gave a quick start, then recovered herself. a look of delight came into her eyes, eager, vivid delight. "my, how you frightened me, i wasn't expecting you. oh, i am so glad to see you again." i looked at her. i was conscious of a change in her, and the consciousness came with a sense of shearing pain. "berna," i said, "what are you doing with that paint on your face?" "oh, i'm sorry." she was rubbing distressfully at a dab of rouge on her cheek. "i knew you would be cross, but i had to; they made me. they said i looked like a spectre at the feast with my chalk face; i frightened away the customers. it's just a little pink,--all the women do it. it makes me look happier, and it doesn't hurt me any." "what i want is to see in your cheeks, dear, the glow of health, not the flush of a cosmetic. however, never mind. how are you?" "pretty well----" hesitatingly. "berna," boomed the rough, contumacious voice of madam, "attend to the customers." "all right," i said; "get me anything. i just wanted to see you." she hurried away. i saw her go behind the curtains of one of the closed boxes carrying a tray of dishes. i heard coarse voices chaffing her. i saw her come out, her cheeks flushed, yet not with rouge. a miner had tried to detain her. somehow it all made me writhe, agitated me so that i could hardly keep my seat. presently she came hurrying round, bringing me some food. "when can i see you, girl?" i asked. "to-night. see me home. i'm off at midnight." "all right. i'll be waiting." she was kept very busy, and, though once or twice a tipsy roysterer ventured on some rough pleasantry, i noticed with returning satisfaction that most of the big, bearded miners treated her with chivalrous respect. she was quite friendly with them. they called her by name, and seemed to have a genuine affection for her. there was a protective manliness in the manner of these men that reassured me. so i swallowed my meal and left the place. "that's a good little girl," said a grizzled old fellow to me, as he stood picking his teeth energetically outside the restaurant. "straight as a string, and there ain't many up here you can say that of. if any one was to try any monkey business with that little girl, sir, there's a dozen of the boys would make him a first-rate case for the hospital ward. yes, siree, that's a jim-dandy little girl. i just wish she was my darter." in my heart i blessed him for his words, and pressed on him a fifty-cent cigar. again i wandered up and down the now familiar street, but the keen edge of my impression had been blunted. i no longer took the same interest in its sights. more populous it was, noisier, livelier than ever. in the gambling-annex of the paystreak saloon was mr. mosher shuffling and dealing methodically. everywhere i saw flushed and excited miners, each with his substantial poke of dust. it was usually as big as a pork-sausage, yet it was only his spending-poke. safely in the bank he had cached half a dozen of them ten times as big. these were the halcyon days. success was in the air. men were drunk with it; carried off their feet, delirious. money! it had lost its value. every one you met was "lousy" with it; threw it away with both hands, and fast as they emptied one pocket it filled up the others. little wonder a mad elation, a semi-frenzy of prodigality prevailed, for every day the golden valley was pouring into the city a seemingly exhaustless stream of treasure. i saw big alec, one of the leading operators, coming down the street with his men. he carried a winchester, and he had a pack-train of burros, each laden down with gold. at the bank flushed and eager mobs were clamouring to have their pokes weighed. in buckets, coal-oil cans, every kind of receptacle, lay the precious dust. sweating clerks were handling it as carelessly as a grocer handles sugar. goldsmiths were making it into wonders of barbaric jewellery. there seemed no limit to the camp's wealth. every one was mad, and the demi-mondaine was queen of all. i saw hewson and mervin. they had struck it rich on a property they had bought on hunker. fortune was theirs. "come and have a drink," said hewson. already he had had many. his face was relaxed, flushed, already showing signs of a flabby degeneration. in this man of iron sudden success was insidiously at work, enervating his powers. mervin, too. i caught a glimpse of him, in the doorway of the green bay tree. the maccaroni kid had him in tow, and he was buying wine. i looked in vain for locasto. he was on a big debauch, they told me. viola lennoir had "got him going." at midnight, at the door of the paragon, i was waiting in a fever of impatience when berna came out. "i'm living up at the cabin," she said; "you can walk with me as far as that. that is, if you want to," she added coquettishly. she was very bright and did most of the talking. she showed a vast joy at seeing me. "tell me what you've been doing, dear--everything. have you made a stake? so many have. i have prayed you would, too. then we'll go away somewhere and forget all this. we'll go to italy, where it's always beautiful. we'll just live for each other. won't we, honey?" she nestled up to me. she seemed to have lost much of her shyness. i don't know why, but i preferred my timid, shrinking berna. "it will take a whole lot to make me forget this," i said grimly. "yes, i know. isn't it frightful? somehow i don't seem to mind so much now. i'm getting used to it, i suppose. but at first--o, it was terrible! i thought i never could stand it. it's wonderful how we get accustomed to things, isn't it?" "yes," i answered bitterly. "you know, those rough miners are good to me. i'm a queen among them, because they know i'm--all right. i've had several offers of marriage, too, really, really good ones from wealthy claim-owners." "yes," still more bitterly. "yes, young man; so you want to make a strike and take me away to italy. oh, how i plan and plan for us two. i don't care, my dearest, if you haven't got a cent in the world, i'm yours, always yours." "that's all right, berna," i said. "i'm going to make good. i've just lost a fifty-thousand dollar claim, but there's more coming up. by the first of june next i'll come to you with a bank account of six figures. you'll see, my little girl. i'm going to make this thing stick." "you foolish boy," she said; "it doesn't matter if you come to me a beggar in rags. come to me anyway. come, and do not fail." "what about locasto?" i asked. "i've scarcely seen anything of him. he leaves me alone. i think he's interested elsewhere." "and are you sure you're all right, dear, down there?" "quite sure. these men would risk their lives for me. the other kind know enough to leave me alone. besides, i know better now how to take care of myself. you remember the frightened cry-baby i used to be--well, i've learned to hold my own." she was extraordinarily affectionate, full of unexpected little ways of endearment, and clung to me when we parted, making me promise to return very soon. yes, she was my girl, devoted to me, attached to me by every tendril of her being. every look, every word, every act of her expressed a bright, fine, radiant love. i was satisfied, yet unsatisfied, and once again i entreated her. "berna, are you sure, quite sure, you're all right in that place among all that folly and drunkenness and vice? let me take you away, dear." "oh, no," she said very tenderly; "i'm all right. i would tell you at once, my boy, if i had any fear. that's just what a poor girl has to put up with all the time; that's what i've had to put up with all my life. believe me, boy, i'm wonderfully blind and deaf at times. i don't think i'm very bad, am i?" "you're as good as gold." "for your sake i'll always try to be," she answered. as we were kissing good-bye she asked timidly: "what about the rouge, dear? shall i cease to use it?" "poor little girl! oh no, i don't suppose it matters. i've got very old-fashioned ideas. good-bye, darling." "good-bye, beloved." i went away treading on sunshine, trembling with joy, thrilled with love for her, blessing her anew. yet still the rouge stuck in my crop as if it were the symbol of some insidious decadence. chapter xv it was about two months later when i returned from a flying visit to dawson. "lots of mail for you two," i cried, exultantly bursting into the cabin. "mail? hooray!" jim and the prodigal, who were lying on their bunks, leapt up eagerly. no one longs for his letters like your northern exile, and for two whole months we had not heard from the outside. "yes, i got over fifty letters between us three. drew about a dozen myself, there's half a dozen for you, jim, and the balance for you, old sport." i handed the prodigal about two dozen letters. "ha! now we'll have the whole evening just to browse on them. my, what a stack! how was it you had a time getting them?" "well, you see, when i got into town the mail had just been sorted, and there was a string of over three hundred men waiting at the general delivery wicket. i took my place at the tail-end of the line, and every newcomer fell in behind me. my! but it was such weary waiting, moving up step by step; but i'd just about got there when closing-time came. they wouldn't give out any more mail--after my three hours' wait, too." "what did you do?" "well, it seems every one gives way to the womenfolk. so i happened to see a girl friend of mine, and she said she would go round first thing in the morning and enquire if there were any letters for us. she brought me this bunch." i indicated the pile of letters. "i'm told lots of women in town make a business of getting letters for men, and charge a dollar a letter. it's awful how hard it is to get mail. half of the clerks seem scarcely able to read the addresses on the envelopes. it's positively sad to watch the faces of the poor wretches who get nothing, knowing, too, that the chances are there is really something for them sorted away in a wrong box." "that's pretty tough." "yes, you should have seen them; men just ravenous to hear from their families; a clerk carelessly shuffling through a pile of letters. 'beachwood, did you say? nope, nothing for you.' 'hold on there! what's that in your hand? surely i know my wife's writing.' 'beachwood--yep, that's right. looked like peachwood to me. all right. next there.' then the man would go off with his letter, looking half-wrathful, half-radiant. well, i enjoyed my trip, but i'm glad i'm home." i threw myself on my bunk voluptuously, and began re-reading my letters. there were some from garry and some from mother. while still unreconciled to the life i was leading, they were greatly interested in my wildly cheerful accounts of the country. they were disposed to be less censorious, and i for my part was only too glad mother was well enough to write, even if she did scold me sometimes. so i was able to open my mail without misgivings. but i was still aglow with memories of the last few hours. once more i had seen berna, spent moments with her of perfect bliss, left her with my mind full of exaltation and bewildered gratitude. she was the perfect answer to my heart's call, a mirror that seemed to flash back the challenge of my joy. i saw the love mists gather in her eyes, i felt her sweet lips mould themselves to mine, i thrilled with the sheathing ardour of her arms. never in my fondest imaginings had i conceived that such a wealth of affection would ever be for me. buoyant she was, brave, inspiring, and always with her buoyancy so wondrous tender i felt that willingly would i die for her. once again i told her of my fear, my anxiety for her safety among those rough men in that cesspool of iniquity. very earnestly she strove to reassure me. "oh, my dear, it is in those rough men, the uncouth, big-hearted miners, that i place my trust. they know i'm a good girl. they wouldn't say a coarse thing before me for the world. you've no idea the chivalrous respect they show for me, and the rougher they are the finer their instincts seem to be. it's the others, the so-called gentlemen, who would like to take advantage of me if they could." she looked at me with bright, clear eyes, fearless in their scorn of sham and pretence. "then there are the women. it's strange, but no matter how degraded they are they try to shield and protect me. only last week kimona kate made a fearful scene with her escort because he said something bad before me. i'm getting tolerant. oh, you've no idea until you know them what good qualities some of these women have. often their hearts are as big as all outdoors; they would nurse you devotedly if you were sick; they would give you their last dollar if you were in want. many of them have old mothers and little children they're supporting outside, and they would rather die than that their dear ones should know the life they are living. it's the men, the men that are to blame." i shook my head sadly. "i don't like it, berna, i don't like it at all. i hate you to know the like of such people, such things. i just want you to be again the dear, sweet little girl i first knew, all maidenly modesty and shuddering aversion of evil." "i'm afraid, dear, i shall never be that again," she said sorrowfully; "but am i any the worse for knowing? why should you men want to keep all such knowledge to yourselves? is our innocence simply to be another name for ignorance?" she put her arms round my neck and kissed me fervently. "oh, no, my dear, my dear. i have seen the vileness of things, and it only makes me more in love with love and beauty. we'll go, you and i, to italy very soon, and forget, forget. even if we have to toil like peasants in the vineyards we'll go, far, far away." so i felt strengthened, stimulated, gladdened, and, as i lay on my bunk listening to the merry crackle of the wood fire, i was in a purring lethargy of content. then i remembered something. "oh, say, boys, i forgot to tell you. i met mccrimmon down the creek. you remember him on the trail, the halfbreed. he was asking after you both; then all at once he said he wanted to see us on important business. he has a proposal to make, he says, that would be greatly to our advantage. he's coming along this evening.--what's the matter, jim?" jim was staring blankly at one of the letters he had received. his face was a picture of distress, misery, despair. without replying, he went and knelt down by his bed. he sighed deeply. slowly his face grew calm again; then i saw that he was praying. we were silent in respectful sympathy, but when, in a little, he got up and went out, i followed him. "had bad news, old man?" "i've had a letter that's upset me. i'm in a terrible position. if ever i wanted strength and guidance, i want it now." "heard about that man?" "yes, it's him, all right; it's mosher. i suspicioned it all along. here's a letter from my brother. he says there's no doubt that mosher is moseley." his eyes were stormy, his face tragic in its bitterness. "oh, you don't know how i worshipped that woman, trusted her, would have banked my life on her; and when i was away making money for her she ups and goes away with that slimy reptile. in the old days i would have torn him to pieces, but now----" he sighed distractedly. "what am i to do? what am i to do? the good book says forgive your enemies, but how can i forgive a wrong like that? and my poor girl--he deserted her, drove her to the streets. ugh! if i could kill him by slow torture, gloat over his agony--but i can't, can i?" "no, jim, you can't do anything. vengeance is the lord's." "yes, i know, i know. but it's hard, it's hard. o my girl, my girl!" tears overran his cheeks. he sat down on a log, burying his face in his hands. "o god, help and sustain me in this my hour of need." i was at a loss how to comfort him, and it was while i was waiting there that suddenly we saw the halfbreed coming up the trail. "better come in, jim," i said, "and hear what he's got to say." chapter xvi we made mccrimmon comfortable. we kept no whisky in the cabin, but we gave him some hot coffee, which he drank with great satisfaction. then he twisted a cigarette, lit it, and looked at us keenly. on his brown, flattish face were remarkable the impassivity of the indian and the astuteness of the scot. we were regarding him curiously. jim had regained his calm, and was quietly watchful. the prodigal seemed to have his ears cocked to listen. there was a feeling amongst us as if we had reached a crisis in our fortunes. the halfbreed lost no time in coming to the point. "i like you boys. you're square and above-board. you're workers, and you don't drink--that's the main thing. "well, to get right down to cases. i'm a bit of a mining man. i've mined at cassiar and caribou, and i know something of the business. now i've got next to a good thing.--i don't know how good yet, but i'll swear to you it's a tidy bit. there may be only ten thousand in it, and there may be one hundred and ten. it's a gambling proposition, and i want pardners, pardners that'll work like blazes and keep their faces shut. are you on?" "that's got us kodaked," said the prodigal. "we're that sort, and if the proposition looks good to us we're with you. anyway, we're clams at keeping our food-traps tight." "all right; listen. you know the arctic transportation co. have claims on upper bonanza--well, a month back i was working for them. we were down about twenty feet and were drifting in. they set me to work in the drift. the roof kept sloughing in on me, and it was mighty dangerous. so far we hadn't got pay-dirt, but their mining manager wanted us to drift in a little further. if we didn't strike good pay in a few more feet we were to quit. "well, one morning i went down and cleaned away the ash of my fire. the first stroke of my pick on the thawed face made me jump, stare, stand stock-still, thinking hard. for there, right in the hole i had made, was the richest pocket i ever seen." "you don't say! are you sure?" "why, boys, as i'm alive there was nuggets in it as thick as raisins in a christmas plum-duff. i could see the yellow gleam where the pick had grazed them, and the longer i looked the more could i see." "good lord! what did you do?" "what did i do! i just stepped back and picked at the roof for all i was worth. a big bunch of muck came down, covering up the face. then, like a crazy man, i picked wherever the dirt seemed loose all the way down the drift. great heaps of dirt caved in on me. i was stunned, nearly buried, but i did the trick. there were tons of dirt between me and my find." we gasped with amazement. "the rest was easy. i went up the shaft groaning and cursing. i pretended to faint. i told them the roof of the drift had fallen in on me. it was rotten stuff, anyway, and they knew it. they didn't mind me risking my life. i cursed them, said i would sue the company, and went off looking too sore for words. the manager was disgusted, he went down and took a look at things; declared he would throw up the work at that place; the ground was no good. he made that report to the company." the halfbreed looked round triumphantly. "now, here's the point. we can get a lay on that ground. one of you boys must apply for it. they mustn't know i'm in with you, or they would suspect right away. they're none too scrupulous themselves in their dealings." he paused impressively. "you cinch that lay agreement. get it signed right away. we'll go in and work like old nick. we'll make a big clean-up by spring. i'll take you right to the gold. there's thousands and thousands lying snug in the ground just waiting for us. it's right in our mit. oh, it's a cinch, a cinch!" the halfbreed almost grew excited. bending forward, he eyed us keenly. in a breathless silence we stared at each other. "well," i objected, "seems to be putting up rather a job on the company." jim was silent, but the prodigal cut in sharply: "job nothing--it's a square proposition. we don't know for certain that gold's there. maybe it's only a piffling pocket, and we'll get souped for our pains. no, it seems to me it's a fair gambling proposition. we're taking all kinds of chances. it means awful hard work; it means privation and, maybe, bitter disappointment. it's a gamble, i tell you, and are we going to be such poor sports as turn it down? i for one am strongly in favour of it. what do you say? a big sporting chance--are you there, boys, are you there?" he almost shouted in his excitement. "hush! some one might hear you," warned the halfbreed. "yes, that's right. well, it looks mighty good to me, and if you boys are willing we'll just draw up papers and sign an agreement right away. is it a go?" we nodded, so he got ink and paper and drew up a form of partnership. "now," said he, his eyes dancing, "now, to secure that lay before any one else cuts in on us. gee! but it's getting dark and cold outdoors these days. snow falling; well, i must mush to dawson to-night." he hurried on some warm, yet light, clothing, all the time talking excitedly of the chance that fortune had thrown in our way, and gleeful as a schoolboy. "now, boys," he says, "hope i'll have good luck. jim, put in a prayer for me. well, see you all to-morrow. good-bye." * * * * * it was late next night when he returned. we were sitting in the cabin, anxious and expectant, when he threw open the door. he was tired, wet, dirty, but irrepressibly jubilant. "hurrah, boys!" he cried. "i've cinched it. i saw mister manager of the big company. he was very busy, very important, very patronising. i was the poor miner seeking a lay. i played the part well. he began by telling me he didn't want to give any lays at present; just wanted to stand me off, you know; make me more keen. i spoke about some of their ground on hunker. he didn't seem enthusiastic. then, at last, as if in despair, i mentioned this bit on bonanza. i could see he was itching to let me have it, but he was too foxy to show it. he actually told me it was an extra rich piece of ground, when all the time he knew his own mining engineer had condemned it." the prodigal's eyes danced delightedly. "well, we sparred round a bit like two fake fighters. my! but he was wily, that old jew. finally he agreed to let me have it on a fifty-per-cent. basis. don't faint, boys. fifty per cent., i said. i'm sorry. it was the best i could do, and you know i'm not slow. that means they get half of all we take out. oh, the old shark! the robber! i tried to beat him down, but he stood pat; wouldn't budge. so i gave in, and we signed the lay agreement, and now everything's in shape. gee whiz! didn't i give a sigh of relief when i got outside! he thinks i'm the fall guy, and went off chuckling." he raised his voice triumphantly. "and now, boys, we've got the ground cinched, so get action on yourselves. here's where we make our first real stab at fortune. here's where we even up on the hard jabs she's handed us in the past; here's where we score a bull's-eye, or i miss my guess. the gold's there, boys, you can bank on that; and the harder we work the more we're going to get of it. now, we're going to work hard. we're going to make ordinary hard work look like a summer vacation. we're going to work for all we're worth--and then some. are you there, boys, are you there?" "we are," we shouted with one accord. chapter xvii there was no time to lose. every hour for us meant so much more of that precious pay-dirt that lay under the frozen surface. the winter leapt on us with a swoop, a harsh, unconciliating winter, that made out-door work an unmitigated hardship. but there was the hope of fortune nerving and bracing us, till we lost in it all thought of self. nothing short of desperate sickness, death even, would drive us from our posts. it was with this dauntless spirit we entered on the task before us. and, indeed, it was one that called for all in a man of energy and self-sacrifice. there was wood to get for the thawing of the ground; there was a cabin to be built on the claim; and, lastly, there was a vast dump to be taken out of the ground for the spring sluicing. we planned things so that no man would be idle for a moment, and so that every ounce of strength expended would show its result. the halfbreed took charge, and we, recognising it as his show, obeyed him implicitly. he decided to put down two holes to bed-rock, and, after much deliberation, selected the places. this was a matter for the greatest judgment and experience, and we were satisfied that he had both. we ran up a little cabin and banked it nearly to the low eaves with snow. by-and-bye more fell on the roof to the depth of three feet, so that the place seemed like a huge white hummock. only in front could you recognise it as a cabin by the low doorway, where we had always to stoop on entering. within were our bunks, a tiny stove, a few boxes to sit on, a few dishes, our grub; that was all. often we regretted our big cabin on the hill, with its calico-lined "den" and its separate kitchen. but in this little box of a home we were to put in many weary months. not that the time seemed long to us; we were too busy for that. indeed, often we wished it were twice as long. snow had fallen in september, and by december we were in an arctic world of uncompromising harshness. day after day the glass stood between forty and fifty below zero. it was hatefully, dangerously cold. it seemed as if the frost-fiend had a cruel grudge against us. it made us grim--and careful. we didn't talk much in those days. we just worked, worked, worked, and when we did talk it was of our work, our ceaseless work. would we strike it rich? it was all a gamble, the most exciting gamble in the world. it thrilled our day hours with excitement; it haunted our sleep; it lent strength to the pick-stroke and vigour to the windlass-crank. it made us forget the bitter cold, till some one would exclaim, and gently knead the fresh snow on our faces. the cold burned our cheeks a fierce brick-red, and a frostbite showed on them like a patch of white putty. the old scars, never healing, were like blotches of lamp-black. but neither cold nor fatigue could keep us away from the shaft and the drift. we had gone down to bed-rock, and were tunnelling in to meet the hole the halfbreed had covered up. so far we had found nothing. every day we panned samples of the dirt, always getting colours, sometimes a fifty-cent pan, but never what we dreamed of, hoped for. "wait, boys, till we get a two-hundred-dollar pan, then we'll begin to whoop it up some." once the company manager came down on a dog-team. he looked over our shaft. he wore a coon coat, with a cap of beaver, and huge fur mits hung by a cord around his neck. he was massive and impassive. spiky icicles bristled around his mouth. "what luck, boys?" his breath came like steam. "none, so far," we told him, wearily, and off he went into the frozen gloom, saying he hoped we would strike it before long. "wait a while." we were working two men to a shaft, burning our ground over night. the prodigal and i manned the windlasses, while the old miners went down the drifts. it was a cold, cold job standing there on that rugged platform turning the windlass-crank. long before it was fairly light we got to our posts, and lowered our men into the hole. the air was warmer down there; but the work was harder, more difficult, more dangerous. at noon there was no sunshine, only a wan, ashen light that suffused the sky. a deathlike stillness lay on the valley, not a quiver or movement in leaf or blade. the snow was a shroud, smooth save where the funereal pines pricked through. in that intensity of cold, that shivering agony of desolation, it seemed as if nature was laughing at us--the cosmic laugh. our meals were hurriedly cooked and bolted. we grudged every moment of our respite from toil. at night we often were far too weary to undress. we lost our regard for cleanliness; we neglected ourselves. always we talked of the result of the day's panning and the chances of to-morrow. surely we would strike it soon. "wait awhile." colder it grew and colder. our kerosene flowed like mush. the water froze solid in our kettle. our bread was full of icy particles. everything had to be thawed out continually. it was tiresome, exasperating, when we were in such a devil of a hurry. it kept us back; it angered us, this pest of a cold. our tempers began to suffer. we were short, taciturn. the strain was beginning to tell on us. "wait awhile." then, one afternoon, the something happened. it was jim who was the chosen one. about three o'clock he signalled to be hoisted up, and when he appeared he was carrying a pan of dirt. "call the others," he said. all together in the little cabin we stood round, while jim washed out the pan in snow-water melt over our stove. i will never forget how eagerly we watched the gravel, and the whirling, dexterous movements of the old man. we could see gleams of yellow in the muddy water. thrills of joy and hope went through us. we had got the thing, the big thing, at last. "hurry, jim," i said, "or i'll die of suspense." patiently he went on. there it was at last in the bottom of the pan--sweeter to our eyes than to a woman the sight of her first-born. there it lay, glittering, gleaming gold, fine gold, coarse gold, nuggety gold. "now, boys, you can whoop it up," said jim quietly; "for there's many and many a pan like it down there in the drift." but never a whoop. what was the matter with us? when the fortune we had longed for so eagerly came at last, we did not greet it even with a cheer. oh, we were painfully silent. solemnly we shook hands all round. chapter xviii "now to weigh it," said the prodigal. on the tiny pair of scales we turned it out--ninety-five dollars' worth. well, it was a good start, and we were all possessed with a frantic eagerness to go down in the drift. i crawled along the tunnel. there, in the face of it, i could see the gold shining, and the longer i looked the more i seemed to see. it was rich, rich. i picked out and burnished a nugget as large as a filbert. there were lots of others like it. it was a strike. the question was: how much was there of it? the halfbreed soon settled our doubts on that score. "it stands to reason the pay runs between where i first found it and where we've struck it now. that alone means a tidy stake for each of us. say, boys, if you were to cover all that distance with twenty-dollar gold pieces six feet wide, and packed edge to edge, i wouldn't take them for our interest in that bit of ground. i see a fine big ranch in manitoba for my share; ay, and hired help to run it. the only thing that sticks in my gullet is that fifty per cent. to the company." "well, we can't kick," i said; "we'd never have got the lay if they'd had a hunch. my! won't they be sore?" sure enough, in a few days the news leaked out, and the manager came post-haste. "hear you've struck it rich, boys." "so rich that i guess we'll have to pack down gravel from the benches to mix in before we can sluice it," said the prodigal. "you don't say. well, i'll have to have a man on the ground to look after our interests." "all right. it means a good thing for you." "yes, but it would have meant a better if we had worked it ourselves. however, you boys deserve your luck. hello, the devil----" he turned round and saw the halfbreed. he gave a long whistle and went away, looking pensive. * * * * * it was the night of the discovery when the prodigal made us an address. "look here, boys; do you know what this means? it means victory; it means freedom, happiness, the things we want, the life we love. to me it means travel, new york, paris, evening dress, the opera. to mccrimmon here it means his farm. to each according to his notion, it means the 'things that matter.' "now, we've just begun. the hardest part is to come, is to get out the fortune that's right under our feet. we're going to get every cent of it, boys. there's a little over three months to do it in, leaving about a month to make sluice-boxes and clean up the dirt. we've got to work like men at a burning barn. we've worked hard, but we've got to go some yet. for my part, i'm willing to do stunts that will make my previous record look like a plugged dime. i guess you boys all feel the same way." "you bet we do." "well, nuf sed; let's get busy." so, once more, with redoubled energy, we resumed our tense, unremitting round of toil. now, however, it was vastly different. every bucket of dirt meant money in our pockets, every stroke of the pick a dollar. not that it was all like the first rich pocket we had struck. it proved a most erratic and puzzling paystreak--one day rich beyond our dreams, another too poor to pay for the panning. we swung on a pendulum of hope and despair. perhaps this made it all the more exciting, and stimulated us unnaturally, and always we cursed that primitive method of mining that made every bucket of dirt the net result of infinite labor. every day our two dumps increased in size (for we had struck pay on the other shaft), and every day our assurance and elation increased correspondingly. it was bruited around that we had one of the richest bits of ground in the country, and many came to gaze at us. it used to lighten my labours at the windlass to see their looks of envy and to hear their awe-stricken remarks. "that's one of them," they would say; "one of the lucky four, the lucky laymen." so, as the facts, grossly exaggerated, got noised abroad, they came to call us the "lucky laymen." looking back, there will always seem to me something weird and incomprehensible in those twilight days, an unreality, a vagueness like some dreary, feverish dream. for three months i did not see my face in a mirror. not that i wanted to, but i mention this just to show how little we thought of ourselves. in like manner, never did i have a moment's time to regard my inner self in the mirror of consciousness. no mental analysis now; no long hours of retrospection, no tête-à-tête interviews with my soul. at times i felt as if i had lost my identity. i was a slave of the genie gold, releasing it from its prison in the frozen bowels of the earth. i was an automaton turning a crank in the frozen stillness of the long, long night. it was a life despotically objective, and now, as i look back, it seems as if i had never lived it at all. i seem to look down a long, dark funnel and see a little machine-man bearing my semblance, patiently, steadily, wearily turning the handle of a windlass in the clear, lancinating cold of those sombre, silent days. i say "bearing my outward semblance," and yet i sometimes wonder if that rough-bearded figure in heavy woollen clothes looked the least like me. i wore heavy sweaters, mackinaw trousers, thick german socks and moccasins. from frequent freezing my cheeks were corroded. i was miserably thin, and my eyes had a wild, staring expression through the pupils dilating in the long darkness. yes, mentally and physically i was no more like myself than a convict enduring out his life in the soulless routine of a prison. the days were lengthening marvellously. we noted the fact with dull joy. it meant more light, more time, more dirt in the dump. so it came about that, from ten hours of toil, we went to twelve, to fourteen; then, latterly, to sixteen, and the tension of it was wearing us down to skin and bone. we were all feeling wretched, overstrained, ill-nourished, and it was only voicing the general sentiment when, one day, the prodigal remarked: "i guess i'll have to let up for a couple of days. my teeth are all on the bum. i'm going to town to see a dentist." "let me look at them," said the halfbreed. he looked. the gums were sullen, unwholesome-looking. "why, it's a touch of scurvy, lad; a little while, and you'd be spitting out your teeth like orange pips; your legs would turn black, and when you squeezed your fingers into the flesh the hole would stay. you'd get rotten, then you'd mortify and die. but it's the easiest thing in the world to cure. nothing responds to treatment so readily." he made a huge brew of green-spruce tea, of which we all partook, and in a few days the prodigal was fit again. it was mid-march when we finished working out our ground. we had done well, not so well, perhaps, as we had hoped for, but still magnificently well. never had men worked harder, never fought more desperately for success. there were our two dumps, pyramids of gold-permeated dirt at whose value we could only guess. we had wrested our treasure from the icy grip of the eternal frost. now it remained--and o, the sweetness of it--to glean the harvest of our toil. chapter xix "the water's beginning to run, boys," said the halfbreed. "a few more days and we'll be able to start sluicing." the news was like a flood of sunshine to us. for days we had been fixing up the boxes and getting everything in readiness. the sun beat strongly on the snow, which almost visibly seemed to retreat before it. the dazzlingly white surface was crisp and flaky, and around the tree boles curving hollows had formed. here and there brown earth peered nakedly through. every day the hillside runnels grew in strength. we were working at the mouth of a creek down which ran a copious little stream all through the springtime. we tapped it some distance above us, and ran part of it along our line of sluice-boxes. these boxes went between our two dumps, so that it was easy to shovel in from both sides. nothing could have been more convenient. at last, after a day of hot sunshine, we found quite a freshet of water coming down the boxes, leaping and dancing in the morning light. i remember how i threw in the first shovelful of dirt, and how good it was to see the bright stream discolour as our friend the water began his magic work. for three days we shovelled in, and on the fourth we made a clean-up. "i guess it's time," said jim, "or those riffles will be gettin' choked up." and, sure enough, when we ran off the water there were some of them almost full of the yellow metal, wet and shiny, gloriously agleam in the morning light. "there's ten thousand dollars if there's an ounce," said the company's man, and the weigh-up proved he was right. so the gold was packed in two long buckskin pokes and sent into town to be deposited in the bank. day after day we went on shovelling in, and about twice a week we made a clean-up. the month of may was half over when we had only a third of our dirt run through the boxes. we were terribly afraid of the water failing us, and worked harder than ever. indeed, it was difficult to tell when to leave off. the nights were never dark now; the daylight was over twenty hours in duration. the sun described an ellipse, rising a little east of north and setting a little west of north. we shovelled in till we were too exhausted to lift another ounce. then we lay down in our clothes and slept as soon as we touched the pillow. "there's eighty thousand to our credit in the bank, and only a third of our dump's gone. hooray, boys!" said the prodigal. about one o'clock in the morning the birds began to sing, and the sunset glow had not faded from the sky ere the sunrise quickened it with life once more. who that has lived in the north will ever forget the charm, the witchery of those midnight skies, where the fires of the sun are banked and never cold? surely, long after all else is forgotten, will linger the memory of those mystic nights with all their haunting spell of weird, disconsolate solitude. one afternoon i was working on the dump, intent on shovelling in as much dirt as possible before supper, when, on looking up, who should greet me but locasto. since our last interview in town i had not seen him, and, somehow, this sudden sight of him came as a kind of a shock. yet the manner of the man as he approached me was hearty in the extreme. he held out his great hand to me, and, as i had no desire to antagonise him, i gave him my own. he was riding. his big, handsome face was bronzed, his black eyes clear and sparkling, his white teeth gleamed like mammoth ivory. he certainly was a dashing, dominant figure of a man, and, in spite of myself, i admired him. his manner in his salutation was cordial, even winning. "i've just been visiting some of my creek properties," he said. "i heard you fellows had made a good strike, and i thought i'd come down and congratulate you. it is pretty good, isn't it?" "yes," i said; "not quite so good as we expected, but we'll all have a tidy sum." "i'm glad. well, i suppose you'll go outside this fall." "no, i think i'll stay in. you see, we've the gold hill property, which looks promising; and then we have two claims on ophir." "oh, ophir! i don't think you'll ever take a fortune out of ophir. i bought a claim there the other day. the man pestered me, so i gave him five thousand for it, just to get rid of him. it's eight below." "why," i said, "that's the claim i staked and got beaten out of." "you don't say so. well, now, that's too bad. i bought it from a man named spankiller; his brother's a clerk in the gold office. tell you what i'll do. i'll let you have it for the five thousand i gave for it." "no," i answered, "i don't think i want it now." "all right; think it over, anyway. if you should change your mind, let me know. well, i must go. i've got to get into town to-night. that's my mule-train back there on the trail. i've got pretty nearly ten thousand ounces over there." i looked and saw the mules with the gold-packs slung over their backs. there were four men to guard them, and it seemed to me that in one of these men i recognised the little wizened figure of the worm. i shivered. "yes, i've done pretty well," he continued; "but it don't make any difference. i spend it as fast as i get it. a month ago i didn't have enough ready cash to pay my cigar bill, yet i could have gone to the bank and borrowed a hundred thousand. it was there in the dump. oh, it's a rum business this mining. well, good-bye." he was turning to go when, suddenly, he stopped. "oh, by the way, i saw a friend of yours before i left. no need to mention names, you lucky dog. when's the big thing coming off? well, i must congratulate you again. she looks sweeter than ever. bye-bye." he was off, leaving a very sinister impression on my mind. in his parting smile there was a trace of mockery that gravely disquieted me. i had thought much of berna during the past few months, but as the gold fever took hold of me i put her more and more from my mind. i told myself that all this struggle was for her. in the thought that she was safe i calmed all anxious fear. sometimes by not thinking so much of dear ones, one can be more thoughtful of them. so it was with me. i knew that all my concentration of effort was for her sake, and would bring her nearer to me. yet at locasto's words all my old longing and heartache vehemently resurged. in spite of myself, i was the prey of a growing uneasiness. things seemed vastly different, now success had come to me. i could not bear to think of her working in that ambiguous restaurant, rubbing shoulders with its unspeakable habitués. i wondered how i had ever deceived myself into thinking it was all right. i began to worry, so that i knew only a trip into dawson would satisfy me. accordingly, i hired a big swede to take my place at the shovel, and set out once more on the hillside trail for town. chapter xx i found the town more animated than ever, the streets more populous, the gaiety more unrestrained. everywhere were flaunting signs of a plethoric wealth. the anxious cheechako had vanished from the scene, and the victorious miner masqueraded in his place. he swaggered along in the glow of the spring sunshine, a picture of perfect manhood, bronzed and lean and muscular. he was brimming over with the exuberance of health. he had come into town to "live" things, to transmute this yellow dust into happiness, to taste the wine of life, to know the lips of flame. it was the day of the man with the poke. he was king. the sheer animalism of him overflowed in midnight roysterings, in bacchanalian revels, in debauches among the human débris of the tenderloin. every one was waiting for him, to fleece him, rob him, strip him. it was also the day of the man behind the bar, of the gambler, of the harpy. my strange, formless fears for berna were soon set at rest. she was awaiting me. she looked better than i had ever seen her, and she welcomed me with an eager delight that kindled me to rapture. "just think of it," she said, "only two weeks, and we'll be together for always. it seems too good to be true. oh, my dear, how can i ever love you enough? how happy we are going to be, aren't we?" "we're going to be happier than any two people ever were before," i assured her. we crossed the yukon to the green glades of north dawson, and there, on a little rise, we sat down, side by side. how i wish i could put into words the joy that filled my heart! never was lad so happy as i. i spoke but little, for love's silences are sweeter than all words. well, well i mind me how she looked: just like a picture, her hands clasped on her lap, her eyes star-bright, angel-sweet, mother-tender. from time to time she would give me a glance so full of trust and love that my heart would leap to her, and wave on wave of passionate tenderness come sweeping over me. it may be there was something humble in my stintless adoration; it may be i was like a child for the pleasure of her nearness; it may be my eyes told all too well of the fire that burned within me, but o, the girl was kind, gentler than forgiveness, sweeter than all heaven. caressingly she touched my hair. i kissed her fingers, kissed them again and again; and then she lifted my hand to her lips, and i felt her kiss fall upon it. how wondrously i tingled at the touch. my hand seemed mine no longer--a consecrated thing. proud, happy me! "yes," she went on, "doesn't it seem as if we were dreaming? you know, i always thought it was a dream, and now it's coming true. you'll take me away from this place, won't you, boy?--far, far away. i'll tell you now, dear, i've borne it all for your sake, but i don't think i could bear it any longer. i would rather die than sink in the mire, and yet you can't imagine how this life affects one. it's sad, sad, but i don't get shocked at things in the way i used to. you know, i sometimes think a girl, no matter how good, sweet, modest to begin with, placed in such surroundings could fall gradually." i agreed with her. too well i knew i was becoming calloused to the evils around me. such was the insidious corruption of the gold-camp, i now regarded with indifference things that a year ago i would have shrunk from with disgust. "well, it will be all over very soon, won't it, dear? i don't know what i'd have done if it hadn't been for the rough miners. they've been so kind to me. when they saw i was straight and honest they couldn't be good enough. they shielded me in every way, and kept back the other kind of men. even the women have been my friends and helped me." she looked at me archly. "and, you know, i've had ever so many offers of marriage, too, from honest, rough, kindly men--and i've refused them ever so gracefully." "has locasto ever made any more overtures?" her face grew grave. "yes, about a month ago he besieged me, gave me no rest, made all kinds of proposals and promises. he wanted to divorce his 'outside' wife and marry me. he wanted to settle a hundred thousand dollars on me. he tried everything in his power to force me to his will. then, when he saw it was no use, he turned round and begged me to let him be my friend. he spoke so nicely of you. he said he would help us in any way he could. he's everything that's kind to me now. he can't do enough for me. yet, somehow, i don't trust him." "well, my precious," i assured her, "all danger, doubt, despair, will soon be over. locasto and the rest of them will be as shadows, never to haunt my little girl again. the great, black north will fade away, will dissolve into the land of sunshine and flowers and song. you will forget it." "the great black north.--i will never forget it, and i will always bless it. it has given me my love, the best love in all the world." "o my darling, my life, i'll take you away from it all soon, soon. we'll go to my home, to garry, to mother. they will love you as i love you." "i'm sure i will love them. what you have told me of them makes them seem very real to me. will you not be ashamed of me?" "i will be proud, proud of you, my girl." ah, would i not! i looked at that flower-like face the sunshine glorified so, the pretty, bright hair falling away from her low brow in little waves, the lily throat, the delicately patrician features, the proud poise of her head. who would not have been proud of her? she awoke all that was divine in me. i looked as one might look on a vision, scarce able to believe it real. suddenly she pointed excitedly. "look, dear, look at the rainbow. isn't it wonderful? isn't it beautiful?" i gazed in rapt admiration. across the river a shower had fallen, and the clouds, clearing away abruptly, had left there a twin rainbow of matchless perfection. its double arch was poised as accurately over the town as if it had been painted there. each hoop was flawless in form, lovely in hue, tenderly luminous, exquisite in purity. never had i seen the double iris so immaculate in colouring, and, with its bases resting on the river, it curved over the gold-born city like a frame of ethereal beauty. "does it not seem, dear, like an answer to our prayer, an omen of good hope, a promise for the future?" "yes, beloved, our future, yours and mine. the clouds are rolling away. all is bright with sunshine once again, and god sends his rainbow to cheer and comfort us. it will not be long now. on the first day of june, beloved, i will come to you, and we will be made man and wife. you will be waiting for me, will you not?" "yes, yes, waiting ever so eagerly, my lover, counting every hour, every minute." i kissed her passionately, and we held each other tightly for a moment. i saw come into her eyes that look which comes but once into the eyes of a maid, that look of ineffable self-surrender, of passionate abandonment. life is niggard of such moments, yet can our lives be summed up in them. she rested her head on my shoulder; her lips lay on mine, and they moved faintly. "yes, lover, yes, the first of june. don't fail me, honey, don't fail me." we parted, buoyant with hope, in an ecstasy of joy. she was for me, this beautiful, tender girl, for me. and the time was nigh when she should be mine, mine to adore until the end. always would she be by my side; daily could i plot and plan to give her pleasure; every hour by word and look and act could i lavish on her the exhaustless measure of my love. ah! life would be too short for me. could aught in this petty purblind existence of ours redeem it and exalt it so: her love, this pure sweet girl's, and mine. let nations grapple, let mammon triumph, let pestilence o'erwhelm; what matter, we love, we love. o proud, happy me! * * * * * i got back to the claim. everything was going merrily, but i felt little desire to resume my toil. i was strangely wearied, worn out somehow. yet i took up my shovel again with a body that rebelled in every tissue. never had i felt like this before. something was wrong with me. i was weak. at night i sweated greatly. i cared not to eat. * * * * * "well," said the prodigal, "it's all over but the shouting. from my calculations we've cleaned up two hundred and six thousand dollars. that's a hundred and three between us four. it's cost us about three to get out the stuff; so there will be, roughly speaking, about twenty-five thousand for each of us." how jubilant every one was looking--every one but me. somehow i felt as if money didn't matter just then, for i was sick, sick. "why, what's the matter?" said the prodigal, staring at me curiously. "you look like a ghost." "i feel like one, too," i answered. "i'm afraid i'm in for a bad spell. i want to lie down awhile, boys ... i'm tired.... the first of june, i've got a date on the first of june. i must keep it, i must.... don't let me sleep too long, boys. i mustn't fail. it's a matter of life and death. the first of june...." alas, on the first of june i lay in the hospital, raving and tossing in the clutches of typhoid fever. chapter xxi i was lying in bed, and a heavy weight was pressing on me, so that, in spite of my struggles, i could not move. i was hot, insufferably hot. the blood ran boiling through my veins. my flesh was burning up. my brain would not work. it was all cobwebs, murky and stale as a charnel-house. yet at times were strange illuminations, full of terror and despair. blood-red lights and purple shadows alternated in my vision. then came the dreams. * * * * * there was always berna. through a mass of grimacing, greed-contorted faces gradually there formed and lingered her sweet and pensive one. we were in a strange costume, she and i. it seemed like that of the early georges. we were running away, fleeing from some one. for her sake a great fear and anxiety possessed me. we were eloping, i fancied. there was a marsh to cross, a hideous quagmire, and our pursuers were close. we started over the quaking ground, then, suddenly, i saw her sink. i rushed to aid her, and i, too, sank. we were to our necks in the soft ooze, and there on the bank, watching us, was the foremost of our hunters. he laughed at our struggles; he mocked us; he rejoiced to see us drown. and in my dream the face of the man seemed strangely like locasto. * * * * * we were in a bower of roses, she and i. it was still further back in history. we seemed to be in the garden of a palace. i was in doublet and hose, and she wore a long, flowing kirtle. the air was full of fragrance and sunshine. birds were singing. a fountain scattered a shower of glittering diamonds on the breeze. she was sitting on the grass, while i reclined by her side, my head lying on her lap. above me i could see her face like a lily bending over me. with dainty fingers she crumpled a rose and let the petals snow down on me. then, suddenly, i was seized, torn away from her by men in black, who roughly choked her screams. i was dragged off, thrown into a foul cell, left many days. then, one night, i was dragged forth and brought before a grim tribunal in a hall of gloom and horror. they pronounced my doom--death. the chief inquisitor raised his mask, and in those gloating features i recognised--locasto. * * * * * again it seemed as if i were still further back in history, in some city under the roman rule. i was returning from the temple with my bride. how fair and fresh and beautiful she was, garlanded with flowers and radiantly happy. again it was berna. suddenly there are shouts, the beating of drums, the clash of cymbals. the great governor of the province is coming. he passes with his retinue. suddenly he catches sight of her whom i have but newly wed. he stops. he asks who is the maid. they tell him. he looks at me with haughty contempt. he gives a sign. his servants seize her and drag her screaming away. i try to follow, to kill him. i, too, am seized, overpowered. they bind me, put out my eyes. the roman sees them do it. he laughs as the red-hot iron kisses my eye-balls. he mocks me, telling me what a dainty feast awaits him in my bride. again i see locasto. * * * * * then came another phase of my delirium, in which i struggled to get to her. she was waiting for me, wanting me, breaking her heart at my delay. o, berna, my soul, my life, since the beginning of things we were fated. 'tis no flesh love, but something deeper, something that has its source at the very core of being. it is not for your sweet face, your gentle spirit, my own, that you are dearer to me than all else: it is because--you are you. if all the world were to turn against you, flout you, stone you, then would i rush to your side, shield you, die with you. if you were attainted with leprosy, i would enter the lazar-house for your sake. "o berna, i must see you, i must, i must. let me go to her ... now ... dear! she's calling me. she's in trouble. oh, for the love of god, let me go ... let me go, i say.... curse you, i will. she's in trouble. you can't hold me. i'm stronger than you all when she calls.... let me ... let me.... oh, oh, oh ... you're hurting me so. i'm weak, yes, weak as a baby.... berna, my child, my poor little girl, i can do nothing. there's a mountain weighing me down. there's a slab of gold on my chest. they're burning me up. my veins are on fire. i can't come.... i can't, dear.... i'm tired...." then the fever, the ravings, the wild threshing of my pillow, all passed away, and i was left limp, weak, helpless, resigned to my fate. i was on the sunny slope of convalescence. the prodigal had remained with me as long as i was in danger, but now that i had turned the corner, he had gone back to the creeks, so that i was left with only my thoughts for company. as i turned and twisted on my narrow cot it seemed as if the time would never pass. all i wanted was to get better fast, and to get out again. then, i thought, i would marry berna and go "outside." i was sick of the country, of everything. i was lying thinking over these things, when i became aware that the man in the cot to the right was trying to attract my attention. he had been brought in that very morning, said to have been kicked by a horse. one of his ribs was broken, and his face badly smashed. he was in great pain, but quite conscious, and he was making stealthy motions to me. "say, mate," he said, "i piped you off soon's i set me lamps on you. don't youse know me?" i looked at the bandaged face wonderingly. "don't you spot de man dat near let youse down de shaft?" then, with a great start, i saw it was the worm. "'taint no horse done me up," he said in a hoarse whisper; "'twas a man. you know de man, de worst devil in all alaska, black jack. bad luck to him! he knocked me down and give me de leather. but i'm goin' to get even some day. i'm just laying for him. i wouldn't be in his shoes for de richest claim in de klondike." the man's eyes glittered vengefully between the white bandages. "'twas all on account of de little girl he done it. you know de girl i mean. black jack's dead stuck on her, an' de furder she stands him off de more set he is to get her. youse don't know dat man. he's never had de cold mit yet." "tell me what's the matter, for heaven's sake." "well, when youse didn't come, de little girl she got worried. i used to be doin' chores round de restaurant, an' she asks me to take a note up to you. so i said i would. but i got on a drunk dat day, an' for a week after i didn't draw a sober breath. when i gets around again i told her i'd seen you an' given you de note an' you was comin' in right away." "heaven forgive you for that." [illustration: then, as i hung half in, half out of the window, he clutched me by the throat] "yep, dat's what i say now. but it's all too late. well, a week went on an' you never showed up, an' meantime locasto was pesterin' her cruel. she got mighty peaked like, pale as a ghost, an' i could see she cried most all her nights. den she gives me anudder note. she gives me a hundred dollars to take dat note to you. i said she could lay on me dis time. i was de hurry-up kid, an' i starts off. but black jack must have cottoned on, for he meets me back of de town an' taxes me wid takin' a message. den he sets on me like a wild beast an' does me up good and proper. but i'll fix him yet." "where are the notes?" i cried. "in de pocket of me coat. tell de nurse to fetch in me clothes, an' i'll give dem to youse." the nurse brought the clothes, but the little man was too sore to move. "feel in de inside pocket." there were the notes, folded very small, and written in pencil. there was a strange faintness at my heart, and my fingers trembled as i opened them. fear, fear was clutching me, compressing me in an agonising grip. here was the first. "my darling boy: why didn't you come? i was all ready for you. o, it was such a terrible disappointment. i've cried myself to sleep every night since. has anything happened to you, dear? for heaven's sake write or send a message. i can't bear the suspense. "your loving "berna." blankly, dully, almost mechanically, i read the second. "o, come, my dear, at once. i'm in serious danger. he's grown desperate. swears if he can't get me by fair means he'll have me by foul. i'm terribly afraid. why ar'n't you here to protect me? why have you failed me? o, my darling, have pity on your poor little girl. come quickly before it is too late." it was unsigned. heavens! i must go to her at once. i was well enough. i was all right again. why would they not let me go to her? i would crawl on my hands and knees if need be. i was strong, so strong now. ha! there were the worm's clothes. it was after midnight. the nurse had just finished her rounds. all was quiet in the ward. dizzily i rose and slipped into the frayed and greasy garments. there were the hospital slippers. i must wear them. never mind a hat. i was out in the street. i shuffled along, and people stared at me, but no one delayed me. i was at the restaurant now. she wasn't there. ah! the cabin on the hill. i was weaker than i had thought. once or twice in a half-fainting condition i stopped and steadied myself by holding a sapling tree. then the awful intuition of her danger possessed me, and gave me fresh strength. many times i stumbled, cutting myself on the sharp boulders. once i lay for a long time, half-unconscious, wondering if i would ever be able to rise. i reeled like a drunken man. the way seemed endless, yet stumbling, staggering on, there was the cabin at last. a light was burning in the front room. some one was at home at all events. only a few steps more, yet once again i fell. i remember striking my face against a sharp rock. then, on my hands and knees, i crawled to the door. i raised myself and hammered with clenched fists. there was silence within, then an agitated movement. i knocked again. was the door ever going to be opened? at last it swung inward, with a suddenness that precipitated me inside the room. the madam was standing over me where i had fallen. at sight of me she screamed. surprise, fear, rage, struggled for mastery on her face. "it's him," she cried, "_him_." peering over her shoulder, with ashy, horrified face, i saw her trembling husband. "berna," i gasped hoarsely. "where is she? i want berna. what are you doing to her, you devils? give her to me. she's mine, my promised bride. let me go to her, i say." the woman barred the way. all at once i realised that the air was heavy with a strange odour, the odour of _chloroform_. frenzied with fear, i rushed forward. then the amazon roused herself. with a cry of rage she struck me. savagely both of them came for me. i struggled, i fought; but, weak as i was, they carried me before them and threw me from the door. i heard the lock shoot; i was outside; i was impotent. yet behind those log walls.... oh, it was horrible! horrible! could such things be in god's world? and i could do nothing. i was strong once more. i ran round to the back of the cabin. she was in there, i knew. i rushed at the window and threw myself against it. the storm frame had not been taken off. crash! i burst through both sheets of glass. i was cruelly cut, bleeding in a dozen places, yet i was half into the room. there, in the dirty, drab light, i saw a face, the fiendish, rage-distorted face of my dream. it was locasto. he turned at the crash. with a curse he came at me. then, as i hung half in, half out of the window, he clutched me by the throat. using all his strength, he raised me further into the room, then he hurled me ruthlessly out onto the rocks outside. i rose, reeling, covered with blood, blind, sick, speechless. weakly i staggered to the window. my strength was leaving me. "o god, sustain me! help me to save her." then i felt the world go blank. i swayed; i clutched at the walls; i fell. there i lay in a ghastly, unconscious heap. i had lost! book iv the vortex he burned a hole in the frozen muck; he scratched the icy mould; and there in six-foot dirt he struck a sack or so of gold. he burned a hole in the decalogue, and then it came about-- for fortune's only a lousy rogue-- his "pocket" petered out. and lo! it was but a year all told, when there in the shadow grim, but six feet deep in the icy mould, they burned a hole for him. --"the yukoner." chapter i "no, no, i'm all right. really i am. please leave me alone. you want me to laugh? ha! ha! there! is that all right now?" "no, it isn't all right. it's very far from all right, my boy; and this is where you and your little uncle here are going to have a real heart to heart talk." it was in the big cabin on gold hill, and the prodigal was addressing me. he went on: "now, look here, kid, when it comes to expressing my feelings i'm in the kindergarten class; when it comes to handing out the high-toned dope i drop my cue every time; but when i'm needed to do the solid pardner stunt then you don't need to holler for me--i'm there. well, i'm giving you a straight line of talk. ever since the start i've taken a strong notion to you. you've always been ace-high with me, and there never will come the day when you can't eat on my meal-ticket. we tackled the trail of trouble together. you were always wanting to lift the heavy end of the log, and when the god of cussedness was doing his best to rasp a man down to his yellow streak, you showed up white all through. say, kid, we've been in tight places together; we've been stacked up against hard times together: and now i'll be gol-darned if i'm going to stand by and see you go downhill, while the devil oils the bearings." "oh, i'm all right," i protested. "yes, you're all right," he echoed grimly. "in an impersonation of an 'all-right' man it's the hook for yours. i've seen 'all-right' men like you hitting the hurry trail for the boneyard before now. you're 'all right'! why, for the last two hours you've been sitting with that 'just-break-the-news-to mother' expression of yours, and paying no more heed to my cheerful brand of conversation than if i had been a measly four-flusher. you don't eat more than a sick sparrow, and often you don't bat an eye all night. you're looking worse than the devil in a gale of wind. you've lost your grip, my boy. you don't care whether school keeps or not. in fact, if it wasn't for your folks, you'd as lief take a short cut across the great divide." "you're going it a little strong, old man." "oh no, i'm not. you know you're sick of everything. feel as if life's a sort of penitentiary, and you've just got to do time. you don't expect to get any more fun out of it. look at me. every day's my sunshine day. if the sky's blue i like it; if it's grey i like it just as well. i never worry. what's the use? yesterday's a dead one; to-morrow's always to-morrow. all we've got's the 'now,' and it's up to us to live it for all we're worth. you can use up more human steam to the square inch in worrying than you can to the square yard in hard work. eliminate worry and you've got the only system." "it's all very well for you to preach," i said, "you forget i've been a pretty sick man." "that's no nursemaid's dream. you almost cashed in. typhoid's a serious proposition at the best; but when you take a crazy streak on top of it, make a midnight getaway from the sick-ward and land up on the slide looking as if you'd been run through a threshing machine, well, you're sure letting death get a short option on you. and you gave up. you didn't want to fight. you shirked, but your youth and constitution fought for you. they healed your wounds, they soothed your ravings, they cooled your fever. they were a great team, and they pulled you through. seems as if they'd pulled you through a knot-hole, but they were on to their job. and you weren't one bit grateful--seemed to think they had no business to butt in." "my hurts are more than physical." "yes, i know; there was that girl. you seemed to have a notion that that was the only girl on god's green brush-pile. as i camped there by your bedside listening to your ravings, and getting a strangle-hold on you when you took it into your head to get funny, you blabbed out the whole yarn. oh, sonny, why didn't you tell your uncle? why didn't you put me wise? i could have given you the right steer. have you ever known me handle a job i couldn't make good at? i'm a whole matrimonial bureau rolled into one. i'd have had you prancing to the tune of the wedding march before now. but you kept mum as a mummy. wouldn't even tell your old pard. now you've lost her." "yes, i've lost her." "did you ever see her after you came out of the hospital?" "once, once only. it was the first day. i was as thin as a rail, as white as the pillow from which i had just raised my head. death's reprieve was written all over me. i dragged along wearily, leaning on a stick. i was thinking of her, thinking, thinking always. as i scanned the faces of the crowds that thronged the streets, i thought only of her face. then suddenly she was before me. she looked like a ghost, poor little thing; and for a fluttering moment we stared at each other, she and i, two wan, weariful ghosts." "yes, what did she say?" "say! she said nothing. she just looked at me. her face was cold as ice. she looked at me as if she wanted to _pity_ me. then into her eyes there came a shadow of bitterness, of bitterness and despair such as might gloom the eyes of a lost soul. it unnerved me. it seemed as if she was regarding me almost with horror, as if i were a sort of a leper. as i stood there, i thought she was going to faint. she seemed to sway a moment. then she drew a great, gasping breath, and turning on her heel she was gone." "she cut you?" "yes, cut me dead, old fellow. and my only thought was of love for her, eternal love. but i'll never forget the look on her face as she turned away. it was as if i had lashed her with a whip. my god!" "and you've never seen her since?" "no, never. that was enough, wasn't it? she didn't want to speak to me any more, never wanted to set eyes on me any more. i went back to the ward; then, in a little, i came on here. my body was living, but my heart was dead. it will never live again." "oh, rot! you mustn't let the thing down you like that. it's going to kill you in the end. buck up! be a man! if you don't care to live for yourself, live for others. anyway, it's likely all for the best. maybe love had you locoed. maybe she wasn't really good. see now how she lives openly with locasto. they call her the madonna; they say she looks more like a virgin-martyr than the mistress of a dissolute man." i rose and looked at him, conscious that my face was all twisted with the pain of the thought. "look here," i said, "never did god put the breath of life into a better girl. there's been foul play. i know that girl better than any one in the world, and if every living being were to tell me she wasn't good i would tell them they lied, they lied. i would burn at the stake upholding that girl." "then why did she turn you down so cruelly?" "i don't know; i can't understand it. i know so little about women. i have not wavered a moment. to-day in my loneliness and heartbreak i care and hunger for her more than ever. she's always here, right here in my head, and no power can drive her out. let them say of her what they will, i would marry her to-morrow. it's killing me. i've aged ten years in the last few months. oh, if i only could forget." he looked at me thoughtfully. "i say, old man, do you ever hear from your old lady?" "every mail." "you've often told me of your home. say! just give us a mental frame-up of it." "glengyle? yes. i can see the old place now, as plainly as a picture: the green, dimpling hills all speckled with sheep; the grey house nestling snugly in a grove of birch; the wild water of the burn leaping from black pool to pool, just mad with the joy of life; the midges dancing over the water in the still sunshine, and the trout jumping for them--oh, it's the bonny, bonny place. you would think so too. you would like it, tramping knee-deep in the heather, to see the moorcock rise whirring at your feet; you would like to set sail with the fisher folk after the silver herring. it would make you feel good to see the calm faces of the shepherds, the peace in the eyes of the women. ay, that was the best of it all, the rest of it, the calm of it. i was pretty happy in those days." "you were happy--then why not go back? that's your proper play; go back to your mother. she wants you. you're pretty well heeled now. a little money goes a long way over there. you can count on thirty thousand. you'll be comfortable; you'll devote yourself to the old lady; you'll be happy again. time's a regular steam-roller when it comes to smoothing out the rough spots in the past. you'll forget it all, this place, this girl. it'll all seem like the after effects of a midnight welsh rabbit. you've got mental indigestion. i hate to see you go. i'm really sorry to lose you; but it's your only salvation, so go, go!" never had i thought of it before. home! how sweet the word seemed. mother! yes, mother would comfort me as no one else could. she would understand. mother and garry! a sudden craving came over me to see them again. maybe with them i could find relief from this awful agony of heart, this thing that i could scarce bear to think of, yet never ceased to think of. home! that was the solution of it all. ah me! i would go home. "yes," i said, "i can't go too soon; i'll start to-morrow." so i rose and proceeded to gather together my few belongings. in the early morning i would start out. no use prolonging the business of my going. i would say good-bye to those two partners of mine, with a grip of the hand, a tear in the eye, a husky: "take care of yourself." that would be all. likely i would never see them again. jim came in and sat down quietly. the old man had been very silent of late. putting on his spectacles, he took out his well-worn bible and opened it. back in dawson there was a man whom he hated with the hate that only death can end, but for the peace of his soul he strove to conquer it. the hate slumbered, yet at times it stirred, and into the old man's eyes there came the tiger-look that had once made him a force and a fear. woe betide his enemy if that tiger ever woke. "i've been a-thinkin' out a scheme," said jim suddenly, "an' i'm a-goin' to put all of that twenty-five thousand of mine back into the ground. you know us old miners are gamblers to the end. it's not the gold, but the gettin' of it. it's the excitement, the hope, the anticipation of one's luck that counts. we're fighters, an' we've just got to keep on fightin'. we can't quit. there's the ground, and there's the precious metals it's a-tryin' to hold back on us. it's up to us to get them out. it's for the good of humanity. the miner an' the farmer rob no one. they just get down to that old ground an' coax it an' beat it an' bully it till it gives up. they're working for the good of humanity--the farmer an' the miner." the old man paused sententiously. "well, i can't quit this minin' business. i've just got to go on so long's i've got health an' strength; an' i'm a-goin' to shove all i've got once more into the muck. i stand to make a big pile, or lose my wad." "what's your scheme, jim?" "it's just this: i'm goin' to install a hydraulic plant on my ophir creek claim, i've got a great notion of that claim. it's an out-of-sight proposition for workin' with water. there's a little stream runs down the hill, an' the hill's steep right there. there's one hundred feet of fall, an' in spring a mighty powerful bunch of water comes a-tumblin' down. well, i'm goin' to dam it up above, bring it down a flume, hitch on a little giant, an' turn it loose to rip an' tear at that there ground. i'm goin' to begin a new era in klondike minin'." "bully for you, jim." "the values are there in the ground, an' i'm sick of the old slow way of gettin' them out. this looks mighty good to me. anyway, i'm a-goin' to give it a trial. it's just the start of things; you'll see others will follow suit. the individual miner's got to go; it's only a matter of time. some day you'll see this whole country worked over by them big power dredges they've got down in californy. you mark my words, boys; the old-fashioned miner's got to go." "what are you going to do?" "well, i've written out for piping an' a monitor, an' next spring i hope i'll have the plant in workin' order. the stuff's on the way now. hullo! come in!" the visitors were mervin and hewson on their way to dawson. these two men had been successful beyond their dreams. it was just like finding money the way fortune had pushed it in front of their noses. they were offensively prosperous; they reeked of success. in both of them a great change had taken place, a change only too typical of the gold-camp. they seemed to have thawed out; they were irrepressibly genial; yet instead of that restraint that had formerly distinguished them, there was a grafted quality of weakness, of flaccidity, of surrender to the enervating vices of the town. mervin was remarkably thin. dark hollows circled his eyes, and a curious nervousness twisted his mouth. he was "a terror for the women," they said. he lavished his money on them faster than he made it. he was vastly more companionable than formerly, but somehow you felt his virility, his fighting force had gone. in hewson the change was even more marked. those iron muscles had couched themselves in easy flesh; his cheeks sagged; his eyes were bloodshot and untidy. nevertheless he was more of a good fellow, talked rather vauntingly of his wealth, and affected a patronising manner. he was worth probably two hundred thousand, and he drank a bottle of brandy a day. in the case of these two men, as in the case of a thousand others in the gold-camp, it seemed as if easy, unhoped-for affluence was to prove their undoing. on the trail they had been supreme; in fen or forest, on peak or plain, they were men among men, fighting with nature savagely, exultantly. but when the fight was over their arms rested, their muscles relaxed, they yielded to sensuous pleasures. it seemed as if to them victory really meant defeat. as i went on with my packing i paid but little heed to their talk. what mattered it to me now, this babble of dumps and dust, of claims and clean-ups? i was going to thrust it all behind me, blot it clean out of my memory, begin my life anew. it would be a larger, more luminous life. i would live for others. home! mother! again how exquisitely my heart glowed at the thought of them. then all at once i pricked up my ears. they were talking of the town, of the men and women who were making it famous (or rather infamous), when suddenly they spoke the name of locasto. "he's gone off," mervin was saying; "gone off on a big stampede. he got pretty thick with some of the peel river indians, and found they knew of a ledge of high-grade, free-milling quartz somewhere out there in the land back of beyond. he had a sample of it, and you could just see the gold shining all through it. it was great stuff. jack locasto's the last man to turn down a chance like that. he's the worst gambler in the northland, and no amount of wealth will ever satisfy him. so he's off with an indian and one companion, that little irish satellite of his, pat doogan. they have six months' grub. they'll be away all winter." "what's become of that girl of his?" asked hewson, "the last one he's been living with? you remember she came in on the boat with us. poor little kid! blast that man anyway. he's not content with women of his own kind, he's got to get his clutches on the best of them. that was a good little girl before he got after her. if she was a friend of mine i'd put a bullet in his ugly heart." hewson growled like a wrathful bear, but mervin smiled his cynical smile. "oh, you mean the madonna," he said; "why, she's gone on the dance-halls." they continued to talk of other things, but i did not hear them any more. i was in a trance, and i only aroused when they rose to go. "better say good-bye to the kid here," said the prodigal; "he's going to the old country to-morrow." "no, i'm not," i answered sullenly; "i'm just going as far as dawson." he stared and expostulated, but my mind was made up. i would fight, fight to the last. chapter ii berna on the dance-halls--words cannot convey all that this simple phrase meant to me. for two months i had been living in a dull apathy of pain, but this news galvanised me into immediate action. for although there were many degrees of dance-hall depravity, at the best it meant a brand of ineffaceable shame. she had lived with locasto, had been recognised as his mistress--that was bad enough; but the other--to be at the mercy of all, to be classed with the harpies that preyed on the man with the poke, the vampires of the gold-camp. berna-- oh, it was unspeakable! the thought maddened me. the needle-point of suffering that for weeks had been boring into my brain seemed to have pierced its core at last. when the prodigal expostulated with me i laughed--a bitter, mirthless laugh. "i'm going to dawson," i said, "and if it was hell itself, i'd go there for that girl. i don't care what any one thinks. home, society, honour itself, let them all go; they don't matter now. i was a fool to think i could ever give her up, a fool. now i know that as long as there's life and strength in my body, i'll fight for her. oh, i'm not the sentimentalist i was six months ago. i've lived since then. i can hold my own now. i can meet men on their own level. i can fight, i can win. i don't care any more, after what i've gone through. i don't set any particular value on my life. i'll throw it away as recklessly as the best of them. i'm going to have a fierce fight for that girl, and if i lose there'll be no more 'me' left to fight. don't try to reason with me. reason be damned! i'm going to dawson, and a hundred men couldn't hold me." "you seem to have some new stunts in your repertoire," he said, looking at me curiously; "you've got me guessing. sometimes i think you're a candidate for the dippy-house, then again i think you're on to yourself. there's a grim set to your mouth and a hard look in your eyes that i didn't use to see. maybe you can hold up your end. well, anyway, if you will go i wish you good luck." so, bidding good-bye to the big cabin, with my two partners looking ruefully after me, i struck off down bonanza. it was mid-october. a bitter wind chilled me to the marrow. once more the land lay stark beneath its coverlet of snow, and the sky was wan and ominous. i travelled fast, for a painful anxiety gripped me, so that i scarce took notice of the improved trail, of the increased activity, of the heaps of tailings built up with brush till they looked like walls of a fortification. all i thought of was dawson and berna. how curious it was, this strange new strength, this indifference to self, to physical suffering, to danger, to public opinion! i thought only of the girl. i would make her marry me. i cared nothing for what had happened to her. i might be a pariah, an outcast for the rest of my days; at least i would save her, shield her, cherish her. the thought uplifted me, exalted me. i had suffered beyond expression. i had rearranged my set of ideas; my concept of life, of human nature, had broadened and deepened. what did it matter if physically they had wronged her? was not the pure, virgin soul of her beyond their reach? i was just in time to see the last boat go out. already the river was "throwing ice," and every day the jagged edges of it crept further towards midstream. an immense and melancholy mob stood on the wharf as the little steamer backed off into the channel. there were uproarious souls on board, and many women of the town screaming farewells to their friends. on the boat all was excited, extravagant joy; on the wharf, a sorry attempt at resignation. the last boat! they watched her as her stern paddle churned the freezing water; they watched her forge her slow way through the ever-thickening ice-flakes; they watched her in the far distance battling with the klondike current; then, sad and despondent, they turned away to their lonely cabins. never had their exile seemed so bitter. a few more days and the river would close tight as a drum. the long, long night would fall on them, and for nigh on eight weary months they would be cut off from the outside world. yet soon, very soon, a mood of reconciliation would set in. they would begin to make the best of things. to feed that great octopus, the town, the miners would flock in from the creeks with treasure hoarded up in baking-powder tins; the dance-halls and gambling-places would absorb them; the gaiety would go on full swing, and there would seem but little change in the glittering abandon of the gold-camp. as i paced its sidewalks once more i marvelled at its growth. new streets had been made; the stores boasted expensive fittings and gloried in costly goods; in the bar-rooms were splendid mirrors and ornate woodwork; the restaurants offered european delicacies; all was on a new scale of extravagance, of garish display, of insolent wealth. everywhere the man with the fat "poke" was in evidence. he came into town unshorn, wild-looking, often raggedly clad, yet always with the same wistful hunger in his eyes. you saw that look, and it took you back to the dark and dirt and drudgery of the claim, the mirthless months of toil, the crude cabin with its sugar barrel of ice behind the door, its grease light dimly burning, its rancid smell of stale food. you saw him lying smoking his strong pipe, looking at that can of nuggets on the rough shelf, and dreaming of what it would mean to him--out there where the lights glittered and the gramophones blared. surely, if patience, endurance, if grim, unswerving purpose, if sullen, desperate toil deserved a reward, this man had a peckful of pleasure for his due. and always that hungry, wistful look. the women with the painted cheeks knew that look; the black-jack boosters knew it; the barkeeper with his knock-out drops knew it. they waited for him; he was their "meat." yet in a few days your wild and woolly man is transformed, and no longer does your sympathy go out towards him. shaven and shorn, clad in silken underwear, with patent leather shoes, and a suit in new york style, you absolutely fail to recognise him as your friend of the moccasins and mackinaw coat. he is smoking a dollar laranago, he has half a dozen whiskies "under his belt," and later on he has a "date" with a lady singer of the pavilion theatre. he is having a "whale" of a good time, he tells you; you wonder how long he will last. not for long. sharp and short and sweet it is. he is brought up with a jerk, and the dago queen, for whom he has bought so much wine at twenty dollars a bottle, has no recognition for him in her flashing eyes. he has been "taken down the line," "trimmed to a finish" by an artist in the business. ruefully he turns his poke inside out--not a "colour." he cannot even command the price of a penitential three-fingers of rye. such is one of the commonest phases of life in the gold-camp. as i strolled the streets i saw many a familiar face. mosher i saw. he had grown very fat, and was talking to a diminutive woman with heavy blond hair (she must have weighed about ninety-five pounds, i think). they went off together. a knife-edged wind was sweeping down from the north, and men in bulging coonskin coats filled up the sidewalks. at the aurora corner i came across the jam-wagon. he was wearing a jacket of summer flannels, and, as if to suggest extra warmth, he had turned up its narrow collar. in his trembling fingers he held an emaciated cigarette, which he inhaled avidly. he looked wretched, pinched with hunger, peaked with cold, but he straightened up when he saw me into a semblance of well-being. then, in a little, he sagged forward, and his eyes went dull and abject. it was a business of the utmost delicacy to induce him to accept a small loan. i knew it would only plunge him more deeply into the mire; but i could not bear to see him suffer. i went into the parisian restaurant. it was more glittering, more raffish, more clamant of the tenderloin than ever. there were men waiters in the conventional garb of waiterdom, and there was madam, harder looking and more vulturish. you wondered if such a woman could have a soul, and what was the end and aim of her being. there she sat, a creature of rapacity and sordid lust. i marched up to her and asked abruptly: "where's berna?" she gave a violent start. there was a quality of fear in her bold eyes. then she laughed, a hard, jarring laugh. "in the tivoli," she said. strange again! now that the worst had come to pass, and i had suffered all that it was in my power to suffer, this new sense of strength and mastery had come to me. it seemed as if some of the iron spirit of the land had gotten into my blood, a grim, insolent spirit that made me fearless; at times a cold cynical spirit, a spirit of rebellion, of anarchy, of aggression. the greatest evil had befallen me. life could do no more to harm me. i had everything to gain and nothing to lose. i cared for no man. i despised them, and, to back me in my bitterness, i had twenty-five thousand dollars in the bank. i was still weak from my illness and my long mush had wearied me, so i went into a saloon and called for drinks. i felt the raw whisky burn my throat. i tingled from head to foot with a strange, pleasing warmth. suddenly the bar, with its protecting rod of brass, seemed to me a very desirable place, bright, warm, suggestive of comfort and good-fellowship. how agreeably every one was smiling! indeed, some were laughing for sheer joy. a big, merry-hearted miner called for another round, and i joined in. where was that bitter feeling now? where that morbid pain at my heart? as i drank it all seemed to pass away. magical change! what a fool i was! what was there to make such a fuss about? take life easy. laugh alike at the good and bad of it. it was all a farce anyway. what would it matter a hundred years from now? why were we put into this world to be tortured? i, for one, would protest. i would writhe no more in the strait-jacket of existence. here was escape, heartsease, happiness--here in this bottled impishness. again i drank. what a rotten world it all was! but i had no hand in the making of it, and it wasn't my task to improve it. i was going to get the best i could out of it. eat, drink and be merry, that was the last word of philosophy. others seemed to be able to extract all kinds of happiness from things as they are, so why not i? in any case, here was the solution of my troubles. better to die happily drunk than miserably sober. i was not drinking from weakness. oh no! i was drinking with deliberate intent to kill pain. how wonderfully strong i felt! i smashed my clenched fist against the bar. my knuckles were bruised and bleeding, but i felt no pain. i was so light of foot, i imagined i could jump over the counter. i ached to fight some one. then all at once came the thought of berna. it came with tragical suddenness, with poignant force. intensely it smote me as never before. i could have burst into maudlin tears. "what's the matter, slim?" asked a mouldy mannikin, affectionately hanging on to my arm. disgustedly i looked at him. "take your filthy paws off me," i said. his jaw dropped and he stared at me. then, before he could draw on his fund of profanity, i burst through the throng and made for the door. i was drunk, deplorably drunk, and i was bound for the tivoli. chapter iii i wish it to be understood that i make no excuses for myself at this particular stage of my chronicle. i am only conscious of a desire to tell the truth. many of the stronger-minded will no doubt condemn me; many of those inclined to a rigid system of morality will be disgusted with me; but, however it may be, i will write plainly and without reserve. when i reeled out of the grubstake saloon i was in a peculiar state of exaltation. no longer was i conscious of the rasping cold, and it seemed to me i could have couched me in the deep snow as cosily as in a bed of down. surpassingly brilliant were the lights. they seemed to convey to me a portentous wink. they twinkled with jovial cheer. what a desirable place the world was, after all! with an ebullient sense of eloquence, of extravagant oratory, i longed for a sympathetic ear. an altruistic emotion pervaded me. who would suspect, thought i, as i walked a little too circumspectly amid the throng, that my heart was aglow, that i was tensing my muscles in the pride of their fitness, that my brain was a bewildering kaleidoscope of thoughts and images? gramophones were braying in every conceivable key. brazen women were leering at me. potbellied men regarded me furtively. alluringly the gambling-dens and dancing-dives invited me. the town was a giant spider drawing in its prey, and i was the prey, it seemed. others there were in plenty, men with the eager, wistful eyes; but who was there so eager and wistful as i? and i didn't care any more. strike up the music! on with the dance! only one life have we to live. ah! there was the tivoli. to the right as i entered was a palatial bar set off with burnished brass, bevelled mirrors and glittering, vari-coloured pyramids of costly liqueurs. up to the bar men were bellying, and the bartenders in white jackets were mixing drinks with masterly dexterity. it was a motley crowd. there were men in broadcloth and fine linen, men in blue shirts and mud-stiffened overalls, grey-bearded elders and beardless boys. it was a noisy crowd, laughing, brawling, shouting, singing. here was the foam of life, with never a hint of the muddy sediment underneath. to the left i had a view of the gambling-room, a glimpse of green tables, of spinning balls, of cool men, with shades over their eyes, impassively dealing. there were huge wheels of fortune, keno tables, crap outfits, faro layouts, and, above all, the dainty, fascinating roulette. everything was in full swing. miners with flushed faces and a wild excitement in their eyes were plunging recklessly; others, calm, alert, anxious, were playing cautiously. here and there were the fevered faces of women. gold coin was stacked on the tables, while a man with a pair of scales was weighing dust from the tendered pokes. in front of me was a double swing-door painted in white and gold, and, pushing through this, for the first time i found myself in a dawson dance-hall. i remember being struck by the gorgeousness of it, its glitter and its glow. who would have expected, up in this bleak-visaged north, to find such a fairyland of a place? it was painted in white and gold, and set off by clusters of bunched lights. there was much elaborate scroll-work and ornate decoration. down each side, raised about ten feet from the floor, and supported on gilt pillars, were little private boxes hung with curtains of heliotrope silk. at the further end of the hall was a stage, and here a vaudeville performance was going on. i sat down on a seat at the very back of the audience. before me were row after row of heads, mostly rough, rugged and unwashed. their faces were eager, rapt as those of children. they were enjoying, with the deep satisfaction of men who for many a weary month had been breathing the free, unbranded air of the wild. the sensuous odour of patchouli was strangely pleasant to them; the sight of a woman was thrillingly sweet; the sound of a song was ravishing. looking at many of those toil-grooved faces one could see that there was no harm in their hearts. they were honest, uncouth, simple; they were just like children, the children of the wild. a woman of generous physique was singing in a shrill, nasal voice a pathetic ballad. she sang without expression, bringing her hands with monotonous gestures alternately to her breast. her squat, matronly figure, beef from the heels up, looked singularly absurd in her short skirt. her face was excessively over-painted, her mouth good-naturedly large, and her eyes out of their slit-like lids leered at the audience. "ain't she great?" said a tall bean-pole of a man on my right, as she finished off with a round of applause. "there's some class to her work." he looked at me in a confidential way, and his pale-blue eyes were full of rapturous appreciation. then he did something that surprised me. he tugged open his poke and, dipping into it, he produced a big nugget. twisting this in a scrap of paper, he rose up, long, lean and awkward, and with careful aim he threw it on the stage. "here ye are, lulu," he piped in his shrill voice. the woman, turning in her exit, picked up the offering, gave her admirer a wide, gold-toothed smile, and threw him an emphatic kiss. as the man sat down i could see his mouth twisting with excitement, and his watery blue eyes snapped with pleasure. "by heck," he said, "she's great, ain't she? many's the bottle of wine i've opened for that there girl. guess she'll be glad when she hears old henry's in town again. henry's my name, hard-pan henry they call me, an' i've got a claim on hunker. many's the wallopin' poke have i toted into town an' blowed in on that there girl. an' i just guess this one'll go the same gait. well, says i, what's the odds? i'm havin' a good time for my money. when it's gone there's lots more in the ground. it ain't got no legs. it can't run away." he chuckled and hefted his poke in a horny hand. there was a flutter of the heliotrope curtains, and the face of lulu, peeping over the plush edge of a box, smiled bewitchingly upon him. with another delighted chuckle the old man went to join her. "darned old fool," said a young man on my left. he looked as if his veins were chuckful of health; his skin was as clear as a girl's, his eye honest and fearless. he was dressed in mackinaw, and wore a fur cap with drooping ear-flaps. "he's the greatest mark in the country," the youth went on. "he's got no more brains than god gave geese. all the girls are on to him. before he can turn round that old bat up there will have him trimmed to a finish. he'll be doing flip-flaps, and singing ''way down on the suwanee river' standing on his head. then the girl will pry him loose from his poke, and to-morrow he'll start off up the creek, teetering and swearing he's had a dooce of a good time. he's the easiest thing on earth." the youth paused to look on a new singer. she was a soubrette, trim, dainty and confident. she wore a blond wig, and her eyes in their pits of black were alluringly bright. paint was lavished on her face in violent dabs of rose and white, and the inevitable gold teeth gleamed in her smile. she wore a black dress trimmed with sequins, stockings of black, a black velvet band around her slim neck. she was greeted with much applause, and she began to sing in a fairly sweet voice. "that's nellie lestrange," said the youth. "she's a great rustler--touch-the-button-nell, they call her. they say that when she gets a jay into a box it's all day with him. she's such a nifty wine-winner the end of her thumb's calloused pressing the button for fresh bottles." touch-the-button-nell was singing a comic ditty of a convivial order. she put into it much vivacity, appealing to the audience to join in the chorus with a pleading, "now all together, boys." she had tripping steps and dainty kicks that went well with the melody. when she went off half a dozen men rose in their places, and aimed nuggets at her. she captured them, then, with a final saucy flounce of her skirt, made her smiling exit. "by gosh!" said the youth, "i wonder these fellows haven't got more savvy. you wouldn't catch _me_ chucking away an ounce on one of those fairies. no, sir! nothing doing! i've got a five-thousand-dollar poke in the bank, and to-morrow i'll be on my way outside with a draft for every cent of it. a certain little farm 'way back in vermont looks pretty good to me, and a little girl that don't know the use of face powder, bless her. she's waiting for me." the excitement of the liquor had died away in me, and what with the heat and smoke of the place, i was becoming very drowsy. i was almost dozing off to sleep when some one touched me on the arm. it was a negro waiter i had seen dodging in and out of the boxes, and known as the black prince. "dey's a lady up'n de box wants to speak with yuh, sah," he said politely. "who is it?" i asked in surprise. "miss labelle, sah, miss birdie labelle." i started. who in the klondike had not heard of birdie labelle, the eldest of the three sisters, who married stillwater willie? a thought flashed through me that she could tell me something of berna. "all right," i said; "i'll come." i followed him upstairs, and in a moment i was ushered into the presence of the famous soubrette. "hullo, kid!" she exclaimed, "sit down. i saw you in the audience and kind-a took a notion to your face. how d'ye do?" she extended a heavily bejewelled hand. she was plump, pleasant-looking, with a piquant smile and flaxen hair. i ordered the waiter to bring her a bottle of wine. "i've heard a lot about you," i said tentatively. "yes, i guess so," she answered. "most folks have up here. it's a sort of reflected glory. i guess if it hadn't been for bill i'd never have got into the limelight at all." she sipped her champagne thoughtfully. "i came in here in ' , and it was then i met bill. he was there with the coin all right. we got hitched up pretty quick, but he was such a mut i soon got sick of him. then i got skating round with another guy. well, an egg famine came along. there was only nine hundred samples of hen fruit in town, and one store had a corner on them. i went down to buy some. lord! how i wanted them eggs. i kept thinking how i'd have them done, shipwrecked, two on a raft or sunny side up, when who should come along but bill. he sees what i want, and quick as a flash what does he do but buy up the whole bunch at a dollar apiece! 'now,' says he to me, 'if you want eggs for breakfast just come home where you belong.' "well, say, i was just dying for them eggs, so i comes to my milk like a lady. i goes home with bill." she shook her head sadly, and once more i filled up her glass. she prattled on with many a gracious smile, and i ordered another bottle of wine. in the next box i could hear the squeaky laugh of hard-pan henry and the teasing tones of his inamorata. the visits of the black prince to this box with fresh bottles had been fast and furious, and at last i heard the woman cry in a querulous voice: "say, that black man coming in so often gives me a pain. why don't you order a case?" then the man broke in with his senile laugh: "all right, lulu, whatever you say goes. say, prince, tote along a case, will you?" surely, thought i, there's no fool like an old fool. a little girl was singing, a little, winsome girl with a sweet childish voice and an innocent face. how terribly out of place she looked in that palace of sin. she sang a simple, old-world song full of homely pathos and gentle feeling. as she sang she looked down on those furrowed faces, and i saw that many eyes were dimmed with tears. the rough men listened in rapt silence as the childish treble rang out: "darling, i am growing old; silver threads among the gold shine upon my brow to-day; life is fading fast away." then from behind the scenes a pure alto joined in and the two voices, blending in exquisite harmony, went on: "but, my darling, you will be, will be, always young and fair to me. yes, my darling, you will be always young and fair to me." as the last echo died away the audience rose as one man, and a shower of nuggets pelted on the stage. here was something that touched their hearts, stirred in them strange memories of tenderness, brought before them half-forgotten scenes of fireside happiness. "it's a shame to let that kid work in the halls," said miss labelle. there were tears in her eyes, too, and she hurriedly blinked them away. then the curtain fell. men were clearing the floor for the dance, so, bidding the lady adieu, i went downstairs. chapter iv i found the youth awaiting me. "say, pardner," said he, "i was just getting a bit anxious about you. i thought sure that fairy had you in tow for a sucker. i'm going to stay right with you, and you're not going to shake me. see!" "all right," i said; "come on and we'll watch the dance." so we got in the front row of spectators, while behind us the crowd packed as closely as matches in a box. the champagne i had taken had again aroused in me that vivid sense of joy and strength and colour. again the lights were effulgent, the music witching, the women divine. as i swayed a little i clutched unsteadily at the youth. he looked at me curiously. "brace up, old man," he said. "guess you're not often in town. you're not much used to the dance-hall racket." "no," i assured him. "well," he continued, "it's the rottenest game ever. i've seen more poor beggars put plumb out of business by the dance-halls than by all the saloons and gambling-joints put together. it's the game of catching the sucker brought to the point of perfection, and there's very few cases where it fails." he perceived i was listening earnestly, and he warmed up to his subject. "you see, the boys get in after they've been out on the claim for six months at a stretch, and town looks mighty good to them. the music sounds awful nice, and the women, well, they look just like angels. the boys are all right, but they've got that mad craving for the sight of a woman a man gets after he's been off out in the wild, and these women have got the captivation of men down to a fine art. once one of them gets to looking at you with eyes that eat right into you, and soft white hands, and pretty coaxing ways, well, it's mighty hard to hold back. a man's a fool to come near these places if he's got a poke--'cept, like me, he knows the ropes and he's right onto himself." the youth said this with quite a complacent air. he went on: "these girls work on a percentage basis. you'll notice every time you buy them a drink the waiter gives them a check. that means that when the night's over they cash in and get twenty-five per cent, of the money you've spent on them. that's how they're so keen on ordering fresh bottles. sometimes they'll say a bottle's gone flat before it's empty, and have you order another. or else they'll pour half of it into the cuspidor when you're not looking. then, when you get too full to notice the difference, they'll run in ginger ale on you. or else they'll get you ordering by the case, and have half a dozen dummy bottles in it. oh, there's all kinds of schemes these box rustlers are on to. when you pay for a drink you toss over your poke, and they take the price out. do you think they're particular to a quarter ounce or so? no, sir! and you always get the short end of it. it's a bad game to go up against." the youth looked at me as though proud of his superior sophistication. the floor was cleared. girls were now coming from behind the stage, preening themselves and chaffing with the crowd. the orchestra struck up some jubilant ragtime that set the heart dancing and the heels tapping in tune. brighter than ever seemed the lights; more dazzling the white and gilt of the walls. some of the girls were balancing lightly to a waltz rhythm. there was a witching grace in their movements, and the youth watched them intently. he looked down at his feet clad in old moccasins. "gee, i'd like just to have one spin," he said; "just one before i leave the darned old country for good. i was always crazy about dancing. i'd ride thirty miles to attend a dance back home." his eyes grew very wistful. suddenly the music stopped and the floor-master came forward. he was a tall, dark man with a rich and vibrant baritone voice. "that's the best spieler in the yukon," said the youth. "come on, boys," boomed the spieler. "look alive there. don't keep the ladies waiting. take your hands out of your pockets and get in the game. just going to begin, a dreamy waltz or a nice juicy two-step, whichever you prefer. hey, professor, strike up that waltz!" once more the music swelled out. "how's that, boys? doesn't that make your feet like feathers? come on, boys! here you are for the nice, glossy floor and the nice, flossy girls. here you are! here you are! that's right, select your partners! swing your honeys! hurry up there! just a-goin' to begin. what's the matter with you fellows? wake up! a dance won't break you. come on! don't be a cheap skate. the girls are fine, fit and fairy-like, the music's swell and the floor's elegant. come on, boys!" there was a compelling power in his voice, and already a number of couples were waltzing round. the women were exquisite in their grace and springy lightness. they talked as they danced, gazing with languishing eyes and siren smiles at the man of the moment. some of them, who had not got partners, were picking out individuals from the crowd and coaxing them to come forward. a drunken fellow staggered onto the floor and grabbed a girl. she was young, dainty and pretty, but she showed no repugnance for him. round and round he cavorted, singing and whooping, a wild, weird object; when, suddenly, he tripped and fell, bringing her down with him. the crowd roared; but the girl good-naturedly picked him up, and led him off to the bar. a man in a greasy canvas suit with mucklucks on his feet had gone onto the floor. his hair was long and matted, his beard wild and rank. he was dancing vehemently, and there was the glitter of wild excitement in his eyes. he looked as if he had not bathed for years, but again i could see no repulsion in the face of the handsome brunette with whom he was waltzing. dance after dance they had together, locked in each other's arms. "that's a 'live one,'" said the youth. "he's just come in from dominion with a hundred ounces, and it won't last him over the night. amber, there, will get it all. she won't let the other girls go near. he's her game." between dances the men promenaded to the bar and treated their companions to a drink. in the same free, trusting way they threw over their pokes to the bartender and had the price weighed out. the dances were very short, and the drinks very frequent. madder and madder grew the merriment. the air was hot; the odour of patchouli mingled with the stench of stale garments and the reek of alcohol. men dripping with sweat whirled round in wild gyrations. some of them danced beautifully; some merely shuffled over the floor. it did not make any difference to the girls. they were superbly muscular and used to the dragging efforts of novices. after a visit to the bar back they came once more, licking their lips, and fell to with fresh energy. there was no need to beg the crowd now. a wave of excitement seemed to have swept over them. they clamoured to get a dance. the "live one" whooped and pranced on his wild career, while amber steered him calmly through the mazes of the waltz. touch-the-button-nell was talking to a tall fair-moustached man whom i recognised as a black-jack booster. suddenly she left him and came over to us. she went up to the youth. she had discarded her blond wig, and her pretty brown hair parted in the middle and rippled behind her ears. her large violet-blue eyes had a devouring look that would stir the pulse of a saint. she accosted the youth with a smile of particular witchery. "say, kid, won't you come and have a two-step with me? i've been looking at you for the last half-hour and wishing you'd ask me." the youth had advised me: "if any of them asks you, tell them to go to the devil;" but now he looked at her and his boyish face flushed. "nothing doing," he said stoutly. "oh, come now," she pleaded; "honest to goodness, kid, i've turned down the other fellow for you. you won't refuse me, will you? come on; just one, sweetheart." she was holding the lapels of his coat and dragging him gently forward. i could see him biting his lip in embarrassment. "no, thanks, i'm sorry," he stammered. "i don't know how to dance. besides, i've got no money." she grew more coaxing. "never mind about the coin, honey. come on, have one on me. don't turn me down, i've taken such a notion to you. come on now; just one turn." i watched his face. his eyes clouded with emotion, and i knew the psychology of it. he was thinking: "just one--surely it wouldn't hurt. surely i'm man enough to trust myself, to know when to quit. oh, lordy, wouldn't it be sweet just to get my arm round a woman's waist once more! the sight of them's honey to me; surely it wouldn't matter. one round and i'll shake her and go home." the hesitation was fatal. by an irresistible magnetism the youth was drawn to this woman whose business it ever was to lure and beguile. by her siren strength she conquered him as she had conquered many another, and as she led him off there was a look of triumph on her face. poor youth! at the end of the dance he did not go home, nor did he "shake" her. he had another and another and another. the excitement began to paint his cheeks, the drink to stoke wild fires in his eyes. as i stood deserted i tried to attract him, to get him back; but he no longer heeded me. "i don't see the madonna to-night," said a little, dark individual in spectacles. somehow he looked to me like a newspaper man "chasing" copy. "no," said one of the girls; "she ain't workin'. she's sick; she don't take very kindly to the business, somehow. don't seem to get broke in easy. she's funny, poor kid." carelessly they went on to talk of other things, while i stood there gasping, staring, sick at heart. all my vinous joy was gone, leaving me a haggard, weary wretch of a man, disenchanted and miserable to the verge of--what? i shuddered. the lights seemed to have gone blurred and dim. the hall was tawdry, cheap and vulgar. the women, who but a moment before had seemed creatures of grace and charm, were now nothing more than painted, posturing harridans, their seductive smiles the leers of shameless sin. and this was a dawson dance-hall, the trump card in the nightly game of despoliation. dance-halls, saloons, gambling-dens, brothels, the heart of the town was a cancer, a hive of iniquity. here had flocked the most rapacious of gamblers, the most beautiful and unscrupulous women on the pacific slope. here in the gold-born city they waited for their prey, the man with the poke. back there in the silent wild, with pain and bloody sweat, he toiled for them. sooner or later must he come within reach of their talons to be fleeced, flouted and despoiled. it was an organised system of sharpers, thugs, harpies, and birds of prey of every kind. it was a blot on the map. it was a great whirlpool, and the eddy of it encircled the furthest outpost of the golden valley. it was a vortex of destruction, of ruin and shame. and here was i, hovering on its brink, likely to be soon sucked down into its depths. i pressed my way to the door, and stood there staring and swaying, but whether with wine or weakness i knew not. in the vociferous and flamboyant street i could hear the raucous voices of the spielers, the jigging tunes of the orchestras, the click of ivory balls, the popping of corks, the hoarse, animal laughter of men, the shrill, inane giggles of women. day and night the game went on without abatement, the game of despoliation. and i was on the verge of the vortex. memories of glengyle, the laughing of the silver-scaled sea, the tawny fisher-lads with their honest eyes, the herring glittering like jewels in the brown nets, the women with their round health-hued cheeks and motherly eyes. oh, home, with your peace and rest and content, can you not save me from this? and as i stood there wretchedly a timid little hand touched my arm. chapter v it is odd how people who have been parted a weary while, yet who have thought of each other constantly, will often meet with as little show of feeling as if they had but yesterday bid good-bye. i looked at her and she at me, and i don't think either of us betrayed any emotion. yet must we both have been infinitely moved. she was changed, desperately, pitifully changed. all the old sweetness was there, that pathetic sweetness which had made the miners call her the madonna; but alas, forever gone from her was the fragrant flower of girlhood. her pallor was excessive, and the softness had vanished out of her face, leaving there only lines of suffering. sorrow had kindled in her grey eyes a spiritual lustre, a shining, tearless brightness. ah me, sad, sad, indeed, was the change in her! so she looked at me, a long and level look in which i could see neither love nor hate. the bright, grey eyes were clear and steady, and the pinched and pitiful lips did not quiver. and as i gazed on her i felt that nothing ever would be the same again. love could no more be the radiant spirit of old, the prompter of impassioned words, the painter of bewitching scenes. never again could we feel the world recede from us as we poised on bright wings of fancy; never again compare our joy with that of the heaven-born; never again welcome that pure ideal that comes to youth alone, and that pitifully dies in the disenchantment of graver days. we could sacrifice all things for each other; joy and grieve for each other; live and die for each other,--but the hope, the dream, the exaltation of love's dawn, the peerless white glory of it--had gone from us forever and forever. her lips moved: "how you have changed!" "yes, berna, i have been ill. but you, you too have changed." "yes," she said very slowly. "i have been--dead." there was no faltering in her voice, never a throb of pathos. it was like the voice of one who has given up all hope, the voice of one who has arisen from the grave. in that cold mask of a face i could see no glimmer of the old-time joy, the joy of the season when wild roses were aglow. we both were silent, two pitifully cold beings, while about us the howling bedlam of pleasure-plotters surged and seethed. "come upstairs where we can talk," said she. so we sat down in one of the boxes, while a great freezing shadow seemed to fall and wrap us around. it was so strange, this silence between us. we were like two pale ghosts meeting in the misty gulfs beyond the grave. "and why did you not come?" she asked. "come--i tried to come." "but you did not." her tone was measured, her face averted. "i would have sold my soul to come. i was ill, desperately ill, nigh to death. i was in the hospital. for two weeks i was delirious, raving of you, trying to get to you, making myself a hundred times worse because of you. but what could i do? no man could have been more helpless. i was out of my mind, weak as a child, fighting for my life. that was why i did not come." when i began to speak she started. as i went on she drew a quick, choking breath. then she listened ever so intently, and when i had finished a great change came over her. her eyes stared glassily, her head dropped, her hands clutched at the chair, she seemed nigh to fainting. when she spoke her voice was like a whisper. "and they lied to me. they told me you were too eager gold-getting to think of me; that you were in love with some other woman out there; that you cared no more for me. they lied to me. well, it's too late now." she laughed, and the once tuneful voice was harsh and grating. still were her eyes blank with misery. again and again she murmured: "too late, too late." quietly i sat and watched her, yet in my heart was a vast storm of agony. i longed to comfort her, to kiss that face so white and worn and weariful, to bring tears to those hopeless eyes. there seemed to grow in me a greater hunger for the girl than ever before, a longing to bring joy to her again, to make her forget. what did it all matter? she was still my love. i yearned for her. we both had suffered, both been through the furnace. surely from it would come the love that passeth understanding. we would rear no lily walls, but out of our pain would we build an abiding place that would outlast the tomb. "berna," i said, "it is not too late." there was a desperate bitterness in her face. "yes, yes, it is. you do not understand. you--it's all right for you, you are blameless; but i----" "you too are blameless, dear. we have both been miserably duped. never mind, berna, we will forget all. i love you, oh how much i never can tell you, girl! come, let us forget and go away and be happy." it seemed as if my every word was like a stab to her. the sweet face was tragically wretched. "oh no," she answered, "it can never be. you think it can, but it can't. you could not forget. i could not forget. we would both be thinking; always, always torturing each other. to you the thought would be like a knife thrust, and the more you loved me the deeper would pierce its blade. and i, too, can you not realise how fearfully i would look at you, always knowing you were thinking of that, and what an agony it would be to me to watch your agony? our home would be a haunted one, a place of ghosts. never again can there be joy between you and me. it's too late, too late!" she was choking back the sobs now, but still the tears did not come. "berna," i said gently, "i think i could forget. please give me a chance to prove it. other men have forgotten. i know it was not your fault. i know that spiritually you are the same pure girl you were before. you are an angel, dear; my angel." "no, i was not to blame. when you failed to come i grew desperate. when i wrote you and still you failed to come i was almost distracted. night and day he was persecuting me. the others gave me no peace. if ever a poor girl was hounded to dishonour i was. yet i had made up my mind to die rather than yield. oh, it's too horrible." she shuddered. "never mind, dear, don't tell me about it." "when i awoke to life sick, sick for many days, i wanted to die, but i could not. there seemed to be nothing for it but to stay on there. i was so weak, so ill, so indifferent to everything that it did not seem to matter. that was where i made my mistake. i should have killed myself. oh, there's something in us all that makes us cling to life in spite of shame! but i would never let him come near me again. you believe me, don't you?" "i believe you." "and though, when he went away, i've gone into this life, there's never been any one else. i've danced with them, laughed with them, but that's all. you believe me?" "yes, dear." "thank god for that! and now we must say good-bye." "_good-bye?_" "i said--good-bye. i would not spoil your life. you know how proud i am, how sensitive. i would not give you such as i. once i would have given myself to you gladly, but now--please go away." "impossible." "no, the other is impossible. you don't know what these things mean to a woman. leave me, please." "leave you--to what?" "to death, ruin--i don't know what. if i'm strong enough i will die. if i am weak i will sink in the mire. oh, and i am only a girl too, a young girl!" "berna, will you marry me?" "no! no! no!" "berna, i will never leave you. here i tell you frankly, plainly, i don't know whether or not you still love me--you haven't said a word to show it--but i know i love you, and i will love you as long as life lasts. i will never leave you. listen to me, dear: let us go away, far, far away. you will forget, i will forget. it will never be the same, but perhaps it will be better, greater than before. come with me, o my love! have pity on me, berna, have pity. marry me. be my wife." she merely shook her head, sitting there cold as a stone. "then," i said, "if you call yourself dishonoured, i too will become dishonoured. if you choose to sink in the mire, i too will sink. we will go down together, you and i. oh, i would rather sink with you, dear, than rise with the angels. you have chosen--well, i too have chosen. we stand on the edge of the vortex, now will we plunge down. you will see me steep myself in shame, then when i am a hundred shades blacker than you can ever hope to be, my angel, you will stoop and pity me. oh, i don't care any more. i've played the fool too long; now i'll play the devil, and you'll stand by and watch me. sometimes it's nice to make those we love suffer, isn't it? i would break my arm to make you feel sorry for me. but now you'll see me in the vortex. we'll go down together, dear. hand in hand hell-ward we'll go down, we'll go down." she was looking at me in a frightened way. a madness seemed to have gotten into me. "berna, you're on the dance-halls. you're at the mercy of the vilest wretch that's got an ounce of gold in his filthy poke. they can buy you as they buy white flesh everywhere on earth. you must dance with them, drink with them, go away with them. berna, i can buy you. come, dance with me, drink with me. we'll live, live. we'll eat, drink and be merry. on with the dance! oh, for the joy of life! since you'll not be my love you'll be my light-of-love. come, berna, come!" i paused. with her head lying on the cushioned edge of the box she was crying. the plush was streaky with her tears. "will you come?" i asked again. she did not move. "then," said i, "there are others, and i have money, lots of it. i can buy them. i am going down into the vortex. look on and watch me." i left her crying. chapter vi it is with shame i write the following pages. would i could blot them out of my life. to this day there must be many who remember my meteoric career in the firmament of fast life. it did not last long, but in less than a week i managed to squander a small fortune. those were the days when dawson might fitly have been called the dissolute. it was the régime of the dance-hall girl, and the taint of the tenderloin was over the town. so far there were few decent women to be seen on the streets. respectable homes were being established, but even there social evils were discussed with an astonishing frankness and indifference. in the best society men were welcomed who were known to be living in open infamy. a general callousness to social corruption prevailed. for dawson was at this time the mecca of the gambler and the courtesan. of its population probably two-thirds began their day when most people finished it. it was only towards nightfall that the town completely roused up, that the fever of pleasure providing began. nearly every one seemed to be affected by the spirit of degeneracy. on the faces of many of the business men could be seen the stamp of the pace they were going. cases in court had to be adjourned because of the debauches of lawyers. bank tellers stepped into their cages sleepless from all-night orgies. government officials lived openly with wanton women. high and low were attainted by the corruption. in those days of headstrong excitement, of sudden fortune, of money to be had almost for the picking up, when the gold-camp was a reservoir into which poured by a thousand channels the treasure of the valley, few were those among the men who kept a steady head, whose private records were pure and blameless. no town of its size has ever broken up more homes. men in the intoxication of fast-won wealth in that far-away land gave way to excesses of every kind. fathers of families paraded the streets arm in arm with demi-mondaines. to be seen talking to a loose woman was unworthy of comment, not to have a mistress was not to be in the swim. words cannot express the infinite and general degradation. it is scarcely possible to exaggerate it. that teeming town at the mouth of the klondike set a pace in libertinism that has never been equalled. i would divide its population into three classes: the sporting fraternity, whose business it was to despoil and betray; the business men, drawn more or less into the vortex of dissipation; the miners from the creeks, the man with the poke, here to-day, gone, to-morrow, and of them all the most worthy of respect. he was the prop and mainstay of the town. it was like a vast trap set to catch him. he would "blow in" brimming with health and high spirits; for a time he would "get into the game;" sooner or later he would cut loose and "hit the high places"; then, at last, beggared and broken, he would crawl back in shame and sorrow to the claim. o, that grey city! could it ever tell its woes and sorrows the great, white stars above would melt into compassionate tears. ah well, to the devil with all moralising! a short life and a merry one. switch on the lights! ring up the curtain! on with the play! * * * * * in the casino a crowd is gathering round the roulette wheel. three-deep they stand. a woman rushes out from the dance-hall and pushes her way through the throng. she is very young, very fair and redundant of life. a man jostles her. from frank blue eyes she flashes a look at him, and from lips sweet as those of a child there comes the remonstrance: "curse you; take care." the men make way for her, and she throws a poke of dust on the red. "a hundred dollars out of that," she says. the coupier nods; the wheel spins round; she loses. "give me another two hundred in chips," she cries eagerly. the dealer hands them to her, and puts her poke in a drawer. again and again she plays, placing chips here and there round the table. sometimes she wins, sometimes she loses. at last she has quite a pile of chips before her. she laughs gleefully. "i guess i'll cash in now," she says. "that's good enough for to-night." the man hands her back her poke, writes out a cheque for her winnings, and off she goes like a happy child. "who's that?" i ask. "that? that's blossom. she's a 'bute,' she is. want a knockdown? come on round to the dance-hall." * * * * * once more i see the youth. he is nearing the end of his tether. he borrows a few hundred dollars from me. "one more night," he says with a bitter grin, "and the hog goes back to wallow in the mire. they've got you going too-- oh, lord, it's a great game! ha! ha!" he goes off unsteadily; then from out of the luminous mists there appears the jam-wagon. in a pained way he looks at me. "here, chuck it, old man," he says; "come home to my cabin and straighten up." "all right," i answer; "just one drink more." one more means still one more. poor old jam-wagon! it's the blind leading the blind. mosher haunts me with his gleaming bald head and his rat-like eyes. he is living with the little ninety-five-pound woman, the one with the mop of hair. oh, it is a hades of a life i am steeped in! i drink and i drink. it seems to me i am always drinking. rarely do i eat. i am one of half a dozen spectacular "live ones." all the camp is talking of us, but it seems to me i lead the bunch in the race to ruin. i wonder what berna thinks of it all. was there ever such a sensitive creature? where did she get that obstinate pride? child of misfortune! she minded me of a delicate china cup that gets mixed in with the coarse crockery of a hash joint. remonstrantly the prodigal speeds to town. "are you crazy?" he cries. "i don't mind you making an ass of yourself, but lushing around all that coin the way you're doing--it's wicked; it makes me sick. come home at once." "i won't," i say. "what if i am crazy? isn't it my money? i've never sown my wild oats yet. i'm trying to catch up, that's all. when the money's done i'll quit. i'm having the time of my life. don't come spoiling it with your precepts. what a lot of fun i've missed by being good. come along; 'listen to the last word of human philosophy--have a drink.'" he goes away shaking his head. there's no fear of him ever breaking loose. he, with his smile of sunshine, would make misfortune pay. he is a rolling stone that gathers no moss, but manages to glue itself to greenbacks at every turn. * * * * * i am in a box at the palace grand. the place is packed with rowdy men and ribald women. i am at the zenith of my shame. right and left i am buying wine. like vultures at a feast they bunch into the box. like carrion flies they buzz around me. that is what i feel myself to be--carrion. how i loathe myself! but i think of berna, and the thought goads me to fresh excesses. i will go on till flesh and blood can stand it no longer, till i drop in my tracks. i realise that somehow i must make her pity me, must awake in her that guardian angel which exists in every woman. only in that way can i break down the barrier of her pride and arouse the love latent in her heart. there are half a dozen girls in the box, a bevy of beauties, and i buy a case of wine for each, over a thousand dollars' worth. screaming with laughter they toss it in bottles down to their friends in the audience. it is a scene of riotous excitement. the audience roars, the girls shriek, the orchestra tries to make itself heard. madder and madder grows the merriment. the fierce fever of it scorches in my veins. i am mad to spend, to throw away money, to outdo all others in bitter, reckless prodigality. i fling twenty-dollar gold pieces to the singers. i open bottle after bottle of wine. the girls are spraying the crowd with it, the floor of the box swims with it. i drop my pencil signing a tab, and when i look down it is floating in a pool of champagne. then comes the last. the dance has begun. men in fur caps, mackinaw coats and mucklucks are waltzing with women clad in paris gowns and sparkling with jewels. the floor is thronged. i have a large, hundred-ounce poke of dust, and i unloose the thong. suddenly with a mad shout i scatter its contents round the hall. like a shower of golden rain it falls on men and women alike. see how they grovel for it, the brutes, the vampires! how they fight and grab and sprawl over it! how they shriek and howl and curse! it is like an arena of wild beasts; it is pandemonium. oh, how i despise them! my gorge rises, but--to the end, to the end. i must play my part. * * * * * always amid that lurid carnival of sin floats the figure of blossom, blossom with her child-face of dazzling fairness, her china-blue eyes, her round, smooth cheeks. how different from the pinched pallid face of berna! poor, poor berna! i never see her, but amid all the saturnalia she haunts me. the thought of her is agony, agony. i cannot bear to think of her. i know she watches me. if she would only stoop and save me now! or have i not fallen low enough? what a faith i have in that deep mother-love of hers that will redeem me in the end. i must go deeper yet. faster and faster must i swirl into the vortex. oh, these women, how in my heart i loathe them! i laugh with them, i quaff with them, i let them rob me; but that's all. * * * * * in all that fierce madness of debauch, thank god, i retained my honour. they beguiled me, they tried to lure me into their rooms; but at the moment i went to enter i recoiled. it was as if an invisible arm stretched across the doorway and barred me out. and blossom, she, too, tried so hard to lure me, and because i resisted it inflamed her. half angel, half devil was blossom, a girl in years, but woefully wise, a soft siren when pleased, a she-devil when roused. she made me her special quarry. she fought for me. she drove off all the other girls. we talked together, we drank together, we "played the tables" together, but nothing more. she would coax me with the prettiest gestures, and cajole me with the sweetest endearments; then, when i steadfastly resisted her, she would fly into a fury and flout me with the foulness of the stews. she was beautiful, but born to be bad. no power on heaven or earth could have saved her. yet in her badness she was frank, natural and untroubled as a child. it was in one of the corridors of the dance-hall in the early hours of the morning. the place was deserted, strewed with débris of the night's debauch. the air was fetid, and from the gambling-hall down below arose the shouts of the players. we were up there, blossom and i. i was in a strange state of mind, a state bordering on frenzy. not much longer, i felt, could i keep up this pace. something had to happen, and that soon. she put her arms around me. i could feel her cheek pressed to mine. i could see her bosom rise and fall. "come," she said. she led me towards her room. no longer was i able to resist. my foot was on the threshold and i was almost over when---- "telegram, sir." it was a messenger. confusedly i took the flimsy envelope and tore it open. blankly i stared at the line of type. i stared like a man in a dream. i was sober enough now. "ain't you coming?" said blossom, putting her arms round me. "no," i said hoarsely, "leave me, please leave me. oh, my god!" her face changed, became vindictive, the face of a fury. "curse you!" she hissed, gnashing her teeth. "oh, i knew. it's that other, that white-faced doll you care for. look at me! am i not better than her? and you scorn me. oh, i hate you. i'll get even with you and her. curse you, curse you----" she snatched up an empty wine bottle. swinging it by the neck she struck me square on the forehead. i felt a stunning blow, a warm rush of blood. then i fell limply forward, and all the lights seemed to go out. there i lay in a heap, and the blood spurting from my wound soaked the little piece of paper. on it was written: "mother died this morning. garry." chapter vii "where am i?" "here, with me." low and sweet and tender was the voice. i was in bed and my head was heavily bandaged, so that the cloths weighed upon my eyelids. it was difficult to see, and i was too weak to raise myself, but i seemed to be in semi-darkness. a lamp burning on a small table nearby was turned low. by my bedside some one was sitting, and a soft, gentle hand was holding mine. "where is _here_?" i asked faintly. "here--my cabin. rest, dear." "is that you, berna?" "yes, please don't talk." i thrilled with a sudden sweetness of joy. a flood of sunshine bathed me. it was all over, then, the turmoil, the storm, the shipwreck. i was drifting on a tranquil ocean of content. blissfully i closed my eyes. oh, i was happy, happy! in her cabin, with her, and she was nursing me--what had happened? what new turn of events had brought about this wonderful thing? as i lay there in the quiet, trying to recall the something that went before, my poor sick brain groped but feebly amid a murk of sinister shadows. "berna," i said, "i've had a bad dream." "yes, dear, you've been sick, very sick. you've had an attack of fever, brain fever. but don't try to think, just rest quietly." so for a while longer i lay there, thrilled with a strange new joy, steeped in the ineffable comfort of her presence, and growing better, stronger with every breath. memories came thronging back, memories that made me cringe and wince, and shudder with the shame of them. yet ever the thought that she was with me was like a holy blessing. surely it was all good since it had ended in this. yet there was something else, some memory darker than the others, some shadow of shadows that baffled me. then as i battled with a growing terror and suspense, it all came back to me, the telegram, the news, my collapse. a great grief welled up in me, and in my agony i spoke to the girl. "berna, tell me, is it true? is my mother dead?" "yes, it's true, dear. you must try to bear it bravely." i could feel her bending over me, could feel her hand holding mine, could feel her hair brush my cheek, yet i forgot even her just then. i thought only of mother, of her devotion and of how little i had done to deserve it. so this was the end: a narrow grave, a rending grief and the haunting spectre of reproach. i saw my mother sitting at that window that faced the west, her hands meekly folded on her lap, her eyes wistfully gazing over the grey sea. i knew there was never a day of her life when she did not sit thus and think of me. i could guess at the heartache that gentle face would not betray, the longing those tender lips would not speak, the grief those sweet eyes studied to conceal. as, sitting there in the strange clouded sunset of my native land, she let her knitting drop on her lap, i knew she prayed for me. oh, mother! mother! my sobs were choking me, and berna was holding my hand very tightly. yet in a little i grew calmer. "berna," i said, "i've only got you now, only you, little girl. so you must love me, you mustn't leave me." "i'll never leave you--if you want me to stay." "god bless you, dear. i can't tell you the comfort you are to me. i'll try to be quiet now." i will always remember those days as i grew slowly well again. the cot in which i lay stood in the sitting-room of the cabin, and from the window i could overlook the city. snow had fallen, the days were diamond bright, and the smoke ascended sharply in the glittering air. the little room was papered with a design of wild roses that minded me of the whitehorse rapids. on the walls were some little framed pictures; the floor was carpeted in dull brown, and a little heater gave out a pleasant warmth. through a doorway draped with a curtain i could see her busy in her little kitchen. she left me much alone, alone with my thoughts. often when all was quiet i knew she was sitting there beyond the curtain, sitting thinking, just as i was thinking. quiet was the keynote of our life, quiet and sunshine. that little cabin might have been a hundred miles from the gold-born city, it was so quiet. here drifted no echo of its abandoned gaiety, its glory of demoralisation. how sweet she looked in her spotless home attire, her neat waist, her white apron with bib and sleeves, her general air of a little housewife. and never was there so devoted a nurse. sometimes she would read to me from one of the few books i had taken everywhere on my travels, a page or two from my beloved stevenson, a poem from my great-hearted henley, a luminous passage from my thoreau. how those readings brought back the time when, tired of flicking the tawny pools, i would sit on the edge of the boisterous little burn and read till the grey shadows sifted down! i was so happy then, and i did not know it. now everything seemed changed. life had lost its zest. its savour was no longer sweet. its very success was more bitter than failure. would i ever get back that old-time rapture, that youthful joy, that satisfaction with all the world? it was sweet prolonging my convalescence, yet the time came when i could no longer let her wait upon me. what was going to happen to us? i thought of that at all times, and she knew i thought of it. sometimes i could see a vivid colour in her cheeks, an eager brightness in her eye. was ever a stranger situation? she slept in the little kitchen, and between us there was but that curtain. the faintest draught stirred it. there i lay through the long, long night in that quiet cabin. i heard her breathing. sometimes even i heard her murmur in her sleep. i knew she was there, within a few yards of me. i thought of her always. i loved her beyond all else on earth. i was gaining daily in health and strength, yet not for the wealth of the world would i have passed that little curtain. she was as safe there as if she were guarded with swords. and she knew it. once when i was in agony i called to her in the night, and she came to me. she came with a mother's tenderness, with exquisite endearments, with the great love shining in her eyes. she leaned over me, she kissed me. as she bent over my bed i put my arm round her. there in the darkness were we, she and i, her kisses warm upon my lips, her hair brushing my brow, and a great love devouring us. oh, it was hard, but i released her, put her from me, told her to go away. "i'll play the game fair," i said to myself. i must be very, very careful. our position was full of danger. so i forced myself to be cold to her, and she looked both surprised and pained at the change in me. then she seemed to put forth special efforts to please me. she changed the fashion of her hair, she wore pretty bows of ribbon. she talked brightly and lightly in a febrile way. she showed little coquettish tricks of manner that were charming to my mind. ever she looked at me with wistful concern. her heart was innocent, and she could not understand my sudden coldness. yet that night had given me a lightning glimpse of my nature that frightened me. the girl was winsome beyond words, and i knew i had but to say it and she would come to me. yet i checked myself. i retreated behind a barrier of reserve. "play the game," i said; "play the game." so as i grew better and stronger she seemed to lose her cheerfulness. always she had that anxious, wistful look. once came a sound from the kitchen like stifled sobbing, and again in the night i heard her cry. then the time came when i was well enough to get up, to go away. i dressed, looking like the cadaverous ghost i felt myself to be. she was there in the kitchen, sitting quietly, waiting. "berna," i called. she came, with a smile lighting up her face. "i'm going." the smile vanished, and left her with that high proud look, yet behind it was a lurking fear. "you're going?" she faltered. "yes," i said roughly, "i'm going." she did not speak. "are you ready?" i went on. "ready?" "yes, you're going, too." "where?" i took her suddenly in my arms. "why, you dear little angel, to get married, of course. come on, berna, we'll find the nearest parson. we won't lose any more precious time." then a great rush of tears came into her eyes. but still she hung back. she shook her head. "why, berna, what's the matter? won't you come?" "i think not." "in heaven's name, what is wrong, dear? don't you love me?" "yes, i love you. it's because i love you i won't come." "won't you marry me?" "no, no, i can't. you know what i said before. i haven't changed any. i'm still the same--dishonoured girl. you could never give me your name." "you're as pure as the driven snow, little one." "no one thinks so but you, and it's that that makes all the difference. everybody knows. no, i could never marry you, never take your name, never bind you to me." "well, what's to be done?" "you must go away, or--stay." "stay?" "yes. you've been living alone with me for a month. i picked you up that night in the dance-hall. i had you brought here. i nursed you. do you think people don't give us credit for the worst? we are as innocent as children, yet do you think i have a shred of reputation left? already i am supposed to be your mistress. everybody knows; nobody cares. there are so many living that way here. if you told them we were innocent they would scoff at us. if you go they will say you have discarded me." "what shall i do?" "just stay. oh, why can't we go on as we've been doing? it's been so like home. don't leave me, dear. i don't want to bind you. i just want to be of some use to you, to help you, to be with you always. love me for a little, anyway. then when you're tired of me you can go, but don't go now." i was dazed, but she went on. "what does the ceremony matter? we love each other. isn't that the real marriage? it's more; it's an ideal. we'll both be free to go if we wish. there will be no bonds but those of love. is not that beautiful, two people cleaving together for love's sake, living for each other, sacrificing for each other, yet with no man-made law to tell them: 'this must ye do'? oh, stay, stay!" her arms were round my neck. the grey eyes were full of pleading. the sweet lips had the old, pathetic droop. i yielded to the empery of love. "well," i said, "we will go on awhile, on one condition--that by-and-bye you marry me." "yes, i will, i will; i promise. if you don't tire of me; if you are sure beyond all doubt you will never regret it, then i will marry you with the greatest joy in the world." so it came about that i stayed. chapter viii in this infernal irony of an existence why do the good things of life always come when we no longer have the same appetite to enjoy them? the year following, in which berna and i kept house, was not altogether a happy one. somehow we had both just missed something. we had suffered too much to recover our poise very easily. we were sick, not in body, but in mind. the thought of her terrible experience haunted her. she was as sensitive as the petal of a delicate flower, and often would i see her lips quiver and a look of pain come into her eyes. then i knew of what she was thinking. i knew, and i, too, suffered. i tried to make her forget, yet i could not succeed; and even in my most happy moments there was always a shadow, the shadow of locasto; there was always a fear, the fear of his return. yes, it seemed at times as if we were two unfortunates, as if our happiness had come too late, as if our lives were irretrievably shipwrecked. locasto! where was he? for near a year had he been gone, somewhere in that wild country at the back of beyond. somewhere amid the wilder peaks and valleys of the rockies he fought his desperate battle with the wild. there had been sinister rumours of two lone prospectors who had perished up in that savage country, of two bodies that lay rotting and half buried by a landslide. i had a sudden, wild hope that one of them might be my enemy; for i hated him and i would have joyed at his death. when i loved berna most exquisitely, when i gazed with tender joy upon her sweetness, when, with glad, thankful eyes, i blessed her for the sympathy and sunshine of her presence, then between us would come a shadow, dark, menacing and mordant. so the joy-light would vanish from my eyes and a great sadness fall upon me. what would i do if he returned? i wondered. perhaps if he left us alone i might let by-gones be by-gones; but if he ever came near her again--well, i oiled the chambers of my colt and heard its joyous click as it revolved. "that's for him," i said, "that's for him, if by look, by word, or by act he ever molests her again." and i meant it, too. suffering had hardened me, made me dangerous. i would have killed him. then, as the months went past and the suspicion of his fate deepened almost to a certainty, i began to breathe more freely. i noticed, too, a world of difference in berna. she grew light-hearted. she sang and laughed a good deal. the sunshine came back to her eyes, and the shadow seldom lingered there. sometimes the thought that we were not legally married troubled me, but on all sides were men living with their klondike wives, either openly or secretly, and where this domestic ménage was conducted in quietness there was little comment on it. we lived to ourselves, and for ourselves. we left our neighbours alone. we made few friends, and in the ferment of social life we were almost unnoticed. of course, the prodigal expostulated with me in severe terms. i did not attempt to argue with him. he would not have understood my point of view. there are heights and depths in life to which he with his practical mind could never attain. yet he became very fond of berna, and often visited us. "why don't you go and get churched decently, if you love her?" he demanded. "so i will," i answered calmly; "give me a little time. wait till we get more settled." and, indeed, we were up to our necks in business these days. our gold hill property had turned out well. we had a gang of men employed there, and i made frequent trips out to bonanza. we had given the halfbreed a small interest, and installed him as manager. the jam-wagon, too, we had employed as a sort of assistant foreman. jim was busy installing his hydraulic plant on ophir creek, and altogether we had enough to think about. i had set my heart on making a hundred thousand dollars, and as things were looking it seemed as if two more years would bring me to that mark. "then," said i to berna, "we'll go and travel all over the world, and do it in style." "will we, dear?" she answered tenderly. "but i don't want money much now, and i don't know that i care so much about travel either. what i would like would be to go to your home, and settle down and live quietly. what i want is a nice flower garden, and a pony to drive into town, and a home to fuss about. i would embroider, and read, and play a little, and cook things, and--just be with you." she was greatly interested in my description of glengyle. she never tired of questioning me about it. particularly was she interested in my accounts of garry, and rather scoffed at my enthusiastic description of him. "oh, that wonderful brother of yours! one would think he was a small god, to hear you talk. i declare i'm half afraid of him. do you think he would like me?" "he would love you, little girl; any one would." "don't be foolish," she chided me. and then she drew my head down and kissed me. i think we had the prettiest little cabin in all dawson. the big logs were peeled smooth, and the ends squarely cut. the chinks were filled in with mortar. the whole was painted a deep rich crimson. the roof was covered with sheet-iron, and it, too, was painted crimson. there was a deep porch to it. it was the snuggest, neatest little home in the world. windows hung with dainty lace curtains peeped through its clustering greenery of vines, but the glory of it all was the flower garden. there was a bewildering variety of flowers, but mostly i remember stocks and pinks, iceland poppies, marguerites, asters, marigolds, verbenas, hollyhocks, pansies and petunias, growing in glorious profusion. even the roughest miner would stand and stare at them as he tramped past on the board sidewalk. they were a mosaic of glowing colour, yet the crowning triumph was the poppies and sweet peas. set in the centre of the lawn was a circle that was a leaping glow of poppies. of every shade were they, from starry pink to luminous gold, from snowy white to passionate crimson. like vari-coloured lamps they swung, and wakened you to wonder and joy with the exultant challenge of their beauty. and the sweet peas! all up the south side of the cabin they grew, overtopping the eaves in their riotous perfection. they rivalled the poppies in the radiant confusion of their colour, and they were so lavish of blossom we could not pick them fast enough. i think ours was the pioneer garden of the gold-born city, and awakened many to the growth-giving magic of the long, long day. and it was the joy and pride of berna's heart. i would sit on the porch of a summer's evening when down the mighty yukon a sunset of vast and violent beauty flamed and languished, and i would watch her as she worked among her flowers. i can see her flitting figure in a dress of dainty white as she hovered over a beautiful blossom. i can hear her calling me, her voice like the music of a flute, calling me to come and see some triumph of her skill. i have a picture of her coming towards me with her arms full of flowers, burying her face lovingly among the velvet petals, and raising it again, the sweetest flower of all. how radiantly outshone her eyes, and her face, delicate as a cameo, seemed to have stolen the fairest tints of the lily and the rose. starry vines screened the porch, and everywhere were swinging baskets of silver birch, brimming over with the delicate green of smilax or clouded in an amethystine mist of lobelias. i can still see the little sitting-room with its piano, its plenitude of cushions, its book-rack, its indian corner, its tasteful paper, its pictures, and always and everywhere flowers, flowers. the air was heavy with the fragrance of them. they glorified the crudest corner, and made our home like a nook in fairyland. i remember one night as i sat reading she came to me. never did i see her look so happy. she was almost childlike in her joy. she sat down by my chair and looked up at me. then she put her arms around me. "oh, i'm so happy," she said with a sigh. "are you, dearest?" i caressed the soft floss of her hair. "yes, i just wish we could live like this forever;" and she nestled up to me ever so fondly. aye, she was happy, and i will always bless the memory of those days, and thank god i was the means of bringing a little gladness into her marred life. she was happy, and yet we were living in what society would call sin. conventionally we were not man and wife, yet never were man and wife more devoted, more self-respecting. never were man and wife endowed with purer ideals, with a more exalted conception of the sanctity of love. yet there were many in the town not half so delicate, so refined, so spiritual, who would have passed my little lady like a pariah. but what cared we? and perhaps it was the very greatness of my love for her that sometimes made me fear; so that often in the ecstasy of a moment i would catch my breath and wonder if it all could last. and when the poplars turned to gold, and up the valley stole a shuddering breath of desolation, my fear grew apace. the sky was all resplendent with the winter stars, and keen and hard their facets sparkled. and i knew that somewhere underneath those stars there slept locasto. but was it the sleep of the living or of the dead? would he return? chapter ix two men were crawling over the winter-locked plain. in the aching circle of its immensity they were like little black ants. one, the leader, was of great bulk and of a vast strength; while the other was small and wiry, of the breed that clings like a louse to life while better men perish. on all sides of the frozen lake over which they were travelling were hills covered with harsh pine, that pricked funereally up to the boulder-broken snows. above that was a stormy and fantastic sea of mountains baring many a fierce peak-fang to the hollow heavens. the sky was a waxen grey, cold as a corpse-light. the snow was an immaculate shroud, unmarked by track of bird or beast. death-sealed the land lay in its silent vastitude, in its despairful desolation. the small man was breaking trail. down almost to his knees in the soft snow, he sank at every step; yet ever he dragged a foot painfully upward, and made another forward plunge. the snowshoe thong, jagged with ice, chafed him cruelly. the muscles of his legs ached as insistently as if clamped in a vice. he lurched forward with fatigue, so that he seemed to be ever stumbling, yet recovering himself. "come on there, you darned little shrimp; get a move on you," growled the big man from within the frost-fringed hood of his parka. the little man started as if galvanised into sudden life. his breath steamed and almost hissed as it struck the icy air. at each raw intake of it his chest heaved. he beat his mittened hands on his breast to keep them from freezing. under the hood of his parka great icicles had formed, hanging to the hairs of his beard, walrus-like, and his eyes, thickly wadded with frost, glared out with the furtive fear of a hunted beast. "curse him, curse him," he whimpered; but once more he lifted those leaden snowshoes and staggered on. the big man lashed fiercely at the dogs, and as they screamed at his blows he laughed cruelly. they were straining forward in the harness, their bellies almost level with the ground, their muscles standing out like whalebone. great, gaunt brutes they were, with ribs like barrel-staves, and hip-bones sharp as stakes. their woolly coats were white with frost, their sly, slit-eyed faces ice-sheathed, their feet torn so that they left a bloody track on the snow at every step. "mush on there, you curs, or i'll cut you in two," stormed the big man, and once again the heavy whip fell on the yelling pack. they were pulling for all they were worth, their heads down, their shoulders squared. their breath came pantingly, their tongues gleamed redly, their white teeth shone. they were fighting, fighting for life, fighting to placate a cruel master in a world where all was cruelty and oppression. for there in the winter wild pity was not even a name. it was the struggle for life, desperate and never-ending. the wild abhorred life, abhorred most of all these atoms of heat and hurry in the midst of her triumphant stillness. the wild would crush those defiant pigmies that disputed the majesty of her invincible calm. a dog was hanging back in the harness. it whined; then as the husky following snapped at it savagely, it gave a lurch and fell. the big man shot forward with a sudden fury in his eyes. swinging the heavy-thonged whip, again and again he brought it down on the writhing brute. then he twisted the thong around his hand and belaboured its hollow ribs with the butt. it screamed for a while, but soon it ceased to scream; it only moaned a little. with glistening fangs and ears up-pricked the other dogs looked at their fallen comrade. they longed to leap on it, to rend its gaunt limbs apart, to tear its quivering flesh; but there was the big man with his murderous whip, and they cowered before him. the big man kicked the fallen dog repeatedly. the little man paused in his painful progress to look on apathetically. "you'll stave in its ribs," he remarked presently; "and then we'll never make timber by nightfall." the big man had failed in his efforts to rouse the dog. there in that lancinating cold, in an ecstasy of rage, despairfully he poised over it. "who told you to put in your lip?" he snarled. "who's running this show, you or i? i'll stave in its ribs if i choose, and i'll hitch you to the sled and make you pull your guts out, too." the little man said no more. then, the dog still refusing to rise, the big man leapt over the harness and came down on the animal with both feet. there was a scream of pitiful agony, and the snap of breaking bones. but the big man slipped and fell. down he came, and like a flash the whole pack piled onto him. for a moment there was a confused muddle of dogs and master. this was the time for which they had waited, these savage semi-wolves. this man had beaten them, had starved them, had been a devil to them, and now he was down and at their mercy. ferociously they sprang on him, and their white fangs snapped like traps in his face. they fought to get at his throat. they tore at his parka. oh, if they could only make their teeth meet in his warm flesh! but no; they were all tangled up in the harness, and the man was fighting like a giant. he had the leader by the throat and was using her as a shield against the others. his right hand swung the whip with flail-like blows. foiled and confused the dogs fell to fighting among themselves, and triumphantly the man leapt to his feet. he was like a fiend now. fiercely he raged among the snarling pack, kicking, clubbing, cursing, till one and all he had them beaten into cowering subjection. he was still panting from his struggle. his face was deathly pale, and his eyes were glittering. he strode up to the little man, who had watched the performance stolidly. "why didn't you help me, you dirty little whelp?" he hissed. "you wanted to see them chew me up; you know you did. you'd like to have them rip me to ribbons. you wouldn't move a finger to save me. oh, i know, i know. i've had enough of you this trip to last me a lifetime. you've bucked me right along. now, blast your dirty little soul, i hate you, and for the rest of the way i'm going to make your life hell. see! now i'll begin." the little man was afraid. he seemed to grow smaller, while over him towered the other, dark, fierce and malignant. the little man was desperate. defensively he crouched, yet the next instant he was overthrown. then, as he lay sprawling in the snow, the big man fell to lashing him with the whip. time after time he struck, till the screams of his victim became one long, drawn-out wail of agony. then he desisted. jerking the other on his feet once more, he bade him go on breaking trail. again they struggled on. the light was beginning to fail, and there was no thought in their minds but to reach that dark belt of timber before darkness came. there was no sound but the crunch of their snowshoes, the panting of the dogs, the rasping of the sleigh. when they paused the silence seemed to fall on them like a blanket. there was something awful in the quality of this deathly silence. it was as if something material, something tangible, hovered over them, closed in on them, choked them, throttled them. it was almost like a presence. weary and worn were men and dogs as they struggled onwards in the growing gloom, but because of the feeling in his heart the little man no longer was conscious of bodily pain. it was black murder that raged there. with straining sinews and bones that cracked, the dogs bent to a heavy pull, while at the least sign of shirking down swished the relentless whip. and the big man, as if proud of his strength, gazed insolently round on the wild. he was at home in this land, this stark wolf-land, so callous, so cruel. was he not cruel, too? surely this land cowered before him. its hardships could not daunt him, nor its terrors dismay. as he urged on his bloody-footed dogs, he exulted greatly. of all men of the high north was he not king? at last they reached the forest fringe, and after a few harsh directions he had the little man making camp. the little man worked with a strange willingness. all his taciturnity had gone. as he gathered the firewood and filled the yukon stove, he hummed a merry air. he had the water boiling and soon there was the fragrance of tea in the little tent. he produced sourdough bread (which he fried in bacon fat), and some dried moose-meat. to men of the trail this was a treat. they ate ravenously, but they did not speak. yet the little man was oddly cheerful. time and again the big man looked at him suspiciously. outside it was a steely night, with an icicle of a moon. the cold leapt on one savagely. to step from the tent was like plunging into icy water, yet within those canvas walls the men were warm and snug. the stove crackled its cheer. a grease-light sputtered, and by its rays the little man was mending his ice-stiffened moccasins. he hummed an irish air, and he seemed to be tickled with some thought he had. "stop that tune," growled the other. "if you don't know anything else, cut it out. i'm sick of it." the little man shut up meekly. again there was silence, broken by a whining and a scratching outside. it was the five dogs crying for their supper, crying for the frozen fish they had earned so well. they wondered why it was not forthcoming. when they received it they would lie on it, to warm it with the heat of their bodies, and then gnaw off the thawed portions. they were very wise, these dogs. but to-night there was no fish, and they whined for it. "dog feed all gone?" "yep," said the small man. "hell! i'll silence these brutes anyway." he went to the door and laid onto them so that they slunk away into the shadows. but they did not bury themselves in the snow and sleep. they continued to prowl round the tent, hunger-mad and desperate. "we've only got enough grub left for ourselves now," said the big man; "and none too much at that. i guess i'll put you on half-rations." he laughed as if it was the hugest joke. then rolling himself in a robe, he lay down and slept. the little man did not sleep. he was still turning over the thought that had come to him. outside in the atrocious cold the whining malamutes crept nearer and nearer. savage were they, indian raised and sired by a wolf. and now, in the agonies of hunger, they cried for fish, and there was none for them, only kicks and curses. oh, it was a world of ghastly cruelty! they howled their woes to the weary moon. "short rations, indeed," mumbled the little man. he crawled into his sleeping bag, but he did not close his eyes. he was watching. about dawn he rose. an evil dawn it was, sallow, sinister and askew. the little man selected the heavy-handled whip for the job. carefully he felt its butt, then he struck. it was a shrewd blow and a neatly delivered, for the little man had been in the business before. it fell on the big man's head, and he crumpled up. then the little man took some rawhide thongs and trussed up his victim. there lay the big man, bound and helpless, with a clotted blood-hole in his black hair. then the little man gathered up the rest of the provisions. he looked around carefully, as if fearful of leaving anything behind. he made a pack of the food and lashed it on his back. now he was ready to start. he knew that within fifty miles, travelling to the south, he would strike a settlement. he was safe. he turned to where lay the unconscious body of his partner. again and again he kicked it; he cursed it; he spat on it. then, after a final look of gloating hate, he went off and left the big man to his fate. at last, at long last, the worm had turned. chapter x the dogs! the dogs were closing in. nearer and nearer they drew, headed by a fierce mackenzie river bitch. they wondered why their master did not wake; they wondered why the little tent was so still; why no plume of smoke rose from the slim stovepipe. all was oddly quiet and lifeless. no curses greeted them; no whiplash cut into them; no strong arm jerked them over the harness. perhaps it was a primordial instinct that drew them on, that made them strangely bold. perhaps it was only the despair of their hunger, the ache of empty bellies. closer and closer they crept to the silent tent. locasto opened his eyes. within a foot of his face were the fangs of a malamute. at his slight movement it drew back with a snarl, and retreated to the door. locasto could see the other dogs crouching and eyeing him fixedly. what could be the matter? what had gotten into the brutes? where was the worm? where were the provisions? why was the tent flap open and the stove stone-cold? then with a dawning comprehension that he had been deserted, locasto uttered a curse and tried to rise. at first he thought he was stiff with cold, but a downward glance showed him his condition. he was helpless. he grew sick at the pit of his stomach, and glared at the dogs. they were drawing in on him. they seemed to bulk suddenly, to grow huge and menacing. their gleaming teeth snapped in his face. he could fancy these teeth stripping the flesh from his body, gnawing at his bones with drooling jaws. violently he shuddered. he must try to free himself, so that at least he could fight. grimly the worm had done his work, but he had hardly reckoned on the strength of this man. with a vast throe of fear locasto tried to free himself. tenser, tenser grew the thongs; they strained, they bit into his flesh, but they would not break. yet as he relaxed it seemed to him they were less tight. then he rested for another effort. once again the gaunt, grey bitch was crawling up. he remembered how often he had starved it, clubbed it until it could barely stand. now it was going to get even. it would snap at his throat, rip out his windpipe, bury its fangs in his bleeding flesh. he cursed it in the old way. with a spring it backed out again and stood with the others. he made another giant effort. once again he felt the thongs strain and strain; then, when he ceased, he imagined they were still looser. the dogs seemed to have lost all fear. they stood in a circle within a few feet of him, regarding him intently. they smelled the blood on his head, and a slaver ran from their jaws. again he cursed them, but this time they did not move. they seemed to realise he could not harm them. with their evilly-slanted eyes they watched his struggles. strange, wise, uncanny brutes, they were biding their time, waiting to rush in on him, to rend him. again he tried to get free. now he fancied he could move his arm a little. he must hurry, for every instant the malamutes were growing bolder. another strain and a wrench. ha! he was able to squeeze his right arm from under the rawhide. he felt the foul breath of the dogs on his face, and quickly he struck at them. they jumped back, then, as if at a signal, they sprang in again. there was no time to lose. they were attacking him in earnest. quickly he wrenched out his other arm. he was just in time, for the dogs were upon him. he struggled to his knees and shielded his head with his arms. wildly he swung at the nearest dog. full on the face he struck it, and it shot back as if hit by a bullet. but the others were on him. they had him down, snarling and ripping, a mad ferment of fury. two of them were making for his face. as he lay on his back he gripped each by the throat. his hands were torn and bleeding, but he had them fast. in his grip of steel they struggled to free themselves in vain. they backed, they writhed, they twisted in a bow. with his huge hands he was choking them, choking them to death, using them as a shield against the other three. then slowly he worked himself into a sitting position. he hurled one of the dogs to the tent door. he swung bludgeon blows at the others. they fled yelping and howling. he still held the mackenzie river bitch. getting his knee on her body, he bent her almost into a circle, bent her till her back broke with a snap. then he rose and freed himself from the remaining thongs. he was torn and cut and bleeding, but he had triumphed. "oh, the devil!" he growled, grinding his teeth. "he would have me chewed to rags by malamutes." he stared around. "he's taken everything, the scum! left me to starve. ha! one thing he's forgotten--the matches. at least i can keep warm." he picked up the canister of matches and relit the stove. "i'll kill him for this," he muttered. "night and day i'll follow him. i'll camp on his trail till i find him. then--i'll torture him; i'll strip him and leave him naked in the snow." he slipped into his snowshoes, gave a last look around to see that no food had been left, and with a final growl of fury he started in pursuit. * * * * * ahead of him, ploughing their way through the virgin snow, he could see the dragging track of the long snowshoes. he examined it, and noted that it was sharp and crisp at the edges. "he's got a good five hours' start of me! travelling fast, too, by the length of the track." he had a thought of capturing the dogs and hitching them up; but, thoroughly terrified, they had retreated into the woods. to overtake this man, to glut his lust for revenge, he must depend on his own strength and endurance. "now, jack locasto," he told himself grimly, "you've got a fight on your hands, such a fight as you never had before. get right down to it." so, with head bowed and shoulders sloping forward, he darted on the track of the worm. "he's got to break trail, the viper! and that's where i score. i can make twice the time. oh, just wait, you little devil! just wait!" he ground his teeth vindictively, and put an inch more onto his stride. he was descending a long, open valley that seemed from its trackless snows to have been immemorially life-shunned and accursed. black, witch-like pines sentinelled its flanks, and accentuated its desolation. and over all there was the silence of the wild, that double-strong solution of silence from which all other silences are distilled, and spread out. yet, as he gazed around him in this everlasting solitude, there was no fear in his heart. "i can fight this accursed land and beat it out every time," he exulted. "it can't get any the better of me." it was cold, so cold that it was difficult to imagine it could ever be warm again. to expose flesh was to feel instantly the sharp sting that heralds frostbite. as he ran, the sharp intake of icy air made his lungs seem to contract. his eyes smarted and tingled. the lashes froze closely. ice formed in his nostrils and his nose began to bleed. he pulled up a moment. "curse this infernal country!" he had not eaten and the icy air begot a ravenous hunger. he dreamed of food, but chiefly of bacon, fat, greasy bacon. how glorious it would be just to eat of it, raw, tallow bacon! he had nothing to eat. he would have nothing till he had overtaken the worm. on! on! he came to where the worm had made a camp. there were the ashes of a fire. "curse him; he's got some matches after all," he said with bitter chagrin. eagerly he searched all around in the snow to see if he could not find even a crumb of food. there was nothing. he pushed on. night fell and he was forced to make camp. oh, he was hungry! the night was vastly resplendent, a spendthrift night scattering everywhere its largess of stars. the cold had a crystalline quality and the trees detonated strangely in the silence. he built a huge fire: that at least he could have, and through eighteen hours of darkness he crouched by it, afraid to sleep for fear of freezing. "if i only had a tin to boil water in," he muttered; "there's lots of reindeer moss, and i could stew some of my mucklucks. ah! i'll try and roast a bit of them." he cut a strip from the indian boots he was wearing, and held it over the fire. the hair singed away and the corners crisped and charred. he put it in his mouth. it was pleasantly warm, but even his strong teeth refused to meet in it. however, he tore it into smaller pieces, and bolted them. at last the dawn came, that evil, sneaking, corpse-like dawn, and locasto flung himself once more on the trail. he was not feeling so fit now. hunger and loss of blood had weakened him so that his stride insensibly shortened, and his step had lost its spring. however, he plodded on doggedly, an incarnation of vengeance and hate. again he examined the snowshoe trail ever stretching in front, and noticed how crisped and hard was its edge. he was not making the time he had reckoned on. the worm must be a long way ahead. still he did not despair. the little man might rest a day, or oversleep, or strain a sinew, then-- locasto pictured with gloating joy the terror of the worm as he awoke to find himself overtaken. oh, the snake! the vermin! on! on! beyond a doubt he was growing weaker. once or twice he stumbled, and the last time he lay a few moments before rising. he wanted to rest badly. the cold was keener than ever; it was merciless; it was excruciating. he no longer had the vitality to withstand it. it stabbed and stung him whenever he exposed bare flesh. he pulled the parka hood very close, so that only his eyes peered out. so he moved through the desolation of the arctic wild, a dark, muffled figure, a demon of vengeance, fierce and menacing. he stood on a vast, still plateau. the sky was like a great grotto of ice. the land lay in a wan apathy of suffering, dumb, hopeless, drear. icy land and icy sky met in a trap, a trap that held him fast; and over all, vast, titanic, terrible, the spirit of the wild seemed to brood. it laughed at him, a laugh of derision, of mockery, of callous gloating triumph. locasto shuddered. then night came and he built another giant fire. again he bolted down some roasted muckluck. overhead the stars glittered vindictively. they were green and blue and red, and they had spiny rays like starfish on which they danced. this night he had to make tremendous efforts to keep from sleeping. several times he drowsed forward, and almost fell into the fire. as he crouched there his beard was singeing and his face scorched, but his back seemed as if it was cased in ice. often he would turn and warm it at the fire, but not for long. he hated to face the terror of the silence and the dark, the shadow where waited death. better the crackling cheer of the spruce flame. at dawn the sky was leaden and the cold less despotic. stretching interminably ahead was that lonely snowshoe trail. locasto was puzzled. "where in creation is the little devil going to, anyway?" he said, knitting his brows. "i figured he'd make direct for dawson, but he's either changed his mind or got a wrong steer. by heavens, that's it--the little varmint's lost his way." locasto had an indian's unerring sense of location. "i guess i can't afford to follow him any more," he reflected. "i've gone too far already. i'm all petered out. i'll have to let him go in the meantime. it's save yourself, jack locasto, while there's yet time. me for dawson." he struck off almost at right angles to the trail he had been following, over a low range of hills. it was evil going, and as he broke through the snow-crust mile after wearing mile, he felt himself grow weaker and weaker. "buck up, old man," he adjured himself fiercely. "you've got to fight, fight." there was a strange stillness in the air, not the natural stillness of the wild, but an unhealthy one, as of a suspension of something, of a vacuum, of bated breath. it was curiously full of terror. more and more he felt like a trapped animal, caught in a vast cage. the sky to the north was glooming ominously. every second the horizon grew blacker, more bodeful, and locasto stared at it, with a sudden quake at his heart. "blizzard, by thunder!" he gasped. was that a breath of wind that stung his cheek? was it a snowflake that drifted along with it? denser and denser grew the gloom, and now there was a roaring as of a great wind. king blizzard was come. "i guess i'm done for," he hissed through clenched teeth. "but i'll fight to the finish. i'll die game." chapter xi it was on him now with a swoop and a roar. he was in the thick of a mud-grey darkness, a bitter, blank darkness full of whirling wind-eddies and vast flurries of snow. he could not see more than a few feet before him. the stinging flakes blinded him; the coal-black night engulfed him. in that seething turmoil of the elements he was as helpless as a child. "i guess you're on your last trail, jack locasto," he muttered grimly. nevertheless he lowered his head and butted desperately into the heart of the storm. he was very faint from lack of food, but despair had given him a new strength, and he plunged through drift and flurry with the fury of a goaded bull. the night had fallen black as the pit. he was in an immensity of darkness, a darkness that packed close up to him, and hugged him, and enfolded him like a blanket. and in the black void winds were raging with an insane fury, whirling aloft mountains of snow and hurling them along plain and valley. the forests shrieked in fear; the creatures of the wild cowered in their lairs, but the solitary man stumbled on and on. as if by magic barriers of snow piled up before him, and almost to his shoulders he floundered through them. the wind had a hatchet edge that pierced his clothes and hacked him viciously. he knew his only plan was to keep moving, to stumble, stagger on. it was a fight for life. he had forgotten his hunger. those wild visions of gluttony had gone from him. he had forgotten his thirst for revenge, forgotten everything but his own dire peril. "keep moving, keep moving for god's sake," he urged himself hoarsely. "you'll freeze if you let up a moment. don't let up, don't!" but oh, how hard it was not to rest! every muscle in his body seemed to beg and pray for rest, yet the spirit in him drove them to work anew. he was making a certain mad headway, travelling, always travelling. he doubted not he was doomed, but instinct made him fight on as long as an atom of strength remained. he floundered to his armpits in a snowdrift. he struggled out and staggered on once more. in the mad buffoonery of that cutting wind he scarce could stand upright. his parka was frozen stiff as a board. he could feel his hands grow numb in his mits. from his fingers the icy cold crept up and up. long since he had lost all sensation in his feet. from the ankles down they were like wooden clogs. he had an idea they were frozen. he lifted them, and watched them sink and disappear in the clinging snow. he beat his numb hands against his breast. it was of no use--he could not get back the feeling in them. a craving to lie down in the snow assailed him. life was so sweet. he had visions of cities, of banquets, of theatres, of glittering triumphs, of glorious excitements, of women he had loved, conquered and thrown aside. never again would he see that world. he would die here, and they would find him rigid and brittle, frozen so hard they would have to thaw him out before they buried him. he fancied he saw himself frozen in a grotesque position. there would be ice-crystals in the very centre of his heart, that heart that had glowed so fiercely with the lust of life. yes, life was sweet. a vast self-pity surged over him. well, he had done his best; he could struggle no more. but struggle he did, another hour, two hours, three hours. where was he going? maybe round in a circle. he was like an automaton now. he did not think any more, he just kept moving. his feet clumped up and down. he lifted himself out of snowpits; he staggered a few steps, fell, crawled on all fours in the darkness, then in a lull of the furious wind rose once more to his feet. the night was abysmal; closer and closer it hugged him. the wind was charging him from all points, baffling him like a merry monster, beating him down. the snow whirled around him in a narrow eddy, and he tried to grope out of it and failed. oh, he was tired, tired! he must give up. it was too bad. he was so strong, and capable of so much for good or bad. alas! it had been all for bad. oh, if he had but another chance he might make his life tell a different tale! well, he wasn't going to whine or cower. he would die game. his feet were frozen; his arms were frozen. here he would lie down and--quit. it would soon be over, and it was a pleasant death, they said. one more look he gave through the writhing horror of the darkness; one more look before he closed his eyes to the horror of the greater darkness.... ha! what was that? he fancied he saw a dim glow just ahead. it could not be. it was one of those cheating dreams that came to a dying man, an illusion, a mockery. he closed his eyes. then he opened them again--the glow was still there. surely it must be real! it was steady. as he fell forward it seemed to grow more bright. on hands and knees he crawled to it. brighter and brighter it grew. it was but a few feet away. oh, god! could it be? then there was a lull in the storm, and with a final plunge locasto fell forward, fell towards a lamp lighted in a window, fell against the closed door of a little cabin. * * * * * the worm suffered acutely from the intense cold. he cursed it in his prolific and exhaustive way. he cursed the leaden weight of his snowshoes, and the thongs that chafed his feet. he cursed the pack he carried on his back, which momently grew heavier. he cursed the country; then, after a general debauch of obscenity, he decided it was time to feed. he gathered some dry twigs and built a fire on the snow. he hurried, for the freezing process was going on in his carcase, and he was afraid. it was all ready. now to light it--the matches. where in hell were the matches? surely he could not have left them at the camp. with feverish haste he overturned his pack. no, they were not there. could he have dropped them on the trail? he had a wild idea of going back. then he thought of locasto lying in the tent. he could never face that. but he must have a fire. he was freezing to death--right now. already his fingers were tingling and stiffening. huh! maybe he had some matches in his pockets. no--yes, he had--one, two, three, four, five, that was all. five slim sulphur matches, part of a block, and jammed in a corner of his waistcoat pocket. eagerly he lit one. the twigs caught. the flame leapt up. oh it was good! he had a fire, a fire. he made tea, and ate some bread and meat. then he felt his strength and courage return. he had four matches left. four matches meant four fires. that would mean four more days' travel. by that time he would have reached the dawson country. that night he made a huge blaze, chopping down several trees and setting them alight. there, lying in his sleeping-bag, he rested well. in the early dawn he was afoot once more. was there ever such an atrocious soul-freezing cold! he cursed it with every breath he drew. at noon he felt a vast temptation to make another fire, but he refrained. then that night he had bad luck, for one of his precious matches proved little more than a sliver tipped with the shadow of pink. in spite of his efforts it was abortive, and he was compelled to use another. he was down to his last match. well, he must travel extra hard. so next day in a panic of fear he covered a vast stretch of country. he must be getting near to one of the gold creeks. as he surmounted the crest of every ridge he expected to see the blue smoke of cabin fires, yet always was there the same empty desolation. then night came and he prepared to camp. once more he chopped down some trees and piled them in a heap. he was very hungry, very cold, very tired. what a glorious blaze he would soon have! how gallantly the flames would leap and soar! he collected some dry moss and twigs. never had he felt the cold so bitter. it was growing dusk. above him the sky had a corpse-like glimmer, and on the snow strange bale-fires glinted. it was a weird, sardonic light that waited, keeping tryst with darkness. he shuddered and his fingers trembled. then ever so carefully he drew forth that most precious of things, the last match. he must hurry; his fingers were tingling, freezing, stiffening fast. he would lie down on the snow, and strike it quickly.... "o god!" from his numb fingers the slim little match had dropped. there it lay on the snow. gingerly he picked it up, with a wild hope that it would be all right. he struck it, but it doubled up. again he struck it: the head came off--he was lost. he fell forward on his face. his hands were numb, dead. he lay supported by his elbows, his eyes gazing blankly at the unlit fire. five minutes passed; he did not rise. he seemed dazed, stupid, terror-stricken. five more minutes passed. he did not move. he seemed to stiffen, to grow rigid, and the darkness gathered around him. a thought came to his mind that he would straighten out, so that when they found him he would be in good shape to fit in a coffin. he did not want them to break his legs and arms. yes, he would straighten out. he tried--but he could not, so he let it go at that. over him the wild seemed to laugh, a laugh of scorn, of mockery, of exquisite malice. and there in fifteen minutes the cold slew him. when they found him he lay resting on his elbows and gazing with blank eyes of horror at his unlit fire. chapter xii "it's a beast of a night," said the halfbreed. he and i were paying a visit to jim in the cabin he had built on ophir. jim was busy making ready for his hydraulic work of the coming spring, and once in a while we took a run up to see him. i was much worried about the old man. he was no longer the cheerful, optimistic jim of the trail. he had taken to living alone. he had become grim and taciturn. he cared only for his work, and, while he read his bible more than ever, it was with a growing fondness for the stern old prophets. there was no doubt the north was affecting him strangely. "lord! don't it blow? seems as if the wind had a spite against us, wanted to put us out of business. it minds me of the blizzards we have in the northwest, only it seems ten times worse." the halfbreed went on to tell us of snowstorms he had known, while huddled round the stove we listened to the monstrous uproar of the gale. "why don't you chink your cabin better, jim?" i asked; "the snow's sifting through in spots." he shoved more wood into the stove, till it glowed to a dull red, starred with little sparks that came and went. "snow with that wind would sift through a concrete wall," he said. "it's part an' parcel of the awful land. i tell you there's a curse on this country. long, long ago godless people have lived in it, lived an' sinned an' perished. an' for its wickedness in the past the lord has put his everlasting curse on it." sharply i looked at him. his eyes were staring. his face was drawn into a knot of despair. he sat down and fell into a mood of gloomy silence. how the storm was howling! the half breed smoked his cigarette stolidly, while i listened and shuddered, mightily thankful that i was so safe and warm. "say, i wonder if there's any one out in this bedlam of a night?" "if there is, god help him," said the halfbreed. "he'll last about as long as a snowball in hell." "yes, fancy wandering round out there, dazed and desperate; fancy the wind knocking you down and heaping the snow on you; fancy going on and on in the darkness till you freeze stiff. ugh!" again i shuddered. then, as the other two sat in silence, my mind strayed to other things. chiefly i thought of berna, all alone in dawson. i longed to be back with her again. i thought of locasto. where in his wild wanderings had he got to? i thought of glengyle and garry. how had he fared after mother died? why did he not marry? once a week i got a letter from him, full of affection and always urging me to come home. in my letters i had never mentioned berna. there was time enough for that. lord! a terrific gust of wind shook the cabin. it howled and screamed insanely through the heaving night. then there came a lull, a strange, deep lull, deathlike after the mighty blast. and in the sudden quiet it seemed to me i heard a hollow cry. "hist! what was that?" whispered the halfbreed. jim, too, was listening intently. "seems to me i heard a moan." "sounded like the cry of an outcast soul. maybe it's the spirit of some poor devil that's lost away out in the night. i hate to open the door for nothing. it will make the place like an ice-house." once more we listened intently, holding our breath. there it was again, a low, faint moan. "it's some one outside," gasped the halfbreed. horror-stricken, we stared at each other, then he rushed to the door. a great gust of wind came in on us. "hurry up, you fellows," he cried; "lend a hand. i think it's a man." frantically we pulled it in, an unconscious form that struck a strange chill to our hearts. anxiously we bent over it. "he's not dead," said the halfbreed, "only badly frozen, hands and feet and face. don't take him near the fire." he had been peering inside the parka hood and suddenly he turned to me. "well, i'm darned--it's locasto." locasto! i shrank back and stood there staring blankly. locasto! all the old hate resurged into my heart. many a time had i wished him dead; and even dying, never could i have forgiven him. as i would have shrank from a reptile, i drew back. "no, no," i said hoarsely, "i won't touch him. curse him! curse him! he can die." "come on there," said jim fiercely. "you wouldn't let a man die, would you? there's the brand of a dog on you if you do. you'll be little better than a murderer. it don't matter what wrong he's done you, it's your duty as a man to help him. he's only a human soul, an' he's like to die anyway. come on. get these mits off his hands." mechanically i obeyed him. i was dazed. it was as if i was impelled by a stronger will than my own. i began pulling off the mits. the man's hands were white as putty. i slit the sleeves and saw that the awful whiteness went clear up the arm. it was horrible. jim and the halfbreed had cut open his mucklucks and taken off his socks, and there stretched out were two naked limbs, clay-white almost to the knees. never did i see anything so ghastly. tearing off his clothing we laid him on the bed, and forced some brandy between his lips. at last heat was beginning to come back to the frozen frame. he moaned, and opened his eyes in a wild gaze. he did not know us. he was still fighting the blizzard. he raised himself up. "keep a-going, keep a-going," he panted. "keep that bucket a-going," said the halfbreed. "thank god, we've got plenty of ice-water. we've got to thaw him out." then for this man began a night of agony, such as few have endured. we lifted him onto a chair and put one of those clay-cold feet into the water. at the contact he screamed, and i could see ice crystallise on the edge of the bucket. i had forgotten my hatred of the man. i only thought of those frozen hands and feet, and how to get life into them once more. our struggle began. "the blood's beginning to circulate back," said the halfbreed. "i guess that water feels scalding hot to him right now. we'll have to hold him down presently. ugh--hold on, boys, for all you're worth." he had not warned us any too soon. in a terrible spasm of agony locasto threw us off quickly. we grasped him again. now we were struggling with him. he fought like a demon. he was cursing us, praying us to leave him alone, raving, shrieking. grimly we held on, yet, all three, it was as much as we could do to keep him down. "one would think we were murdering him," said the halfbreed. "keep his foot in the bucket there. i wish we'd some kind of dope to give him. there's boiling lead running through his veins right now. keep him down, boys; keep him down." it was hard, but keep him down we did; though his cries of anguish deafened us through that awful night, and our muscles knotted as we gripped. hour after hour we held him, plunging now a hand, now a foot in the ice-water, and holding it there. how long he fought! how strong he was! but the time came when he could fight no more. he was like a child in our hands. there, at last it was done. we wrapped the tender flesh in pieces of blanket. we laid him moaning on the bed. then, tired out with our long struggle, we threw ourselves down and slept like logs. next morning he was still unconscious. he suffered intense pain, so that jim or the halfbreed had to be ever by him. i, for my part, refused to go near. indeed, i watched with a growing hatred his slow recovery. i was sorry, sorry. i wished he had died. at last he opened his eyes, and feebly he asked where he was. after the halfbreed had told him, he lay silent awhile. "i've had a close call," he groaned. then he went on triumphantly: "i guess the wild hasn't got the bulge on me yet. i can give it another round." he began to pick up rapidly, and there in that narrow cabin i sat within a few feet of him, and beheld him grow strong again. i suppose my face must have showed my bitter hate, for often i saw him watching me through half-closed eyes, as if he realised my feelings. then a sneering smile would curve his lips, a smile of satanic mockery. again and again i thought of berna. fear and loathing convulsed me, and at times a great rage burned in me so that i was like to kill him. "seems to me everything's healing up but that hand," said the halfbreed. "i guess it's too far gone. gangrene's setting in. say, locasto, looks like you'll have to lose it." locasto had been favouring me with a particularly sardonic look, but at these words the sneer was wiped out, and horror crowded into his eyes. "lose my hand--don't tell me that! kill me at once! i don't want to be maimed. lose my hand! oh, that's terrible! terrible!" he gazed at the discoloured flesh. already the stench of him was making us sick, but this hand with its putrid tissues was disgusting to a degree. "yes," said the halfbreed, "there's the line of the gangrene, and it's spreading. soon mortification will extend all up your arm, then you'll die of blood poison. locasto, better let me take off that hand. i've done jobs like that before. i'm a handy man, i am. come, let me take it off." "heavens! you're a cold-blooded butcher. you're going to kill me, between you all. you're in a plot leagued against me, and that long-faced fool over there's at the bottom of it. damn you, then, go on and do what you want." "you're not very grateful," said the halfbreed. "all right, lie there and rot." at his words locasto changed his tune. he became alarmed to the point of terror. he knew the hand was doomed. he lay staring at it, staring, staring. then he sighed, and thrust its loathsomeness into our faces. "come on," he growled. "do something for me, you devils, or i'll do it myself." * * * * * the hour of the operation was at hand. the halfbreed got his jack-knife ready. he had filed the edge till it was like a rough saw. he cut the skin of the wrist just above the gangrene line, and raised it up an inch or so. it was here locasto showed wonderful nerve. he took a large bite of tobacco and chewed steadily, while his keen black eyes watched every move of the knife. "hurry up and get the cursed thing off," he snarled. the halfbreed nicked the flesh down to the bone, then with the ragged jack-knife he began to saw. i could not bear to look. it made me deathly sick. i heard the grit, grit of the jagged blade. i will remember the sound to my dying day. how long it seemed to take! no man could stand such torture. a groan burst from locasto's lips. he fell back on the bed. his jaws no longer worked, and a thin stream of brown saliva trickled down his chin. he had fainted. quickly the halfbreed finished his work. the hand dropped on the floor. he pulled down the flaps of skin and sewed them together. "how's that for home-made surgery?" he chuckled. he was vastly proud of his achievement. he took the severed hand upon a shovel and, going to the door, he threw it far out into the darkness. chapter xiii "why don't you go outside?" i asked of the jam-wagon. i had rescued him from one of his periodical plunges into the cesspool of debauch, and he was peaked, pallid, penitent. listlessly he stared at me a long moment, the dull, hollow-eyed stare of the recently regenerate. "well," he said at last, "i think i stay for the same reason many another man stays--pride. i feel that the yukon owes me one of two things, a stake or a grave--and she's going to pay." "seems to me, the way you're shaping you're more liable to get the latter." "yes--well, that'll be all right." "look here," i remonstrated, "don't be a rotter. you're a man, a splendid one. you might do anything, be anything. for heaven's sake stop slipping cogs, and get into the game." his thin, handsome face hardened bitterly. "i don't know. sometimes i think i'm not fit to play the game; sometimes i wonder if it's all worth while; sometimes i'm half inclined to end it." "oh, don't talk nonsense." "i'm not; i mean it, every word. i don't often speak of myself. it doesn't matter who i am, or what i've been. i've gone through a lot--more than most men. for years i've been a sort of a human derelict, drifting from port to port of the seven seas. i've sprawled in their mire; i've eaten of their filth; i've wallowed in their moist, barbaric slime. time and time again i've gone to the mat, but somehow i would never take the count. something's always saved me at the last." "your guardian angel." "maybe. somehow i wouldn't be utterly downed. i'm a bit of a fighter, and every day's been a battle with me. oh, you don't know, you can't believe how i suffer! often i pray, and my prayer always is: 'o dear god, don't allow me to _think_. lash me with thy wrath; heap burdens on me, but don't let me _think_.' they say there's a hell hereafter. they lie: it's here, now." i was astonished at his vehemence. his face was wrenched with pain, and his eyes full of remorseful misery. "what about your friends?" "oh, them--i died long ago, died in the early ' 's. in a little french graveyard there's a tombstone that bears my name, my real name, the name of the 'me' that was. heart, soul and body, i died. my sisters mourned me, my friends muttered, 'poor devil.' a few women cried, and a girl--well, i mustn't speak of that. it's all over long ago; but i must eternally do something, fight, drink, work like the devil--anything but think. i mustn't _think_." "what about your guardian angel?" "yes, sometimes i think he's going to give me another chance. this is no life for a man like me, slaving in the drift, burning myself up in the dissipation of the town. a great, glad fight with a good sweet woman to fight for--that would save me. oh, to get away from it all, get a clean start!" "well, i believe in you. i'm sure you'll be all right. let me lend you the money." "thank you, a thousand thanks; but i cannot take it. there it is again--my pride. maybe i'm all wrong. maybe i'm a lost soul, and my goal's the potter's field. no; thanks! in a day or two i'll be fighting-fit again. i wouldn't have bored you with this talk, but i'm weak, and my nerve's gone." "how much money have you got?" i asked. he pulled a poor piece of silver from his pocket. "enough to do me till i join the pick-and-shovel gang." "what are those tickets in your hand?" he laughed carelessly. "chances in the ice pools. funny thing, i don't remember buying them. must have been drunk." "yes, and you seem to have had a 'hunch.' you've got the same time on all three: seven seconds, seven minutes past one, on the ninth--that's to-day. it's noon now. that old ice will have to hurry up if you're going to win. fancy, if you did! you'd clean up over three thousand dollars. there would be your new start." "yes, fancy," he echoed mockingly. "over five thousand betting, and the guesses as close as peas in a pod." "well, the ice may go out any moment. it's awful rotten." with a curious fascination, we gazed down at the mighty river. around us was a glow of spring sunshine, above us the renaissance of blue skies. rags of snow still glimmered on the hills, and the brown earth, as if ashamed of its nakedness, was bursting greenly forth. on the slope overlooking the klondike, girls in white dresses were gathering the wild crocus. all was warmth, colour, awakening life. surely the river ice could not hold much longer. it was patchy, netted with cracks, heaved up in ridges, mottled with slushy pools, corroded to the bottom. decidedly it was rotten, rotten. still it held stubbornly. the klondike hammered it with mighty bergs, black and heavy as a house. down the swift current they sped, crashing, grinding, roaring, to batter into the unbroken armour of the yukon. and along its banks, watching even as we watched, were thousands of others. on every lip was the question--"the ice--when will it go out?" for to these exiles of the north, after eight months of isolation, the sight of open water would be like heaven. it would mean boats, freedom, friendly faces, and a step nearer to that "outside" of their dreams. towards the centre of the vast mass of ice that belted in the city was a post, and on this lonely post thousands of eyes were constantly turning. for an electric wire connected it with the town, so that when it moved down a certain distance a clock would register the exact moment. thus, thousands gazing at that solitary post thought of the bets they had made, and wondered if this year they would be the lucky ones. it is a unique incident in dawson life, this gambling on the ice. there are dozens of pools, large and small, and both men and women take part in the betting, with an eagerness and excitement that is almost childish. i sat on a bench on the n. c. trail overlooking the town, and watched the jam-wagon crawl down the hill to his cabin. poor fellow! how drawn and white was his face, and his long, clean frame--how gaunt and weary! i felt sorry for him. what would become of him? he was a splendid "misfit." if he only had another chance! somehow i believed in him, and fervently i hoped he would have that good clean start again. up in the cold remoteness of the north are many of his kind--the black sheep, the undesirables, the discards of the pack. their lips are sealed; their eyes are cold as glaciers, and often they drink deep. oh, they are a mighty company, the men you don't enquire about; but it is the code of the north to take them as you find them, so they go their way unregarded. how clear the air was! it was like looking through a crystal lens--every leaf seemed to stand out vividly. sounds came up to me with marvellous distinctness. summer was coming, and with it the assurance of a new peace. down there i could see our home, and on its veranda, hammock-swung, the white figure of berna. how precious she was to me! how anxiously i watched over her! a look, a word meant more to me than volumes. if she was happy i was full of joy; if she was sad the sunshine paled, the flowers drooped, there was no gladness in the day. often as she slept i watched her, marvelling at the fine perfection of her face. always was she an object of wonder to me--something to be adored, to demand all that was fine and high in me. yet sometimes it was the very intensity of my love that made me fear; so that in the ecstasy of a moment i would catch my breath and wonder if it all could last. and always the memory of locasto was a sinister shadow. he had gone "outside," terribly broken in health, gone cursing me hoarsely and vowing he would return. would he? who that knows the north can ever deny its lure? wherever you be, it will call and call to you. in the sluggish south you will hear it, will long for the keen tingle of its silver days, the vaster glory of its star-strewn nights. in the city's heart it will come to you till you hunger for its big, clean spaces, its racing rivers, its purple tundras. in the homes of the rich its voice will seek you out, and you will ache for your lonely camp-fire, a sunset splendouring to golden death, the night where the silence clutches and the heavens vomit forth white fire. yes, you will hear it, and hear it, till a madness comes over you, till you leave the crawling men of the sticky pavements to seek it out once more, the sapphire of its lustrous lakes, the white yearning of its peaks to the myriad stars. then, as a child comes home, will you come home. and i knew that some day to the land wherein he had reigned a conqueror, locasto, too, would return. as i looked down on the grey town, the wonder of its growth came over me. how changed from the muddle of tents and cabins, the boat-lined river, the swarming hordes of the argonauts! where was the niggerhead swamp, the mud, the unrest, the mad fever of ' ? i looked for these things and saw in their stead fine residences, trim gardens, well-kept streets. i almost rubbed my eyes as i realised the magic of the transformation. and great as was the city's outward change, its change of spirit was still greater. the day of dance-hall domination was over. vice walked very circumspectly. no longer was it possible on the street to speak to a lady of easy virtue without causing comment. the demireps of the deadline had been banished over the klondike, where, in a colony reached by a crazy rope bridge, their red lights gleamed like semaphores of sin. the dance-halls were still running, but the picturesque impunity of the old muckluck days was gone forever. you looked in vain for the crude scenes where the wilder passions were unleashed, and human nature revealed itself in primal nakedness. heroism, brutality, splendid achievement, unbridled license, the north seems to bring out all that is best and worst in a man. it breeds an exuberant vitality, a madness for action, whether it be for good or evil. in the town, too, life was becoming a thing of more sober hues. sick of slipshod morality, men were sending for their wives and children. the old ideals of home and love and social purity were triumphing. with the advent of the good woman, the dance-hall girl was doomed. the city was finding itself. society divided into sets. the more pretentious were called ping-pongs, while a majority rejoiced in the name of rough-necks. the post-office abuses were remedied, the grafters ousted from the government offices. rapidly the gold-camp was becoming modernised. yes, its spectacular days were over. no more would the "live one" disport himself in his wild and woolly glory. the delirium of ' was fast becoming a memory. the leading actors in that fateful drama--where were they? dead: some by their own hands; down and out many, drivelling sottishly of by-gone days; poor prospectors a few, dreaming of a new gold strike. and, as i think of it, it comes over me that the thing is vastly tragic. where are they now, these klondike kings, these givers of champagne baths, these plungers of the gold-camp? how many of those that stood out in the limelight of ' can tell the tale to-day? ladue is dead, leaving little behind. big alec macdonald, after lavishing a dozen fortunes on his friends, dies at last, almost friendless and alone. nigger jim and stillwater willie--in what back slough of vicissitude do they languish to-day? dick low lies in a drunkard's grave. skookum jim would fain qualify for one. dawson charlie, reeling home from a debauch, drowns in the river. in impecunious despair, harry waugh hangs himself. charlie anderson, after squandering a fortune on a thankless wife, works for a labourer's hire. so i might go on and on. their stories would fill volumes. and as i sat on the quiet hillside, listening to the drowsy hum of the bees, the inner meaning of it all came home to me. once again the great lone land was sifting out and choosing its own. far-reaching was its vengeance, and it worked in divers ways. it fell on them, even as it had fallen on their brethren of the trail. in the guise of fortune it dealt their ruin. from the austere silence of its snows it was mocking them, beguiling them to their doom. again it was the land of the strong. before all it demanded strength, moral and physical strength. i was minded of the words of old jim, "where one wins ninety and nine will fail"; and time had proved him true. the great, grim land was weeding out the unfit, was rewarding those who could understand it, the faithful brotherhood of the high north. full of such thoughts as these, i raised my eyes and looked down the river towards the moosehide bluffs. hullo! there, just below the town, was a great sheet of water, and even as i watched i saw it spread and spread. people were shouting, running from their houses, speeding to the beach. i was conscious of a thrill of excitement. ever widening was the water, and now it stretched from bank to bank. it crept forward to the solitary post. now it was almost there. suddenly the post started to move. the vast ice-field was sliding forward. slowly, serenely it went, on, on. then, all at once, the steam-whistles shrilled out, the bells pealed, and from the black mob of people that lined the banks there went up an exultant cheer. "the ice is going out--the ice is going out!" i looked at my watch. could i believe my eyes? seven seconds, seven minutes past one--his "hunch" was right; his guardian angel had intervened; the jam-wagon had been given his chance to make a new start. chapter xiv the waters were wild with joy. from the mountain snows the sun had set them free. down hill and dale they sparkled, trickling from boulders, dripping from mossy crannies, rioting in narrow runlets. then, leaping and laughing in a mad ecstasy of freedom, they dashed into the dam. here was something they did not understand, some contrivance of the tyrant man to curb them, to harness them, to make them his slaves. the waters were angry. they gloomed fearsomely. as they swelled higher in the broad basin their wrath grew apace. they chafed against their prison walls, they licked and lapped at the stolid bank. higher and higher they mounted, growing stronger with every leap. more and more bitterly they fretted at their durance. behind them other waters were pressing, just as eager to escape as they. they lashed and writhed in savage spite. not much longer could these patient walls withstand their anger. something must happen. the "something" was a man. he raised the floodgate, and there at last was a way of escape. how joyously the eager waters rushed at it! they tumbled and tossed in their mad hurry to get out. they surged and swept and roared about the narrow opening. but what was this? they had come on a wooden box that streaked down the slope as straight as an arrow from the bow. it was some other scheme of the tyrant man. nevertheless, they jostled and jammed to get into it. on its brink they poised a moment, then down, down they dashed. like a cataract they rushed, ever and ever growing faster. ho! this was motion now, this was action, strength, power. as they shot down that steep hill they shrieked for very joy. freedom, freedom at last! no more trickling feebly from snowbanks; no more boring devious channels in oozy clay, no more stagnating in sullen dams. they were alive, alive, swift, intense, terrific. they gloried in their might. they roared the raucous song of freedom, and faster and faster they charged. like a stampede of maddened horses they thundered on. what power on earth could stop them? "we must be free! we must be free!" they cried. suddenly they saw ahead the black hole of a great pipe, a hollow shard of steel. prison-like it looked, again some contrivance of the tyrant man. they would fain have overleapt it, but it was too late. countless other waters were behind them, forcing them forward with irresistible power. and, faster and faster still, they crashed into the shard of steel. they were trapped, atrociously trapped, cabined, confined, rammed forward by a vast and remorseless pressure. yet there was escape just ahead. it was a tiny point of light, an outlet. they must squeeze through it. they were crushed and pinioned in that prison of steel, and mightily they tried to burst it. no! there was only that orifice; they must pass through it. then with that great force behind them, tortured, maddened, desperate, the waters crashed through the shard of steel, to serve the will of man. the man stood by his water-gun and from its nozzle, the gleaming terror leapt. at first it was only a slim volley of light, compact and solid as a shaft of steel. to pierce it would have splintered to pieces the sharpest sword. it was a core of water, round, glistening and smooth, yet in its mighty power it was a monster of destruction. the man was directing it here and there on the face of the hill. it flew like an arrow from the bow, and wherever he aimed it the hillside seemed to reel and shudder at the shock. great cataracts of gravel shot out, avalanches of clay toppled over; vast boulders were hurled into the air like heaps of fleecy wool. yes, the waters were mad. they were like an angry bull that gored the hillside. it seemed to melt and dissolve before them. nothing could withstand that assault. in a few minutes they would reduce the stoutest stronghold to a heap of pitiful ruins. there, where the waters shot forth in their fury, stood their conqueror. he was one man, yet he was doing the work of a hundred. as he battered at that bank of clay he exulted in his power. a little turn of the wrist and a huge mass of gravel crumbled into nothingness. he bored deep holes in the frozen muck, he hammered his way down to bed rock, he swept it clean as a floor. there, with the solid force of a battering-ram, he pounded at the heart of the hill. the roar deafened him. he heard the crash of falling rock, but he was so intent on his work he did not hear another man approach. suddenly he looked up and saw. he gave a mighty start, then at once he was calm again. this was the meeting he had dreaded, longed for, fought against, desired. primordial emotions surged within him, but outwardly he gave no sign. almost savagely, and with a curious blaze in his eyes he redirected the little giant. he waved his hand to the other man. "go away!" he shouted. mosher refused to budge. the generous living of dawson had made him pursy, almost porcine. his pig eyes glittered, and he took off his hat to wipe some beads of sweat from the monumental baldness of his forehead. he caressed his coal-black beard with a podgy hand on which a large diamond sparkled. his manner was arrogance personified. he seemed to say, "i'll make this man dance to my music." his rich, penetrating voice pierced through the roar of the "giant." "here, turn off your water. i want to speak to you. got a business proposition to make." still jim was dumb. mosher came close to him and shouted into his ear. the two men were very calm. "say, your wife's in town. been there for the last year. didn't you know it?" jim shook his head. he was particularly interested in his work just then. there was a great saddle of clay, and he scooped it up magically. "yes, she's in town--living respectable." jim redirected his giant with a savage swish. "say, i'm a sort of a philant'ropic guy," went on mosher, "an' there's nothing i like better than doing the erring wife restitootion act. i think i could induce that little woman of yours to come back to you." jim gave him a swift glance, but the man went on. "to tell the truth, she's a bit stuck on me. not my fault, of course. can't help it if a girl gets daffy on me. but say, i think i could get her switched on to you if you made it worth my while. it's a business proposition." he was sneering now, frankly villainous. jim gave no sign. "what d'ye say? this is a likely bit of ground--give me a half-share in this ground, an' i'll guarantee to deliver that little piece of goods to you. there's an offer." again that smug look of generosity beamed on the man's face. once more jim motioned him to go, but mosher did not heed. he thought the gesture was a refusal. his face grew threatening. "all right, if you won't," he snarled, "look out! i know you love her still. let me tell you, i own that woman, body and soul, and i'll make life hell for her. i'll torture you through her. yes, i've got a cinch. you'd better change your mind." he had stepped back as if to go. then, whether it was an accident or not no one will ever know--but the little giant swung round till it bore on him. it lifted him up in the air. it shot him forward like a stone from a catapult. it landed him on the bank fifty feet away with a sickening crash. then, as he lay, it pounded and battered him out of all semblance of a man. the waters were having their revenge. chapter xv "there's something the matter with jim," the prodigal 'phoned to me from the forks; "he's gone off and left the cabin on ophir, taken to the hills. some prospectors have just come in and say they met him heading for the white snake valley. seemed kind of queer, they say. wouldn't talk much. they thought he was in a fair way to go crazy." "he's never been right since the accident," i answered; "we'll have to go after him." "all right. come up at once. i'll get mccrimmon. he's a good man in the woods. we'll be ready to start as soon as you arrive." so the following day found the three of us on the trail to ophir. we travelled lightly, carrying very little food, for we thought to find game in the woods. on the evening of the following day we reached the cabin. jim must have gone very suddenly. there were the remains of a meal on the table, and his bible was gone from its place. there was nothing for it but to follow and find him. "by going to the headwaters of ophir creek," said the halfbreed, "we can cross a divide into the valley of the white snake, and there we'll corral him, i guess." so we left the trail and plunged into the virgin wild. oh, but it was hard travelling! often we would keep straight up the creek-bed, plunging through pools that were knee-deep, and walking over shingly bars. then, to avoid a big bend of the stream, we would strike off through the bush. every yard seemed to have its obstacle. there were windfalls and tangled growths of bush that defied our uttermost efforts to penetrate them. there were viscid sloughs, from whose black depths bubbles arose wearily, with grey tree-roots like the legs of spiders clutching the slimy mud of their banks. there were oozy bottoms, rankly speared with rush-grass. there were leprous marshes spotted with unsightly niggerheads. dripping with sweat, we fought our way under the hot sun. thorny boughs tore at us detainingly. fallen trees delighted to bar our way. without let or cease we toiled, yet at the day's end our progress was but a meagre one. our greatest bane was the mosquitoes. night and day they never ceased to nag us. we wore veils and had gloves on our hands, so that under our armour we were able to grin defiance at them. but on the other side of that netting they buzzed in an angry grey cloud. to raise our veils and take a drink was to be assaulted ferociously. as we walked we could feel them resisting our progress, and it seemed as if we were forcing our way through solid banks of them. if we rested, they alighted in such myriads that soon we appeared literally sheathed in tiny atoms of insect life, vainly trying to pierce the mesh of our clothing. to bare a hand was to have it covered with blood in a moment, and the thought of being at their mercy was an exquisitely horrible one. night and day their voices blended in a vast drone, so that we ate, drank and slept under our veils. in that rankly growing wilderness we saw no sign of life, not even a rabbit. it was all desolate and god-forsaken. by nightfall our packs seemed very heavy, our limbs very tired. three days, four days, five days passed. the creek was attenuated and hesitating, so we left it and struck off over the mountains. soon we climbed to where the timber growth was less obstructive. the hillside was steep, almost vertical in places, and was covered with a strange, deep growth of moss. down in it we sank, in places to our knees, and beneath it we could feel the points of sharp boulders. as we climbed we plunged our hands deep into the cool cushion of the moss, and half dragged ourselves upward. it was like an oriental rug covering the stony ribs of the hill, a rug of bizarre colouring, strangely patterned in crimson and amber, in emerald and ivory. birch-trees of slim, silvery beauty arose in it, and aided us as we climbed. so we came at last, after a weary journey, to a bleak, boulder-studded plateau. it was above timber-line, and carpeted with moss of great depth and gaudy hue. suddenly we saw two vast pillars of stone upstanding on the aching barren. i think they must have been two hundred feet high, and, like monstrous sentinels in their lonely isolation, they overlooked that vast tundra. they startled us. we wondered by what strange freak of nature they were stationed there. then we dropped down into a vast, hush-filled valley, a valley that looked as if it had been undisturbed since the beginning of time. like a spirit-haunted place it was, so strange and still. it was loneliness made visible. it was stillness written in wood and stone. i would have been afraid to enter it alone, and even as we sank in its death-haunted dusk i shuddered with a horror of the place. the indians feared and shunned this valley. they said, of old, strange things had happened there; it had been full of noise and fire and steam; the earth had opened up, belching forth great dragons that destroyed the people. and indeed it was all like the vast crater of an extinct volcano, for hot springs bubbled forth and a grey ash cropped up through the shallow soil. there was no game in the valley. in its centre was a solitary lake, black and bottomless, and haunted by a giant white water-snake, sluggish, blind and very old. stray prospectors swore they had seen it, just at dusk, and its sightless, staring eyes were too terrible ever to forget. and into this still, cobweb-hued hollow we dropped--dropped almost straight down over the flanks of those lean, lank mountains that fringed it so forlornly. here, ringed all around by desolate heights, we were as remote from the world as if we were in some sallow solitude of the moon. sometimes the valley was like a gaping mouth, and the lips of it were livid grey. sometimes it was like a cup into which the sunset poured a golden wine and filled it quivering to the brim. sometimes it was like a grey grave full of silence. and here in this place of shadows, where the lichen strangled the trees, and under-foot the moss hushed the tread, where we spoke in whispers, and mirth seemed a mockery, where every stick and stone seemed eloquent of disenchantment and despair, here in this valley of dead things we found jim. he was sitting by a dying camp-fire, all huddled up, his arms embracing his knees, his eyes on the fading embers. as we drew near he did not move, did not show any surprise, did not even raise his head. his face was very pale and drawn into a pucker of pain. it was the queerest look i ever saw on a man's face. it made me creep. his eyes followed us furtively. silently we squatted in a ring round his camp-fire. for a while we said no word, then at last the prodigal spoke: "jim, you're coming back with us, aren't you?" jim looked at him. "hush!" says he, "don't speak so loud. you'll waken all them dead fellows." "what d'ye mean?" "them dead fellows. the woods is full of them, them that can't rest. they're all around, ghosts. at night, when i'm a-sittin' over the fire, they crawl out of the darkness, an' they get close to me, closer, closer, an' they whisper things. then i get scared an' i shoo them away." "what do they whisper, jim?" "oh say! they tell me all kinds of things, them fellows in the woods. they tell me of the times they used to have here in the valley; an' how they was a great people, an' had women an' slaves; how they fought an' sang an' got drunk, an' how their kingdom was here, right here where it's all death an' desolation. an' how they conquered all the other folks around an' killed the men an' captured the women. oh, it was long, long ago, long before the flood!" "well, jim, never mind them. get your pack ready. we're going home right now." "goin' home?--i've no home any more. i'm a fugitive an' a vagabond in the earth. the blood of my brother crieth unto me from the ground. from the face of the lord shall i be hid an' every one that findeth me shall slay me. i have no home but the wilderness. unto it i go with prayer an' fastin'. i have killed, i have killed!" "nonsense, jim; it was an accident." "was it? was it? god only knows; i don't. only i know the thought of murder was black in my heart. it was there for ever an' ever so long. how i fought against it! then, just at that moment, everything seemed to come to a head. i don't know that i meant what i did, but i thought it." "come home, jim, and forget it." "when the rivers start to run up them mountain peaks i'll forget it. no, they won't let me forget it, them ghosts. they whisper to me all the time. hist! don't you hear them? they're whispering to me now. 'you're a murderer, jim, a murderer,' they say. 'the brand of cain is on you, jim, the brand of cain.' then the little leaves of the trees take up the whisper, an' the waters murmur it, an' the very stones cry out ag'in me, an' i can't shut out the sound. i can't, i can't." "hush, jim!" "no, no, the devil's a-hoein' out a place in the embers for me. i can't turn no more to the lord. he's cast me out, an' the light of his countenance is darkened to me. never again; oh, never again!" "oh come, jim, for the sake of your old partners, come home." "well, boys, i'll come. but it's no good. i'm down an' out." wearily we gathered together his few belongings. he had been living on bread, and but little remained. had we not reached him, he would have starved. he came like a child, but seemed a prey to acute melancholy. it was indeed a sad party that trailed down that sad, dead valley. the trees were hung with a dreary drapery of grey, and the ashen moss muffled our footfalls. i think it was the _deadest_ place i ever saw. the very air seemed dead and stale, as if it were eternally still, unstirred by any wind. spiders and strange creeping things possessed the trees, and at every step, like white gauze, a mist of mosquitoes was thrown up. and the way seemed endless. a great weariness weighed upon our spirits. our feet flagged and our shoulders were bowed. as we looked into each other's faces we saw there a strange lassitude, a chill, grey despair. our voices sounded hollow and queer, and we seldom spoke. it was as if the place was a vampire that was sucking the life and health from our veins. "i'm afraid the old man's going to play out on us," whispered the prodigal. jim lagged forlornly behind, and it was very anxiously we watched him. he seemed to know that he was keeping us back. his efforts to keep up were pitiful. we feigned an equal weariness, not to distress him, and our progress was slow, slow. "looks as if we'll have to go on half-rations," said the halfbreed. "it's taking longer to get out of this valley than i figured on." and indeed it was like a vast prison, and those peaks that brindled in the sunset glow were like bars to hold us in. every day the old man's step was growing slower, so that at last we were barely crawling along. we were ascending the western slope of the valley, climbing a few miles a day, and every step we rose from that sump-hole of the gods was like the lifting of a weight. we were tired, tired, and in the wan light that filtered through the leaden clouds our faces were white and strained. "i guess we'll have to go on quarter-rations from now," said the halfbreed, a few days later. he ranged far and wide, looking for game, but never a sign did he see. once, indeed, we heard a shot. eagerly we waited his return, but all he had got was a great, grey owl, which we cooked and ate ravenously. chapter xvi at last, at last we had climbed over the divide, and left behind us forever the vampire valley. oh, we were glad! but other troubles were coming. soon the day came when the last of our grub ran out. i remember how solemnly we ate it. we were already more than three-parts starved, and that meal was but a mouthful. "well," said the halfbreed, "we can't be far from the yukon now. it must be the valley beyond this one. then, in a few days, we can make a raft and float down to dawson." this heartened us, so once more we took up our packs and started. jim did not move. "come on, jim." still no movement. "what's the matter, jim? come on." he turned to us a face that was grey and deathlike. "go on, boys. don't mind me. my time's up. i'm an old man. i'm only keeping you back. without me you've got a chance; with me you've got none. leave me here with a gun. i can shoot an' rustle grub. you boys can come back for me. you'll find old jim spry an' chipper, awaitin' you with a smile on his face. now go, boys. you'll go, won't you?" "go be darned!" said the prodigal. "you know we'll never leave you, jim. you know the code of the trail. what d'ye take us for--skunks? come on, we'll carry you if you can't walk." he shook his head pitifully, but once more he crawled after us. we ourselves were making no great speed. lack of food was beginning to tell on us. our stomachs were painfully empty and dead. "how d'ye feel?" asked the prodigal. his face had an arrestively hollow look, but that frozen smile was set on it. "all right," i said, "only terribly weak. my head aches at times, but i've got no pain." "neither have i. this starving racket's a cinch. it's dead easy. what rot they talk about the gnawing pains of hunger, an' ravenous men chewing up their boot-tops. it's easy. there's no pain. i don't even feel hungry any more." none of us did. it was as if our stomachs, in despair at not receiving any food, had sunk into apathy. yet there was no doubt we were terribly weak. we only made a few miles a day now, and even that was an effort. the distance seemed to be elastic, to stretch out under our feet. every few yards we had to help jim over a bad place. his body was emaciated and he was getting very feeble. a hollow fire burned in his eyes. the halfbreed persisted that beyond those despotic mountains lay the yukon valley, and at night he would rouse us up: "say, boys, i hear the 'toot' of a steamer. just a few more days and we'll get there." running through the valley, we found a little river. it was muddy in colour and appeared to contain no fish. we ranged along it eagerly, hoping to find a few minnows, but without success. it seemed to me, as i foraged here and there for food, it was not hunger that impelled me so much as the instinct of self-preservation. i knew that if i did not get something into my stomach i would surely die. down the river we trailed forlornly. for a week we had eaten nothing. jim had held on bravely, but now he gave up. "for god's sake, leave me, boys! don't make me feel guilty of your death. haven't i got enough on my soul already? for god's pity, lads, save yourselves! leave me here to die." he pleaded brokenly. his legs seemed to have become paralysed. every time we stopped he would pitch forward on his face, or while walking he would fall asleep and drop. the prodigal and i supported him, but it was truly hard to support ourselves, and sometimes we collapsed, coming down all three together in a confused and helpless heap. the prodigal still wore that set grin. his face was nigh fleshless, and, through the straggling beard, it sometimes minded me of a grinning skull. always jim moaned and pleaded: "leave me, dear boys, leave me!" he was like a drunken man, and his every step was agony. we threw away our packs. we no longer had the strength to bear them. the last thing to go was the halfbreed's rifle. several times it dropped out of his hand. he picked it up in a dazed way. again and again it dropped, but at last the time came when he no longer picked it up. he looked at it for a stupid while, then staggered on without it. at night we would rest long hours round the camp-fire. often far into the day would we rest. jim lay like a dead man, moaning continually, while we, staring into each other's ghastly faces, talked in jerks. it was an effort to hunt food. it was an effort to goad ourselves to continue the journey. "sure the river empties into the yukon, boys," said the halfbreed. "'tain't so far, either. if we can just make a few miles more we'll be all right." at night, in my sleep, i was a prey to the strangest hallucinations. people i had known came and talked to me. they were so real that, when i awoke, i could scarce believe i had been dreaming. berna came to me often. she came quite close, with great eyes of pity that looked into mine. her lips moved. "be brave, my boy. don't despair," she pleaded. always in my dreams she pleaded like that, and i think that but for her i would have given up. the halfbreed was the most resolute of the party. he never lost his head. at times we others raved a little, or laughed a little, or cried a little, but the halfbreed remained cool and grim. ceaselessly he foraged for food. once he found a nest of grouse eggs, and, breaking them open, discovered they contained half-formed birds. we ate them just as they were, crunched them between our swollen gums. snails, too, we ate sometimes, and grass roots and moss which we scraped from the trees. but our greatest luck was the decayed grouse eggs. early one afternoon we were all resting by a camp-fire on which was boiling some moss, when suddenly the halfbreed pointed. there, in a glade down by the river's edge, were a cow moose and calf. they were drinking. stupidly we gazed. i saw the halfbreed's hand go out as if to clutch the rifle. alas! his fingers closed on the empty air. so near they were we could have struck them with a stone. taking his sheath knife in his mouth, the halfbreed started to crawl on his belly towards them. he had gone but a few yards when they winded him. one look they gave, and in a few moments they were miles away. that was the only time i saw the halfbreed put out. he fell on his face and lay there for a long time. often we came to sloughs that we could not cross, and we had to go round them. we tried to build rafts, but we were too weak to navigate them. we were afraid we would roll off into the deep black water and drown feebly. so we went round, which in one case meant ten miles. once, over a slough a few yards wide, the halfbreed built a bridge of willows, and we crawled on hands and knees to the other side. from a certain point our trip seems like a nightmare to me. i can only remember parts of it here and there. we reeled like drunken men. we sobbed sometimes, and sometimes we prayed. there was no word from jim now, not even a whimper, as we half dragged, half carried him on. our eyes were large with fever, our hands were like claws. long sickly beards grew on our faces. our clothes were rags, and vermin overran us. we had lost all track of time. latterly we had been travelling about half a mile a day, and we must have been twenty days without proper food. the halfbreed had crawled ahead a mile or so, and he came back to where we lay. in a voice hoarse almost to a whisper he told us a bigger river joined ours down there, and on the bar was an old indian camp. perhaps in that place some one might find us. it seemed on the route of travel. so we made a last despairing effort and reached it. indians had visited it quite recently. we foraged around and found some putrid fish bones, with which we made soup. there was a grave set high on stilts, and within it a body covered with canvas. the halfbreed wrenched the canvas from the body, and with it he made a boat eight feet in length by six in breadth. it was too rotten to hold him up, and he nearly drowned trying to float it, so he left it lying on the edge of the bar. i remember this was a terrible disappointment to us, and we wept bitterly. i think that about this time we were all half-crazy. we lay on that bar like men already dead, with no longer hope of deliverance. * * * * * then jim passed in his checks. in the night he called me. "boy," he whispered, "you an' i'se been good pals, ain't we?" "yes, old man." "boy, i'm in agony. i'm suffering untold pain. get the gun, for god's sake, an' put me out of my misery." "there's no gun, jim; we left it back on the trail." "then take your knife." "no, no." "give me your knife." "jim, you're crazy. where's your faith in god?" "gone, gone; i've no longer any right to look to him. i've killed. i've taken life he gave. 'vengeance is mine,' he said, an' i've taken it out of his hands. god's curse is on me now. oh, let me die, let me die!" i sat by him all night. he moaned in agony, and his passing was hard. it was about three in the morning when he spoke again: "say, boy, i'm going. i'm a useless old man. i've lived in sin, an' i've repented, an' i've backslid. the lord don't want old jim any more. say, kid, see that little girl of mine down in dawson gets what money's comin' to me. tell her to keep straight, an' tell her i loved her. tell her i never let up on lovin' her all these years. you'll remember that, boy, won't you?" "i'll remember, jim." "oh, it's all a hoodoo, this northern gold," he moaned. "see what it's done for all of us. we came to loot the land an' it's a-takin' its revenge on us. it's accursed. it's got me at last, but maybe i can help you boys to beat it yet. call the others." i called them. "boys," said jim, "i'm a-goin'. i've been a long time about it. i've been dying by inches, but i guess i'll finish the job pretty slick this time. well, boys, i'm in possession of all my faculties. i want you to know that. i was crazy when i started off, but that's passed away. my mind's clear. now, pardners, i've got you into this scrape. i'm responsible, an' it seems to me i'd die happier if you'd promise me one thing. livin', i can't help you; dead, i can--_you know how_. well, i want you to promise me you'll do it. it's a reasonable proposition. don't hesitate. don't let sentiment stop you. i wish it. it's my dying wish. you're starvin', an' i can help you, can give you strength. will you promise, if it comes to the last pass, you'll do it?" we were afraid to look each other in the face. "oh, promise, boys, promise!" "promise him anyway," said the halfbreed. "he'll die easier." so we nodded our heads as we bent over him, and he turned away his face, content. 'twas but a little after he called me again. "boy, give me your hand. say a prayer for me, won't you? maybe it'll help some, a prayer for a poor old sinner that's backslid. i can never pray again." "yes, try to pray, jim, try. come on; say it after me: 'our father--'" "'our father--'" "'which art in heaven--'" "'which art in--'" his head fell forward. "bless you, my boy. father, forgive, forgive--" he sank back very quietly. he was dead. * * * * * next morning the halfbreed caught a minnow. we divided it into three and ate it raw. later on he found some water-lice under a stone. we tried to cook them, but they did not help us much. then, as night fell once more, a thought came into our minds and stuck there. it was a hidden thought, and yet it grew and grew. as we sat round in a circle we looked into each other's faces, and there we read the same revolting thought. yet did it not seem so revolting after all. it was as if the spirit of the dead man was urging us to this thing, so insistent did the thought become. it was our only hope of life. it meant strength again, strength and energy to make a raft and float us down the river. oh, if only--but, no! we could not do it. better, a hundred times better, die. yet life was sweet, and for twenty-three days we had starved. here was a chance to live, with the dead man whispering in our ears to do it. you who have never starved a day in your lives, would you blame us? life is sweet to you, too. what would you have done? the dead man was urging us, and life was sweet. but we struggled, god knows we struggled. we did not give in without agony. in our hopeless, staring eyes there was the anguish of the great temptation. we looked in each other's death's-head faces. we clasped skeleton hands round our rickety knees, and swayed as we tried to sit upright. vermin crawled over us in our weakness. we were half-crazy, and muttered in our beards. it was the halfbreed who spoke, and his voice was just a whisper: "it's our only chance, boys, and we've promised him. god forgive me, but i've a wife and children, and i'm a-goin' to do it." he was too weak to rise, and with his knife in his mouth he crawled to the body. * * * * * it was ready, but we had not eaten. we waited and waited, hoping against hope. then, as we waited, god was merciful to us. he saved us from this thing. "say, i guess i've got a pipe-dream, but i think i see two men coming downstream on a raft." "no, it's no dream," i said; "two men." "shout to them; i can't," said the prodigal. i tried to shout, but my voice came as a whisper. the halfbreed, too, tried to shout. there was scarcely any sound to it. the men did not see us as we lay on that shingly bar. faster and faster they came. in hopeless, helpless woe we watched them. we could do nothing. in a few moments they would be past. with eyes of terror we followed them, tried to make signals to them. o god, help us! suddenly they caught sight of that crazy boat of ours made of canvas and willows. they poled the raft in close, then one of them saw those three strange things writhing impotently on the sand. they were skeletons, they were in rags, they were covered with vermin.-- * * * we were saved; thank god, we were saved! chapter xvii "berna, we must get married." "yes, dearest, whenever you wish." "well, to-morrow." she smiled radiantly; then her face grew very serious. "what will i wear?" she asked plaintively. "wear? oh, anything. that white dress you've got on--i never saw you looking so sweet. you mind me of a picture i know of saint cecilia, the same delicacy of feature, the same pure colouring, the same grace of expression." "foolish one!" she chided; but her voice was deliciously tender, and her eyes were love-lit. and indeed, as she stood by the window holding her embroidery to the failing light, you scarce could have imagined a girl more gracefully sweet. in a fine mood of idealising, my eyes rested on her. "yes, fairy girl, that briar rose you are doing in the centre of your little canvas hoop is not more delicate in the tinting than are your cheeks; your hands that ply the needle so daintily are whiter than the may blossoms on its border; those coils of shining hair that crown your head would shame the silk you use for softness." "don't," she sighed; "you spoil me." "oh no, it's true, true. sometimes i wish you were not so lovely. it makes me care so much for you that--it hurts. sometimes i wish you were plain, then i would feel more sure of you. sometimes i fear, fear some one will steal you away from me." "no, no," she cried; "no one ever will. there will never be any one but you." she came over to me, and knelt by my chair, putting her arms around me prettily. the pure, sweet face looked up into mine. "we have been happy here, haven't we, boy?" she asked. "exquisitely happy. yet i have always been afraid." "of what, dearest?" "i don't know. somehow it seems too good to last." "well, to-morrow we'll be married." "yes, we should have done that a year ago. it's all been a mistake. it didn't matter at first; nobody noticed, nobody cared. but now it's different. i can see it by the way the wives of the men look at us. i wonder do women resent the fact that virtue is only its own reward--they are so down on those who stray. well, we don't care anyway. we'll marry and live our lives. but there are other reasons." "yes?" "yes. garry talks of coming out. you wouldn't like him to find us living like this--without benefit of the clergy?" "not for the world!" she cried, in alarm. "well, he won't. garry's old-fashioned and terribly conventional, but you'll take to him at once. there's a wonderful charm about him. he's so good-looking, yet so clever. i think he could win any woman if he tried, only he's too upright and sincere." "what will he think of me, i wonder, poor, ignorant me? i believe i'm afraid of him. i wish he'd stay away and leave us alone. yet for your sake, dear, i do wish him to think well of me." "don't fear, berna. he'll be proud of you. but there's a second reason." "what?" i drew her up beside me on the great morris-chair. "oh, my beloved! perhaps we'll not always be alone as we are now. perhaps, perhaps some day there will be others--little ones--for their sakes." she did not speak. i could feel her nestle closer to me. her cheek was pressed to mine; her hair brushed my brow and her lips were like rose-petals on my own. so we sat there in the big, deep chair, in the glow of the open fire, silent, dreaming, and i saw on her lashes the glimmer of a glorious tear. "why do you cry, beloved?" "because i'm so happy. i never thought i could be so happy. i want it to last forever, i never want to leave this little cabin of ours. it will always be home to me. i love it; oh, how i love it!--every stick and stone of it! this dear little room--there will never be another like it in the world. some day we may have a fine home, but i think i'll always leave some of my heart here in the little cabin." i kissed away her tears. foolish tears! i blessed her for them. i held her closer to me. i was wondrous happy. no longer did the shadow of the past hang over us. even as children forget, were we forgetting. outside the winter's day was waning fast. the ruddy firelight danced around us. it flickered on the walls, the open piano, the glass front of the bookcase. it lit up the indian corner, the lounge with its cushions and brass reading-lamp, the rack of music, the pictures, the lace curtains, the gleaming little bit of embroidery. yes, to me, too, these things were wistfully precious, for it seemed as if part of her had passed into them. it would have been like tearing out my heart-strings to part with the smallest of them. "_husband_, i'm so happy," she sighed. "wife, dear, dear wife, i too." there was no need for words. our lips met in passionate kisses, but the next moment we started apart. some one was coming up the garden path--a tall figure of a man. i started as if i had seen a ghost. could it be?--then i rushed to the door. there on the porch stood garry. chapter xviii as he stood before me once again it seemed as if the years had rolled away, and we were boys together. a spate of tender memories came over me, memories of the days of dreams and high resolves, when life rang true, when men were brave and women pure. once more i stood upon that rock-envisaged coast, while below me the yeasty sea charged with a roar the echoing caves. the gulls were glinting in the sunshine, and by their little brown-thatched homes the fishermen were spreading out their nets. high on the hillside in her garden i could see my mother idling among her flowers. it all came back to me, that sunny shore, the whitewashed cottages, the old grey house among the birches, the lift of sheep-starred pasture, and above it the glooming dark of the heather hills. and it was but three years ago. how life had changed! a thousand things had happened. fortune had come to me, love had come to me. i had lived, i had learned. i was no longer a callow, uncouth lad. yet, alas! i no longer looked futurewards with joy; the savour of life was no more sweet. it was another "me" i saw in my mirror that day, a "me" with a face sorely lined, with hair grey-flecked, with eyes sad and bitter. little wonder garry, as he stood there, stared at me so sorrowfully. "how you've changed, lad!" said he at last. "have i, garry? you're just about the same." but indeed he, too, had changed, had grown finer than my fondest thoughts of him. he seemed to bring into the room the clean, sweet breath of glengyle, and i looked at him with admiration in my eyes. coming out of the cold, his colour was dazzling as that of a woman; his deep blue eyes sparkled; his fair silky hair, from the pressure of his cap, was moulded to the shape of his fine head. oh, he was handsome, this brother of mine, and i was proud, proud of him! "by all that's wonderful, what brought you here?" his teeth flashed in that clever, confident smile. "the stage. i just arrived a few minutes ago, and hurried here at once. aren't you glad to see me?" "glad? yes, indeed! i can't tell you how glad. but it's a shock to me your coming so suddenly. you might have let me know." "yes, it was a sudden resolve; i should have wired you. however, i thought i would give you a surprise. how are you, old man?" "me--oh, i'm all right, thanks." "why, what's the matter with you, lad? you look ten years older. you look older than your big brother now." "yes, i daresay. it's the life, it's the land. a hard life and a hard land." "why don't you go out?" "i don't know, i don't know. i keep on planning to go out and then something turns up, and i put it off a little longer. i suppose i ought to go, but i'm tied up with mining interests. my partner is away in the east, and i promised to stay in and look after things. i'm making money, you see." "not sacrificing your youth and health for that, are you?" "i don't know, i don't know." there was a puzzled look in his frank face, and for my part i was strangely ill at ease. with all my joy at his coming, there was a sense of anxiety, even of fear. i had not wanted him to come just then, to see me there. i was not ready for him. i had planned otherwise. he was fixing me with a clear, penetrating look. for a moment his eyes seemed to bore into me, then like a flash the charm came back into his face. he laughed that ringing laugh of his. "well, i was tired of roaming round the old place. things are in good order now. i've saved a little money and i thought i could afford to travel a little, so i came up to see my wandering brother, and his wonderful north." his gaze roved round the room. suddenly it fell on the piece of embroidery. he started slightly and i saw his eyes narrow, his mouth set. his glance shifted to the piano with its litter of music. he looked at me again, in an odd, bewildered way. he went on speaking, but there was a queer constraint in his manner. "i'm going to stay here for a month, and then i want you to come back with me. come back home and get some of the old colour into your cheeks. the country doesn't agree with you, but we'll have you all right pretty soon. we'll have you flogging the trout pools and tramping over the heather with a gun. you remember how--whir-r-r--the black-cock used to rise up right at one's very feet. they've been very plentiful the last two years. oh, we'll have the good old times over again! you'll see, we'll soon put you right." "it's good of you, garry, to think so much of me; but i'm afraid, i'm afraid i can't come just yet. i've got so much to do. i've got thirty men working for me. i've just got to stay." he sighed. "well, if you stay i'll stay, too. i don't like the way you're looking. you're working too hard. perhaps i can help you." "all right; i'm afraid you'll find it rather awful, though. no one lives up here in winter if they possibly can avoid it. but for a time it will interest you." "i think it will." and again his eyes stared fixedly at that piece of embroidery on its little hoop. "i'm terribly, glad to see you anyway, garry. there's no use talking, words can't express things like that between us two. you know what i mean. i'm glad to see you, and i'll do my best to make your visit a happy one." between the curtains that hung over the bedroom door i could see berna standing motionless. i wondered if he could see her too. his eyes followed mine. they rested on the curtains and the strong, stern look came into his face. yet again he banished it with a sunny smile. "mother's one regret was that you were not with her when she died. do you know, old man, i think she was always fonder of you than of me? you were the sentimental one of the family, and mother was always a gentle dreamer. i took more after dad; dry and practical, you know. well, mother used to worry a good deal about you. she missed you dreadfully, and before she died she made me promise i'd always stand by you, and look after you if anything happened." "there's not much need of that, garry. but thanks all the same, old man. i've seen a lot in the past few years. i know something of the world now. i've changed. i'm sort of disillusioned. i seem to have lost my zest for things--but i know how to handle men, how to fight and how to win." "it's not that, lad. you know that to win is often to lose. you were never made for the fight, my brother. it's all been a mistake. you're too sensitive, too high-strung for a fighting-man. you have too much sentiment in you. your spirit urged you to fields of conquest and romance, yet by nature you were designed for the gentler life. if you could have curbed your impulse and only dreamed your adventures, you would have been the happier. imagination's been a curse to you, boy. you've tortured yourself all these years, and now you're paying the penalty." "what penalty?" "you've lost your splendid capacity for happiness; your health's undermined; your faith in mankind is destroyed. is it worth while? you've plunged into the fight and you've won. what does your victory mean? can it compare with what you've lost? here, i haven't a third of what you have, and yet i'm magnificently happy. i don't envy you. i am going to enjoy every moment of my life. oh, my brother, you've been making a sad mistake, but it's not too late! you're young, young. it's not too late." then i saw that his words were true. i saw that i had never been meant for the fierce battle of existence. like those high-strung horses that were the first to break their hearts on the trail, i was unsuited for it all. far better would i have been living the sweet, simple life of my forefathers. my spirit had upheld me, but now i knew there was a poison in my veins, that i was a sick man, that i had played the game and won--at too great a cost. i was like a sprinter that breasts the tape, only to be carried fainting from the field. alas! i had gained success only to find it was another name for failure. "now," said garry, "you must come home. back there on the countryside we can find you a sweet girl to marry. you will love her, have children and forget all this. come." i rose. i could no longer put it off. "excuse me one moment," i said. i parted the curtains and entered the bedroom. she was standing there, white to the lips and trembling. she looked at me piteously. "i'm afraid," she faltered. "be brave, little girl," i whispered, leading her forward. then i threw aside the curtain. "garry," i said, "this is--this is berna." chapter xix garry, berna--there they stood, face to face at last. long ago i had visioned this meeting, planned for, yet dreaded it, and now with utter suddenness it had come. the girl had recovered her calm, and i must say she bore herself well. in her clinging dress of simple white her figure was as slimly graceful as that of a wood-nymph, her head poised as sweetly as a lily on its stem. the fair hair rippled away in graceful lines from the fine brow, and as she gazed at my brother there was a proud, high look in her eyes. and garry--his smile had vanished. his face was cold and stern. there was a stormy antagonism in his bearing. no doubt he saw in her a creature who was preying on me, an influence for evil, an overwhelming indictment against me of sin and guilt. all this i read in his eyes; then berna advanced to him with outstretched hand. "how do you do? i've heard so much about you i feel as if i'd known you long ago." she was so winning, i could see he was quite taken aback. he took the little white hand and looked down from his splendid height to the sweet eyes that gazed into his. he bowed with icy politeness. "i feel flattered, i assure you, that my brother should have mentioned me to you." here he shot a dark look at me. "sit down again, garry," i said. "berna and i want to talk to you." he complied, but with an ill grace. we all three sat down and a grave constraint was upon us. berna broke the silence. "what sort of a trip have you had?" he looked at her keenly. he saw a simple girl, shy and sweet, gazing at him with a flattering interest. "oh, not so bad. travelling sixty miles a day on a jolting stage gets monotonous, though. the road-houses were pretty decent as a rule, but some were vile. however, it's all new and interesting to me." "you will stay with us for a time, won't you?" he favoured me with another grim look. "well, that all depends--i haven't quite decided yet. i want to take athol here home with me." "home----" there was a pathetic catch in her voice. her eyes went round the little room that meant "home" to her. "yes, that will be nice," she faltered. then, with a brave effort, she broke into a lively conversation about the north. as she talked an inspiration seemed to come to her. a light beaconed in her eyes. her face, fine as a cameo, became eager, rapt. she was telling him of the magical summers, of the midnight sunsets, of the glorious largess of the flowers, of the things that meant so much to her. she was wonderfully animated. as i watched her i thought what a perfect little lady she was; and i felt proud of her. he was listening carefully, with evident interest. gradually his look of stern antagonism had given way to one of attention. yet i could see he was not listening so much to her as he was studying her. his intent gaze never moved from her face. then i talked a while. the darkness had descended upon us, but the embers in the open fireplace lighted the room with a rosy glow. i could not see his eyes now, but i knew he was still watching us keenly. he merely answered "yes" and "no" to our questions, and his voice was very grave. then, after a little, he rose to go. "i'll return to the hotel with you," i said. berna gave us a pathetically anxious little look. there was a red spot on each cheek and her eyes were bright. i could see she wanted to cry. "i'll be back in half an hour, dear," i said, while garry gravely shook hands with her. we did not speak on the way to his room. when we reached it he switched on the light and turned to me. "brother, who's this girl?" "she's--she's my housekeeper. that's all i can say at present, garry." "married?" "no." "good god!" stormily he paced the floor, while i watched him with a great calm. at last he spoke. "tell me about her." "sit down, garry; light a cigar. we may as well talk this thing over quietly." "all right. who is she?" "berna," i said, lighting my cigar, "is a jewess. she was born of an unwed mother, and reared in the midst of misery and corruption." he stared at me. his mouth hardened; his brow contracted. "but," i went on, "i want to say this. you remember, garry, mother used to tell us of our sister who died when she was a baby. i often used to dream of my dead sister, and in my old, imaginative days i used to think she had never died at all, but she had grown up and was with us. how we would have loved her, would we not, garry? well, i tell you this--if our sister had grown up she could have been no sweeter, purer, gentler than this girl of mine, this berna." he smiled ironically. "then," he said, "if she is so wonderful, why, in the name of heaven, haven't you married her?" his manner towards her in the early part of the interview had hurt me, had roused in me a certain perversity. i determined to stand by my guns. [illustration: "garry," i said, "this is--this is berna"] "marriage," said i, "isn't everything; often isn't anything. love is, and always will be, the great reality. it existed long before marriage was ever thought of. marriage is a good thing. it protects the wife and the children. as a rule, it enforces constancy. but there's a higher ideal of human companionship that is based on love alone, love so perfect, so absolute that legal bondage insults it; love that is its own justification. such a love is ours." the ironical look deepened to a sneer. "and look you here, garry," i went on; "i am living in dawson in what you would call 'shame.' well, let me tell you, there's not ninety-nine in a hundred legally married couples that have formed such a sweet, love-sanctified union as we have. that girl is purest gold, a pearl of untold price. there has never been a jar in the harmony of our lives. we love each other absolutely. we trust and believe in each other. we would make any sacrifice for each other. and, i say it again, our marriage is tenfold holier than ninety-nine out of a hundred of those performed with all the pomp of surplice and sacristy." "oh, man! man!" he said crushingly, "what's got into you? what nonsense, what clap-trap is this? i tell you that the old way, the way that has stood for generations, is the best, and it's a sorry day i find a brother of mine talking such nonsense. i'm almost glad mother's dead. it would surely have broken her heart to know that her son was living in sin and shame, living with a----" "easy now, garry," i cautioned him. we faced each other with the table between us. "i'm going to have my say out. i've come all this way to say it, and you've got to hear me. you're my brother. god knows i love you. i promised i'd look after you, and now i'm going to save you if i can." "garry," i broke in, "i'm younger than you, and i respect you; but in the last few years i've grown to see things different from the way we were taught; broader, clearer, saner, somehow. we can't always follow in the narrow path of our forefathers. we must think and act for ourselves in these days. i see no sin and shame in what i'm doing. we love each other--that is our vindication. it's a pure, white light that dims all else. if you had seen and striven and suffered as i have done, you might think as i do. but you've got your smug old-fashioned notions. you gaze at the trees so hard you can't see the forest. yours is an ideal, too; but mine is a purer, more exalted one." "balderdash!" he cried. "oh, you anger me! look here, athol, i came all this way to see you about this matter. it's a long way to come, but i knew my brother was needing me and i'd have gone round the world for you. you never told me anything of this girl in your letters. you were ashamed." "i knew i could never make you understand." "you might have tried. i'm not so dense in the understanding. no, you would not tell me, and i've had letters, warning letters. it was left to other people to tell me how you drank and gambled and squandered your money; how you were like to a madman. they told me you had settled down to live with one of the creatures, a woman who had made her living in the dance-halls, and every one knows no woman ever did that and remained straight. they warned me of the character of this girl, of your infatuation, of your callousness to public opinion. they told me how barefaced, how shameless you were. they begged me to try and save you. i would not believe it, but now i've come to see for myself, and it's all true, it's all true." he bowed his head in emotion. "oh, she's good!" i cried. "if you knew her you would think so, too. you, too, would love her." "heaven forbid! boy, i must save you. i must, for the honour of the old name that's never been tarnished. i must make you come home with me." he put both hands on my shoulders, looking commandingly into my face. "no, no," i said, "i'll never leave her." "it will be all right. we can pay her. it can be arranged. think of the honour of the old name, lad." i shook him off. "pay!"--i laughed ironically. "pay" in connection with the name of berna--again i laughed. "she's good," i said once again. "wait a little till you know her. don't judge her yet. wait a little." he saw it was of no use to waste further words on me. he sighed. "well, well," he said, "have it your own way. i think she's ruining you. she's dragging you down, sapping your moral principles, lowering your standard of pure living. she must be bad, bad, or she wouldn't live with you like that. but have it your own way, boy; i'll wait and see." chapter xx in the crystalline days that followed i did much to bring about a friendship between garry and berna. at first i had difficulty in dragging him to the house, but in a little while he came quite willingly. the girl, too, aided me greatly. in her sweet, shy way she did her best to win his regard, so that as the winter advanced a great change came over him. he threw off that stern manner of his as an actor throws off a part, and once again he was the dear old garry i knew and loved. his sunny charm returned, and with it his brilliant smile, his warm, endearing frankness. he was now twenty-eight, and if there was a handsomer man in the northland i had yet to see him. i often envied him for his fine figure and his clean, vivid colour. it was a wonderfully expressive face that looked at you, firm and manly, and, above all, clever. you found a pleasure in the resonant sweetness of his voice. you were drawn irresistibly to the man, even as you would have been drawn to a beautiful woman. he was winning, lovable, yet back of all his charm there was that great quality of strength, of austere purpose. he made a hit with every one, and i verily believe that half the women in the town were in love with him. however, he was quite unconscious of it, and he stalked through the streets with the gait of a young god. i knew there were some who for a smile would have followed him to the ends of the earth, but garry was always a man's man. never do i remember the time when he took an interest in a woman. i often thought, if women could have the man of their choice, a few handsome ones like garry would monopolise them, while we common mortals would go wifeless. sometimes it has seemed to me that love is but a second-hand article, and that our matings are at best only makeshifts. i must say i tried very hard to reconcile those two. i threw them together on every opportunity, for i wanted him to understand and to love her. i felt he had but to know her to appreciate her at her true value, and, although he spoke no word to me, i was soon conscious of a vast change in him. short of brotherly regard, he was everything that could be desired to her--cordial, friendly, charming. once i asked berna what she thought of him. "i think he's splendid," she said quietly. "he's the handsomest man i've ever seen, and he's as nice as he's good-looking. in many ways you remind me of him--and yet there's a difference." "i remind you of him--no, girl. i'm not worthy to be his valet. he's as much above me as i am above--say a siwash. he has all the virtues; i, all the faults. sometimes i look at him and i see in him my ideal self. he is all strength, all nobility, while i am but a commonplace mortal, full of human weaknesses. he is the self i should have been if the worst had been the best." "hush! you are my sweetheart," she assured me with a caress, "and the dearest in the world." "by the way, berna," i said, "you remember something we talked about before he came? don't you think that now----?" "now----?" "yes." "all right." she flashed a glad, tender look at me and left the room. that night she was strangely elated. every evening garry would drop in and talk to us. berna would look at him as he talked and her eyes would brighten and her cheeks flush. on both of us he had a strangely buoyant effect. how happy we could be, just we three. it was splendid having near me the two i loved best on earth. that was a memorable winter, mild and bright and buoyant. at last spring came with gracious days of sunshine. the sleighing was glorious, but i was busy, very busy, so that i was glad to send garry and berna off together in a smart cutter, and see them come home with their cheeks like roses, their eyes sparkling and laughter in their voices. i never saw berna looking so well and happy. i was head over ears in work. in a mail just arrived i had a letter from the prodigal, and a certain paragraph in it set me pondering. here it was: "you must look out for locasto. he was in new york a week ago. he's down and out. blood-poisoning set in in his foot after he got outside, and eventually he had to have it taken off. he's got a false mit for the one mac sawed off. but you should see him. he's all shot to pieces with the 'hooch.' it's a fright the pace he's gone. i had an interview with him, and he raved and blasphemed horribly. seemed to have a terrible pick at you. seems you have copped out his best girl, the only one he ever cared a red cent for. said he would get even with you if he swung for it. i think he's dangerous, even a madman. he is leaving for the north now, so be on your guard." locasto coming! i had almost forgotten his existence. well, i no longer cared for him. i could afford to despise him. surely he would never dare to molest us. if he did--he was a broken, discredited blackguard. i could crush him. coming here! he must even now be on the way. i had a vision of him speeding along that desolate trail, sitting in the sleigh wrapped in furs, and brooding, brooding. as day after day the spell of the great and gloomy land grew on his spirit, i could see the sombre eyes darken and deepen. i could see him in the road-house at night, gaunt and haggard, drinking at the bar, a desperate, degraded cripple. i could see him growing more reckless every day, every hour. he was coming back to the scene of his ruined fortunes, and god knows with what wild schemes of vengeance his heart was full. decidedly i must beware. as i sat there dreaming, a ring came to the 'phone. it was the foreman at gold hill. "the hoisting machine has broken down," he told me. "can you come out and see what is required?" "all right," i replied. "i'll leave at once." "berna," i said, "i'll have to go out to the forks to-night. i'll be back early to-morrow. get me a bite to eat, dear, while i go round and order the horse." on my way i met garry and told him i would be gone over night. "won't you come?" i asked. "no, thanks, old man, i don't feel like a night drive." "all right. good-bye." so i hurried off, and soon after, with a jingle of bells, i drove up to my door. berna had made supper. she seemed excited. her eyes were starry bright, her cheeks burned. "aren't you well, sweetheart?" i asked. "you look feverish." "yes, dear, i'm well. but i don't want you to go to-night. something tells me you shouldn't. please don't go, dear. please, for my sake." "oh, nonsense, berna! you know i've been away before. get one of the neighbour's wives to sleep with you. get in mrs. brooks." "oh, don't go, don't go, i beg you, dear. i don't want you to. i'm afraid, i'm afraid. won't some one else do?" "nonsense, girl. you mustn't be so foolish. it's only for a few hours. here, i'll ring up mrs. brooks and you can ask her." she sighed. "no, never mind. i'll ring her up after you've gone." she clung to me tightly, so that i wondered what had got into the girl. then gently i kissed her, disengaged her hands, and bade her good-night. as i was rattling off through the darkness, a boy handed me a note. i put it in my pocket, thinking i would read it when i reached ogilvie bridge. then i whipped up the horse. the night was crisp and exhilarating. i had one of the best trotters in the country, and the sleighing was superb. as i sped along, with a jingle of bells, my spirits rose. things were looking splendid. the mine was turning out far better than we had expected. surely we could sell out soon, and i would have all the money i wanted. even then the prodigal was putting through a deal in new york that would realise our fortunes. my life-struggle was nearly over. then again, i had reconciled garry to berna. when i told him of a certain secret i was hugging to my breast he would capitulate entirely. how happy we would all be! i would buy a small estate near home, and we would settle down. but first we would spend a few years in travel. we would see the whole world. what good times we would have, berna and i! bless her! it had all worked out beautifully. why was she so frightened, so loath to let me go? i wondered vaguely and flicked up the horse so that it plunged sharply forward. the vast blue-black sky was like an inverted gold-pan and the stars were flake colours adhering to it. the cold snapped at me till my cheeks tingled, and my eyes felt as if they could spark. oh, life was sweet! bother! in my elation i had forgotten to get off at the old inn and read my note. never mind, i would keep it till i reached the forks. as i spun along, i thought of how changed it all was from the bonanza i first knew. how i remembered tramping along that hillside slope, packing a sack of flour over a muddy trail, a poor miner in muddy overalls! now i was driving a smart horse on a fine road. i was an operator of a first-class mine. i was a man of business, of experience. higher and higher my spirits rose. how fast the horse flew! i would be at the forks in no time. i flashed past cabin windows. i saw the solitary oil-lamp and the miner reading his book or filling his pipe. never was there a finer, more intelligent man; but his day was passing. the whole country was falling into the hands of companies. soon, thought i, one or two big combines would control the whole wealth of that land. already they had their eyes on it. the gold-ships would float and roar where the old-time miner toiled with pick and pan. change! change! i almost fancied i could see the monster dredges ploughing up the valley, where now men panted at the windlass. i could see vast heaps of tailings filling the creek-bed; i could hear the crash of the steel grizzlies; i could see the buckets scooping up the pay-dirt. i felt strangely prophetic. my imagination ran riot in all kinds of wonders, great power plants, quartz discoveries. change! change! yes, the stamp-mill would add its thunder to the other voices; the country would be netted with wires, and clamorous for far and wide. man had sought out this land where silence had reigned so long. he had awakened the echoes with the shot of his rifle and the ring of his axe. silence had raised a startled head and poised there, listening. then, with crack of pick and boom of blast, man had hurled her back. further and further had he driven her. with his advancing horde, mad in their lust for the loot of the valley, he had banished her. his engines had frightened her with their canorous roar. his crashing giants had driven her cowering to the inviolate fastnesses of her hills. and there she broods and waits. but silence will return. to her was given the land that she might rule and have dominion over it forever. and in a few years the clamour will cease, the din will die away. in a few years the treasure will be exhausted, and the looters will depart. the engines will lie in rust and ruin; the wind will sweep through the empty homes; the tailing-piles lie pallid in the moon. then the last man will strike the last blow, and silence will come again into her own. yea, silence will come home once more. again will she rule despotic over peak and plain. she is only waiting, brooding in the impregnable desolation of her hills. to her has been given empery of the land, and hand in hand with darkness will she return. chapter xxi ha! here i had reached the forks at last. as i drew up at the hotel, the clerk came out to meet me. "gent wants to speak to you at the 'phone, sir." it was murray of dawson, an old-timer, and rather a friend of mine. "hello!" "hello! say, meldrum, this is murray speaking. say, just wanted to let you know there's a stage due some time before morning. locasto's on board, and they say he's heeled for you. thought i'd better tell you so's you can get fixed up for him." "all right," i answered. "thank you. i'll turn and come right back." so i switched round the horse, and once more i drove over the glistening road. no longer did i plan and exult. indeed a grim fear was gripping me. of a sudden the shadow of locasto loomed up sinister and menacing. even now he was speeding dawsonward with a great hatred of me in his heart. well, i would get back and prepare for him. there came to my mind a comic perception of the awkwardness of returning to one's own home unexpectedly, in the dead of night. at first i decided i would go to a hotel, then on second thoughts i determined to try the house, for i had a desire to be near berna. i knocked gently, then a little louder, then at last quite loudly. within all was still, dark as a sepulchre. curious! she was such a light sleeper, too. why did she not hear me? once more i decided to go to the hotel; once more that vague, indefinite fear assailed me and again i knocked. and now my fear was becoming a panic. i had my latch-key in my pocket, so very quietly i opened the door. i was in the front room, and it was dark, very dark and quiet. i could not even hear her breathe. "berna," i whispered. no reply. that dim, nameless dread was clutching at my heart, and i groped overhead in the darkness for the drop-light. how hard it was to find! a dozen times my hand circled in the air before i knocked my knuckles against it. i switched it on. instantly the cabin was flooded with light. in the dining-room i could see the remains of our supper lying untidily. that was not like her. she had a horror of dirty dishes. i passed into the bedroom--ah! the bed had never been slept on. what a fool i was! it flashed on me she had gone over to mrs. brooks' to sleep. she was afraid of being alone. poor little girl! how surprised she would be to see me in the morning! well, i would go to bed. as i was pulling off my coat, i found the note that had been given to me. blaming myself for my carelessness, i pulled it out of my pocket and opened it. as i unfolded the sheet, i noticed it was written in what looked like a disguised hand. strange! i thought. the writing was small and faint. i rubbed my eyes and held it up to the light. merciful god! what was this? oh no, it could not be! my eyes were deceiving me. it was some illusion. feverishly i read again. yes, they were the same words. what could they mean? surely, surely--oh, horror on horrors! they could not mean that. again i read them. yes, there they were: "if you are fool enough to believe that berna is faithful to you visit your brother's room to-night. "a wellwisher." berna! garry!--the two i loved. oh, it could not be! it was monstrous! it was too horrible! i would not believe it; i would not. curse the vile wretch that wrote such words! i would kill him. berna! my berna! she was as good as gold, as true as steel. garry! i would lay my life on his honour. oh, vile calumny! what devil had put so foul a thing in words? god! it hurt me so, it hurt me so! dazedly i sat down. a sudden rush of heat was followed by a sweat that pricked out of me and left me cold. i trembled. i saw a ghastly vision of myself in a mirror. i felt sick, sick. going to the decanter on the bureau, i poured myself a stiff jolt of whisky. again i sat down. the paper lay on the hearthrug, and i stared at it hatefully. it was unspeakably loathsome, yet i was fascinated by it. i longed to take it up, to read it again. somehow i did not dare. i was becoming a coward. well, it was a lie, a black devil's lie. she was with one of the neighbours. i trusted her. i would trust her with my life. i would go to bed. in the morning she would return, and then i would unearth the wretch who had dared to write such things. i began to undress. slowly i unfastened my collar--that cursed paper; there it lay. again it fascinated me. i stood glaring at it. oh, fool! fool! go to bed. wearily i took off my clothes--oh, that devilish note! it was burning into my brain--it would drive me mad. in a frenzy of rage, i took it up as if it were some leprous thing, and dropped it in the fire. there i lay in bed with the darkness enfolding me, and i closed my eyes to make a double darkness. ha! right in the centre of my eyes, burned the fatal paper with its atrocious suggestion. i sprang up. it was of no use. i must settle this thing once and for all. i turned on the light and deliberately dressed again. i was going to the hotel where garry had his room. i would tell him i had come back unexpectedly and ask to share his room. i was not acting on the note! i did not suspect her. heaven forbid! but the thing had unnerved me. i could not stay in this place. the hotel was quiet. a sleepy night-clerk stared at me, and i pushed past him. garry's rooms were on the third floor. as i climbed the long stairway, my heart was beating painfully, and when i reached his door i was sadly out of breath. through the transom i could see his light was burning. i knocked faintly. there was a sudden stir. again i knocked. did my ears deceive me or did i hear a woman's startled cry? there was something familiar about it--oh, my god! i reeled. i almost fell. i clutched at the doorframe. i leaned sickly against the door for support. heaven help me! "i'm coming," i heard him say. the door was unlocked, and there he stood. he was fully dressed. he looked at me with an expression on his face i could not define, but he was very calm. "come in," he said. i went into his sitting-room. everything was in order. i would have sworn i heard a woman scream, and yet no one was in sight. the bedroom door was slightly ajar. i eyed it in a fascinated way. "i'm sorry to disturb you, garry," i said, and i was conscious how strained and queer my voice sounded. "i got back suddenly, and there's no one at home. i want to stay here with you, if you don't mind." "certainly, old man; only too glad to have you." his voice was steady. i sat down on the edge of a chair. my eyes were riveted on that bedroom door. "had a good drive?" he went on genially. "you must be cold. let me give you some whisky." my teeth were chattering. i clutched the chair. oh, that door! my eyes were fastened on it. i was convinced i heard some one in there. he rose to get the whisky. "say when?" i held the glass with a shaking hand: "when." "what's the matter, old man? you're ill." i clutched him by the arm. "garry, there's some one in that room." "nonsense! there's no one there." "there is, i tell you. listen! don't you hear them breathing?" he was quiet. distinctly i could hear the panting of human breath. i was going mad, mad. i could stand it no longer. "garry," i gasped, "i'm going to see, i'm going to see." "don't----" "yes, i must, i say. let me go. i'll drag them out." "hold on----" "leave go, man! i'm going, i say. you won't hold me. let go, i tell you, let go--now come out, come out, whoever you are--ah!" it was a woman. "ha!" i cried, "i told you so, brother; a woman. i think i know her, too. here, let me see--i thought so." i had clutched her, pulled her to the light. it was berna. her face was white as chalk, her eyes dilated with terror. she trembled. she seemed near fainting. "i thought so." now that it seemed the worst was betrayed to me, i was strangely calm. "berna, you're faint. let me lead you to a chair." i made her sit down. she said no word, but looked at me with a wild pleading in her eyes. no one spoke. there we were, the three of us: berna faint with fear, ghastly, pitiful; i calm, yet calm with a strange, unnatural calmness, and garry--he surprised me. he had seated himself, and with the greatest _sang-froid_ he was lighting a cigarette. a long tense silence. at last i broke it. "what have you got to say for yourself, garry?" i asked. it was wonderful how calm he was. "looks pretty bad, doesn't it, brother?" he said gravely. "yes, it couldn't look worse." "looks as if i was a pretty base, despicable specimen of a man, doesn't it?" "yes, about as base as a man could be." "that's so." he rose and turned up the light of a large reading-lamp, then coming to me he looked me square in the face. abruptly his casual manner dropped. he grew sharp, forceful; his voice rang clear. "listen to me." "i'm listening." "i came out here to save you, and i'm going to save you. you wanted me to believe that this girl was good. you believed it. you were bewitched, befooled, blinded. i could see it, but i had to make you see it. i had to make you realise how worthless she was, how her love for you was a sham, a pretence to prey on you. how could i prove it? you would not listen to reason: i had to take other means. now, hear me." "i hear." "i laid my plans. for three months i've tried to conquer her, to win her love, to take her from you. she was truer to you than i had bargained for; i must give her credit for that. she made a good fight, but i think i have triumphed. to-night she came to my room at my invitation." "well?" "well. you got a note. _now, i wrote that note._ i planned this scene, this discovery. i planned it so that your eyes would be opened, so that you would see what she was, so that you would cast her from you--unfaithful, a wanton, a----" "hold on there," i broke in; "brother of mine or no, i won't hear you call her those names; no, not if she were ten times as unfaithful. you won't, i say. i'll choke the words in your throat. i'll kill you, if you utter a word against her. oh, what have you done?" "what have i done! try to be calm, man. what have i done? well, this is what i've done, and it's the lucky day for you i've done it. i've saved you from shame; i've freed you from sin; i've shown you the baseness of this girl." he rose to his feet. "oh, my brother, i've stolen from you your mistress; that's what i've done." "oh, no, you haven't," i groaned. "god forgive you, garry; god forgive you! she's not my--not what you think. she's my _wife_!" chapter xxii i thought that he would faint. his face went white as paper and he shrank back. he gazed at me with wild, straining eyes. "god forgive me! oh, why didn't you tell me, boy? why didn't you tell me?" in his voice there was a note more poignant than a sob. "you should have trusted me," he went on. "you should have told me. when were you married?" "just a month ago. i was keeping it as a surprise for you. i was waiting till you said you liked and thought well of her. oh, i thought you would be pleased and glad, and i was treasuring it up to tell you." "this is terrible, terrible!" his voice was choked with agony. on her chair, berna drooped wearily. her wide, staring eyes were fixed on the floor in pitiful perplexity. "yes, it's terrible enough. we were so happy. we lived so joyously together. everything was perfect, a heaven for us both. and then you came, you with your charm that would lure an angel from high heaven. you tried your power on my poor little girl, the girl that never loved but me. and i trusted you, i tried to make you and her friends. i left you together. in my blind innocence i aided you in every way--a simple, loving fool. oh, now i see!" "yes, yes, i know. your words stab me. it's all true, true." "you came like a serpent, a foul, crawling thing, to steal her from me, to wrong me. she was loving, faithful, pure. you would have dragged her in the mire. you----" "stop, brother, stop, for heaven's sake! you wrong me." he held out his hand commandingly. a wonderful change had come over him. his face had regained its calm. it was proud, stern. "you must not think i would have been guilty of that," he said quietly. "i've played a part i never thought to play; i've done a thing i never thought to have dirtied my hands in the doing, and i'm sorry and ashamed for it. but i tell you, athol--that's all. as god's my witness, i've done you no wrong. surely you don't think me as low as that? surely you don't believe that of me? i did what i did for my very love for you, for your honour's sake. i asked her here that you might see what she was--but that's all, i swear it. she's been as safe as if in a cage of steel." "i know it," i said; "i know it. you don't need to tell me that. you brought her here to expose her, to show me what a fool i was. it didn't matter how much it hurt me, the more the better, anything to save the name. you would have broken my heart, sacrificed me on the altar of your accursed pride. oh, i can see plainly now! there's a thousand years of prejudice and bigotry concentrated in you. thank god, i have a human heart!" "i thought i was acting for the best!" he cried. i laughed scornfully. "i know it--according to your lights. you asked her here that i might see what she was. you tell me you have gained her love; you say she came here at your bidding; you swear she would have been unfaithful to me. well, i tell you, brother of mine, in your teeth i tell you--_i don't believe you!_" suddenly the little, drooping figure on the chair had raised itself; the white, woe-begone face with the wide, staring eyes was turned towards me; the pitiful look had gone, and in its stead was one of wild, unspeakable joy. "it's all right, berna," i said; "i don't believe him, and if a million others were to say the same, if they were to thunder it in my ears down all eternity, i would tell them they lied, they lied!" a heaven-lit radiance was in the grey eyes. she made as if to come to me, but she swayed, and i caught her in my arms. "don't be frightened, little girl. give me your hand. see! i'll kiss it, dear. now, don't cry; don't, honey." her arms were around me. she clung to me ever so tightly. "garry," i said, "this is my wife. when i have lost my belief in all else, i will believe in her. you have made us both suffer. as for what you've said--you're mistaken. she's a good, good girl. i will not believe that by thought, word or deed she has been untrue to me. she will explain everything. now, good-bye. come, berna." suddenly she stopped me. her hand was on my arm, and she turned towards garry. she held herself as proudly as a queen. "i want to explain now," she said, "before you both." she pulled from her bosom a little crumpled note, and handed it to me. then, as i read it, a great light burst on me. here it was: "dear berna: "for heaven's sake be on your guard. jack locasto is on his way north again. i think he's crazy. i know he'll stick at nothing, and i don't want to see blood spilt. he says he means to wipe out all old scores. for your sake, and for the sake of one dear to you, be warned. "in haste, "viola lennoir." "i got it two days ago," she said. "oh, i've been distracted with fear. i did not like to show it to you. i've brought you nothing but trouble, and i've never spoken of him, never once. you understand, don't you?" "yes, little girl, i understand." "i wanted to save you, no matter at what cost. to-night i tried to prevent you going out there, for i feared you might meet him. i knew he was very near. then, when you had gone, my fear grew and grew. there i sat, thinking over everything. oh, if i only had a friend, i thought; some one to help me. then, as i sat, dazed, distracted, the 'phone rang. it was your brother." "yes, go on, dear." "he told me he wanted to see me; he begged me to come at once. i thought of you, of your danger, of some terrible mishap. i was terrified. i went." she paused a moment, as if the recital was infinitely painful to her, then she went on. "i found my way to his room. my mind was full of you, of that man, of how to save you. i did not think of myself, of my position. at first i was too agitated to speak. he bade me sit down, compose myself. his manner was quiet, grave. again i feared for you. he asked me to excuse him for a moment, and left the room. he seemed to be gone an age, while i sat there, trying to fight down my terror. the suspense was killing me. then he came back. he closed and locked the door. all at once i heard a step outside, a knock. 'hush! go in there,' he said. he opened the door. i heard him speaking to some one. i waited, then you burst in on me. you know the rest." "yes, yes." "as for your brother, i've tried, oh, so hard, to be nice to him for your sake. i liked him; i wanted to be to him as a sister, but never an unfaithful thought has entered my head, never a wrong feeling sullied my heart. i've been true to you. you told me once of a love that gives all and asks for nothing; a love that would turn its back on friends and kindred for the sake of its beloved. you said: 'his smile will be your rapture, his frown your anguish. for him will you dare all, bear all. to him will you cling in sorrow, suffering and poverty. living, you would follow him round the world; dying, you would desire but him.'--well, i think i love you like that." "oh, my dear, my dear!" "i want to bring you happiness, but i only bring you trouble, sorrow. sometimes, for your sake, i wish we had never met." she turned to garry. "as for you, you've done me a great wrong. i can never forget it. will you go now, and leave us in peace?" his head was bent, so that i could not see his face. "can you not forgive?" he groaned. she shook her head sadly. "no, i am afraid i can never forgive." "can i do nothing to atone?" "no, i'm afraid your punishment must be--that you can do nothing." he said never a word. she turned to me: "come, my husband, we will go." i was opening the door to leave him forever. suddenly i heard a step coming up the stairs, a heavy, hurried tread. i looked down a moment, then i pushed her back into the room. "be prepared, berna," i said quietly; "here comes locasto." chapter xxiii there we waited, garry and i, and between us berna. we heard that heavy tread come up, up the creaking stairway, stumble a moment, then pause on the landing. there was something ominous, something pregnant in that pause. the steps halted, wavered a little, then, inflexible as doom, on they came towards us. the next instant the door was thrown open, and locasto stood in the entrance. even in that brief moment i was struck by the change in him. he seemed to have aged by twenty years. he was gaunt and lank as a starved timber wolf; his face was hollow almost as a death's head; his hair was long and matted, and his eyes burned with a strange, unnatural fire. in that dark, aquiline face the indian was never more strongly revealed. he limped, and i noticed his left hand was gloved. from under his bristling brows he glared at us. as he swayed there he minded me of an evil beast, a savage creature, a mad, desperate thing. he reeled in the doorway, and to steady himself put out his gloved hand. then with a malignant laugh, the fleering laugh of a fiend, he stepped into the room. "so! seems as if i'd lighted on a pretty nest of love-birds. ho! ho! my sweet! you're not satisfied with one lover, you must have two. well, you are going to be satisfied with one from now on, and that's jack locasto. i've stood enough from you, you white-faced jade. you've haunted me, you've put some kind of a spell on me. you've lured me back to this land, and now i'm going to have you or die! you've played with me long enough. the jig's up. stand out from between those two. stand out, i say! march out of that door." she only shrank back the farther. "you won't come, curse you; you won't come, you milk-faced witch, with your great eyes that bore holes in me, that turn my heart to fire, that make me mad. you won't come. stand back there, you two, and let the girl come." we shielded her. "ha! that's it--you defy me. you won't let me get her. well, it'll be all the worse for her. i'll make her life a hell. i'll beat her. you won't stand back. you, the dark one--don't i know you; haven't i hated you more than the devil hates a saint; hated you worse than bitter poison? these three black years you've balked me, you've kept her from me. oh, i've itched to kill you times without number, and i've spared you. but now it's my call. stand back there, stand back i say. your time's come. here's where i shoot." his hand leapt up and i saw it gripped a revolver. he had me covered. his face was contorted with devilish triumph, and i knew he meant to kill. at last, at last my time had come. i saw his fingers twitching on the trigger, i gazed into the hollow horror of that barrel. my heart turned to ice. i could not breathe. oh, for a respite, a moment--ugh!... he pulled the trigger, and, _at the same instant, garry sprang at him_! what had happened? the shot rang in my ears. i was still standing there. i felt no wound. i felt no pain. then, as i stared at my enemy, i heard a heavy fall. oh, god! there at my feet lay garry, lay in a huddled, quivering heap, lay on his face, and in his fair hair i saw a dark stain start and spread. then, in a moment, i realised what my brother had done. i fell on my knees beside him. "garry, garry!" i moaned. i heard berna scream, and i saw that locasto was coming for me. he was a man no longer. he had killed. he was a brute, a fury, a devil, mad with the lust of slaughter. with a snarl he dashed at me. again i thought he was going to shoot, but no! he raised the heavy revolver and brought it crashing down on my head. i felt the blow fall, and with it my strength seemed to shoot out of me. my legs were paralysed. i could not move. and, as i lay there in a misty daze, he advanced on berna. there she stood at bay, a horror-stricken thing, weak, panting, desperate. i saw him corner her. his hands were stretched out to clutch her; a moment more and he would have her in his arms, a moment--ah! with a suddenness that was like a flash she had raised the heavy reading-lamp and dashed it in his face. i heard his shriek of fear; i saw him fall as the thing crashed between his eyes; i saw the flames spurt and leap. high in the air he rose, awful in his agony. he was in a shroud of fire; he was in a pool of flame. he howled like a dog and fell over on the bed. then suddenly the oil-soaked bedding caught. the curtains seemed to leap and change into flame. as he rolled and roared in his agony, the blaze ran up the walls, and caught the roof. help, help! the room was afire, was burning up. fire! fire! out in the corridor i heard a great running about, shouting of men, screaming of women. the whole place seemed to be alive, panic-stricken, frenzied with fear. everything was in flames now, burning fiercely, madly, and there was no stopping them. the hotel was burning, and i, too, must burn. what a horrible end! oh, if i could only do something! but i could not move. from the waist down i was like a dead man. where was berna? pray god she was safe. i could not cry for aid. the room was reeling round and round. i was faint, dizzy, helpless. the hotel was ablaze. in the streets below crowds were gathering. people were running up and down the stairway, fighting to get free, mad with terror, leaping from the windows. oh, it was awful, to burn, to burn! i seemed to be caged in flames that were darting at me savagely, spitefully. would nobody save me? yes, some one was trying to save me, was dragging my body across the floor. consciousness left me, and it seemed for ages i lay in a stupor. when i opened my eyes again some one was still tugging at me. we were going down the stairway, and on all sides of us were sheets of flapping flame. i was wrapped in a blanket. how had it got there? who was that dark figure pulling at me so desperately, trying to lift me, staggering a few paces with me, stumbling blindly on? brave one, noble one, whoever you be! foolhardy one, reckless one, whoever you be! save yourself while yet there is time. leave me to my fate. but, oh, the agony of it to burn, to burn ...! * * * * * another desperate effort and we are almost at the door. flames are darting at us like serpents, leaping kitten-like at our heels. above us is a billowy canopy of fire soaring upward with a vast crackling roar. fiery splinters shoot around us, while before us is a black pit of smoke. smooth walls of fire uprear about us. we are in a cavern of fire, and in another moment it will engulf us. oh, my rescuer, a last frenzied effort! we are almost at the door. then i am lifted up and we both tumble out into the street. not a second too soon, for, like a savage beast foiled of its prey, a blast of flame shoots after us, and the doorway is a gulf of blazing wrath. * * * * * i am lying in the snow, lying on a blanket, and some one holds my head. "berna, is that you?" she nods. she does not speak. i shudder as i look at her. her face is like a great burn, a black mask in which her eyes and teeth gleam whitely.... "oh, berna, berna, and it was you that dragged me out...!" * * * * * my eyes go to the fiery hell in front. as i look the roof crashes in and we are showered by falling sparks. i see a fireman run back. he is swathed in flame. madly he rolls in the snow. the hotel is like a cascade of flame; it spouts outward like water, beautiful golden water. in its centre is a wonderful whirlpool. i see the line of a black girder leap out, and hanging over it a limp, charred shape. a moment it hangs uncertainly, then plunges downward into the roasting heart of the pit. and i know it for locasto. * * * * * oh, berna, berna! i can't bear to look at her. why did she do it? it's pitiful, pitiful.... the fire is spreading. right and left it swings and leaps in giant strides. sudden flames shoot out, curl over and roll like golden velvet down the black faces of the buildings. the fire leaps the street. all is pandemonium now. mad with fear and excitement, men and women rave and curse and pray. water! water! is the cry; but no water comes. suddenly a mob of terror-goaded men comes surging down the street. they bring the long hose line that connects with the pump-station on the river. hurrah! now they will soon have the flames under control. water, water is coming. the line is laid and a cry goes up to turn on the water. hurry there! but no water comes. what can be the matter? then the dread whisper goes round that the man in charge of the pumping-station has neglected his duty, and the engine fires are cold. a howl of fury and despair goes up to the lurid heavens. women wring their hands and moan; men stand by in a stupor of hopeless agony. and the fire, as if it knew of its victory, leaps up in a roaring ecstasy of triumph. there we watched, berna and i, lying in the snow that melts all around us in the fierce, scorching glare. through the lurid rift of smoke i can see the friendly stars. against that curtain of blaze, strangely beautiful in its sinuous strength, i watch the black silhouettes of men running hither and thither like rats, gutting the houses, looting the stores, tearing the hearts out of the homes. the fire seems a great bird, and from its nest of furnace heat it spreads its flapping wings over the city. yes, there is no hope. the gold-born city is doomed. from where i lie the scene is one long vista of blazing gables, ribs and rafters hugged by tawny arms of fire. squat cabins swirling in mad eddies of flame; hotels, dance-halls, brothels swathed and smothered in flame-rent blankets of swirling smoke. there is no hope. the fire is a vast avenger, and before its wrath the iniquity of the tenderloin is swept away. that flimsy hive of humanity, with its sins and secrets and sorrows, goes up in smoke and ashes to the silent stars. the gold-born city is doomed. yet, as i lay there, it seemed to me like a judgment, and that from its ruins would arise a new city, clean, upright, incorruptible. yes, the gold-camp would find itself. even as the gold, must it pass through the furnace to be made clean. and from the site where in the olden days the men who toiled for the gold were robbed by every device of human guile, a new city would come to be--a great city, proud and prosperous, beloved of homing hearts, and blessed in its purity and peace. "beloved," i sighed through a gathering mist of consciousness. i felt some hot tears falling on my face. i felt a kiss seal my lips. i felt a breathing in my ear. "oh, my dear, my dear!" she said. "i've only brought you sorrow and pain, but you've brought me love, that love that is a dazzling light, beside which the sunshine is as darkness." "berna!" i raised myself; i put out my arms to clasp her. they clasped the empty air. wildly, wildly i looked around. she was gone! "berna!" again i cried, but there was no reply. i was alone, alone. then a great weakness came over me.... i never saw her again. the last it is finished. i have written here the story of my life, or of that portion of it which means everything to me, for the rest means nothing. now that it is done, i too have done, so i sit me down and wait. for what am i waiting? a divine miracle perhaps. somehow i feel i will see her again, somehow, somewhere. surely god would not reveal to us the shining light of the great reality only to plunge us again into outer darkness? love cannot be in vain. i will not believe it. somehow, somewhere! so in the glow of the great peat fire i sit me down and wait, and the faith grows in me that she will come to me again; that i will feel the soft caress of her hand upon my pillow, that i will hear her voice all tuned to tenderness, that i will see through my tear-blinded eyes her sweet compassionate face. somehow, somewhere! with the aid of my crutch i unlatch one of the long windows and step out onto the terrace. i peer through the darkness and once more i have a sense of that land of imperious vastitudes so unfathomably lonely. with an unspeakable longing in my heart, i try to pierce the shadows that surround me. from the cavernous dark the snowflakes sting my face, but the great night seems good to me, and i sink into a garden seat. oh, i am tired, tired.... i am waiting, waiting. i close my eyes and wait. i know she will come. the snow is covering me. white as a statue, i sit and wait. * * * * * ah, berna, my dear, my dear! i knew you would return; i knew, i knew. come to me, little one. i'm tired, so tired. put your arms around me, girl; kiss me, kiss me. i'm weak and ill, but now you've come i'll soon be well again. you won't leave me any more; will you, honey? oh, it's good to have you once again! it seems like a dream. kiss me once more, sweetheart. it's all so cold and dark. put your arms around me.... oh, berna, berna, light of my life, i knew all would come right at last--beyond the mists, beyond the dreaming; at last, dear love, at last!... [transcriber's note: bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and italic text by _underscores_.] =north american transportation and trading company= [illustration] _directors..._ _john j. healy, dawson, klondike gold fields_ _ely e. weare, fort cudahy, n. w. t._ _charles a. weare, chicago, ill._ _john cudahy, chicago, ill._ _portus b. weare, chicago, ill._ _michael cudahy, chicago, ill._ alaska and northwest territory merchants and carriers steamers: portus b. weare john cudahy c. h. hamilton j. j. healy t. c. power j. c. barr klondike trading posts: fort get there weare healy circle city fort cudahy dawson operates steamships between seattle and ft. get there, st. michael's island, and steamboats from ft. get there, st. michael's island to all points on the yukon river. the only established line running from seattle to klondike. also operates large, well-stocked stores at all of the principal mining points in the interior of alaska and northwest territory on the yukon river. for rates and full information of this wonderful mining country call on or address any of the company's offices. steamers leave september , , first steamer in , june st, and every two weeks thereafter. =chicago office ... r. old colony building= =seattle, wash., office ... no. first avenue= =san francisco office ... no. california street= "the greatest gold district on earth." the yukon-cariboo british columbia gold mining development company [illustration] capital $ , , shares ... $ . each. full paid--non assessable. j. edward addicks, president, claymont, delaware. sylvester t. everett, st vice-president, cleveland. benjamin butterworth, d vice-president, washington. e. f. j. gaynor, treasurer, _auditor manhattan r. r., new york city_. charles h. kittinger, secretary, _ broadway, new york city, harrison building, philadelphia_. directors. hon. john h. mcgraw, ex-governor, state of washington. vice-president first national bank, seattle. camille weidenfeld, banker, wall street, new york. charles e. judson, president economic gas company, chicago. hon. benjamin butterworth, com'sioner of patents, washington. hon. james g. shaw, manufacturer, new castle, delaware. sylvester t. everett, v-pres't cleveland terminal & valley r. r., cleveland. charles h. kittinger, broadway, new york, harrison building, philadelphia. hon. john laughlin, ex-state senator, new york, laughlin, ewell & haupt, attorneys-at-law, buffalo. julius chambers, journalist, new york. gen. e. m. carr, of preston, carr & gilman, attorneys-at-law, seattle. thomas w. lawson, banker, state street, boston. george b. kittinger, mining engineer, seattle, wash. e. f. j. gaynor, auditor manhattan railway co., new york. philo d. beard, treasurer queen city gas co., buffalo. j. m. buxton, m. e., vancouver, british columbia. george a. kelly, broadway, new york. j. edward addicks, delaware. ... this company is formed to explore and develop the gold fields of british columbia, including the cariboo district and the klondike district at the headwaters of the yukon river. shares of its capital stock are offered to the public at par--=$ . per share=. the company has placed exploring parties in the gold regions, and now has its own agents in this marvelously rich field. each party is in charge of mining engineers, fully equipped for successful discovery and development. prospectus and additional information furnished, and subscriptions to stock received at office of j. edward addicks, harrison building, market st., philadelphia. [illustration: juneau city.] golden alaska a complete account to date of the yukon valley _its history, geography, mineral and other resources, opportunities and means of access_ by ernest ingersoll, (_formerly with the hayden survey in the west_) author of "knocking 'round the rockies," "the crest of the continent," etc., and general editor of rand, mcnally & co.'s "guide books." chicago and new york: rand, mcnally & company. . alaska. bullion safe gold mining company capital ... $ , , shares ... $ . each full paid non-assessable mines on the yukon. mines on the blue river. this company owns = acres= of gold-bearing gravel from five to forty feet thick containing many millions of value. a limited amount of the full paid, non-assessable shares will be sold at =one dollar= each. for prospectus and particulars, address, _w. l. boyd & co., wall street, new york._ copyright, , by rand, mcnally & co. introduction. to make "a book about the klondike" so shortly after that word first burst upon the ears of a surprised world, would be the height of literary impudence, considering how remote and incommunicado that region is, were it not the public is intensely curious to know whatever can be said authentically in regard to it. "the klondike," it must be remembered, is, in reality, a very limited district--only one small river valley in a gold-bearing territory twice as large as new england; and it came into prominence so recently that there is really little to tell in respect to it because nothing has had time to happen and be communicated to the outside world. but in its neighborhood, and far north and south of it, are other auriferous rivers, creeks and bars, and mountains filled with untried quartz-ledges, in respect to which information has been accumulating for some years, and where at any moment "strikes" may be made that shall equal or eclipse the wealth of the klondike placers. it is possible, then, to give here much valuable information in regard to the yukon district generally, and this the writer has attempted to do. the best authority for early exploration and geography is the monumental work of capt. w. h. dall, "alaska and its resources," whose companion, frederick whymper, also wrote a narrative of their adventures. the reports of the united states coast survey in that region, of the exploration of the upper yukon by schwatka and hayes of the united states geological survey, of nelson, turner and others attached to the weather service, of the governor of the territory, of raymond, abercrombie, allen and other army and naval officers who have explored the coast country and reported to various departments of the government, and of several individual explorers, especially the late e. j. glave, also contain facts of importance for the present compilation. the most satisfactory sources of information as to the geography, routes of travel, geology and mineralogy and mining development, are contained in the investigations conducted some ten years ago by the canadian geological survey, under the leadership of dr. g. m. dawson and of william ogilvie. of these i have made free use, and wish to make an equally free acknowledgement. it will thus be found that the contents of this pamphlet justified even the hasty publication which the public demands, and which precludes much attention to literary form; but an additional claim to attention is the information it seeks to give intending travelers to that far-away and very new and as yet unfurnished region, how to go and what to take, and what are the conditions and emergencies which they must prepare to meet. undoubtedly the pioneers to the yukon pictured the difficulties of the route and the hardships of their life in the highest colors, both to add to their self-glory and to reduce competition. moreover, every day mitigates the hardships and makes easier the travel. nevertheless, enough difficulties, dangers and chances of failure remain to make the going to alaska a matter for very careful forethought on the part of every man. to help him weigh the odds and choose wisely, is the purpose of this little book. [illustration: map of alaska.] alaska. districts, capes and points, islands, lakes, mountains, rivers, and towns. districts. pop. first, or southeastern district , second, or kadiak district , third, or unalaska district , fourth, or nushagak district , fifth, or kuskokwim district , sixth, or yukon district , seventh, or arctic district , total , capes and points. addington, c- . alitak, c- . anchor, c- . anxiety, a- . banks, c- . barnabas, c- . barrow, a- . bartolome, c- . becher, a- . beechey, a- . belcher, a- . black, c- . blossom, a- . campbell, b- . chiniak, c- . chitnak, b- . christy, a- . cleare, c- . collie, a- . constantine, c- . cross, c- . current, c- . dall, b- . danby, b- . denbigh, b- . douglas, b- . douglas, c- . dyer, a- . dyer, b- . edward, c- . elizabeth, c- . eroline, c- . espenberg, a- . etolin, b- . fairweather, c- . foggy, c- . franklin, a- . glasenap, c- . grenville, c- . griffin, a- . gulross, b- . halkett, a- . harbor, c- . hinchinbrook, c- . hope, a- . icy, a- . icy, c- . igvak, c- . ikti, c- . ikolik, c- . kahurnoi, c- . kanarak, c- . karluk, c- . kayakliut, c- . khituk, d- . krusenstern, a- . kupreanof, c- . lapin, d- . lay, a- . lazareff, d- . leontovich, c- . lewis, a- . lisburne, a- . low, c- . lowenstern, a- . lutke, d- . manby, c- . manning, a- . martin, a- . martin, c- . menchikof, c- . muzon, d- . narrow, c- . newenham, c- . nome, b- . ocean, c- . ommaney, c- . pankoff, d- . peirce, c- . pellew, b- . pillar, c- . pitt, a- . prince of wales, a- . providence, c- . puget, c- . resurrection, c- . rodknoff, c- . rodney, b- . romanof, b- . romanzof, b- . saritchey, d- . seniavin, c- . seppings, a- . sitkagi, c- . smith, b- . spencer, a- . spencer, c- . st. augustine, d- . st. elias, c- . st. hermogenes, c- . steep, c- . strogonof, c- . suckling, c- . tangent, a- . thompson, a- . toistoi, b- . tonki, c- . trinity, c- . two headed, c- . ugat, c- . unalishagvak, c- . uyak, c- . vancouver, b- . west, b- . yaktag, c- . islands. adakh, a- . admiralty, c- . afognar, c- . agattu, a- . aghiyuk, c- . akun, d- . akutan, d- . aleutian, a- . amak, c- . amaoa, d- . amatiguak, a- . amatuli, c- . amchitka, a- . amlia, a- . amukta, a- . andreanof, a- . andronica, c- . annete, d- . anowik, c- . atka, a- . atkulik, c- . attu, a- . augustine, c- . avantanak, d- . ban, c- . baranof, c- . barren, c- . barter, a- . besboro, b- . big diomede, a- . big koniushi, c- . bim, d- . biorha, a- . buldir, a- . chankilut, c- . chernabura, d- . chernobour, d- . chiachi, c- . chichagoi, c- . chirikof, c- . chiswell, c- . chowiet, c- . chugatz, c- . chuginadak, a- . chugul, a- . coronation, c- . dall, d- . deer, d- . dolgoi, c- . douglas, c- . duke, d- . dundas, d- . egg, b- . etolin, c- . flaxman, a- . forrester, d- . gareloi, a- . geese, c- . great sitkin, a- . green, b- . hagemeister, c- . hall, i- . hassler, c- . hawkin, b- . hazy, c- . hinchinbrook, b- . igitkin, a- . jacob, c- . kadiak, c- . kagalaska, a- . kagamil, a- . kalgin, b- . kanaga, a- . kateekhuk, c- . kavalga, a- . kayak, c- . khoudiakoff, c- . khoudoubine, c- . kigalgin, a- . king, b- . kiska, a- . kiukdauk, c- . knights, b- . korovin, c- . kuiu, c- . kupreanof, c- . little diomede, a- . little koniushi, c- . little sitkin, a- . marmot, c- . middleton, c- . mitkof, c- . mitrofania, c- . montagu, c- . nagai, c- . nakchamik, c- . near, a- . nelson, b- . north, d- . nunivak, b- . okolnoi, c- . otter, c- . paul, c- . pinnacle, b- . pribilof, c- . prince of wales, c- . punuk, b- . pye, c- . rat, a- . revillagigedo, c- . sand, b- . sannak, d- . seal, c- . seguam, a- . semichi, a- . semidi, c- . semisopochnoi, a- . shumagin, c- . shuyak, c- . simeonof, d- . sitkalidak, c- . sitkinak, c- . sledge, b- . south, c- . spruce, c- . st. george, c- . st. lawrence, b- . st. matthew, b- . st. michael, b- . st. paul, c- . stephens, d- . stuart, b- . sutwik, c- . tagalakh, a- . tanaga, a- . tigalda, d- . trinity is., c- . tugidak, c- . ugamok, d- . ulak, a- . uliaga, a- . umga, d- . umnak, a- . unalaska, d- . unavikshak, c- . unga, c- . unimak, d- . ushugat, c- . walros, c- . wooded is., c- . wossnessenski, c- . wrangell, c- . wrigham, c- . yakobi, c- . yunaska, a- . zaiembo, c- . zayas, d- . lakes. aleknagik, c- . becharof, c- . iliamna, c- . imuruk, b- . mentasta, b- . naknek, c- . nushagak, b- . rat, a- . selawik, a- . skillokh, b- . tasekpuk, a- . tustumena, b- . walker, a- . mountains. aghileen pinnacle, c- . alaskan, b- . asses ears, a- . black peak, c- . boundary, a- . british, a- . cathul, a- . deviation peak, a- . devils, a- . four peaked, c- . franklin, a- . gold, a- . iliamna peak, b- . jade, a- . kayuh, b- . lionshead, c- . lower ramparts, a- . makushin, d- . miles glacier, b- . mt. becharof, c- . mt. bendeleben, a- . mt. blackburn, b- . mt. chiginagar, c- . mt. crillon, c- . mt. drum, b- . mt. edgecumbe, c- . mt. fairweather, c- . mt. greenough, a- . mt. hononita, b- . mt. kelly, a- . mt. kimball, b- . mt. lituya, c- . mt. olai, c- . mt. sanford, b- . mt. tillman, b- . mt. wrangel, b- . mulgrave hills, a- . palisades, a- . pavloff volcano, c- . progromnia volcano, d- . rampart, a- . ratzel, a- . red, a- . redoubt volcano, b- . shishaldin volcano, c- . snow, a- . spirit, b- . tanana hills, a- . vsevidoff volcano, a- . yukon hills, a- . rivers. allenkakat, a- . ambler, a- . anvik, b- . azoon, b- . baczakakat, a- . big black, a- . black, b- . bradley, b- . bremner, b- . buckland, a- . cantwell, b- . chilkat. chisana, b- . chitslechina, b- . chittyna, b- . chittystone, b- . chulitna, b- . colville, a- . copper, b- . cutler, a- . daklikakat, a- . dall, a- . delta, b- . doggetlooscat, a- . dugan, b- . fickett, a- . fish, a- . forty-mile, b- . gakona, b- . gersde, b- . goodpaster, b- . hokuchatna, a- . husstiakatna, a- . ikpikpung, a- . inglixalik, a- . innoko, b- . ippewik, a- . johnson, b- . kaknu, b- . kalucna, b- . kandik, a- . karluk, c- . kashunik, b- . kassilof, b- . kaviavazak, a- . kayuh, b- . kevwleek, a- . kinak, b- . klanarchargat, a- . klatena, b- . klatsutakakat, b- . klawasina, b- . knik, b- . koo, a- . kookpuk, a- . kowak, a- . koyuk, a- . koyukuk, a- . kuahroo, a- . kuguklik, c- . kukpowruk, a- . kulichavak, b- . kuskokwim, b- . kvichak, c- . liebigitag's, b- . little black, a- . lovene, b- . marokinak, b- . meade, a- . melozikakat, a- . naknek, c- . noatak, a- . nushagak, c- . pitmegea, a- . porcupine, a- . ray, a- . robertson, b- . salmon, a- . selawik, a- . slana, b- . soonkakat, b- . stikine, c- . sucker, a- . sushitna, b- . taclat, b- . tahkandik, a- . tanana, b- . tasnioio, b- . tatotlindu, b- . tazlina, b- . teikhell, b- . traodee, a- . tokai, b- . tovikakat, a- . ugaguk, c- . ugashik, c- . unalaklik, b- . volkmar, b- . white, b- . whymper, a- . woliek, a- . yukon, b- . towns. pop. afognak, c- alaganik, b- anagnak, c- anvik, b- attanak, a- attenmut, a- belkoffski, d- belle isle, b- cape sabine, a- chilkat, c- douglas, c- dyea[b] egowik, b- fort alexander, c- fort andreafski, b- fort cudahy, b- fort get there, b- fort healy, b- fort kenai, b- fort st. michaels, b- fort weare, a- fort wrangel, c- [a] igagik, c- ikogmut mission, b- initkilly, a- jackson, d- juneau, c- [a] kaguyak, c- kaltig, b- karluk, c- katniai, c- ketchikan, c- killisnoo, c- kipmak, b- klawock, c- kodiak, c- [a] koggiung, c- kutlik, b- leather village, b- loring, c- mary island, d- metlakahtla[b] mitchell, a- morzhovoi, d- nig-a-lek, a- nikolski, a- nulato, b- nushagak, c- old morzhovoi, c- orca, b- ounalaska, a- pastolik, b- redoubt kolmakoff, b- sandpoint, c- seward, c- shageluk, b- shakan, c- shaktolik, b- sitka, c- [a] st. orlovsk, c- sutkum, c- suworof, c- taku, c- tikchik, b- ukak, c- unalaklik, b- unalaska, d- unga, c- village, c- wrangel, c- yakitat, c- addenda. pop. weare, b circle city, b dawson, b klondyke river, b klondyke district, b dyea, c footnotes: [footnote a: money order offices.] [footnote b: post offices not located on map.] [illustration: [drawn from a rough sketch made on june by g. w. f. johnson at dawson city.]] [illustration] [illustration: bird's-eye view of sitka--from baranoff castle.] golden alaska. routes to the yukon gold-fields. the gold-fields of the yukon valley, at and near klondike river, are near the eastern boundary of alaska, from twelve to fifteen hundred miles up from the mouth of the river, and from five to eight hundred miles inland by the route across the country from the southern alaskan coast. in each case an ocean voyage must be taken as the first step; and steamers may be taken from san francisco, portland, ore., seattle, wash., or from victoria, b. c. the overland routes to these cities require a word. . to san francisco. this city is reached directly by half a dozen routes across the plains and rocky mountains, of which the southern pacific, by way of new orleans and el paso; the atchison & santa fé and atlantic & pacific by way of kansas city, and across northern new mexico and arizona; the burlington, denver & rio grande, by way of denver and salt lake city; and the union and central pacific, by way of omaha, ogden and sacramento, are the principal ones. . to portland, oregon. this is reached directly by the union pacific and oregon short line, via omaha and ogden; and by the northern pacific, via st. paul and helena, montana. . to seattle, wash. this city, tacoma, port townsend and other ports on puget sound, are the termini of the northern pacific railroad and also of the great northern railroad from st. paul along the northern boundary of the united states. the canadian pacific will also take passengers there expeditiously by rail or boat from vancouver, b. c. . to vancouver and victoria, b. c. any of the routes heretofore mentioned reach victoria by adding a steamboat journey; but the direct route, and one of the pleasantest of all the transcontinental routes, is by the canadian pacific railway from montreal or chicago, via winnipeg, manitoba, to the coast at vancouver, whence a ferry crosses to victoria. regular routes of transportation to alaska are supplied by the pacific coast steamship company, which has been dispatching mail-steamships once a fortnight the year round from tacoma to sitka, which touch at juneau and all other ports of call. they also maintain a service of steamers between san francisco and portland and puget sound ports. these are fitted with every accommodation and luxury for tourist-travel; and an extra steamer, the queen, has been making semi-monthly trips during june, july and august. these steamers would carry passengers comfortably and the tourist fare for the round trip has been $ . the canadian pacific navigation company has been sending semi-monthly steamers direct from victoria to port simpson and way stations the year round. they are fine boats, but smaller than the others and are permitted to land only at sitka and dyea. such are the means of regular communication with alaskan ports. there has been no public conveyance north of sitka, except twice or thrice a year in summer, in the supply-steamers of the alaskan commercial companies, which sailed from san francisco to st. michael and there transferred to small boats up the yukon. whether any changes will be made in these schedules for the season of remains to be seen. special steamers.--as the regular accommodations were found totally inadequate to the demand for passage to alaska which immediately followed the report of rich discoveries on klondike creek, extra steamers were hastily provided by the old companies, others are fitted up and sent out by speculative owners, and some have been privately chartered. a score or more steamships, loaded with passengers, horses, mules and burros (donkeys) to an uncomfortable degree, were thus despatched from san francisco, puget sound and victoria between the middle of july and the middle of august. an example of the way the feverish demand for transportation is found in the case of the willamette, a collier, which was cleaned out in a few hours and turned into an extemporized passenger-boat. the whole 'tween decks space was filled with rough bunks, wonderfully close together, for "first-class" passengers; while away down in the hold second-class arrangements were made which the mind shudders to contemplate. yet this slave-ship sort of a chance was eagerly taken, and such space as was left was crowded with animals and goods. many persons and parties bought or chartered private steamers, until the supply of these was exhausted by the end of august. two routes may be chosen to the gold-fields. . by way of the yukon river. this is all the way by water, and means nearly , miles of voyaging. . by way of the seaports of dyea or shkagway, over mountain passes, afoot or a-horseback, and down the upper yukon river and down the lakes and rivers by raft, skiff and steamboat. [illustration: glacier bay. steamship queen.] to describe these routes is the next task--first, that by the way of st. michael, and second--up the yukon river. route, via st. michael and the yukon river.--this begins by a sea-voyage, which may be direct, or along the coast. the special steamers (and future voyages, no doubt) usually take a direct course across the north pacific and through the aleutian islands to st. michael, in norton sound, a bight of bering sea. the distance from san francisco is given as , miles; from victoria or seattle, about , miles. the inside course would be somewhat longer, would follow the route next to be described as far as juneau and sitka, then strike northwest along the coast to st. michael. this town, on an island near shore in norton sound, was established in by lieut. michael tébenkoff, of the russian navy, who named it after his patron saint. though some distance to the mouth of the yukon entrance, st. michael has always been the controlling center and base of supplies for the great valley. the north american trading and transportation company and the alaska commercial company have their large warehouses here, and provide the miners with tools, clothing and provisions. recently the wharf and warehouse accommodations have been extended, and the population has increased, but if, as is probable, any considerable number of men are stopped there this fall by the freezing of the river, and compelled to pass the winter on the island, they will find it a dreary, if not dangerous experience. the vessels supplying this depot can seldom approach the anchorage of st. michael before the end of june on account of large bodies of drifting ice that beset the waters of norton sound and the straits between st. lawrence and the yukon delta. a temporary landing-place is built out into water deep enough for loaded boats drawing five feet to come up at high tide, this is removed when winter approaches, as otherwise it would be destroyed by ice. the shore is sandy and affords a moderately sloping beach, on which boats may be drawn up. a few feet only from high water mark are perpendicular banks from six to ten feet high, composed of decayed pumice and ashes, covered with a layer about four feet thick of clay and vegetable matter resembling peat. this forms a nearly even meadow with numerous pools of water, which gradually ascends for a mile or so to a low hill, of volcanic origin, known as the shaman mountain. between the point on which st. michael is built and the mainland, a small arm of the sea makes in, in which three fathoms may be carried until the flagstaff of the fort bears west by north, this is the best-protected anchorage, and has as much water and as good bottom as can be found much farther out. the excitement of the summer of caused an enlargement of facilities and the erection of additional buildings, forming a nucleus of traffic called fort get there. here will be put together in the autumn or winter at least three, and perhaps more, new river steamboats, of which only two or three have been running on the lower river during the last two or three years. these are taken up, in pieces, by ships and fitted together at this point. all are flat-bottomed, stern-wheeled, powerfully engined craft, the largest able to carry perhaps tons, such as run on the upper missouri, and they will burn wood, the cutting and stacking of which on the river bank will furnish work to many men during the coming winter. to such steamers, or smaller boats, all the persons and cargoes must be transferred at st. michael. for the last few years there has been no trader here but the agent of the alaska commercial company, and a story is told of the building of a riverboat there in , which illustrates what life on the yukon used to be. in that year a chicago man, p. b. weare, resolved to enter the alaskan field as a trader. he chartered a schooner, and placed upon it a steamboat, built in sections and needing only to be put together and have its machinery set up, and for this purpose he took with him a force of carpenters and machinists. on reaching st. michael weare was refused permission to land his boat sections on the land of the commercial company's post, and was compelled to make a troublesome landing on the open beach, where he began operations. suddenly his ship carpenters stopped work. they had been offered, it was said, double pay by the rival concern if they would desist from all work. weare turned to the indians, but with the same ill-success. the indians were looking out for their winter grub. here was the chicago man , miles from san francisco and only two weeks left to him in which to put his boat together and then hope for a chance to ascend the river before winter came on. there was no time in which to get additional men from san francisco. in the midst of his trouble weare one day espied the revenue cutter bear steaming into the roadstead. on board of her was captain michael a. healy. that officer, on going ashore and discovering the condition of affairs, threatened to hang every carpenter and mechanic weare had brought up if they failed to immediately commence work. the men went to work, and with them went a gang of men from the bear. the little steamer was put together in a few days, and the bear only went to sea after seeing the p. b. weare steaming into the mouth of the yukon. [illustration: steamer portus b. weare.] the weare was enabled that summer to land her stores along the yukon, and was the only vessel available for the early crowds of miners going to klondike. the mouth of the yukon is a great delta, surrounded by marsh of timber--a soaking prairie in summer, a plain of snow and ice in winter. the shifting bars and shallows face out from this delta far into bering sea, and no channel has yet been discovered whereby an ocean steamer could enter any of the mouths. fortunately the northernmost mouth, nearest st. michael and miles from it, is navigable for the light river steamers, and this one, called aphoon, and marked by its unusual growth of willows and bushes is well known to the local russian and indian pilots. it is narrow and intricate, and the general course up stream is south-southeast. streams and passages enter it, and it has troublesome tidal currents. the whole space between the mouth is a net-work, indeed, of narrow channels, through the marshes. kutluck, at the outlet of the aphoon, on pastol bay, is an indian village, long celebrated for its manufacture of skin boats (bidars), and there the old-time voyagers were accustomed to get the only night's sleep ashore that navigation permits between st. michael and andraefski. on the south bank of the main stream, at the head of the delta, is the roman catholic mission of kuslivuk; and a few miles higher, just above the mouth of the andraefski river, is the abandoned russian trading post, andraefski, above which the river winds past icogmute, where there is a greek catholic mission. the banks of the river are much wooded, and the current even as far down as koserefski averages over three knots an hour. above koserefski (the catholic mission station), the course is along stretches of uninviting country, among marsh islands and "sloughs," the current growing more and more swift on the long reach from auvik, where the episcopal mission is situated, to nulato. the river here has a nearly north and south course, parallel with the coast of norton sound and within fifty miles or so of it. two portages across here form cut-offs in constant use in winter by the traders, indians and missionaries. the first of these portages starts from the mainland opposite the island of st. michael, and passes over the range of hills that defines the shore to the headwaters of the anvik river. this journey may be made in winter by sledges and thence down the auvik to the yukon, but it is a hard road. mr. nelson, the naturalist, and a fur trader, spent two months from november , , to january , , in reaching the yukon by this path. the other portage is that between unalaklik, a swedish mission station at the mouth of the unalaklik river, some fifty miles north of st. michael, and a stream that enters the yukon half way between auvik and nulato. in going from st. michael to unalatlik there are few points at which a boat can land even in the smoothest weather; in rough weather only major's cove and kegiktowenk before rounding tolstoi point to topánika, where there is a trading post. topánika is some ten miles from unalaklik, with a high shelving beach, behind which rise high walls of sandstone in perpendicular bluffs from twenty to one hundred feet in height. this beach continues all the way to the unalaklik river, the bluff gradually decreasing into a marshy plain at the river's mouth, which is obstructed by a bar over which at low tide there are only a few feet of water except in a narrow and tortuous channel, constantly changing as the river deposits fresh detritus. inside this bar there are two or three fathoms for a few miles, but the channel has only a few feet, most of the summer, from the mouth of the river to ulukuk. trees commence along the unalaklik river as soon as the distance from the coast winds and salt air permit them to grow; willow, poplar, birch and spruce being those most frequently found. the unalaklik river is followed upward to ulukuk, where begins a sledging portage over the marshes to the ulukuk hills, where there is a native village known as vesolia sopka, or cheerful peak, at an altitude of eight hundred feet above the surrounding plain. this is a well-known trapping ground, the fox and marten being very plentiful. from sopka vesolia (cheerful peak) it is about one day's journey to beaver lake, which is only a marshy tundra in winter, but is flooded in the spring and summer months. from the high hills beyond the lake one may catch a first glimpse of the great yukon sweeping between its splendid banks. [illustration: old russian block house at sitka.] the natives call nulato emphatically a "hungry" place, and it was once the scene of an atrocious massacre. capt. dall, from whose book much of the information regarding this part of alaska is derived, describes the indians here as a very great nuisance. "they had," he explains, "a great habit of coming in and sitting down, doing and saying nothing, but watching everything. at meal times they seemed to count and weigh every morsel we ate, and were never backward in assisting to dispose of the remains of the meal. occasionally we would get desperate and clean them all out, but they would drop in again and we could do nothing but resign ourselves." the soil on the banks of the yukon and that of the islands probably never thaws far below the surface. it is certain that no living roots are found at a greater depth than three feet. the soil, in layers that seems to mark annual inundations, consists of a stratum of sand overlaid by mud and covered with vegetable matter, the layers being from a half inch to three inches in thickness. in many places where the bank has been undermined these layers may be counted by the hundred. low bluffs of blue sandstone, with here and there a high gravel bank, characterize the shores as far as point sakataloutan, and some distance above this point begin the quartzose rocks. the next station on the river is the village of nowikakat, on the left bank. here may be obtained stores of dried meat and fat from the indians. the village is situated upon a beautiful bay or nowikakat harbor, which is connected by a narrow entrance with the yukon. "through this a beautiful view is obtained across the river, through the numerous islands of the opposite shore, and of the yukon mountains in the distance. the feathery willows and light poplars bend over and are reflected in the dark water, unmixed as yet with yukon mud; every island and hillside is clothed in the delicate green of spring, and luxuriates in a density of foliage remarkable in such a latitude." nowikakat is specially noted for the excellence of its canoes, of which the harbor is so full that a boat makes its landing with difficulty among them. it is the only safe place on the lower yukon for wintering a steamer, as it is sheltered from the freshets which bring down great crushes of ice in the spring. at nuklukahyet there is a mission of the episcopal church and a trading store, but there may or may not be supplies of civilized goods, not to speak of moose meat and fat. this is the neutral ground where all the tribes meet in the spring to trade. the tananah, which flows into the yukon at this point, is much broader here than the yukon, and it is here that captain dall exclaims in his diary: "and yet into this noble river no white man has dipped his paddle." recently, however, the tananah has been more or less explored by prospectors with favorable results towards the head of the river, which is more easily reached overland from circle city and the birch creek camps. leaving nuklukahyet, the "ramparts" are soon sighted, and the yukon rapids sweep between bluffs and hills which rise about fifteen hundred feet above the river, which is not more than half a mile wide and seems almost as much underground as a river bed in a canyon. the rocks are metaphoric quartzites, and the river-bed is crossed by a belt of granite. the rapid current has worn the granite away at either side, making two good channels, but in the center lies an island of granite over which the water plunges at high water, the fall being about twelve feet in half a mile. beyond the mouth of the tananah the yukon begins to widen, and it is filled with small islands. the mountains disappear, and just beyond them the totokakat, or dall river of ketchum, enters the yukon from the north. beyond this point the river, ever broadening, passes the "small houses," deserted along the bank at the time, years ago, when the scarlet fever, brought by a trading vessel to the mouth of the chilkat, spread to the upper yukon and depopulated the station. this place is noted for the abundance of its game and fish. the banks of the river above this point become very low and flat, the plain stretching almost unbroken to the arctic ocean. the next stream which empties into the yukon is beaver creek, and farther on the prospector bound for circle city may make his way some two hundred miles up birch creek, along which much gold has already been discovered, to a portage of six miles, which will carry him within six miles of circle city on the west. meanwhile the yukon passes porcupine river and fort yukon, the old trading-post founded in - , about a mile farther up the river than the present fort is situated. the situation was changed in , owing to the undermining of the yukon, which yearly washed away a portion of the steep bank until the foundation timbers of the old redoubt over-hung the flood. many small islands encumber the river from fort yukon to circle city, and the river flows along the rich lowland to the towns and mining centers of the new el dorado, an account of which belongs to a future chapter. this voyage can be made only between the middle of june and the middle of september, and requires about forty days, at best, from san francisco to circle city or forty mile. [illustration: indian totem pole, fort simpson.] route via juneau, the passes and down the upper yukon river. the second and more usual, because shorter and quicker course, is that to the head of lynn canal (taiya inlet) and overland. this coast voyage may be said to begin at victoria, b. c. (since all coast steamers gather and stop there), where a large number of persons prefer to buy their outfits, since by so doing, and obtaining a certificate of the fact, they avoid the custom duties exacted at the boundary line on all goods and equipments brought from the united states. victoria is well supplied with stores, and is, besides, one of the most interesting towns on the pacific coast. the loveliest place in the whole neighborhood is beacon hill park, and is well worth a visit by those who find an hour or two on their hands before the departure of the steamer. it forms a half-natural, half-cultivated area of the shore of the straits of fuca, where coppices of the beautiful live oak, and many strange trees and shrubs mingled with the all-pervading evergreens. within three miles of the city, and reached by street cars, is the principal station in the north pacific of the british navy, at esquimault bay. this is one of the most picturesque harbors in the world, and a beginning is made of fortifications upon a very large scale and of the most modern character. this station, in many respects, is the most interesting place on the pacific coast of canada. leaving victoria, the steamer makes its way cautiously through the sinuous channels of the harbor into the waters of fuca strait, but this is soon left behind and the steamer turns this way, and that, at the entrance to the gulf of georgia, among those islands through which runs the international boundary line, and for the possession of which england and the united states nearly went to war in . the water at first is pale and somewhat opaque, for it is the current of the great fraser gliding far out upon the surface, and the steamer passes on beyond it into the darker, clearer, salter waters of the gulf. then the prow is headed to vancouver, where the mails, freight and new railway passengers are received. from vancouver the steamer crosses to nanaimo, a large settlement on vancouver island, where coal mines of great importance exist. a railway now connects this point with victoria, and a wagon road crosses the interior of the island to alberni canal and the seaport at its entrance on barclay sound. this is the farthest northern telegraph point. the mines at nanaimo were exhausted some time ago, after which deep excavations were made on newcastle island, just opposite the town. but after a tremendous fire these also were abandoned, and all the workings are now on the shores of departure bay, where a colliery village named wellington has been built up. a steam ferry connects nanaimo with wellington; and while the steamer takes in its coal, the passengers disperse in one or the other village, go trout fishing, shooting or botanizing in the neighboring woods, or trade and chaffer with the indians. nanaimo has anything but the appearance of a mining town. the houses do not stretch out in the squalid, soot-covered rows familiar to pennsylvania, but are scattered picturesquely, and surrounded by gardens. just ahead lie the splendid hills of texada island, whose iron mines yield ore of extraordinary purity, which is largely shipped to the united states to be made into steel. the steamer keeps to the left, making its way through bayne's sound, passing cape lazaro on the left and the upper end of texada on the right, across the broadening water along the vancouver shore into seymour narrows. these narrows are only about yards wide, and in them there is an incessant turmoil and bubbling of currents. this is caused by the collision of the streams which takes place here; the flood stream from the south, through the strait of fuca and up the haro archipelago being met by that from queen charlotte sound and johnstone straits. these straits are about miles long, and by the time their full length is passed, and the maze of small islands on the right and vancouver's bulwark on the left are escaped together, the open pacific shows itself for an hour or two in the offing of queen charlotte's sound, and the steamer rises and falls gently upon long, lazy rollers that have swept all the way from china and polynesia. otherwise the whole voyage is in sheltered waters, and seasickness is impossible. the steamer's course now hugs the shore, turning into fitz hugh sound, among calvert, hunter's and bardswell islands, where the ship's spars sometimes brush the overhanging trees. here are the entrances to burke channel and dean's canal that penetrate far amid the tremendous cliffs of the mainland mountains. beyond these the steamer dashes across the open bight of milbank sound only to enter the long passages behind princess royal, pit and packer islands, and coming out at last into dixon sound at the extremity of british columbia's ragged coast line. [illustration: street in sitka.] the fogs which prevail here are due to the fact that this bight is filled with the waters of the warm japanese current and the gulf stream of the pacific from which the warm moisture rises to be condensed by the cool air that descends from the neighboring mountains, into the dense fogs and heavy rain storms to which the littoral forest owes its extraordinary luxuriance. during the mid-summer and early autumn, however, the temperature of air and water become so nearly equable that fog and rain are the exception rather than the rule. crossing the invisible boundary into alaska the steamer heads straight toward fort tougass, on wales island, once a military station of the united states, but now only a fishing place. between this point and fort wrangel another abandoned military post of the united states, two or three fish canneries and trading stations are visited and the ship goes on among innumerable islands and along wide reaches of sound to taku inlet (which deeply indents the coast, and is likely in the near future to become an important route to the gold fields), and a few hours later juneau city is reached. juneau city has been lately called the key to the klondike regions, as it is the point of departure for the numberless gold hunters who, when the season opens again, will rush blindly over incalculably rich ledges near the coast to that remote inland el dorado of their dreams. juneau has for seventeen years been supported by the gold mines of the neighboring coast. it is situated ten miles above the entrance of gastineau channel, and lies at the base of precipitous mountains, its court house, hotels, churches, schools, hospital and opera house forming the nucleus for a population which in aggregated , , a number very largely increased each winter by the miners who gather in from distant camps. the saloons, of which in there were already twenty-two, have increased proportionately, and there are, further, at least one weekly newspaper, one volunteer fire brigade, a militia company and a brass band in juneau. the curio shops on front and seward streets are well worth visiting, and from the top of seward street a path leads up to the auk village, whose people claim the flats at the mouth of gold creek. a curious cemetery may be seen on the high ground across the creek, ornamented with totemic carvings and hung with offerings to departed spirits which no white man dares disturb. from juneau to the gold fields. the few persons who formerly wished to go to the head of lynn canal did so mainly by canoeing, or chartered launches, but now many opportunities are offered by large steamboats. most of the steamers that bring miners and prospectors from below do not now discharge their freight at juneau, however, but go straight to the new port dyea at the head of the canal. lynn canal is the grandest fiord on the coast, which it penetrates for seventy-five miles. it is then divided by a long peninsula called seduction point, into two prongs, the western of which is called chilkat inlet, and the eastern chilkoot. "it has but few indentations, and the abrupt palisades of the mainland shores present an unrivalled panorama of mountains, glaciers and forests, with wonderful cloud effects. depths of fathoms have been sounded in the canal, and the continental range on the east and the white mountains on the west rise to average heights of , feet, with glaciers in every ravine and alcove." no cameron boundary line, which canada would like to establish, would cut this fiord in two, and make it useless to both countries in case of quarrel. the magnificent fan-shaped davidson glacier, here, is only one among hundreds of grand ice rivers shedding their bergs into its waters. at various points salmon canneries have long been in operation; and the seward city mines are only the best among several mineral locations of promise. a glance at the map will show that this "canal" forms a straight continuation of chatham strait, making a north and south passage nearly four hundred miles in length, which is undoubtedly the trough of a departed glacier. dyea, the new steamer landing and sub-port of entry, is at the head of navigation on the chilkoot or eastern branch of this lynn canal, and takes its name, in bad modern spelling, from the long-known taiya inlet, which is a prolongation inland for twenty miles of the head of the chilkoot inlet. it should continue to be spelled tiaya. this inlet is far the better of the two for shipping, chilkat inlet being exposed to the prevalent and often dangerous south wind, so that it is regarded by navigators as one of the most dangerous points on the alaskan coast. a presbyterian mission and government school were formerly sustained at haines, on seduction point, but were abandoned some years ago on account of indian hostility. the passes.--three passes over the mountains are reached from these two inlets,--chilkat, chilkoot and white. [illustration: head waters, dyea river.] chilkat pass is that longest known and formerly most in vogue. the chilkat indians had several fixed villages near the head of the inlet, and were accustomed to go back and forth over the mountains to trade with the interior indians, whom they would not allow to come to the coast. they thus enjoyed not only the monopoly of the business of carrying supplies over to the yukon trading posts and bringing out the furs, and more recently of assisting the miners, but made huge profits as middle-men between the indians of the interior and the trading posts on the coast. they are a sturdy race of mountaineers, and the most arrogant, treacherous and turbulent of all the northwestern tribes, but their day is nearly passed. the early explorers--krause, everette and others--took this pass, and it was here that e. j. glave first tried (in ) to take pack horses across the mountains, and succeeded so well as to show the feasibility of that method of carriage, which put a check upon the extortion and faithlessness of the indian carriers. his account of his adventures in making this experiment, over bogs, wild rocky heights, snow fields, swift rivers and forest barriers, has been detailed in the century magazine for , and should be read by all interested. "no matter how important your mission," mr. glave wrote, "your indian carriers, though they have duly contracted to accompany you, will delay your departure till it suits their convenience, and any exhibition of impatience on your part will only remind them of your utter dependency on them; and then intrigue for increase of pay will at once begin. while en route they will prolong the journey by camping on the trail for two or three weeks, tempted by good hunting or fishing. in a land where the open season is so short, and the ways are so long, such delay is a tremendous drawback. often the indians will carry their loads some part of the way agreed on, then demand an extravagant increase of pay or a goodly share of the white man's stores, and, failing to get either, will fling down their packs and return to their village, leaving their white employer helplessly stranded." the usual charge for indian carriers is $ a day and board, and they demand the best fare and a great deal of it, so that the white man finds his precious stores largely wasted before reaching his destination. these facts are mentioned, not because it is now necessary to endure this extortion and expense, but to show how little dependence can be placed upon the hope of securing the aid of indian packers in carrying the goods of prospectors or explorers elsewhere in the interior, and the great expense involved. this pass descends to a series of connected lakes leading down to lake labarge and thence by another stream to the lewes; and it requires twelve days of pack-carrying--far more than is necessary on the other passes. as a consequence, this pass is now rarely used except by indians going to the aksekh river and the coast ranges northward. chilkoot, taiya or parrier pass.--this is the pass that has been used since by the miners and others on the upper yukon, and is still a route of travel. it starts from the head of canoe navigation on taiya inlet, and follows up a stream valley, gradually leading to the divide, which is only , feet above the sea. the first day's march is to the foot of the ascent, and over a terrible trail, through heavy woods and along a steep, rocky and often boggy hillside, broken by several deep gullies. the ascent is then very abrupt and over huge masses of fallen rock or steep slippery surfaces of rock in place. at the actual summit, which for seven or eight miles is bare of trees or bushes, the trail leads through a narrow rocky gap, and the whole scene is one of the most complete desolation. naked granite rocks, rising steeply to partly snow-clad mountains on either side. descending the inland or north slope is equally bad traveling, largely over wide areas of shattered rocks where the trail may easily be lost. the further valley contains several little lakes and leads roughly down to lake lindeman. the distance from taiya is twenty-three and a half miles, and it is usually made in two days. miners sometimes cross this pass in april, choosing fine weather, and then continue down the lakes on the ice to some point where they can conveniently camp and wait for the opening of navigation on the yukon; ordinarily it is unsafe to attempt a return in the autumn later than the first of october. lake lindeman is a long narrow piece of water navigable for boats to its foot, where a very bad river passage leads into the larger lake bennett, where the navigation of the yukon really begins. "the chilkoot pass," writes one of its latest travelers, "is difficult, even dangerous, to those not possessed of steady nerves. toward the summit there is a sheer ascent of , feet, where a slip would certainly be fatal. at this point a dense mist overtook us, but we reached lake lindeman--the first of a series of five lakes--in safety, after a fatiguing tramp of fourteen consecutive hours through half-melted snow. here we had to build our own boat, first felling the timber for the purpose. the journey down the lakes occupied ten days, four of which were passed in camp on lake bennett, during a violent storm, which raised a heavy sea. the rapids followed. one of these latter, the "grand canyon," is a mile long, and dashes through walls of rock from to feet high; six miles below are the "white horse rapids," a name which many fatal accidents have converted into the "miner's grave." but snags and rocks are everywhere a fruitful source of danger on this river, and from this rapid downward scarcely a day passed that one did not see some cairn or wooden cross marking the last resting place of some drowned pilgrim to the land of gold. the above is a brief sketch of the troubles that beset the alaskan gold prospector--troubles that, although unknown in the eastern states and canada, have for many years past associated the name of yukon with an ugly sound in western america." [illustration: raft on lake lindeman.] it is probable that few if any persons need go over this pass next year, and its hardships will become a tradition instead of a terrible prospect. white pass.--this pass lies south of the chilkoot, and leaves the coast at the mouth of the shagway river, five miles south of dyea and from juneau. it was first explored in and was found to run parallel to the chilkoot. the distance from the coast to the summit is seventeen miles, of which the first five are in level bottom land, thickly timbered. the next nine miles are in a cañon-like valley, beyond which three miles, comparatively easy, take one to the summit, the altitude of which is roughly estimated at , feet. beyond the summit a wide valley is entered and leads gradually to the tahko arm of tahgish lake. this pass, though requiring a longer carriage, is lower and easier than the others, and already a pack-trail has been built through it which will soon be followed by a wagon road, and surveys for a narrow gauge railway are in progress. at the mouth of the shkagway river ocean steamers can run up at all times to a wharf which has been constructed in a sheltered position, and there is an excellent town site with protection from storms. an english company, the british columbia development association, limited, has already established a landing wharf and is erecting a wharf and sawmills at skagway, whence it is proposed (as soon as feasible) to lay down a line of rail some thirty-five miles long, striking the yukon river at a branch of the marsh lake, about miles below lake lindeman. by this means the tedious and difficult navigation between these two points will be avoided, and the only dangerous parts of the river below will be circumvented by a road or rail portage. light-draught steamers will be put on from teslin lake to the cañon and from the foot of the latter to all the towns and camps on the river. dyea is a village of cabins and tents, and little if anything in the way of supplies can be got there; it is a mere forwarding point. pending the completion of the facilities mentioned above, miners may transport their goods over the pack trail on their own or hired burros, and at tahgish lake take a boat down the tahco arm ( miles) to the main lake, and down that lake and its outlet into lake marsh. this chain of lakes, filling the troughs of old glacial fiords to a level of , feet above the sea, "constitutes a singularly picturesque region, abounding in striking points of view and in landscapes pleasing in their variety or grand and impressive in this combination of rugged mountain forms." all afford still-water navigation, and as soon as the road through white pass permits the transportation of machinery, they will doubtless be well supplied with steamboats. marsh lake is miles long, bennett , and tagish ½ miles, with windy arm miles long, tahko arm miles, and other long, narrow extensions among the terraced, evergreen-wooded hills that border its tranquil surface. the depression in which this group of lakes lies is between the coast range and the main range of the rockies; and as it is sheltered from the wet sea-winds by the former heights, its climate is nearly as dry of that of the interior. the banks are fairly well timbered, though large open spaces exist, and abound in herbage, grass and edible berries. lake marsh, named by schwatka after prof. o. c. marsh of yale, but called mud lake by the miners, without good reason, is twenty miles long and about two wide. it is rather shallow and the left bank should be followed. the surrounding region is rather low, rising by terraces to high ranges on each side, where michie mountain, , feet in height, eastward, and mounts lorue and landsdowne, westward, , and , feet high respectively, are the most prominent peaks. "the diversified form of the mountains in view from this lake render it particularly picturesque," remarks dr. dawson, "and at the time of our visit, on the th and th of september, the autumn tints of the aspens and other deciduous trees and shrubs, mingled with the sombre greens of the spruces and pines, added to its beauty." near the foot of this lake enters the mcclintock river, of which little is known. the outlet is a clear, narrow, quiet stream, called fifty-mile river, which flows somewhat westerly down the great valley. large numbers of dead and dying salmon are always seen here in summer, and as these fish never reach lake marsh, it is evident that the few who are able, after their long journey, to struggle up the rapids, have not strength left to survive. [illustration: dog pack train.] the descent of the lewes (or yukon) may be said to begin at this point, and miles below lake marsh the first and most serious obstacle is encountered in the white horse rapids, and miles cañon. their length together is ¾ miles, and they seem to have been caused by a small local effusion of lava, which was most unfortunately ejected right in the path of the river. the cañon is often not more than feet in width, and although parts of it may be run at favorable times, all of it is dangerous, and the white horse should never be attempted. the portage path in the upper part of the cañon is on the east bank, and is about five-eighths of a mile long. there a stretch of navigation is possible, with caution, ending at the head of white horse rapids, where one must land on the west bank, which consists of steep rocks, very awkward for managing a boat from or carrying a burden over. usually the empty boat can be dropped down with a line, but when the water is high boat as well as cargo must be carried for yards or more, and again, lower down, for a less distance. the miners have put down rollways along a roughly constructed road here to make the portage of the boats easier, and some windlasses for hauling the boats along the water or out and into it. it would be possible to build a good road or tramway along the east bank of these rapids without great difficulty; and plans are already formulated for a railway to be built around the whole three miles of obstruction, in the summer of , to connect with the steamboats above and below that will no doubt be running next year. the river below the rapids is fast (about four miles an hour) for a few miles, and many gravel banks appear. it gradually subsides, however, into a quiet stream flowing northwest along the same wide valley. no rock is seen here, the banks being bluffs of white silt, which turns the clear blue of the current above into a cloudy and opaque yellow. thirteen miles (measuring, as usual, along the river) brings the voyager to the mouth of the tah-keena, a turbid stream about yards wide and feet deep, which comes in from the west. its sources are at the foot of the chilkat pass, where it flows out of west kussoa lake (afterwards named lake arkell), and was formerly much employed by the chilkat indians as a means of reaching the interior, but was never in favor with the miners, and is now rarely followed by the indians themselves, although its navigation from the lake down is reported to be easy. eleven and a half miles of quiet boating takes one to the head of lake labarge. this lake is miles long, lies nearly north and south, and is irregularly elongated, reaching a width of six miles near the lower end. it is , feet above sea level and is bordered everywhere by mountains, those on the south having remarkably abrupt and castellated forms and carrying summits of white limestone. this lake is a very stormy one, and travelers often have to wait in camp for several days on its shores until calmer weather permits them to go on. this whole river valley is a great trough sucking inland the prevailing southerly summer winds, and navigation on all the lakes is likely to be rough for small boats. the river below lake labarge is crooked, and at first rapid--six miles or more an hour, and interrupted by boulders; but it is believed that a stern wheel steamer of proper power could ascend at all times. the banks are earthen, but little worn, as floods do not seem to occur. twenty-seven miles takes one to the mouth of a large tributary from the southeast,--the teslintoo, which schwatka called newberry river, and which the miners mistakenly call hotalinqu. it comes from the great lake teslin, which lies across the british columbia boundary (lat. deg.), and is said to be miles long; and it is further said that an indian trail connects it with the head of canoe navigation on the taku river, by only two long days of portaging. some miners are said to have gone over it in or ' , schwatka and hayes came this way; and it may form one of the routes of the future,--perhaps even a railway route. this river flows through a wide and somewhat arid valley, and was roughly prospected about by men who reported finding fine gold all along its course, and also in tributaries of the lake. as the mountains about the head of the lake belong to the cassiar range, upon whose southern slopes the cassiar mines are situated, there is every reason to suppose that gold will ultimately be found there in paying quantities. this part of the lewes is called thirty-mile river, under the impression that it is really a tributary of the teslintoo, which is, in fact, wider than the lewes at the junction (teslintoo, width feet; lewes, feet), but it carries far less water. from this confluence the course is north, in a deep, swift, somewhat turbid current, through the crooked defiles of the seminow hills. several auriferous bars have been worked here, and some shore-placers, including the rich cassiar bar. thirty-one miles below the teslintoo the big salmon, or d'abbadie river, enters from the southeast--an important river, feet wide, having clear blue water flowing deep and quiet in a stream navigable by steamboats for many miles. its head is about miles away, not far from teslin lake, in some small lakes reached by the salmon, and surrounded by granite mountains. prospectors have traced all its course and found fine gold in many places. [illustration: davidson glacier. chilkat inlet.] thirty-four miles below the big salmon, west-north-west, along a comparatively straight course, carries the boatman to the little salmon, or daly river, where the valley is so broad that no mountains are anywhere in sight, only lines of low hills at a distance from the banks. five miles below this river the river makes an abrupt turn to the southwest around eagle's nest rock, and ½ miles beyond that reaches the nordenskiold, a small, swift, clear-watered tributary from the southwest. the rocks of all this part of the river show thin seams of coal, and gold has been found on several bars. the current now flows nearly due north and a dozen miles below the nordenskiold carries one to the second and last serious obstruction to navigation in the rink rapids, as schwatka called them, or five-finger, as they are popularly known, referring to five large masses of rock that stand like towers in mid channel. these other islands back up the water and render its currents strong and turbulent, but will offer little opposition to a good steamboat. boatmen descending the river are advised to hug the right bank, and a landing should be made twenty yards above the rapids in any eddy, where a heavily loaded boats should be lightened. the run should be made close along the shore, and all bad water ends when the little rink rapids have been passed, six miles below. just below the rapids the small tatshun river comes in from the right. then the valley broadens out, the current quiets down and a pleasing landscape greets the eye as bend after bend is turned. a long washed bank on the northeast side is called hoo-che-koo bluff, and soon after passing it one finds himself in the midst of the pretty ingersoll archipelago, where the river widens out and wanders among hundreds of islets. fifty-five miles by the river below rink rapids, the confluence of the lewes and pelly is reached, and the first sign of civilization in the ruins of old fort selkirk, with such recent and probably temporary occupation as circumstances may cause. before long, undoubtedly, a flourishing permanent settlement will grow up in this favorable situation. the confluence here of the lewes and pelly rivers forms the yukon, which thenceforth pursues an uninterrupted course of , miles to behring sea. the country about the confluence is low, with extensive terrace flats running back to the bases of rounded hills and ridges. the yukon below the junction averages about one-quarter of a mile in width, and has an average depth of about feet, with a surface velocity of ¾ miles an hour. a good many gravel bars occur, but no shifting sand. the general course nearly to white river, miles, is a little north of west, and many islands are seen; then the river turns to a nearly due north course, maintained at fort reliance. the white river is a powerful stream, plunging down loaded with silt, over ever shifting sand bars. its upper source is problematical, but is probably in the alaskan mountains near the head of the tenana and forty-mile creek. for the next ten miles the river spreads out to more than a mile wide and becomes a maze of islands and bars, the main channel being along the western shore, where there is plenty of water. this brings one to stewart river, which is the most important right-hand tributary between the pelly and the porcupine. it enters from the east in the middle of a wide valley, and half a mile above its mouth is yards in width; the current is slow and the water dark colored. it has been followed to its headquarters in the main range of the rockies, and several large branches, on some of which there are remarkable falls, have been traced to their sources through the forested and snowy hills where they rise. these sources are perhaps miles from the mouth, but as none of the wanderers were equipped with either geographical knowledge or instruments nothing definite is known. reports of traces of precious metals have been brought back from many points in the stewart valley, but this information is as vague as the other thus far. all reports agree that a light draught steamboat could go to the head of the stewart and bar up its feeders. there is a trading post at its mouth. [illustration: view from indian church, looking northeast.] the succeeding miles holds what is at present the most interesting and populous part of the yukon valley. the river varies from half to three-quarters of a mile wide and is full of islands. about miles below stewart river a large stream enters from the west called sixty-mile creek by the miners, who have had a small winter camp and trading store there for some years, and have explored its course for gold to its rise in the mountains west of the international boundary. every little tributary has been named, among them (going up), charley's fork, edwards creek and hawley creek, in canada, and then, on the american side of the line, gold creek, miller creek and bed rock creek. the sand and gravel of all these have yielded fine gold and some of them, as miller creek, have become noted for their richness. forty-four miles below sixty-mile takes one to dawson city, at the mouth of klondike river,--the center of the highest productiveness and greatest excitement during , when the gold fields of the interior of alaska first attracted the attention of the world. leaving to another special chapter an account of them, the itinerary may be completed by saying that ½ miles below the mouth of the klondike is fort reliance, an old private trading post of no present importance. twelve and a half miles farther the chan-din-du river enters from the east, and ½ below that in the mouth of forty-mile creek, or cone hill river, which until the past year was the most important mining region of the interior. it took its name from the supposition that it was miles from fort reliance, but the true distance is miles. on the south side of the outlet of this stream is the old trading post and modern town of forty-mile, and on the north side the more recent settlement cudahy. both towns are, of course, on the western bank of the yukon, which is here about half a mile wide. five miles below cudahy, coal creek comes in from the east, and nearly marks the alaskan boundary, where a narrowed part of the river admits one to united states territory. prominent landmarks here are two great rocks, named by old timers old man rock, on the west bank, and old woman, on the east bank, in reference to indian legends attached to them. some twenty miles west of the boundary--the river now having turned nearly due west in its general course--seventy-mile, or klevande creek, comes in from the south, and somewhat below it the tat-on-duc from the north. it was ascended in by mr. ogilvie, who describes its lower valley as broad and well timbered, but its upper part flows through a series of magnificent cañons, one of which half a mile long, is not more than feet wide with vertical walls fully feet in height. there are said to be warm sulphur springs along its course, and the indians regard it as one of the best hunting fields, sheep being especially numerous on the mountains in which it heads, close by the international boundary, where it is separated by only a narrow divide from ogilvie river, one of the head streams of the peel river, and also from the head of the porcupine, to which there is an indian trail. hence the miners call this sheep river. the rocks along this stream are all sandstones, limestone and conglomerates, with many thin calcite veins. large and dense timber prevails, and game is abundant. below the mouth of the tat-on-duc several small streams enter, of which the kandik on the north and the kolto or charley's river--at the mouth of which there used to be the home of an old indian notability named charley--are most important. about miles from the boundary the yukon flats are reached, and the center of another important mining district--that of birch creek and the upper tenana--at circle city, the usual terminus of the trip up the lower yukon from st. michael. history and characteristics of the upper yukon valley. the sources of the yukon are just within the northern boundary of british columbia (lat. deg.) among a mass of mountains forming a part of the great uplift of the coast range, continuous with the sierras of california and the puget sound coast. here spring the sources of the stikeen, flowing southwest to the pacific, of the fraser, flowing south through british columbia, and of the liard flowing northeasterly to the mackenzie. headwaters of the stikeen and liard interlock, indeed, along an extensive or sinuous watershed having an elevation of , feet or less and extending east and west. there are, however, many wide and comparatively level bottom lands scattered throughout this region and numerous lakes. the coast ranges here have an average width of about eighty miles and border the continent as far north as lynn canal, where they trend inland behind the st. elias alps. many of their peaks exceed , feet in height, but few districts have been explored west. eastward of this mountain axis, and separated from it by the valleys of the fraser and columbia in the south and the yukon northward, is the continental divide, or rocky mountains proper, which is broken through (as noted above) by the laird, but north of that cañon-bound river forms the watershed between the liard and yukon and between the yukon and mackenzie. these summits attain a height of , to , feet, and rise from a very complicated series of ranges extending northward to the arctic ocean, and very little explored. the valley of the yukon, then, lies between the rocky mountains, separating its drainage basin from that of the mackenzie, and the coast range and st. elias alps separating it from the sea. granite is the principal rock in both these great lines of watershed-uplift, and all the mountains show the effects of an extensive glaciation, and all the higher peaks still bear local remnants of the ancient ice-sheet. the headwaters of the great river are gathered into three principal streams. first, the lewes, easternmost, with its large tributaries, the teslintoo and big salmon; second, the pelly, with its great western tributary, the macmillon. [illustration: scene in juneau--mountains and indian houses.] the lewes river has been described. it was known to the fur traders as early as , and the chilkat and chilkoot passes were occasionally used by their indian couriers from that time on. the gold fields in british columbia from onwards stimulated prospecting in the northern and coastal parts of that province, and in prospectors reached the actual headwaters of the lewes from the south, but were probably not aware of it; and that country was not scientifically examined until the reconnaissance of dr. g. m. dawson in . in ketchum and la barge, of the western union telegraph survey, ascended the lewes as far as the lakes still called ketchum and la barge. in lieut. frederick schwatka, u. s. a., and an assistant named hayes, and several indians, made their way across from taka inlet to the head of tahgish (a tako) lake, and descended the lewes on a raft to fort selkirk, studying and naming the valley. from fort selkirk an entirely new route was followed toward the mountains forming the divide between the yukon and the white and copper rivers, which flow to the gulf of alaska, north of mt. st. elias. after discovering a pass little more than , feet high, they struck the chityna river and followed that to the copper river and thence to the coast. the copper river valley was thoroughly explored somewhat later by lieuts. abercrombie and allen, u. s. a., who added greatly to knowledge of that large river, which, however, seems to have no good harbor at its mouth. the miners began to use the chilkoot pass and the lewes river route to the yukon district in . some additions were made to geography in this region by an exploring expedition despatched to alaska in by frank leslie's weekly, under messrs. a. j. wells, e. j. glave and a. b. schanz. they entered by way of chilkat pass and came to a large lake at the head of the tah-keena tributary of the lewes, which they named lake arkell, though it was probably the same earlier described by the drs. krause. here mr. glave left the party and striking across the coast range southward discovered the headwaters of the alsekh and descended to dry bay. at forty-mile creek mr. wells and a party crossed over into the basin of the tanana and increased the knowledge of that river. mr. schanz went down the yukon and explored the lower region. in mr. glave again went to alaska, demonstrated the possibility of taking pack horses over the chilkat trail, and with an aid named dalton made an extensive journey southward along the crest of the watershed between the yukon valley and the coast. turning now to the pelly, we find that this was the earliest avenue of discovery. the pelly rises in lakes under the nd parallel, just over a divide from the finlayson and frances lake, the head of the frances river, the northern source of the liard, and this region was entered by the hudson bay company as early as , and gradually exploring the laird river and its tributaries, in robert campbell crossed over the divide north of lake finlayson (at the head of the frances), and discovered (at a place called pelly banks) a large river flowing northwest which he named pelly. in he descended the river to its confluence with the lewes (which he then named), and in he built a post for the h. b. company at that point, calling it fort selkirk. this done, in , campbell floated down the river as far as the mouth of the porcupine, where three years previously ( ) fort yukon had been established by mr. murray, who (founded by james bell in ) crossed over from the mouth of the mackenzie. the yukon may thus be said to have been "discovered" at several points independently. the russians, who knew it only at the mouth, called it kwikhpak, after an eskimo name. the english at fort yukon, learned that name from the indians there, and the upper river was the pelly. the english and russian traders soon met, and when campbell came down in the identity of the whole stream was established. the name yukon gradually took the place of all others on english maps and is now recognized for the whole stream from the junction of the lewes and pelly to the delta. the yukon basin, east of the alaskan boundary, is known in canada as the yukon district, and contains about , square miles. this is nearly equal to the area of france, is greater than that of the united kingdom of great britain and ireland by , square miles, and nearly three times bigger than that of the new england states. to this must be added an area of about , square miles, west of the boundary, drained by the yukon upon its way to the sea through alaska. nevertheless, dr. g. m. dawson and other students of the matter are of the opinion that the river does not discharge as much water as does the mackenzie--nor could it be expected to do so, since the drainage area of the mackenzie is more than double that of the yukon, while the average annual precipitation of rain over the two areas seems to be substantially similar. remembering these figures and that the basin of the mississippi has no less than , , square miles as compared with the , square miles of the yukon basin, it is plain that the statement often heard that the yukon is next to the mississippi in size, is greatly exaggerated. in fact, its proportions, from all points of view, are exceeded by those of the nile, ganges, st. lawrence and several other rivers of considerably less importance than the mississippi. [illustration: early morning at juneau.] resuming the historical outline, a short paragraph will suffice to complete the simple story down to the year . robert campbell had scarcely returned from his river voyage to his duties at fort selkirk, when he discovered that its location in the angle between the rivers was untenable, owing to ice-jams and floods. the station was therefore moved, in the season of across to the west bank of the yukon, a short distance below the confluence, and new buildings were erected. these had scarcely been completed, when, on august st, a band of chilkat indians from the coast came down the river and early in the morning seized upon the post, surprising mr. campbell in bed, and ordered him to take his departure before night. they were not at all rough with him or his few men, but simply insisted that they depart, which they did, taking such personal luggage as they could put into a boat and starting down stream. the indians then pillaged the place, and after feasting on all they could eat and appropriating what they could carry away, set fire to the remainder and burned the whole place to the ground. one chimney still stands to mark the spot, and others lie where they fell. this act was not dictated by wanton destructiveness on the part of the chilkats--bad as they undoubtedly were and are; but was in pursuance of a theory. the establishment of the post there interfered with the monopoly of trade that they had enjoyed theretofore, with all the indians of the interior, to whom they brought salable goods from the coast, taking in exchange furs, copper, etc., at an exorbitant profit, which they enforced by their superior brutality. the hudson bay company was robbing them of this, hence the demolition of the post, which was too remote to be profitably sustained against such opposition. a little way down the river, mr. campbell met a fleet of boats bringing up his season's goods, and many friendly indians. these were eager to pursue the robbers, but campbell thought it best not to do so. he turned the supply-boats back to fort yukon and led his own men up the pelly and over the pass to the frances and so down the liard to fort simpson, on the mackenzie. such is the story of the ruins of fort selkirk. fort yukon flourished as the only trading post until the purchase of alaska by the united states, when captain raymond, an army officer, was sent to inform the factor there that his post was on united states territory, and require him to leave. he did so as soon as rampart house could be built to take its place up the porcupine. old fort yukon then fell into ruins, and rampart house itself was soon abandoned. in an opposition appeared in the independent trading house of harper & mcquestion, men who had come into the country from the south, after long experience in the fur trade. they had posts at various points, occupied fort reliance for several years, and in established a post at the mouth of the stewart river for the miners who had begun to gather there two years before. many maps mark "reed's house" as a point on the upper stewart, but no such a trading-post ever existed there, although there was a fishing station and shelter-hut on one of its upper branches at an early day. this firm became the representatives of the alaska commercial company (a san francisco corporation) and opened a store in at forty mile, where they still do business. gold discoveries.--the presence of fine float gold in river sands was early discovered by the hudson bay company men, but in accordance with the former policy of that company, no mining was done and as little said about it as possible. the richness of the cassiar mines led to some prospecting northward as early as , and by wandering gold hunters had penetrated to the testintos, where for several years $ to $ a day of fine gold was sluiced out during the season by the small colony. in cassiar bar, on the lewes, below there, was opened, and a party of four took out $ , in days, while other neighboring bars yielded fair wages. by that time stewart river was becoming attractive, and many miners worked placers there profitably in , ' and ' . during the fall of three or four men took the engines out of the little steamboat "new racket," which was laid up for the winter there, and used them to drive a set of pumps lifting water into sluice-boxes; and with this crude machinery each man cleared $ , in less than a month. a judicious estimate is, that the stewart river placers yielded $ , in and ' . [illustration: harbor of sitka.] prospecting went on unremittingly, but nothing else was found of promise until , when coarse gold was reported upon forty mile creek, or the shitando river, as it was known to the indians, and a local rush took place to its cañons, the principal attraction being franklin gulch, named after its discoverer. three or four hundred men gathered there by the season of , and all did well. this stream is a "bed-rock" creek,--that is, one in the bed of which there is very little drift; and in many places the bed-rock was scraped with knives to get the little loose stuff out of crannies. some nuggets were found. at its mouth are extensive bars along the yukon, which carry gold throughout their depth. during the season was very unfavorable and not much accomplished. sixty mile creek was brought to notice, and miller gulch proved richer than usual. it is one of the headwaters of sixty mile, and some miles from the mouth of the river where, in , a trading store, saw-mill and little wintering-town was begun. miller creek is about miles long, and its valley is filled with vast deposits of auriferous drift. in rich strikes were made and miners gathered there, paying $ a day for help, and many making fortunes. one clean-up of , ounces was reported. glacier creek, a neighboring stream, exhibited equal chances and drew many claimants, some of whom migrated thither in mid-winter, drawing their sleds through the woods and rocks with the mercury degrees below zero. all of these gulches and other golden headwaters on both forty mile and sixty mile creek, are west of the boundary in alaska; but the mouths of the main streams and supply points are in canadian territory. in all, the great obstacle is the difficulty of getting water up on the bars without expensive machinery; and the same is true of the rich gravel along the banks of the yukon itself. birch creek was the next find of importance, and was promising enough to draw the larger part of the local population, which by this time had been considerably increased, for the news of the richness of the forty mile gulches had reached the outside world and attracted adventurous men and not a few women from the coast not only, but from british columbia and the united states. a rival to harper & mcquestion, agents of the alaska commercial company, appeared in the north american transportation and trading company, which increased the transportation service on the yukon river, by which most of the new arrivals entered, and by establishing large competitive stores at fort cudahy (forty mile) and elsewhere reduced the price of food and other necessaries. about this time, also, the canadian government sent law officers and a detachment of mounted police, so that the yukon district began to take a recognized place in the world. birch creek is really a large river rising in the iauana hills, just west of the boundary and flowing northwest, parallel with the yukon, to a debouchment some miles west of fort yukon. between the two rivers lie the "yukon flats," and at one point they are separated by only six miles. here, at the yukon end of the road arose circle city, so-called from its proximity to the arctic circle. this is an orderly little town of regular streets, and has a recorder of claims, a store, etc. birch creek has been thoroughly explored, and in yielded good results. the gold was in coarse flakes and nuggets, so that $ a day was made by some men, while all did well. the drift is not as deep here as in most other streams, and water can be applied more easily and copiously,--a vast advantage. molymute, crooked, independence, mastadon and preacher creeks are the most noteworthy tributaries of this rich field. the koyukuk river, which flows from the borders of the arctic ocean, gathering many mountain tributaries, to enter the yukon at nulato, was also prospected in , ' and ' , and indications of good placers have been discovered there, but the northerly, exposed and remote situation has caused them to receive little attention thus far. the klondike. during the autumn of several men and women, none of whom were "old miners," discouraged by poor results lower down the river resolved to try prospecting in the klondike gulch. they were laughed at and argued with; were told that prospectors years ago had been all over that valley, and found only the despised "flour gold," which was too fine to pay for washing it out. nevertheless they persisted and went at work. only a short time elapsed, when, on one of the lower southside branches of the stream they found pockets of flakes and nuggets of gold far richer than anything alaska had ever shown before. they named the stream bonanza, and a small tributary el dorado. others came and nearly everyone succeeded. before spring nearly a ton and a half of gold had been taken from the frozen ground. nuggets weighing a pound (troy) were found. a thousand dollars a day was sometimes saved despite the rudeness of the methods, but these things happened where pockets were struck. probably the total clean-up from january to june was not less than $ , , . the report spread and all those in the interior of alaska concentrated there, where a "camp" of tents and shanties soon sprang up at the mouth of the klondike called dawson city. a correspondent of the new york sun describes it as beautifully situated, and a very quiet, orderly town, due to the strict supervision of the canadian mounted police, who allowed no pistols to be carried, but a great place for gambling with high stakes. it bids fair to become the mining metropolis of the northwest, and had about , inhabitants before the advance-guard of the present "rush" reached there. [illustration: five finger rapids, yukon river.] hundreds of claims were staked out and worked in all the little gulches opening along bonanza, eldorado, hunker, bear and other tributaries of the klondike, and of indian river, a stream thirty miles south of it, and a greater number seem to be of equal richness with those first worked. all this is within a radius south and east of miles from dawson city, and most of it far nearer. the country is rough, wooded hills, and the same trouble as to water is met there as elsewhere, yet riches were obtained by many men in a few weeks without exhausting their claims. so remote and shut in has this region been in the winter that no word of this leaked out until the river opened and a party of successful miners came down to the coast and took passage on the steamer excelsior for san francisco. they arrived on july , and no one suspected that there was anything extraordinary in the passenger list or cargo, until a procession of weather beaten men began a march to the selby smelting works, and there began to open sacks of dust and nuggets, until the heap made something not seen in san francisco since the days of ' . the news flashed over the world, and aroused a fire of interest; and when three days later the portland came into seattle, bringing other miners and over $ , , in gold, there was a rush to go north which bids fair to continue for months to come, for one of the articles of faith in the creed of the yukon miner is that many other gulches will be found as rich as these. one elderly man, who went in late last fall and with partners took four claims on eldorado creek, told a reporter that his pickings had amounted to $ , , and that he was confident that the ground left was worth $ , , more. "i want to say," he exclaims, "that i believe there is gold in every creek in alaska. certain on the klondike the claims are not spotted. one seems to be as good as another. it's gold, gold, gold, all over. it's yards wide and deep. all you have to do is to run a hole down." one might go on quoting such rhapsodies, arising from success, to end of the book, but it is needless, for every newspaper has been full of them for a month. one man and his wife got $ , ; another, formerly a steamboat deck-hand, $ , ; another, $ , ; a score or more over $ , , and so on. these sums were savings after having the heavy expenses of the winter, and most of them had dug out only a small part of their ground. it is curious in view of this success to read the only descriptive note the present writer can discover in early writings as to this gold river. it occurs in ogilvie's report of his explorations of , and is as follows: "six and a half miles above reliance the tou-dac river of the indians (deer river of schwatka) enter from the east. it is a small river about yards wide at the mouth and shallow; the water is clear and transparent and of a beautiful blue color. the indians catch great numbers of salmon here. a miner had prospected up this river for an estimated distance of miles in the season of . i did not see him." the methods of placer mining in the klondike region and elsewhere along the yukon are different from those pursued elsewhere, owing to the fact that from a point about three feet below the surface the ground is permanently frozen. the early men tried to strip off the gravel down to the gold lying in its lower levels or beneath it, upon the bed rock, and found it exceedingly slow and laborious work; moreover, it was only during the short summer that any work could be done. now, by the aid of fires they sink shafts and then tunnel along the bed rock where the gold lies. a returned miner described the process as follows, pointing out the great advantage of being able to work under ground during the winter: [illustration: placer mine, claim no. , on miller creek.] "the miners build fires over the area where they wish to work and keep these lighted over that territory for the space of twenty-four hours. then the gravel will be melted and softened to a depth of perhaps six inches. this is then taken off and other fires are built until the gold bearing layer is reached. when the shaft is down that far other fires are built at the bottom, against the sides of the layer and tunnels made in the same manner. blasting will do no good, the charge not cracking off but blowing out of the hole. the matter taken out, and containing the gold is piled up until spring, when the torrents come down, and is panned and cradled by these. it is certainly very hard labor." another quotation may be given as a practical example of this process: "the gold so far as has been taken from bonanza and eldorado, both well named, for the richness of the placers are truly marvelous. eldorado, thirty miles long, is staked the whole length and as far as worked has paid. "one of our passengers, who is taking home $ , with him, has worked one hundred feet of his ground and refused $ , for the remainder, and confidently expects to clean up $ , and more. he has in a bottle $ from one pan of dirt. his pay dirt while being washed averaged $ an hour to each man shoveling in. two others of our miners who worked their own claim cleaned up $ , from one day's washing. "there is about fifteen feet of dirt above bed rock, the pay streak averaging from four to six feet, which is tunnelled out while the ground is frozen. of course, the ground taken out is thawed by building fires, and when the thaw comes and water rushes in they set their sluices and wash the dirt. two of our fellows thought a small bird in the hand worth a large one in the bush, and sold their claims for $ , , getting $ , down, and the remainder to be paid in monthly installments of $ , each. the purchasers had no more than $ , paid. they were twenty days thawing and getting out dirt. then there was no water to sluice with, but one fellow made a rocker, and in ten days took out the $ , for the first installment. so, tunnelling and rocking, they took out $ , before there was water to sluice with." legal aspect of alaska. commissioner hermann, of the general land office, has announced that the following laws of the united states extend over alaska, where the general land laws do not apply: first--the mineral land laws of the united states. second--town-site laws, which provide for the incorporation of town-sites and acquirement of title thereto from the united states government by the town-site trustees. third--the laws providing for trade and manufactures, giving each qualified person acres of land in a square and compact form. the coal land regulations are distinct from the mineral regulations or laws, and as in the case of the general land laws alaska is expressly exempt from this jurisdiction. on the part of canada, however, the provisions of the real property act of the northwest territories will be extended to the yukon country by an order in council, a register will be appointed, and a land title office will be established. the act approved may , , providing a civil government for alaska, has this language as to mines and mining privileges: "the laws of the united states relating to mining claims and rights incidental thereto shall, on and after the passage of this act, be in full force and effect in said district of alaska, subject to such regulations as may be made by the secretary of the interior and approved by the president," and "parties who have located mines or mining privileges therein, under the united states laws applicable to the public domain, or have occupied or improved or exercised acts of ownership over such claims, shall not be disturbed therein, but shall be allowed to perfect title by payment so provided for." there is still more general authority. without the special authority, the act of july , , says: "all valuable mineral deposits in lands belonging to the united states, both surveyed and unsurveyed, are hereby declared to be free and open to exploration and purchase, and lands in which these are found to occupation and purchase by citizens of the united states and by those who have declared an intention to become such, under the rules prescribed by law and according to local customs or rules of miners in the several mining districts, so far as the same are applicable and not inconsistent with the laws of the united states." the patenting of mineral lands in alaska is not a new thing, for that work has been going on, as the cases have come in from time to time, since . [illustration: the point and beach at metlakahtla.] one of the difficulties that local capitalists find in their negotiations for purchase of mining properties on the yukon is the lack of authenticated records of owners of claims. different practices prevail on the two sides of the line and cause more or less confusion. the practice has been at most of the new camps to call a miners' meeting at which one of the parties was elected recorder, and he proceeded to enter the bearings of stakes and natural marks to define claims. sometimes the recorder would give a receipt for a fee allowed by common consent for recording, and also keep a copy for future reference, but in a majority of cases even this formality was dispensed with, and the only record kept was the rough minutes made at the time. on the canadian side a different state of affairs exists. the dominion government has sent a commissioner who is empowered to report officially all claims, and while no certificate is issued to the owners thereof, properties are thoroughly defined and their metes and bounds established. the commissioner in the klondike district, whose name is constantine, also exercises semi-judicial functions, and settles disputes to the best of his ability, appeal lying to the ottawa government. as to courts and the execution of civil and criminal law generally, none were existent in the upper yukon valley on the american side of the line during . the nearest united states judge was at sitka. at circle city and other centers of population the people had organized into a sort of town-meeting for the few public matters required; and a sort of vigilance committee took the place of constituted authority and police. as a matter of fact, however, the people were quiet and law-abiding and little need for the machinery of law is likely to arise before courts, etc., are set up. a movement toward sending a garrison of united states troops thither was vetoed by the war department. canada, however, awoke to the realization that her interests were in jeopardy, and took early steps to profit by the wealth which had been discovered within her borders and the international business that resulted. the natural feeling among the canadians was, and is, that the property belongs to the canadian public, and that no good reason exists why the mineral and other wealth should be exhausted at once, mainly by outsiders, as has largely happened in the case of canada's forests. a prohibitory policy was urged by some, but this seemed neither wise nor practicable; and the dominion government set at work to save as large a share as it could. as there are gold fields on the alaska side of the line, and the approaches lie through united states territory, a spirit of reciprocal accommodation was necessary. one difficulty has been averted last spring by president cleveland's veto of the immigration bill, one provision of which would have prevented canadian laborers drawing wages in this country, and probably would have provoked a retaliatory act. canada has already placed customs officers on the passes and at the yukon crossing of the boundary to collect customs duties not only on merchandise but on miner's personal outfits. there is practically no exception, and the duty comes below per cent. on but few articles. on most of the goods the duty is from to per cent., and in several instances higher, but the matter may be very simply adjusted by purchasing tools and outfits in victoria or vancouver, for thus far the united states has placed no corresponding obstruction in the way of canadian travellers to the gold-fields, but, on the contrary, has made dyea a sub-port of entry, largely to accommodate british transportation lines. the canadian government is represented in that region now only by customs officers and mounted police, but it is taking steps to garrison the whole upper yukon valley with its mounted police,--a body of officers, whose functions are half military, half civil, and which, it may as well be conceded once for all, cannot be trifled with. there is no question but that they will do their level best to enforce the laws to the utmost. the commander of each detachment will be constituted a magistrate of limited powers, so that civil examinations and trials may be speedily conducted. the plan is to erect a strong post a short distance north of the sixtieth degree of latitude, just above the northern boundary of british columbia, and beyond the head of the lynn canal, where the chilkoot pass and the white pass converge. this post will command the southern entrance to the whole of that territory. further on small police posts will be established, about fifty miles apart, down to fort selkirk, while another general post will patrol the river near the international boundary, with headquarters, probably, in the klondike valley. the mining regulations of canada, applying to the yukon placer claims, are as follows: "bar diggings" shall mean any part of a river over which water extends when the water is in its flooded state and which is not covered at low water. "mines on benches" shall be known as bench diggings, and shall for the purpose of defining the size of such claims be excepted from dry diggings. "dry diggings" shall mean any mine over which a river never extends. "miner" shall mean a male or female over the age of eighteen, but not under that age. "claims" shall mean the personal right of property in a placer mine or diggings during the time for which the grant of such mine or diggings is made. "legal post" shall mean a stake standing not less than four feet above the ground and squared on four sides for at least one foot from the top. "close season" shall mean the period of the year during which placer mining is generally suspended. the period to be fixed by the gold commissioner in whose district the claim is situated. "locality" shall mean the territory along a river (tributary of the yukon) and its affluents. "mineral" shall include all minerals whatsoever other than coal. [illustration: fort wrangell.] . bar diggings. a strip of land feet wide at highwater mark and thence extending along the river to its lowest water level. . the sides of a claim for bar diggings shall be two parallel lines run as nearly as possible at right angles to the stream, and shall be marked by four legal posts, one at each end of the claim at or about high water mark; also one at each end of the claim at or about the edge of the water. one of the posts shall be legibly marked with the name of the miner and the date upon which the claim is staked. . dry diggings shall be feet square and shall have placed at each of its four corners a legal post, upon one of which shall be legibly marked the name of the miner and the date upon the claim was staked. . creek and river claims shall be feet long, measured in the direction of the mineral course of the stream, and shall extend in width from base to base of the hill or bench on each side, but when the hills or benches are less than feet apart the claim may be feet in depth. the sides of a claim shall be two parallel lines run as nearly as possible at right angles to the stream. the sides shall be marked with legal posts at or about the edge of the water and at the rear boundary of the claim. one of the legal posts at the stream shall be legibly marked with the name of the miner and the date upon which the claim was staked. . bench claims shall be feet square. . in defining the size of claims they shall be measured horizontally, irrespective of inequalities on the surface of the ground. . if any person or persons shall discover a new mine and such discovery shall be established to the satisfaction of the gold commissioner, a claim for the bar diggings feet in length may be granted. a new stratum of auriferous earth or gravel situated in a locality where the claims are abandoned shall for this purpose be deemed a new mine, although the same locality shall have previously been worked at a different level. . the forms of application for a grant for placer mining and the grant of the same shall be according to those made, provided or supplied by the gold commissioner. . a claim shall be recorded with the gold commissioner in whose district it is situated within three days after the location thereof if it is located within ten miles of the commissioner's office. one day extra shall be allowed for making such record for every additional ten miles and fraction thereof. . in the event of the absence of the gold commissioner from his office for entry a claim may be granted by any person whom he may appoint to perform his duties in his absence. . entry shall not be granted for a claim which has not been staked by the applicant in person in the manner specified in these resolutions. an affidavit that the claim was staked out by the applicant shall be embodied in the application. . an entry fee of $ shall be charged the first year and an annual fee of $ for each of the following years. . after recording a claim the removal of any post by the holder thereof or any person acting in his behalf for the purpose of changing the boundaries of his claim shall act as a forfeiture of the claim. . the entry of every holder for a grant for placer mining must be renewed and his receipt relinquished and replaced every year, the entry fee being paid each year. . no miner shall receive a grant for more than one mining claim in the same locality; but the same miner may hold any number of claims by purchase, and any number of miners may unite to work their claims in common upon such terms as they may arrange, provided such agreement be registered with the gold commissioner and a fee of $ for each registration. . and miner may sell, mortgage, or dispose of his claims, provided such disposal be registered with and a fee of $ paid to the gold commissioner. . every miner shall, during the continuance of his grant, have the exclusive right of entry upon his own claim for the miner-like working thereof, and the construction of a residence thereon, and shall be entitled exclusively to all the proceeds realized therefrom; but he shall have no surface rights therein, and the gold commissioner may grant to the holders of adjacent claims such rights of entry thereon as may be absolutely necessary for the working of their claims, upon such terms as may to him seem reasonable. he may also grant permits to miners to cut timber thereon for their own use, upon payment of the dues prescribed by the regulation in that behalf. . every miner shall be entitled to the use of so much of the water naturally flowing through or past his claim, and not already lawfully appropriated as shall in the opinion of the gold commissioner be necessary for the due working thereof, and shall be entitled to drain his own claim free of charge. [illustration: chilkoot pass.] . a claim shall be deemed to be abandoned and open to occupation and entry by any person when the same shall have remained unworked on working days by the guarantee thereof or by some person in his behalf for the space of seventy-two hours unless sickness or some other reasonable cause may be shown to the satisfaction of the gold commissioner, or unless the guarantee is absent on leave given by the commissioner, and the gold commissioner, upon obtaining satisfactory evidence that this provision is not being complied with, may cancel the entry given in the claim. . if the land upon which a claim has been located is not the property of the crown it will be necessary for the person who applies for entry to furnish proof that he has acquired from the owner of the land the surface right before entry can be granted. . if the occupier of the lands has not received a patent thereof the purchase money of the surface rights must be paid to the crown and a patent of the surface rights will issue to the party who acquired the mining rights. the money so collected will either be refunded to the occupier of the land when he is entitled to a patent there or will be credited to him on account of payment of land. . when the party obtaining the mining rights cannot make an arrangement with the owner thereof for the acquisition of the surface rights it shall be lawful for him to give notice to the owner or his agents or the occupier to appoint an arbitrator to act with another arbitrator named by him in order to award the amount of compensation to which the owner or occupier shall be entitled. the royalty and reserve additions to this, made since the recent discoveries and on account of them, are as follows: . a royalty of per cent will be collected for the government on all amounts taken out of any one claim up to $ a week, and after that per cent. this royalty will be collected on gold taken from streams already being worked, but in regard to all future discoveries the government proposes . that upon every river and creek where mining locations shall be staked out every alternate claim shall be the property of the government. these regulations, say the canadians, are made with the purpose of developing a country, which, as elsewhere shown in this pamphlet, is capable of supporting a large permanent population and varied industries. whether they can be enforced remains to be seen, and difficulties will certainly attend the collection of a royalty on gold-dust. the effect of these regulations, it is believed by the authors, will be to encourage permanent settlement and the treatment of mining as a regular industry and not simply as an adventurous speculation. another effect, undoubtedly, will be to cause immigrants, including canadians themselves, to prospect and mine on the united states side of the line, whenever they have an equal opportunity for success. the boundary dispute does not as yet seriously affect the question or rights and privileges in the new gold regions, as the disputed part of the line, southeast of alaska, runs through a region not yet occupied, and practically the whole of lynn canal is administered by the united states, and the canadians act as though it were decided that their boundary was farther inland than some of them pretend. from mt. st. elias north, the st meridian is the undisputed boundary, and this has been fixed by an international commission, crossing the yukon at a marked point near the mouth of forty mile creek. nearly or quite all of the diggings upon which are written alaskan territory, as also are the valuable placers on birch and miller creeks. it will be a matter of extreme difficulty along this part of the boundary to prevent smuggling, to discover and collect canadian royalties, and to capture criminals except by international coöperation. climate, agriculture and health. the weather bureau has made public a statement in regard to the climate of alaska, which says: "the climates of the coast and the interior of alaska are unlike in many respects, and the differences are intensified in this as perhaps in few other countries by exceptional physical conditions. the fringe of islands that separates the mainland from the pacific ocean from dixon sound north, and also a strip of the mainland for possibly twenty miles back from the sea, following the sweep of the coast as it curves to the northwestward to the western extremity of alaska form a distinct climatic division which may be termed temperate alaska. the temperature rarely falls to zero; winter does not set in until dec. , and by the last of may the snow has disappeared except on the mountains. "the mean winter temperature of sitka is . , but little less than that of washington, d. c. the rainfall of temperate alaska is notorious the world over, not only as regards the quantity, but also as to the manner of its falling, viz.: in long and incessant rains and drizzles. cloud and fog naturally abound, there being on an average but sixty-six clear days in the year. [illustration: general view of silver bow basin, near juneau.] "north of the aleutian islands the coast climate becomes more rigorous in winter, but in summer the difference is much less marked. "the climate of the interior is one of extreme rigor in winter, with a brief but relatively hot summer, especially when the sky is free from cloud. "in the klondike region in midwinter the sun rises from : to a. m., and sets from to p. m., the total length of daylight being about four hours. remembering that the sun rises but a few degrees above the horizon and that it is wholly obscured on a great many days, the character of the winter months may easily be imagined. "we are indebted to the united states coast and geodetic survey for a series of six months' observations on the yukon, not far from the site of the present gold discoveries. the observations were made with standard instruments, and are wholly reliable. the mean temperatures of the months october, , to april, , both inclusive, are as follows: october, degrees; november, degrees; december, degrees, below zero; january, below zero; february, below zero; march, above; april above. the daily mean temperature fell and remained below the freezing point ( degrees) from nov. , , to april , , thus giving days as the length of the closed season of -' , assuming that outdoor operations are controlled by temperature only. the lowest temperatures registered during the winter were: thirty-two degrees below zero in november, below in december, below in january, below in february, below in march, and below in april. "the greatest continuous cold occurred in february, , when the daily mean for five consecutive days was degrees below zero. "greater cold than that here noted has been experienced in the united states for a very short time, but never has it continued so very cold for so long a time as in the interior of alaska. the winter sets in as early as september, when snow-storms may be expected in the mountains and passes. headway during one of those storms is impossible, and the traveler who is overtaken by one of them is indeed fortunate if he escapes with his life. snowstorms of great severity may occur in any month from september to may, inclusive. "the changes of temperature from winter to summer are rapid, owing to the great increase in the length of the day. in may the sun rises at about a. m. and sets about p. m. in june it rises about half past in the morning, and sets at about half past , giving about twenty hours of daylight and diffuse twilight the remainder of the time. "the mean summer temperature in the interior doubtless ranges between and degrees, according to elevation, being highest in the middle and lower yukon valleys." accurate data of the temperature in the klondike district were kept at fort constantine last year. the temperature first touched zero nov. , and the zero weather recorded in the spring was on april . between dec. and feb. it never rose above zero. the lowest actual point, below, occurred on jan. , and on twenty-four days during the winter the temperature was below . on march it first rose above the freezing point, but no continuous mild weather occurred until may , after which date the temperature during the balance of the month frequently rose above degrees. the yukon river froze up on oct. and broke up on may . the long and severe winter and the frozen moss-covered ground are serious obstacles to agriculture and stock raising. the former can change but little with coming seasons, but the latter, by gradually burning off areas, can be overcome to some extent. on such burned tracts hardy vegetables have been and may be raised, and the area open to such use is considerable. potatoes do well and barley will mature a fair crop. live stock may be kept by providing an abundance of shelter and feed and housing them during the winter. in summer an abundance of the finest grass pasture can be had, and great quantities of natural hay can be cut in various places. diseases: in spite of all that is heard in the newspapers regarding the healthfulness of the climate of alaska and the upper yukon, the census report of alaska offers its incontestable statistics to the effect that the country is not more salubrious, nor its people more healthy than could be expected in a region of violent climate, where the most ordinary laws of health remain almost totally ignored. from the government report we quote the following: "those diseases which are most fatal to life in one section of alaska seem to be applicable to all others. in the first place, the native children receive little or no care, and for the first few years of their lives are more often naked than clothed, at all seasons of the year. consumption is the simple and comprehensive title for the disease which destroys the greater number of the people of alaska. aluet, indian and eskimo suffer from it alike; and all alike exhibit the same stolid indifference to its slow and fatal progress, make no attempt to ward it off, take no special precautions even when the disease reaches its climax. [illustration: muir glacier (middle portion).] next to consumption, the scrofulous diseases, in the forms of ulcers, eat into the vitals and destroy them until the natives have the appearance of lepers to unaccustomed eyes. as a consequence of their neglect and the exigencies of the native life, forty or fifty years is counted among them as comparatively great age, and none are without the ophthalmic diseases necessarily attendant on existence in smoky barabaras. against snow-blindness the eskimo people use peculiar goggles, but by far the greater evil, the smoke poisoning of the opthalmic nerve is neither overcome nor prevented by any of them. all traders carry medicine chests and do what they can to relieve suffering, but it requires a great deal of medicine to make an impression on the native constitution, doses being about four times what would suffice an englishman or american. outfits, supplies, etc. houses.--almost every item has been taken into consideration by the prospectors starting out to face an alaskan winter except the item of shelter when they shall have put their boats in winter dock. the result will be that many hundreds will find themselves in the bleak region with plenty of money and victuals, but insufficient protection from the cold weather. from accounts that have come from alaska and british columbia, there are more men there skilled in digging and bookkeeping than in carpentry, and more picks and shovels than axes and planes. with the arrival of parties that have lately gone to the headwaters of the yukon, there will necessarily be an immense demand for houses, for without them the miners will freeze. this matter is beginning to receive attention in san francisco and seattle, and preparations are now under way to provide gold seekers with houses. within a week negotiations have been conducted between parties in san francisco and this city for the shipment of entire houses to the gold regions. the houses will be constructed in sections, so that they may be carried easily in boats up the yukon or packed on sleds and carried through the rough country in baggage trains. a new york firm which makes a specialty of such houses has received orders for as many as can be sent there. [illustration: supply station for circle city.] no tents are used in winter, as they become coated with ice from the breath of the sleepers and are also apt to take fire. clothing for men.--a year's supply of winter clothing ought be taken, especial pains being taken to supply plenty of warm, durable underwear. old-timers in the country wear in winter a coat or blouse of dressed deer skin, with the hair on, coming down to the knees and held by a belt round the waist. it has a hood which may be thrown back on the shoulders when not needed. this shirt is trimmed with white deerskin or wolfskin, while those worn in extreme weather are often lined with fur. next in importance to them are the torbassâ or eskimo boots. these are of reindeer skin, taken from the legs, where the hair is short, smooth and stiff. these are sewed together to make the tops of the boots which come up nearly to the knee, where they are tied. the sole is of sealskin, turned over at heel and toe and gathered up so as to protect those parts and then brought up on each side. they are made much larger than the foot and are worn with a pad of dry grass which, folded to fit the sole, thickens the boot and forms an additional protection to the foot. a pair of strings tied about the ankle from either side complete a covering admirably adapted to the necessities of winter travel. if the newcomer can get such garments as these he will be well provided against winter rigors. women going to the mines are advised to take two pairs of extra heavy all-wool blankets, one small pillow, one fur robe, one warm shawl, one fur coat, easy fitting; three warm woollen dresses, with comfortable bodices and shirts knee length, flannel-lined preferable; three pairs of knickers or bloomers to match the dresses, three suits of heavy all-wool underwear, three warm flannel night dresses, four pairs of knitted woollen stockings, one pair of rubber boots, three gingham aprons that reach from neck to knees, small roll of flannel for insoles, wrapping the feet and bandages; a sewing kit, such toilet articles as are absolutely necessary, including some skin unguent to protect the face from the icy cold, two light blouses or shirt waists for summer wear, one oilskin blanket to wrap her effects in, to be secured at juneau or st. michael; one fur cape, two pairs of fur gloves, two pairs of surseal moccasins, two pairs of muclucs--wet weather moccasins. [illustration: village of st. paul.] she wears what she pleases en route to juneau or st. michael, and when she makes her start for the diggings she lays aside every civilized traveling garb, including shoes and stays, until she comes out. instead of carrying the fur robe, fur coat and rubber boots along, she can get them on entering alaska, but the experienced ones say, take them along. leggings and shoes are not so safe nor desirable as the moccasins. a trunk is not the thing to transport baggage in. it is much better in a pack, with the oilskin cover well tied on. the things to add that are useful, but not absolutely necessary, are chocolate, coffee and the smaller light luxuries. beds are made on a platform raised a few feet from the floor, and about seven feet wide. often consists of a reindeer skin with the hair on and one end sewn up so as to make a sort of bag to put the feet in. a pillow of wild goose feathers, and a pair of blankets. sheets, which have been unknown heretofore, may become essential, but such a conventionality as a counterpane would better be left behind. provisions.--there was a report that canadian mounted police would guard the passes during the latter part of the summer of and refuse admission to anyone who did not bring a year's provisions with him. this has been estimated as weighing , pounds. whether this is true or not, it is certain that no one should go into the yukon country without taking a large supply of food, and taking it from his starting-point. whatever is the most condensed and nutritious is the cheapest, and this should be collected with great care. there is well-grounded fear that famine may overtake all the camps there before the opening of navigation in the spring. newspapers on august nd reported agents of the alaska commercial company as saying: "we shall refuse to take passengers at all in our next steamer. we could sell every berth at the price we have been asking--$ , as against $ last spring--but we shall not sell one. we shall fill up with provisions, and i have no doubt the pacific coast company will do the same. we are afraid. those who are mad to get to the diggings will probably be able to get transportation by chartering tramp steamers, and there is a serious risk that there will not be food enough for them at juneau or on the yukon. after the season closes it will be next to impossible to get supplies into the yukon country, and a large proportion of the gold seekers may starve to death. that would be an ominous beginning for the new camp. alaska is not like california or australia or south africa. it produces nothing. when the supplies from outside are exhausted, famine must follow--to what degree no one can tell." [illustration: panoramic view of juneau.] it was further understood at this date that there are , tons of food at st. michael, and the alaska company has three large and three small steamers to carry it up river. it is hard to ascertain how much there is at juneau; it is vaguely stated that there are , tons. at a pinch steamers might work their way for several months to come through the ice to that port from seattle, which is only three days distant. but it may be nip and tuck if there is any rush of gold seekers from the east. alaskan mails.--between seattle and sitka the mail steamers ply regularly. on the city of topeka there has been established a regular sea post-office service. w. r. curtis is the clerk in charge. between sitka and juneau there is a closed pouch steamboat service. seattle makes up closed pouches for douglas, fort wrangel, juneau, killisnoo, ketchikan, mary island, sitka, and metlakatlah. connecting at sitka is other sea service between that point and unalaska, , miles to the west. this service consists of one trip a month between sitka and unalaska from april to october and leaves sitka immediately upon arrival of the mails from seattle. captain j. e. hanson is acting clerk. from unalaska the mails are dispatched to st. michael and thence to points on the yukon. the postoffice department has perfected not only a summer but a winter star route service between juneau and circle city. the route is overland and by boats and rafts over the lakes and down the yukon, and is miles long. a chicago man named beddoe carries the summer mail, making five trips between june and november, and is paid $ a trip. two juneau men, frank corwin and albert hayes, operate the winter service and draw for each round trip $ , in gold. about , letters are carried on each trip. the cost of forwarding letters from circle city to dawson city is one dollar for each letter and two for each paper, the mails being sent over once a month. the chilkoot pass is crossed with the mail by means of indian carriers. on the previous trips the carriers, after finishing the pass, built their boats, but they now have their own to pass the lakes and the lewes river. in the winter transportation is carried on by means of dogsleds, and it is hoped that under the present contracts there will be no stoppage, no matter how low the temperature may go. the contractor has reported that he was sending a boat, in sections, by way of st. michael, up the yukon river, to be used on the waterway of the route, and it is thought much time will be saved by this, as formerly it was necessary for the carriers to stop and build boats or rafts to pass the lakes. [illustration: view of wrangell (from chief's house).] contracts have been made with two steamboat companies for two trips from seattle to st. michael. when the steamers reach st. michael, the mail will be transferred to the flat-bottomed boats running up the yukon as far as circle city. it is believed the boats now run further up. the contracts for the overland route call for only first-class matter, whereas the steamers in summer carry everything, up to five tons, each trip. sledges and dogs.--the sleds are heavy and shod with bone sawed from the upper edge of the jaw of the bowright whale. the rest of the sled is of spruce and will carry from six to eight hundred pounds. the sleds used in the interior are lighter and differently constructed. they consist of a narrow box four feet long, the front half being covered or boxed in, mounted on a floor eight feet long resting on runners. in this box the passenger sits, wrapped in rabbit skins so that he can hardly move, his head and shoulders only projecting. in front and behind and on top of the box is placed all the luggage, covered with canvas and securely lashed, to withstand all the jolting and possible upsets, and our snow shoes within easy reach. an important item is the dog-whip, terrible to the dog if used by a skillful hand and terrible to the user if he be a novice; for he is sure to half strangle himself or to hurt his own face with the business end of the lash. the whip i measured had a handle nine inches long and lash thirty feet, and weighed four pounds. the lash was of folded and plaited seal hide, and for five feet from the handle measured five inches round, then for fourteen feet it gradually tapered off, ending in a single thong half an inch thick and eleven feet long. wonderful the dexterity with which a driver can pick out a dog and almost a spot on a dog with this lash. the lash must be trailing at full length behind, when a jerk and turn of the wrist causes it to fly forward, the thick part first, and the tapering end continuing the motion till it is at full length in front, and the lash making the fur fly from the victim. but often it is made to crack over the heads of the dogs as a warning. [illustration: a team of dogs and dog sledges.] the eleven dogs were harnessed to the front of the sled, each by a separate thong of seal hide, all of different lengths, fastened to a light canvas harness. the nearest dog was about fifteen feet from the sled, and the leader, with bells on her, about fifty feet, the thongs thus increasing in length by about three feet. when the going is good the dogs spread out like the fingers of a hand, but when the snow is deep they fall into each other's tracks in almost single file. as they continually cross and recross each other, the thongs get gradually plaited almost up to the rearmost dog, when a halt is called, the dogs are made to lie down, and the driver carefully disentangles them, taking care that no dog gets away meanwhile. they are guided by the voice, using "husky," that is, eskimo words: "owk," go to the right; "arrah," to the left, and "holt," straight on. but often one of the men must run ahead on snowshoes for the dogs to follow him. the dogs are of all colors, somewhat the height of the newfoundland, but with shorter legs. the usual number is from five to seven, according to the load. list of prices that have been current in dawson city during : flour, per lbs. $ . to $ . moose ham, per lb. . to . caribou meat, lb. . beans, per lb. . rice, per lb. . to . sugar, per lb. . bacon, per lb. . to . butter, per roll . to . eggs, per doz. . to . better eggs, doz. . salmon, each . to . potatoes, per lb. . turnips, per lb. . tea, per lb. . to . coffee, per lb. . to . dried fruits, per lb. . canned fruits . to . lemons, each . to . oranges, each . tobacco, per lb. . to . liquors, per drink . shovels . to . picks . to . coal oil, per gal. . to . overalls . underwear, per suit . to . shoes . to . rubber boots . to . based on supply and demand the above quoted prices may vary several hundred per cent. on some articles at any time. fare to seattle by way of northern pacific, $ . . fee for pullman sleeper, $ . . fee for tourist sleeper, run only west of st. paul, $ . meals served in dining car for entire trip, $ . meals are served at stations along the route a la carte. distance from new york to seattle, , miles. days required to make the journey, about six. fare for steamer from seattle to juneau, including cabin and meals, $ . days, seattle to juneau, about five. number of miles from seattle to juneau, . cost of living in juneau, about $ per day. distance on lynn canal to healey's store, steamboat, seventy-five miles. number of days, new york to healey's store, twelve. cost of complete outfit for overland journey, about $ . cost of provisions for one year, about $ . cost of dogs, sled and outfit, about $ . steamer leaves seattle once a week. best time to start is early in the spring. total cost of trip, new york to klondike, about $ . number of days required for journey, new york to klondike, thirty-six to forty. total distance, new york to the mines at klondike, , miles. doane & mcdonald - monroe st., chicago, ill. leather and duck clothing fur garments and robes prospectors' clothing three-point blankets exquimaux suits sleeping bags [illustration: no. .] [illustration: no. .] rand, mcnally & co.'s large map of alaska size, � inches. from united states and dominion of canada official survey, revised to july , , shows in detail the gold fields of the klondike region the routes from juneau, yukon river and northern british columbia locates and names dawson fort reliance forty mile creek sixty mile creek fort selkirk juneau telegraph creek teslin river lewis river chilkoot pass chilkat pass white pass atlin lake wrangell teslin lake tamzilla river and all other points of importance. scale : , , , or miles to the inch. =price, in pocket form, cents.= sent to any address in the united states and canada prepaid, upon receipt of price. rand, mcnally & co., publishers, new york branch: east ninth street. ....chicago. for convenient reference. new colored maps of every country in the world. an accurate up-to-date ready reference work for the use of everybody. [illustration] pages. size, � inches. showing nothing but maps of each state, territory, and large city in the united states, provinces of canada, the continents and their subdivisions, with ready-reference marginal index. bound in stiff cloth, colored edges. price, $ . the latest acknowledged standard manual for presidents, secretaries, directors, chairmen, presiding officers, and everyone in anyway connected with public life or corporate bodies is _reed's rules_ by the hon. thomas b. reed, speaker of the house of representatives, "i commend the book most highly." =william mckinley,= _president of the united states._ "reasonable, right, and rigid." =j. sterling morton,= _ex-secretary of agriculture._ cloth, cents, leather, $ . . rand, mcnally & co., publishers, chicago. marah ellis ryan's works. a flower of france. a story of old louisiana. the story is well told.--_herald, new york._ a real romance--just the kind of romance one delights in.--_times, boston._ full of stirring incident and picturesque description.--_press, philadelphia._ the interest holds the reader until the closing page.--_inter-ocean, chicago._ told with great fascination and brightness. * * * the general impression delightful. * * * many thrilling scenes.--_herald, chicago._ a thrilling story of passion and action.--_commercial, memphis._ a pagan of the alleghanies. a genuine art work.--_chicago tribune._ a remarkable book, original and dramatic in conception, and pure and noble in tone.--_boston literary world._ rev. david swing said:--the books of marah ellis ryan give great pleasure to all the best class of readers. "a pagan of the alleghanies" is one of her best works; but all she writes is high and pure. her words are all true to nature, and, with her, nature is a great theme. robert g. ingersoll says:--your description of scenery and seasons--of the capture of the mountains by spring--of tree and fern, of laurel, cloud and mist, and the woods of the forest, are true, poetic, and beautiful. to say the least, the pagan saw and appreciated many of the difficulties and contradictions that grow out of and belong to creeds. he saw how hard it is to harmonize what we see and know with the idea that over all is infinite power and goodness * * * the divine spark called genius is in your brain. squaw �louise. vigorous, natural, entertaining.--_boston times._ a notable performance.--_chicago tribune._ a very strong story, indeed.--_chicago times._ told in the hills. a book that is more than clever. it is healthy, brave, and inspiring.--_st. louis post-dispatch._ the character of stuart is one of the finest which has been drawn by an american woman in many a day, and it is depicted with an appreciation hardly to be expected even from a man.--_boston herald._ in love's domains. there are imagination and poetical expressions in the stories, and readers will find them interesting.--_new york sun._ the longest story, "galeed," is a strong, nervous story, covering a wide range, and dealing in a masterly way with some intricate questions of what might be termed amatory psychology.--_san francisco chronicle._ merze; the story of an actress. we can not doubt that the author is one of the best living orators of her sex. the book will possess a strong attraction for women.--_chicago herald._ this is the story of the life of an actress, told in the graphic style of mrs. ryan. it is very interesting.--_new orleans picayune._ * * * * * for sale by all booksellers. rand, mcnally & co., publishers, chicago and new york established . geo. b. carpenter & co. manufacturers of miners' and camping [illustration] tents [illustration] sleeping bags camp outfits =water-proof clothing,= =water-proof dunnage bags, etc.= western agents for the primus cooking stove =used exclusively by nansen on his trip to the pole.= send cents in stamps for catalogue, and mention this guide. = , , , south water street,= =chicago, ill.= alaska-klondike gold mining company capital stock ... , shares. par value ... $ . each. full paid--non-assessable. * * * * * this company is a transportation, commercial, and mining corporation owning large gold gravel claims on the yukon, klondike, and other rivers in alaska, and now have under construction steamers to ply on the yukon next season. the board of directors are a sufficient guarantee that the affairs of the company will be well managed. _directors._ =james rice=, late secretary state of colorado. =wm. shaw=, capitalist, chicago. =e. m. titcomb=, vice-pres't and gen'l manager, eastman fruit despatch co. =h. c. fash=, member maritime exchange, new york. =geo. w. morgan=, circle city, alaska. a limited amount of shares are offered at =$ . per share=. for information, address, alaska-klondike gold mining co. broadway, new york. hon. james rice, president. w. l. boyd, secretary. ho! for the klondike regions and the gold fields of alaska we make a specialty of outfitting, and can supply you with everything you eat, wear, or use. we have ... =jumbo shirts, underwear and hosiery for the northern regions,= sold by us exclusively, =gum boots,= =fur robes and blankets,= =miners' boots,= =canned food products,= =woolen shirts,= =meats,= =pants,= =portable camp outfits= =overcoats,= (tin and aluminum), =arctic clothing,= =miners' tools,= =sleeping bags,= =guns and ammunition.= in fact, we can supply you with anything and everything you'll need during your stay in alaska. =our general catalogue _and_ buyers' guide= tells the prices. send cents to partly pay postage or expressage, and we'll send you a copy. it has nearly pages, over , illustrations, and more than , descriptions of everything you wear or use. montgomery ward & co. to michigan ave., chicago. * * * * * transcriber's notes: obvious punctuation errors repaired. text uses shagway, shkagway and skagway once each. page iv, "intensly" changed to "intensely" (is intensely curious) page vi, repeated word "to" removed original read (travelers to to that far-away) page , "guage" changed to "gauge" (for a narrow gauge) page , "lindemann" changed to "lindeman" (miles below lake lindeman) page , "oulet" changed to "outlet" (the outlet is a clear) page , "reconnoisance" changed to "reconnaissance" (examined until the reconnaissance) page , "cambell" changed to "campbell" ( robert campbell) page , "completely" changed to "completed" (completed, when, on august) page , "exhorbitant" changed to "exorbitant" (at an exorbitant profit) page , "murcury" changed to "mercury" (rocks with the mercury) page , "acriculture" changed to "agriculture" (climate, agriculture and health) page , "accurred" changed to "occurred" ( below, occurred) page , "ophmalmic" changed to "opthalmic" (the opthalmic nerve) page , "raindeer" changed to "reindeer" (of a reindeer skin with) produced from scanned images of public domain material from the google print project.) delilah of the snows by harold bindloss _author of "alton of somasco," "the cattle-baron's daughter," "the dust of conflict," "winston of the prairie," "for jacinta," "the young traders," etc._ [illustration] new york frederick a. stokes company publishers copyright, , by frederick a. stokes company _all rights reserved_ _may _ contents chapter page i ingleby feels the bit ii ingleby stands by his opinions iii conflicting claims iv leger's responsibility v the new country vi hall sewell vii hetty bears the cost viii on the trail ix hetty finds a way x unrest xi ingleby ventures a remonstrance xii the major's bear xiii esmond acquires information xiv the necessary incentive xv ingleby strikes it rich xvi an invalid record xvii trooper probyn's misadventure xviii ingleby goes away xix trooper probyn comes back xx accessories xxi a doubtful exchange xxii alison's sault xxiii ingleby loses his head xxiv the unexpected happens xxv tomlinson gets away xxvi the obvious thing xxvii the blockade xxviii snowed in xxix esmond's hands are tied xxx sewell's downfall xxxi broken idols xxxii his appointed station delilah of the snows i ingleby feels the bit the tennis match was over, and walter ingleby stood swinging his racket impatiently beside an opening in the hazel hedge that overhung the lane. wisps of hay were strewn about it, but already the nut bushes were sprinkled with the honeysuckle's flowers. beyond the hedge, cornfields blotched with poppies, and cropped meadows, faded into the cold blueness of the east. ingleby looked out upon the prospect with a slight hardening of his face, for he loved the quiet, green country in which there was apparently no room for him; but a little thrill of expectancy ran through him as he glanced back across the stile towards the little white village he had left a few minutes earlier. a broad meadow shining with the tender green of the aftermath divided it from the lane, and light laughter and a murmur of voices came faintly across the grass. again a trace of grimness, which seemed out of place there, crept into his face, and it was with a little resolute movement of his shoulders that he turned and raised his eyes to the dim blue ridge behind which burned the sunset's smoky red. he vaguely felt that it was portentous and emblematical, for that evening the brightness of the west seemed to beckon him. he had graciously been permitted to play for a somewhat exclusive club during the afternoon, as well as to make himself useful handing round tea and carrying chairs, because he played tennis well, and the president's wife had said that while there was a risk in admitting that kind of people, young ingleby evidently knew his place, and was seldom guilty of presumption. this was true, for ingleby was shrewd enough to realize that there were limits to the toleration extended him, though the worthy lady would probably have been astonished had she known what his self-repression occasionally cost him. that a young man of his position should not esteem it a privilege to teach beginners and submit to be snubbed by any one of importance who happened to be out of temper had never occurred to her. still, he certainly knew his place, and having played well, to please himself and his partner, had slipped away when the last game was over, since he understood that the compliments were not for him. suddenly his heart beat a trifle faster as a figure appeared in the meadow. it was a girl of about his own age, which did not greatly exceed twenty, who carried herself well, and moved, it seemed to him, with a gracefulness he had never noticed in any other woman. she wore a white hat with red poppies on it, and he noticed that the flowers he had diffidently offered her were still tucked in the belt of the light grey dress. she was walking slowly, and apparently did not see him in the shadow, so that when she stopped a moment with her hand upon the stile he could, although he felt the presumption of it, look at her steadily. there were excuses for him, since any one with artistic perceptions would have admitted that grace coulthurst made a sufficiently attractive picture as she stood with the white clover at her feet and the glow of the west upon her face. it was warm in colouring and almost too cleanly cut, but essentially english, with a suggestion of pride and vigour in it. the eyes were grey, and, perhaps, a trifle too grave and imperious considering her age; the clustering hair beneath the white hat shone in the sunset a gleaming bronze. she was also very dainty, though that did not detract from the indefinite something in the pose of the shapely head and figure which the lad vaguely recognized as patrician. the term did not please him. indeed, it was one he objected to, but he could think of nothing more appropriate, and as he watched her he became almost astonished at his temerity. ingleby was young, and fancied he knew his own value, but he was also acquainted with the unyielding nature of social distinction, and it was wholly respectful homage he paid grace coulthurst. she was major coulthurst's daughter, and a young woman of some local importance. when she saw ingleby a faint tinge of warmer colour crept into her face for just a moment. he swung off his straw hat, and held it at his knee as he raised a hand to her, and though his deference was, perhaps, a trifle overdone, it was redeemed by its genuineness, and did not displease her. "i was afraid you would never come," he said. the girl descended the stile before she looked at him, and then there was a suggestion of stiffness in her attitude, for the speech, which seemed to imply something of the nature of an appointment, was not a tactful one. "why did you think i would come this way at all?" she said. "i don't know," said ingleby, with a trace of confusion. "of course, there wasn't any reason. still, i hoped you would. that was why i waited." grace coulthurst said nothing for a moment. it was, though she would never have admitted it, not altogether by accident that she had met and walked home with him somewhat frequently during the past month. "as it happened, i was almost going round by the road, with lilian fownes," she said. young ingleby, as she did not fail to notice, set his lips, for miss fownes had on that and other occasions been accompanied by her accomplished brother, who was an adept at graceful inanities. "then i should not have seen you--and i especially wanted to," he said. his voice had a little uncertain note in it, and grace glanced at him sharply. "in that case, why did you run away as soon as the game was over?" "don't you know?" and ingleby's laugh had a trace of bitterness in it. "when it is over they don't want me. of course, we helped them to win, but that was what i was there for--that, and nothing more--while you played splendidly. you see, one depends so much upon his partner." "does he?" "of course!" and ingleby lost his head. "now--i don't mean at tennis only--i could do almost anything with you to encourage me. still, that is evidently out of the question--like the rest." he concluded somewhat incoherently, for he realized that this was going too far, and in his embarrassment naturally made matters worse by the attempted qualification. still, though the girl's colour was a trifle higher, she was not altogether displeased, and felt that there was, perhaps, some excuse for his confidence as she glanced at him covertly. walter ingleby was not remarkably different from most other young englishmen, but he had a sturdy, well set-up figure, and an expressive and by no means unattractive face, with broad forehead, fearless blue eyes, and a certain suggestive firmness of his mouth. he had also a trick of looking at one steadily with his head held well erect, and then speaking with a curious clipped curtness. it was a trifling mannerism which nevertheless carried with it a suggestion of vigour and straightforwardness. just then there was a little scintillation in his eyes, and he looked like one who had at least the courage to attempt a good deal. "well," she said, in a non-committal fashion, "we certainly won the match, and i think you were wrong to slip away. one would almost fancy that you are unduly sensitive now and then." ingleby laughed. "perhaps i am, but it isn't so very astonishing that i should occasionally resent a slight that isn't meant when there are so many of them that certainly are. no doubt, it's my own fault. i should have known what to expect when i crept into the exclusive tennis club at holtcar." "then i wonder why you joined it at all." "so do i at times. still, i wanted to see what people of position and refinement were really like, and to learn anything they might be inclined to teach me. i was ambitious, you see--and besides, i was really fond of the game." "and you were disappointed when you met them?" ingleby made a little expressive gesture. "chiefly in myself. i thought i was strong enough not to mind being treated as a professional and politely ignored except when i was useful. then i imagined it would be excellent discipline, and discipline is presumably good for one, as the worthy vicar, who really appears to have ideas, is fond of observing." again the girl glanced at him sharply, with a faint but perceptible arching of her brows. "isn't that a trifle patronizing?" she said. "you can't be very much older than i am, and he has, at least, seen a good deal of the world." ingleby laughed frankly, though there was a little flush in his face. "i know i very often talk like a fool--and the difference between you and the others is that you very seldom think it necessary to remind me of it. that is, of course, one difference. the rest----" "i think," said the girl, severely, "we were talking about the vicar." "well," said ingleby, "i really believe he means well, but he is, after all, part of the system, and naturally interested in maintaining the existing state of things. we have in england a few great bolstered-up professions, one could almost call them professional rings, and the men fortunate enough to enter them are more or less compelled to play into one another's hands. the millions who don't belong to them are, of course, outsiders, and couldn't be expected to count, you see." the girl stiffened perceptibly, and really looked very patrician as she turned and regarded him indignantly. "you appear to forget that my father belongs to one of those professions," she said. "he did," corrected ingleby, and then stopped abruptly, as he remembered it was reputed that it was not exactly by his own wish major coulthurst no longer actively served his nation. "i wonder if you have deliberately made up your mind to offend me?" asked grace coulthurst with icy quietness. "you know i would cut my hand off sooner than do anything i thought would vex you," ingleby answered. "i'm afraid i talk too much, but i can't help it now and then. there are, you see, so few people who will listen to me seriously. unless you are content to adopt the accepted point of view, everybody seems to think it his duty to put his foot on you." grace's anger was usually short-lived, for she had a generous nature as well as a sense of humour, and the lad's naive admission appealed to the latter. "well," she said, with a little gleam in her eyes, "i really think i, at least, have listened to you with patience; but your views are likely to lead you into trouble. where did you get them?" ingleby laughed. "to tell the truth, i often wonder myself. in any case, it wasn't from my father. he was a staunch and consistent churchman, and kept a little book shop. you can see it in the high street now. he sold books--and papers behind the counter; i would like you to remember this. still, as i said, he was consistent, and there was literature he would not handle, nor when they made him a councillor would he wink at certain municipal jobbery. the latter fact was duly remembered when his lease fell in, as well as on other occasions, and when he died, when i was fourteen, there was nothing left for me. he was a scholar, and an upright man--as well as a tory of the old school and a high churchman." "is it very unusual for a scholar to be either of the latter then?" "well," said ingleby, with a little twinkle in his eyes, "one would almost fancy that it ought to be. however, you can't be in the least interested in these fancies of mine. shall i gather you that spray of blossom?" grace looked curiously at him instead of at the pale-tinted honeysuckle whose sweetness hung about them. she was quite aware that he had somewhat eccentric views, and it was perhaps his originality which had attracted her when, prompted chiefly by pity for the lad who was usually left out in the cold, she had made his acquaintance; but her interest in him had increased with suspicious rapidity considering that it was only a month or two since she had delicately made the first overtures. she was quite willing to admit that she had made them, for she had understood, and under the circumstances sympathized with, the lad's original irresponsiveness, which had vanished when he saw that her graciousness sprang from a kindly nature and was unspoiled by condescension; and grace coulthurst could afford to do what other young women of her age at holtcar would have shrunk from. she had also a certain quiet imperiousness which made whatever she did appear fitting. "i am afraid you are an inveterate radical," she said. "i scarcely think that goes quite far enough, as radicalism seems to be understood by its acknowledged leaders. blatant is the adjective usually hurled at us; and no doubt i deserve it, as witness what you have endured to-night. still, you see, i wasn't talking quite without a purpose, because i want you to understand my attitude--and that brings me to the point. i'm afraid i can't play with you at the tournament, as was arranged." "no?" said grace, a trifle sharply, for she was very human, and after somewhat daringly showing favour to the man of low degree it was a trifle galling to discover that he failed to appreciate it. "you have, presumably, something that pleases you better to do that day?" ingleby turned partly away from her, and glanced across the valley. "no," he said with unusual quietness, "i think you know that could not be. i am, in fact, going away." grace was a trifle startled, as well as more concerned than she would have admitted, and had ingleby been looking at her he might have seen this. it had not been exactly pleasant to hear that he was an advanced democrat, for, while by no means unduly conventional, she had an inborn respect for established customs and procedure, and she felt that the existing condition of affairs, while probably not beyond improvement, might be made considerably worse, at least, so far as she and her friends were concerned. still, it was disconcerting to find that he was going away, for there would then be no opportunity for teaching him--indirectly, of course--the erroneous nature of his views. this, at least, was the reason she offered herself. "where are you going?" she asked, with studied indifference. ingleby swung around, with head tilted a trifle backwards--she knew that unconscious pose and the little gleam in his eyes which usually accompanied it--and looked across the cool blue-green meadows towards the fading splendours of the west. "out there where men are equal, as they were made to be, and the new lands are too wide for the cramped opinions and prejudices that crush one here!" then he turned to the girl with a little laugh. "i wish you would say something quietly stinging. i deserve it for going off in that way again. still, i really felt it." "do you think i could?" and grace's tone was severe. ingleby was even more contrite than she expected. "it was absurd to suggest it. you could never say an unkind or cutting thing to anybody. in fact, your kindness is the one pleasant memory i shall carry away with me. i--you see----" he pulled himself up abruptly, but the colour was in his cheeks, and the little thrill in his voice again, while it seemed only natural that the girl should smile prettily. "i wonder," she said, "if one might ask you why you are going?" the lane was growing dusky now, and grace, as it happened, held a white glove and a fold of the silvery grey skirt in an uncovered hand, for the dew was settling heavily upon the grass between the wheel ruts. ingleby did not look at her. "i don't think i could make you understand how sordid and distasteful my life here is--and it can't be changed," he said. "every door is closed against the man with neither friends nor money. he must be taught his place, and stay in it, dragging out his life in hopeless drudgery, while i----" he stopped again, and then looked his companion steadily in the face. "i have found out in the last month how much life has to offer one who has the courage to make a bold bid for what he is entitled to." "and you expect to make it out there--which presumably means america or canada?" they had reached an oaken door in a mossy wall, and ingleby stood still. "yes," he said, slowly, "i intend to make it there. life holds so much--i did not know how much a little while ago--and there are alluring possibilities if one has the courage to break away from the groove prejudice and tradition force him into here. i may never see you again--unless i am successful i think i never shall. would it be a very great presumption if i asked you for something, a trifle, to carry away with me?" he stood looking down upon her with a curious wistfulness in his face, and grace afterwards tried to believe that it was by accident she dropped her glove just then. in any case, next moment young ingleby stooped, and when he straightened himself again he not only held the glove exultantly fast, but the hand she had stretched out for it. then a patch of vivid crimson showed in grace coulthurst's cheek as they stood face to face in the summer twilight--the lad of low degree, with tingling nerves and throbbing heart, and the girl of station rudely shaken out of her accustomed serenity. in those few moments they left their youth behind, and crossed the mystic threshold into the ampler life of man and woman. then ingleby, swinging off his straw hat, let the little hand go, and looked at the girl steadily. "if that was wrong you will have a long while in which to forgive me," he said. "if i live and prosper out there i will bring you back the glove again--and, whatever happens, you cannot prevent my carrying your memory away with me." then he turned away, looked back, still bareheaded, and with a little resolute shake of his shoulders swung away down the darkening lane, while grace inserted a key in the oaken door with somewhat unsteady fingers. she was as yet neither pleased nor angry, but bewildered, and only certain that he had gone, and her face was burning still. ii ingleby stands by his opinions it was late on saturday night, and unpleasantly hot in the little dingy room where ingleby sat with a companion beneath the slates of a tall, four-story house in a busy cloth-making town. there were several large holes in the threadbare carpet, and a portion of the horsehair stuffing protruded from the dilapidated sofa, while the rickety chairs and discoloured cloth on the table were equally suggestive of severe economy. a very plain bookcase hung on the wall, and the condition of the historical works and treatises on political economy it contained seemed to indicate that they had been purchased secondhand; while an oil lamp burned dimly on the mantel, for the room was almost intolerably stuffy already, and the gas supplied at hoddam was bad and dear. a confused murmur of voices came up from the narrow street below, with the clatter of heavy shoes and the clamour of the cheap-jacks in the neighbouring market square. ingleby, who had taken off his jacket, lay in a decrepit arm-chair holding a slip of paper in his hand. opposite him sat another young man with the perspiration beaded on his face, which was sallow and somewhat hollow. he was watching ingleby with a faint smile in his eyes. "the little excursion doesn't seem to commend itself to you," he said. "no," answered ingleby drily, "i can't say it does. i had looked forward to spending a quiet day on the moors to-morrow. it will in all probability be the last sunday i shall ever pass in this country. besides, considering that i don't even belong to the society, this notice is a trifle peremptory. why should the committee confidently expect my co-operation in enforcing the right of way through willow dene? i certainly did not tell anybody to keep me a place in the wagonette, which they are good enough to intimate has been done." "still, after that speech you made you will have to go. you're in sympathy with the movement, anyway?" ingleby made a little impatient gesture. "i don't know what came over me that night, and, to tell the truth, leger, i've been almost sorry i got up ever since. it was, in one way, an astonishing piece of assurance, and i can't help a fancy that most of those who heard me must have known a good deal more about the subject than i did." "it's not altogether improbable," and his companion laughed. "in fact, twice when you made a point i heard a man behind me quoting your authorities. still, they didn't expect you to be original." "one or two of the others certainly were; but that's not quite the question. of course, there is no excuse for the closing of willow dene, but driving out in wagonettes on sunday doesn't quite appeal to me. it's over three miles, too, unfortunately. one has, after all, to consider popular--prejudice--you see." leger was slight of physique and of wholly undistinguished appearance, as well as shabbily dressed; but there was a hint of rather more than intelligence in his sallow face, and he had expressive brown eyes. a little twinkle crept into them just then. "i can remember occasions when it seemed to please you to fly in the face of them, but your thoroughness isn't altogether above suspicion now and then. one has to be one thing or the other." "you know my opinions." "oh, yes," said leger smiling. "most of your acquaintances do. it would be a little astonishing if they didn't. still, you have a few effete aristocratic notions clinging about you. why shouldn't we drive out on sunday, with the traditional crimson neckties and clay pipes if it pleases us, even if our presence is no great improvement to the scenery, when it ought to be clear that we can't go any other day? besides, what is a man of your opinions doing with those luxuries yonder?" he pointed to ingleby's tennis flannels and black swimming costume which hung behind the door. ingleby laughed. "are cleanliness and decency quite out of keeping with democratic views? i'm fond of swimming, and the only place where i can get into the river now is the big pool beside the thorndale road. it's a trifle public even at seven a. m., but my landlady objects to my bathing here, and since i can't afford the necessary apparatus i don't blame her. she says it brings the plaster off the lower ceilings, and i really think it does." "there is the establishment provided by a beneficent municipality." "where they charge you sixpence." leger nodded. "sixpence," he said, "is certainly a consideration. still, there are days on which one can obtain a sufficiency of water for half the sum. the plunge bath is, i believe, forty feet long." "it is the quality and not the quantity to which i object." leger shook his head reproachfully. "i'm afraid those effete prejudices are still very strong in you. you play tennis, too. how much does that cost you?" "it's a question i'm not going to answer," and ingleby flushed hotly. "anyway, i've had full value for the money." leger smiled in a curious fashion as he looked at him, but he changed the subject and pointed to the pamphlet on the floor. "what do you think of the new apostle's speeches?" a little sparkle crept into ingleby's eyes. "they are," he said slowly, "almost a revelation. even on paper one feels the passion and the truth in them. the man's a genius, and you have to believe in him. i could fancy him doing anything he liked with you if you came in contact with him." "it is not quite out of the question. it was an oregon paper that first printed what he had to say, and i believe that state is on the pacific slope where you are going. you evidently still mean to go?" "yes," said ingleby shortly. "what chance is there for me--or any of us--here?" leger threw up the window and looked into the street. the lights of a big gin palace flared down in the narrow gap, and a stream of perspiring humanity flowed along beneath them, slatternly women, and men with flattened chests and shoulders bent by unhealthy toil, jostling one another. the garish brilliancy touched their pallid faces, and the harsh murmur of their voices came up hollowly between the tall houses with the reek of gas fumes and other confused odours. there were many poor in hoddam, and in hot weather bargains were to be had in the neighbouring market at that hour; while trade was bad just then, and a little lower down the street shadowy figures were flitting into a pawnbroker's door. leger's face grew a trifle weary as he watched them. "at the best it is a poor one," he said. "one feels inclined to wonder if--this--is to last forever." "it's too big a question. give it up, and come out with me." "and let the powers that be have it all their own way?" said leger. "i'm afraid neither you nor i can prevent them. besides, from what this american says, there seem to be people with grievances out yonder, too. a good many of them, in fact. i expect there are everywhere." leger smiled. "i wonder," he said, "whether that has just dawned on you. still, i'm not so strong as you are--and there's hetty. you'll have to go alone, but you'll leave at least two people behind you who will think of you often." he stopped abruptly, for there was a patter of feet on the stairway, and ingleby rose as the door swung open and a girl came in. she carried a basket, and appeared a trifle breathless, for the stairs were steep, but her dress was tasteful, and most men would have admitted that she was pretty. she took the chair ingleby drew out, and smiled at him. "do you know that the people downstairs would hardly let me in?" she said. "you seem to be very well looked after, but i knew you wouldn't mind me. i've come for tom." ingleby laughed, but it was a trifle uneasily, for he was young, and by no means the girl's equal in the matter of self-possession. in fact, one had only to look at hetty leger to recognize that she was capable, and could be, on occasion, a trifle daring, for there was courage as well as cheerfulness in her clear blue eyes, which met one's glance steadily from under dark and unusually straight brows. "you have been marketing?" he said. hetty nodded. "yes," she answered. "you can, if you know how to go about it, get provisions cheap after ten o'clock on saturday night, and i have had the usual difficulty in making ends meet this week. wouldn't it be a relief to live in a country where there was no rent to pay and you take a spade and grow what you want to eat?" "ingleby's going where they do something of that kind, though i believe they now and then dig up gold and silver, too," said her brother. hetty, for no ostensible reason, pulled up one of her little cotton gloves, which did not seem to need it, and then looked quietly at ingleby. "then you are going away?" she asked. her brother nodded. "yes," he said. "to the pacific slope of north america. he was just suggesting that we should come, too." hetty sat silent for several moments. "well?" she said at last. "i told him it couldn't be thought of. for one thing, it would cost a good deal of money." hetty glanced swiftly at ingleby, and an older man might have noticed the suppressed intentness in her face. "i'm afraid tom is right--though i wish you could come," he said. "when i mentioned it i didn't remember that he isn't very strong and that it must be a very rough country for an englishwoman. you wouldn't care to live in a log hut forty miles from anywhere, hetty?" the girl now looked straight in front of her. "no, i suppose not; but as i shall never get the chance, that doesn't matter. well, i think you are wise to go. there are already more of us here than there seems to be any use for." ingleby almost fancied that there was something slightly unusual in her voice; but her face was impassive, and she rose with a little smile. "it is getting late, tom," she said. "you are both going to the demonstration to-morrow?" ingleby said they were, and hetty waited a moment, apparently doing something to her hat, when her brother, who took the basket, passed out of the room. she had a pretty figure, and the pose she fell into with one rounded arm raised and a little hand busy with the hatpin was not unbecoming. she was also on excellent terms with ingleby, who leaned against the mantel watching her until she shook the hat a trifle impatiently, when he stepped forward. "if you want the thing put straight, let me try," he said. then, to his astonishment, the hand he had laid upon the hat was snatched away, and next moment hetty, with a red spot in her cheek, stood at least a yard away from him. she had moved so quickly that he was not quite sure how she had got there. "do you think i am less particular than--any one else?" "no," answered ingleby contritely, with a trace of confusion. "certainly not. i would never have offered, only we are such old friends; and i think that when you brought that hat home after buying it you let me put it on for you." hetty's face was still a trifle flushed, but she laughed. "that," she said, "was a long time ago; but, after all, we needn't quarrel. in fact, i let tom go on because i had something to ask you." "of course, anything i can do----" hetty smiled sardonically. "oh, yes, i know! still, it's really very little--or i wouldn't ask you. just to look after tom to-morrow. now, he has in most ways a good deal more sense than you----" "i can believe it," said ingleby. "it really isn't very astonishing." "still, you are stronger than he is, and he hasn't been very well since he took up the night work at the mill. if there should be any trouble you will look after him?" ingleby promised; and, hearing her brother reascending the stairway, the girl swiftly flitted out of the room, while ingleby sat down to consider, with the warmth still in his face, for he was not quite pleased with himself, and, as a natural result, a trifle vexed with hetty. it was true, he admitted, that the girl had made a somewhat enticing picture as she stood with face partly turned from him and one hand raised to her head; but it was, he decided, merely the brotherly kindness he had always felt for her which had prompted his offer, and it was unpleasant to feel that he had done anything that might hurt her self-respect. still, he could not understand why this should be so, since she had undoubtedly permitted him to put the hat on and admire her in it not so very long ago, and he failed to discover any reason why she should, in the meanwhile, have grown stricter in her views as to what was fitting. nor could he understand her question, which suggested that she considered herself entitled to at least as much deference as a person she preferred not to name. then, remembering that most young women were subject to unaccountable fancies now and then, he dismissed the matter as of no importance, after all, and once more busied himself with the american's speeches. they were certainly stirring, and made the more impression because he was unacquainted with western hyperbole; but there was in them, as wiser men had admitted, the ring of genuine feeling, as well as a logical vindication of democratic aspirations. ingleby was young, and his blood warmed as he read; while hetty leger, as she walked home through the hot streets of the still noisy town with her brother, was for once curiously silent, and almost morose, though, considering the life she led, she was usually a cheerful girl. it was not much quieter on the following afternoon when ingleby, who, partly as a protest against the decrees of conventionality, wore a soft cap and his one suit of light summer tweed, met leger on the doorstep of the committee rooms of a certain society. several big wagonettes were already drawn up, and men with pallid faces sat in them, neatly attired for the most part, though somewhat to ingleby's annoyance several of them smoked clay pipes and wore brilliant neckties and hard felt hats. he was quite aware that it was unreasonable of him to object to this, but, nevertheless, he could not help it. they were, however, quiet and orderly enough, and indulged in no more than good-humoured badinage with the crowd that had assembled to see them off; but ingleby felt inclined to protest when leger led him to a place on the box-seat of the foremost vehicle, where a man was scattering leaflets among the crowd. "couldn't we sit anywhere else?" he asked. "it's a little conspicuous here." leger shook his head. "that can't be helped," he said. "it's the penalty of making speeches. you are considered one of the stalwarts now. there's no use in objecting to the result when you have been guilty of the cause, you know." "i'll be especially careful another time," said ingleby, with a little grimace. "in the meanwhile i'm ready to do anything you can reasonably expect of me." then there was a cracking of whips and a rattle of wheels, and the discordant notes of a cornet broke through the semi-ironical cheer; and, as they rolled across the river, which, foul with the refuse of tanneries and dye-works, crept out of the close-packed town, a man who sat on the bridge waved his hat to the leading driver. "take them straight to the lock-up, jim," he said. "it will save everybody trouble, and what's the use of going round?" then they wound through dusky woods out of the hot valley, and down the long white road across a sun-baked moor, where the dust whirled behind them in a rolling cloud. however, the men in the foremost vehicle got little of it, and ingleby felt that the drive would have been pleasant in different circumstances, as he watched the blue hills that rose in the dazzling distance, blurred with heat. only one white fleecy cloud flecked the sweep of cerulean, and the empty moor lay still under the drowsy silence of the sunday afternoon. it seemed to him most unfitting that the harsh voices of his companions, the clatter of hoofs, and the doleful tooting of the cornet, should jar upon it. then as they dipped into a hollow they came upon other travellers, all heading in the same direction, who hurled somewhat pointed jests at them as they passed; but these did not exactly resemble the men in the wagonettes. their attire was by no means neat, and they had not in the least the appearance of men about to discharge a duty, while several of them carried heavy sticks. "i wonder what they mean to do with those bludgeons," said ingleby a trifle uneasily. leger laughed. "i have no doubt they would come in handy for killing pheasants. there are, i believe, a good many young ones down in the dene. of course, the committee could very well dispense with the company of those fellows, but we can't prevent any man from asserting his rights as a briton." "that," said ingleby, grimly, "is in one respect almost a pity. the difficulty is that somebody will get the credit of our friends' doings." "of course!" and leger laughed again. "you can't be a reformer for nothing; you have to take the rough with the smooth--though there is, as a rule, very little of the latter." ingleby said nothing further; but it dawned on him, as it had, indeed, done once or twice before, that even a defective system of preserving peace and order might be preferable to none at all. still, he naturally would not admit his misgivings, and said nothing until the wagonettes rolled into a little white village gay with flowers and girt about by towering beeches. the windows of an old grey house caught the sunlight and flashed among the trees, and, as the vehicles drew up, a trim groom on a splendid horse swept out through the gate of a clematis-covered lodge. then there was a hoarse cheer from a group of dilapidated and dusty loungers as the men swung themselves down outside the black-beamed hostelry which bore a coat-of-arms above its portal. they were unusually quiet, and leger, who glanced at them, touched ingleby's shoulder. "they'll do their work," he said. "still, i fancy we are expected, and i'm not sure that i'd be sorry if we had the thing done, and were driving home again." iii conflicting claims the sunlight beat down fiercely on the shaven grass, and a drowsy hum of bees stole through the stillness of the sunday afternoon when grace coulthurst and geoffrey esmond strolled across the lawn at holtcar grange. there were at least two acres of it, flanked by dusky firs and relieved on two sides by patches of graduated colour, while on the third side one looked out towards the blue hills across the deep hollow of willow dene into which the beech woods rolled down. a low wall, along which great urns of scarlet geraniums were set, cut off the lawn from the edge of the descent, and grace, seating herself on the broad coping, glanced down into the cool shadow, out of which the sound of running water came up. "it really looks very enticing on a day like this. don't you think it is a little hard on the hoddam people to shut them out of it?" she said. her companion, who leaned, with his straw hat tilted back, against one of the flower-filled urns, smiled as he glanced down at her. he was a young man of slender, wiry frame, with an air of graceful languidness which usually sat well upon him, though there were occasions on which it was not readily distinguished from well-bred insolence. "i suppose it is, but they brought it upon themselves," he said. "nobody would mind their walking quietly through the dene, even if they did leave their sandwich papers and their bottles behind them." "i have seen wire baskets provided in such places," said grace. the young owner of holtcar grange laughed. "so have i. in fact, i tried it here, and put up a very civil notice pointing out what they were for. the hoddam people, however, evidently considered it an unwarrantable interference with their sacred right to make as much mess of another person's property as they pleased, for soon after the baskets arrived we found that somebody had taken the trouble to collect them and deposit them in the lake." "a gardener could, however, pick up a good many papers in an afternoon." "it would naturally depend upon how hard he worked, and, as you may have noticed, undue activity is not a characteristic of anybody at the grange. still, it would be several years before he made a young holly from which the leading stem had been cut out grow again; besides which the proletariat apparently consider themselves entitled to dig up the primroses and daffodils by basketfuls with spades." grace was not greatly interested in the subject, but it at least was safe, and geoffrey esmond's conversation had hitherto taken a rather more personal turn than she cared about. "still, you could spare them a few wild flowers," she said. she turned and glanced across the velvet lawn towards the old grey house flanked by its ancient trees. the sunlight lay bright upon its time-mellowed façade, and was flung back from the half-hidden orchid houses and vineries. esmond apparently understood her, and for a moment his eyes rested curiously upon her face. "you mean i have rather more than my share of what most people long for? still, you ought to know that nobody is ever quite content, and that what one has only sets one wishing for more." grace laughed. "one would certainly fancy that you had quite enough already--but i wonder if one might ask you if you have heard from reggie lately?" esmond's face hardened a trifle. "you, at least, might. he does not write often--naturally--though i always had a fancy that reggie mightn't, after all, have been so very much to blame as most people seem to think. anyway, we had a letter a few weeks ago, and he had got his commission in the canadian mounted police. he ought to be thankful--in the circumstances." "i am pleased to hear it," and a just perceptible trace of colour showed in grace's cheeks. "it is rather a coincidence that my father, who went up to london a week ago, came back with the expectation of obtaining a government post in western canada, a crown commissioner on the new gold-fields i think. he was in charge of a mining district in western africa, you know. i should probably go to canada with him." "then one would sincerely hope that major coulthurst will get a post at home." he stopped, perhaps warned by something in his companion's attitude, and she deftly turned the subject back to the grievance the hoddam people thought they had against him. the fact that they had apparently a good deal to say to each other had in the meanwhile not escaped attention. a few lounge chairs had been laid out about a little table in the shadow of a big chestnut, and from one of them a lady of some importance in that vicinity watched the pair with distinct disapprobation. holtcar grange was but a portion of young esmond's inheritance, and she had several daughters of her own. she frowned as she turned to the lady nearest her. "that girl," she said acidly, "is making excellent use of her opportunities. it does not appear to matter which one it is, so long as he belongs to the family." her companion looked up languidly. "the drift of that last remark is not especially plain." "it would have been if you had seen what went on before reggie esmond went, or rather was sent, out to canada. the major was in africa then, and the girl was staying here. she was only just out of the schoolroom, but that did not prevent her attaching herself to reggie. it was only when he was no longer worth powder and shot that she turned her attention to his cousin." this, as it happened, was very little nearer the truth than such statements usually are, when made by a matron who has an unappreciated daughter's future to provide for; but the lady who heard it understood the reason for her companion's rancour. "grace coulthurst," she said, "is pretty, and has really an excellent style. besides, her father evidently has means of his own." the first speaker smiled compassionately. "major coulthurst thrives upon his debts; he threw away what little money he had in speculation. then he got himself sent out to west africa, and either allowed the niggers too much of their own way or worried them unnecessarily, for they turned out and killed some of their neighbours who worked at the mines. that resulted in black troops being sent up, and coulthurst, who led them into a swamp they couldn't get across, was afterwards quietly placed upon the shelf. in fact, i believe he pins his hopes upon the men appointed by the new government remembering their unfortunate friends." "that," remarked her companion drily, "is, after all, what a good many of us seem to think the government is there for." she might have said more, but a little, black-robed lady and a burly red-faced man with a merry twinkle in his eyes and a tinge of grey in his hair, appeared just then. the latter held himself well, and did not in the least look like a man who had borne much responsibility in pestilential africa. as a matter of fact, major coulthurst, who was by no means brilliant either as administrator or soldier, took his cares lightly. "and you fancy you will get the appointment?" asked mrs. esmond, looking up at him. "i hope so," said coulthurst. "i really think the people in office ought to do something for me. i contrived to save them a good deal of trouble with the french on the frontier. still i don't know what to do with grace if i get it, though i had thoughts of taking her out to canada." mrs. esmond appeared to reflect for a moment or two. "is there any reason why you shouldn't leave her here?" she said. "i think i took good care of her before." they had almost reached the table where the others sat, and coulthurst stopped with a shadow of perplexity in his sunburnt face. he was a widower with insufficient means, and had one or two somewhat pointed letters from importunate creditors in his pocket then. he had also been a friend of mrs. esmond's for more than twenty years, but, though by no means fastidious in some respects, there were points on which he possessed a certain delicacy of sentiment. "i almost think there is. grace, you see, is older now," he said. mrs. esmond looked up, and, as it happened, grace coulthurst and geoffrey esmond came slowly towards them across the lawn just then. the young man's gaze was fixed upon the girl, but she was looking away from him, which increased the suggestiveness of his attitude and expression, for both of those who watched them could see his face. grace was indeed distinctly pretty, and that afternoon the indefinite but unmistakable attribute which the woman who had defended her termed good style was especially noticeable. it was expressed in the poise of the little head, the erect carriage, and even the fashion in which the light draperies hung in flowing lines about the shapely figure. then the black-robed lady turned, and looked at coulthurst steadily. "yes," he said, though she had not spoken. "her mother would have known what was right--and fitting, but since she was taken from me i feel it--a responsibility, to say the least." "could you not trust me?" "in everything. that is, unless it was to your own disadvantage--or what would certainly be regarded so. you mean me to be frank, i think?" "of course! in any case, i am not sure that you are capable of concealing your sentiments." "then," said coulthurst gravely, "i should like you to remember that grace has nothing." mrs. esmond smiled. "and geoffrey has a good deal? still, we have it on excellent authority that the value of a good woman is above rubies." major coulthurst was red-faced and burly, and usually abrupt in his movements; but his attitude became him as he made his companion a little grave inclination. "grace is very like her mother--i cannot say more than that." perhaps it was not very tactful; though he did not know what the gossips had whispered when he was a reckless subaltern long ago. in any case, he had married a woman with as few possessions as he himself had, and his life had been a hard one ever since. his companion, however, smiled somewhat curiously. "i think she is in many ways like her father too; but that is scarcely the point," she said. "i have offered to take care of her for you." "well," said coulthurst quietly, "when the time comes we will try to decide, and in the meanwhile i can only thank you." then they joined the others, and for awhile sat talking in the shade, until geoffrey esmond, who had taken his place beside them, looked up suddenly with a curious contraction of his face. "i am almost afraid we are going to have some undesirable visitors," he said. from beyond the trees that shut the lawn off from the village there rose the tooting of a cornet, which was followed by a cheer and a rattle of wheels. then there was a murmur of harsh voices which broke portentously through the slumbrous quietness, and esmond, rising abruptly, glanced at the major, who walked a little apart with him. esmond looked worried. "yes," he said in answer to the major's questioning glance, "i fancy they are coming to pull my gates and fences down. roberts, the groom, heard enough in hoddam to suggest that they were plotting something of the kind, and i told him to have a horse saddled, though i didn't quite believe it myself. there are, however, evidently several wagonette-loads of them yonder." "the question is," said coulthurst sharply, "do you mean to let them in?" the young man laughed. "i should almost have fancied it was unnecessary. including the keepers, i can roll up six men. that makes eight with you and me, while leslie, who is a magistrate, as you know, lives scarcely two miles away." "then you had better send for him. eight men with the law behind them should be quite enough to hold off the rabble--that is, so long as no blow is struck; but you will excuse my mentioning that you will require to keep a firm hand on your temper." "i'll try, though i have been told it isn't a very excellent one," said the younger man. "now, if you will beguile the women into the house, i'll make arrangements." coulthurst was not a clever man, but he contrived to accomplish it; and it was some twenty minutes later when he and esmond walked down a path beneath the beeches with four or five men behind them. the major carried a riding whip, and there was a curious little smile in his eyes, while the rest had sticks, though in accordance with his instructions they made no display of them. the wood was shadowy and very still, and there was no sound but that made by startled rabbits, until they came out into the sunlight, where a spiked railing crossed a narrow glade. there was a mossy path beyond it chequered with patches of cool shadow, and a group of dusty men were moving down it towards the padlocked gate. the foremost of them stopped when they saw the party from the grange, and then after a whispered consultation came on again. "where are you going?" asked esmond. "into the dene," said one of the strangers. "you have been to the lodge to ask permission?" "no," said another hot and perspiring man, "we haven't. it isn't necessary." "i'm afraid it is," said esmond quietly. "in fact, there is a board to that effect a few yards back. no doubt you noticed it." the man laughed. "we did. it isn't there now. we pulled it up." esmond flushed a trifle. "then if you ever wish to get into the dene i think you made a mistake," he said. "still, as you can't get any farther to-day, you may as well go back. this gate is locked." "that don't count," said somebody. "we'll have it off its hinges inside five minutes." the lad swung round sharply towards the speaker, but coulthurst laid a restraining hand upon his arm. "steady!" he said, and raised his voice a trifle. "now, look here, my men, you certainly can't come in, and you'll only get yourselves into trouble by trying. this is private property." "of course!" said one of the strangers. "everything is. you've got the land, and you've got the water--one can't even bathe in the river now. it's not your fault you can't lay hands on the air and sunshine, too." there was an approving murmur from his comrades, and esmond shook off the major's grasp. "that is rot!" he said. "willow dene belongs to me, and you are certainly not coming in. i don't feel inclined to explain my reasons for keeping you out of it, and it's quite probable you wouldn't understand them. have you brought any responsible person to whom one could talk along with you?" the languid insolence in his even tone had an effect which a flood of invective might have failed to produce; and once more there was a murmur from the crowd, while a man with a grim, dust-smeared face held up a bludgeon. "we've brought these, and they're good enough," he said. then the men moved a little, and there were cries of "let him have a chance!" as a young man pushed his way through them. he was plainly and neatly dressed and carried nothing in his hand. "i'm sorry our committee is not here to lay our views before you, mr. esmond, which was what we had intended; but if you will try to look at the thing sensibly it will save everybody trouble," he said. "what has become of the worthy gentlemen? weren't they capable of walking from the 'griffin'?" asked esmond drily. "it really isn't very far." the young man did not appear to notice the jibe. "the fact is, we had a little dispute among ourselves," he said. "the views of the committee didn't quite coincide with those of the rest, but since the committee is not here i should like to point out that the hoddam people have passed through the dene without hindrance for at least twenty years, and as that gives them a legal right of way they mean to continue doing it. now, if you will make no opposition we will promise that no damage whatever will be done to your property." "don't you worry about the concerned committee," said a voice from the crowd. "it's got the sulks. only two turned out. we're going by what mr. leger says." esmond glanced at the man in front of him, with a little sardonic smile. "i have only your assurance, and i'm afraid it would scarcely be wise to place more confidence in your friends than their leaders seem to have done. their appearance is, unfortunately, against them." there were cries of "stop it, leger; you're wasting time! tell him to get out of the way! we're coming in!" the young man raised his hand. "i believe they mean it, mr. esmond. now, there are two sensible courses open to you. unlock that gate and make no further opposition; or stand aside while we lift it off its hinges, and then proceed against us for trespassing. you will, if you are wise, make no attempt to prevent our getting in." there was a moment's silence, and the little knot of men behind the gate and the crowd outside watched each other's faces. one or two were evidently uneasy, others a trifle grim, but there was a portentous murmur from the dusty rabble farther back in the shadow. then young esmond laughed in an unpleasant fashion as he drew the lash of his dog-whip suggestively through his hand. "whoever lays a hand upon this gate will take the consequences," he said. coulthurst touched his shoulder, and said something in his ear, but the young man moved away from him impatiently. "am i to be dictated to by this rabble? let them come!" he said. the major made a little gesture of resignation. "well," he said, "if you are determined to make trouble i think you will get your wish." then the front of the crowd split up, and several men came out from it carrying between them what appeared to be the post to which the notice-board had been nailed. they came on at a ran, and, disregarding the major's warning, swung it like a battering ram. next moment there was a crash. the gate rattled, but still held fast, while the lash of esmond's dog-whip curled round one man's hand. he loosed his hold upon the post with a howl, his comrades recoiled, and there was an angry cry from the rear of the crowd, while a sod alighted squarely in the major's face. he wiped it quietly with his handkerchief, and then seizing esmond by main force thrust him a few paces aside. "go home, my men, and you have my word that the affair shall go no further," he said. "it's your last chance. we'll have a magistrate and several policemen here in a very few minutes." "look out for yourself," said somebody. "we've nothing against you. now, pick up your post, boys, and down with the thing!" the men with the post came on again; there was a roar from the crowd, and a crash, as the gate swung open; then as a man with a stick sprang through the gap esmond's dog-whip came down upon his face. next moment somebody had hurled him backwards, and the crowd rolled through the opening. "back there! look after your master, jenkins!" the major's voice rang out, and a man dropped suddenly beneath his riding-crop. then nobody knew exactly what happened, but while the sticks rose and fell ingleby and esmond, who had evaded the burly keeper, found themselves face to face. esmond, who was flushed and gasping, swung the dog-whip round his head, but before he struck, leger sprang straight at him with empty hands. then a stick that somebody swung came down, and esmond fell just clear of the rest, with a gash on his forehead from which there spread a crimson smear. leger staggered forward, and the major gripped his shoulder and flung him into the arms of a keeper. "hold him fast! that's the lad who did it," he said, and faced round on the crowd with hand swung up and voice ringing commandingly. "you have already done as much as you will care to account for," he said. "manslaughter is a somewhat serious thing." the tumult ceased for a moment, and everybody saw esmond lying very still upon the turf with the ominous smear of crimson on his blanched face. his eyes were half closed now, and they had an unpleasantly suggestive appearance. then ingleby stepped forward and turned to coulthurst. "nobody will interfere with you while you take him away, but the man you have was not the one who struck him down," he said. "give him up, and we'll go back quietly." the major smiled grimly. "i hope," he said, "to hand him to the police inside five minutes." "look here," said somebody, "it was all mr. esmond's own fault, and, so to speak, an accident. go and get a doctor for him, and let us have our man." there was a little hard glitter in coulthurst's eyes. "he will find it difficult to persuade a jury of that. stick to the lad, jenkins, and pick mr. esmond up, two of you. stand aside there, and it's possible that we will not proceed against any more of you." ingleby turned to the crowd. "you're not going to let them hand him to the police for a thing he didn't do?" there was a rush and a scuffle, the major's riding-crop was torn from him, and groom and gardener and keeper were swept away, while ingleby, laughing harshly, reeled into the shadow of the trees with his hand on leger's shoulder. "i think," he said, "there's nothing that need keep us here." then, while some of his companions pursued esmond's retainers, and the rest stood still, uncertain what to do next, ingleby started back through the woods towards hoddam, dragging leger, who seemed a trifle dazed. iv leger's responsibility leger was paler than usual, as well as breathless and very dusty, when he flung himself down in a dilapidated arm-chair in ingleby's room. the window was open, for it was very hot, and ingleby, who stood near it, appeared to be listening intently to the patter of feet that came up from the narrow street, until he moved forward and laid his hand upon the sash. then leger laughed hollowly. "i don't think that's necessary, and i wish you would leave it as it is just now," he said. "considering that you live on the fourth story they're scarcely likely to come in that way." "i did it without thinking," said ingleby, who turned to him a trifle flushed in face. "you're looking faint. i can get you some water--fortunately it's cheap." "i'll be all right in a minute or two," and leger made a little deprecatory gesture. "i'm not sure i ever made four miles quite so fast before, and the blow i got from that fellow's dog-whip, the handle end, must have shaken me. never mind the water." ingleby sat down, a trifle limply, and, unconscious of the fact that his own clothes were badly torn, gazed at his companion. leger's dusty disarray heightened the effect of his pallor, and his hair, dank with perspiration, lay smeared upon his forehead, while there was a big discoloured bruise upon one cheek. they had come home across the meadow and through the woodland instead of by the road, and neither of them remembered how many hedges and thickets they had scrambled through, since the one thing apparent was the advisability of escaping attention. "we made an excellent pace," ingleby said. "i scarcely think that the others can have got here yet. they hadn't the same necessity for haste. still, i'm almost afraid it was wasted energy. you see, the police wouldn't be very long in tracing us." "i don't suppose so. that big military-looking fellow meant to make sure of me. no doubt he'll send a groom over with our description. he seemed to recognize you, too." ingleby rose abruptly and leaned against the mantel with his lips firmly set. it was several moments before he spoke again. "i think he did," he said. "in fact, i'd have done almost anything sooner than have had this happen; though that doesn't matter now. there's a more important question--and it has to be faced." they looked at each other in silence for a second or two, and both their faces were very grim with the shadow of fear in them. they were young, and shrank from the contemplation of what it seemed had been done. the thing was horrible in itself, quite apart from the consequences, which promised to be disastrous. "you mean," said leger very quietly, "is he dead?" ingleby made a little gesture, and once more for almost a minute the heavy silence was intensified by the ticking of his watch and the sounds in the street below. both of them listened intently, almost expecting to hear the tramp of heavy feet upon the stairway. "heaven forbid!" said ingleby, a trifle hoarsely. "still, he looked horribly like it. there's just one thing of which i should like to be quite certain." "of course!" and leger met his comrade's gaze. "suppose i told you i did it, would it separate us?" "no," said ingleby. "you know that. it might have been i; and, anyway, we were both in the thing." "then, as you supposed, the military man was mistaken. i had nothing in my hands, and never even reached him." ingleby, in spite of his protestations, drew a deep breath of relief, but leger, who appeared to be recovering now, smiled. "well," he said, "you're satisfied, but it doesn't in the least affect the position. you see, the military gentleman appeared certain he saw me strike the blow, and i scarcely think my word would go very far against his with the usual kind of jury." "you know who did it?" leger smiled curiously. "i do, but you ought to understand that the fact isn't of much use to me." "you mean?" "i could plead not guilty, but i couldn't point out the man responsible. you see, i induced him to join the society, and gave him the american's pamphlets--i believe the more virulent ones. they seemed to make a strong impression on him. one can't well back out of his responsibility--especially when the adversary is always ready to make the most of the opportunity. besides, the man has a family." ingleby clenched one hand. "and you have hetty." "yes," said leger with an impressive quietness. "and hetty has only me. still, one must do what he feels he has to." "but you can't leave hetty--and what would happen to her if you were----" "if i were in jail?" and leger's face went awry. "she would be turned out of her berth to a certainty. it didn't quite strike me until you put the thing before me. there's the lad's mother too. a little horrible, isn't it? how long does one usually get for manslaughter?" again there was silence save for ingleby's groan. democratic aspirations were very well as subjects for discussion, but now that he was brought face to face with the results of attempting to realize them, they appalled him. he did not remember that usually very little worth the having can be obtained without somebody's getting hurt; and it would have afforded him no great consolation if he had remembered, since, for the time being, he had had quite enough of theories. then he made a little abrupt gesture. "tom," he said, "what dolts we are! the thing is perfectly simple. you have only to come out with me, and the fact that you've made a bolt of it will be quite enough to divert suspicion from the other man." "there is a difficulty. steamboat fares cost money, and i'm not sure hetty and i have five pounds in the treasury." ingleby laughed almost light-heartedly. "i think i have enough to take us all out at the cheapest rates, and you must let me lend it to you, if only to prove that what you believe in isn't an impracticable fancy." leger slowly straightened himself. "i don't want to be ungracious--but it's a difficult thing to do. the money's yours--and you'd have nothing left." ingleby laid a hand on his shoulder, and gripped it hard. "are you willing to see your sister cast adrift to save your confounded pride? the fact that she has a relative undergoing penal servitude isn't much of a recommendation to a girl who has to earn her bread. besides, like a good many of us, you're not logical. you thought you had a claim on esmond's property." there was a light step on the stairway, and he stopped suddenly. "there's hetty," he said. "we'll leave it to her." the door swung open, and the girl came in gasping, with horror in her eyes. "oh," she said, "its awful! they've come in with the wagonettes, and harry told me. how did it happen?" "sit down," said ingleby gently. "tom will explain." leger did so concisely, and hetty clenched the chair-arm hard as she listened to him. still, young as she was, she held herself in hand, and sat very still, with the colour ebbing from her face. "what shall we do?" she said. "ingleby has asked us to go out to canada with him. he offers to lend us the money." the girl's face flushed suddenly, and she glanced at ingleby, who appeared embarrassed. "how much will you have left if you do that?" she asked. "i don't know yet. anyway, it doesn't matter. if you make any silly objections, hetty, tom will go to jail." the girl turned to her brother, with the crimson still in her cheek and her lips quivering, and it suddenly struck ingleby that she was really remarkably pretty, though that appeared of no great moment just then. "that would happen, tom?" she said. "yes," said leger quietly; "i believe it would." hetty turned again, and looked at ingleby with a curious intentness. "you are quite sure you want us?" ingleby, moved by an impulse he did not understand, caught and held fast one of her hands. "hetty," he said, "aren't we old friends? there is nobody i would sooner take with me, but we shall certainly quarrel if you ask me a question of that kind again." the girl's expression perplexed him, and with a sudden movement she drew her hand away. "well," she said, "we will come. i would stay--only i know tom would not go without me; but whatever happens we will pay you back the money." "i don't think you want to be unpleasant, hetty," said ingleby. "anyway, you have only about an hour in which to get ready, because if we're not off by the next train it's quite likely that we shall not have the opportunity for going at all. get what you want together, and meet us behind the booking office on the main line platform. tom and i will take the back way to the station." hetty turned and went out without a word, and leger looked at his companion. "i don't think she meant to hurt you, but what she did mean exactly is a good deal more than i understand," he said. ingleby made a little impatient gesture. "i don't suppose it matters. girls seem to have curious fancies. in the meanwhile it might be as well if we made a start. i'll lend you a decent jacket, and, as you had a cap on, it would be advisable to take my straw hat. to carry out the same notion i'll slip on my one dark suit. they usually make a point of mentioning one's clothes." they were ready in about ten minutes, but when they had descended the long stairway ingleby stopped in the dingy hall, and stood still a moment irresolute. "if it wasn't for the harpy downstairs we might get clear away before anybody was aware that we had gone," he said. "i can't leave her what i owe her either, for one never does seem to have change when he wants it. how much have you got on you?" "a handful of copper," said leger, with a little grim smile. ingleby appeared to reflect. "i could send her the few shillings from wherever we stop." "the post office people obligingly stamp every envelope with the name of the place it comes from. i don't think we want to leave a trail behind us." ingleby stood still a moment longer with a flush in his face. "nothing would stop that woman's talking--not even a gag. it's horribly unfortunate." "it usually is," and leger looked at him with a curious little smile. "the worst of having a propaganda is that the people who haven't any get indignant when one doesn't live up to it. they naturally lay part of the blame on the fallacies he believes in." ingleby swung round. "i'd sooner face a battery--but i'm going down." he disappeared down the basement steps, and in another minute a harsh voice apparently vituperating him rose up, and when he rejoined his comrade his face was redder than ever. "now," he said, "we'll go; the sooner the better. everybody in the neighbourhood will know what she thinks of me inside of ten minutes." they slipped out into the street, and ingleby stopped a moment at the end of it and looked back with a curious expression in his face. the sunlight that lay bright upon one side of it emphasized its unattractiveness. tall houses, grim in their squalid ugliness, shut it in, and the hot air that scarcely stirred between them was heavy with the sour odours from a neighbouring tanyard. a hoarse clamour and a woman's voice, high-pitched and shrill with fear or anger, came out of a shadowy alley where unkempt children played in the gutter. the uproar did not concern them. they were apparently used to it. "i've lived five years in the midst of--this--and now i'm almost sorry to leave it," he said. "there's no reason in us." then he turned again with a little resolute shake of his shoulders. "well, we have done with it at last, and if half what one hears is true there is a chance for such as us in the country we are going to." leger said nothing, and it was silently they threaded their way deviously in and out of alleys and archways towards the station. their life had been a hard one in that squalid town, but the place had, after all, been home, and they could not tell what awaited them in the unknown. they had in them the steadfastness which is born of struggle, but the unthinking courage of youth that has felt no care is quite a different thing. however, nobody appeared desirous of preventing their departure, and they eventually got away by a steamer for which they had to wait several days in liverpool. in the meanwhile geoffrey esmond lay one evening propped up amidst the pillows in a darkened room at holtcar grange. he was blanched in face, and his eyes were heavy, while a big wet bandage was still rolled about his head. major coulthurst was by his bedside, and a burly sergeant of police sat on the very edge of a sofa with a notebook in his hand. the window was open behind the blind, and a little cool air that brought the fragrance of flowers with it crept into the room. "major coulthurst fancied he could recognize the man who assaulted you, mr. esmond, and i have no doubt we will lay hands on him in a day or two," said the officer. "if you could identify him, too, it would make the thing more certain, and i would like to read you the description furnished me before we go any farther." "if that is the usual course i don't see why i should object," said esmond drily. "still, isn't it a trifle suggestive?" the sergeant did not appear to notice the irony of the inquiry, and launched out into what was, in the circumstances, a tolerably accurate description of leger. esmond listened quietly, with a little smile in his half-closed eyes. "major coulthurst," he said, "is evidently astonishingly quick-sighted if he saw all that." "i'm not sure i understand you, esmond," and coulthurst looked up sharply. "well," said the younger man reflectively, "i always fancied you were a sportsman, and we had our fun. of course, while it lasted i would cheerfully have broken the socialist fellow's head if i could have managed it, but just now the odds seem a trifle heavy against him." coulthurst laughed a little, but the sergeant shook his head. "that's not at all the way to look at it, sir," he said. "in a case of this kind one has, if i may point it out, a duty to society." "and the police?" said esmond, who made a little gesture. "i really do not think i should ask the opinion of the latter as to what is incumbent on me. still, that is scarcely the point. you want me to identify the man--and i can't do it." "you must have seen him close to, sir." esmond laughed. "have you ever had incipient concussion of the brain? you probably haven't. i believe they line your headgear with cork or cane. well, in one respect, it's a little unfortunate, since it would have helped you to understand my position. now, the major says the man's hair was light brown, but so far as i can remember it was red. are you quite sure it wasn't, coulthurst?" coulthurst appeared reflective. "he certainly had his hat on." "a cap, sir," said the sergeant. esmond glanced at the major reproachfully. "you will notice, sergeant, how reliable he is." "the fact mentioned wouldn't prevent your seeing what kind of man he was," said the sergeant, tartly. "he is described as little and pale, and of a delicate appearance." "then if the blow on my head is anything to go by, i really think my friend was mistaken," said esmond. "it's my firm opinion the man was distinctly muscular." the sergeant stood up, and closed his book. "the affair is a serious one, and we naturally look to a gentleman of your position for----" esmond stopped him with a gesture and a little languid smile, under which, however, the burly sergeant flushed. "as i fancy i mentioned, there are matters in which it is hardly the province of the police to instruct me," he said. "i'm sorry i can't do anything more for you to-day, sergeant, but if you were to come round when my head has settled down a little i might be able to recollect the fellow's appearance rather more distinctly." "if we are to lay hands on him we must have a warrant at once." "then if it depends on me i'm very much afraid you will not get it--and now, as the doctor insists on quietness, you will excuse me. can you reach the bell, major?" the sergeant went out fuming inwardly, and coulthurst laughed. "i'm not quite sure that i should have let the fellow off," he said. "what made you do it?" "i really don't know, and scarcely think it matters," said esmond languidly. "still, you see, i fancy we went a little farther than the law would sanction, and that being so one could scarcely expect the other fellow to pay for everything. now, if i might remind you, miss coulthurst was kind enough to promise to come in and talk to me." v the new country it was a still evening, and major coulthurst and mrs. esmond paced slowly side by side up and down the terrace at holtcar grange. the house looked westward, and the last of the sunshine rested lovingly upon its weathered front, where steep tiled roof and flaking stone that had silvery veins in it were mellowed to pale warm tints by age. beyond it, orchid house, fernery, and vinery flashed amidst the trees; while the great cool lawn, shaven to the likeness of emerald velvet, glowing borders, and even the immaculate gravel that crunched beneath the major's feet conveyed the same suggestion to him. it was evident that there was no need of economy at holtcar grange, and coulthurst, who had faced the world long enough to recognize the disadvantages of an empty purse, sighed as he remembered the last budget the post had brought him. he had served his nation sturdily, according to his lights, which, however, were not especially brilliant, wherever work was hardest and worst paid; while now, when it was almost time to rest, he was going out again to the wilderness on the farthest confines of a new country, where even those who serve the government live primitively. he longed to stay in england and take his ease, but funds were even lower than they usually were with him. still, he shrank from exposing his daughter to the discomforts he was at last commencing to find it hard to bear, and she had but to speak a word and remain, with all that any young woman could reasonably look for, the mistress of holtcar grange. though he roused himself with an effort he felt that his conversation was even less brilliant than usual and that his companion noticed it. it was certain that she smiled when she surprised him glancing somewhat anxiously across the lawn. "you have quite decided on going out?" she asked. "i have," said coulthurst simply. "in ten days from to-day. the commission's in my pocket--i was uncommonly glad to get it." "still," said mrs. esmond, "the pay cannot be very high, and it must be a wild country." "it is quite sufficient for a lonely man, and now grace--" he stopped abruptly, a trifle flushed in face, and his companion smiled at him. "yes," she said, "i understand, and if it happens as we both wish i shall be content. geoffrey has been a good son, but i could not expect to keep him always to myself--and i would rather it should be grace than any one else." "thank you!" said coulthurst simply. "whether i have done right in allowing her to come here i do not know. in any case, i never suspected what might happen until a month ago. then i was a trifle astonished, but the mischief was done." mrs. esmond laughed, "you might have expressed it more happily, though it is perhaps only natural that there was a day or two when i would not have found fault with you." coulthurst said nothing further, but his thoughts were busy. he knew better than most men what life in the newer lands is, and he had no desire that grace should share it with him. what she thought of esmond he did not know; but the latter had told him what he thought of her, and his mother was, it seemed, content with the choice he had made. a good deal depended on the girl's fancy. they had turned again when she came towards them across the lawn as though she did not see them, until, hearing their footsteps, she stopped abruptly. nobody spoke for a moment or two, but she felt their eyes upon her, and the crimson grew deeper in her cheek as she turned to the elder lady. "i see you know," she said, with a little tremor in her voice. "you will forgive me if he feels hurt over it--but i felt i could not. geoffrey, of course, is----" the major groaned inwardly when she stopped, and there was a sudden slight but perceptible change in his companion. her face lost its usual gentleness, and became for a moment not hard or vindictive, but impressively grave. "i am glad--because he is my only son--that you had the courage to do the right thing--now," she said. grace flashed a swift glance at her, and the colour showed a trifle more plainly in her face, but, saying nothing, she hastily turned away. coulthurst stood stiffly still, evidently perplexed at something in the attitude of both, until mrs. esmond looked at him. "i am disappointed," she said. coulthurst raised his hand in protest. "it is very good of you to say so, but, while she is my daughter and i am naturally a trifle proud of her, the advantages would in one sense have been so much in her favour----" "i don't think you apprehend me. these affairs seldom fall out as one would wish them, which is, perhaps, now and then fortunate for all concerned. it is grace i am disappointed with." coulthurst smiled somewhat grimly. "i'm by no means sure that i do understand, but one thing, at least, is plain: she has made her own choice and must abide by it." it was ten minutes later, and mrs. esmond had left him, when he came upon grace sitting where a shrubbery swept round a bend of the lawn. she looked at him deprecatingly. "i am very sorry--but it was out of the question--quite," she said. coulthurst made a little gesture of resignation, for if he seldom foresaw a difficulty where others would have done so, he, at least, made no futile protest when it had to be faced. "i suppose," he said, "you realize what you have turned your back upon to-day?" "still, i felt i had to do so." coulthurst checked a groan. "then, since you presumably know your own mind, there is nothing more to be said. you will be ready to come out to the northwest with me?" grace rose, and slipped her hand through his arm. "father," she said, "i'm sorry--dreadfully sorry. i must be a horrid responsibility." coulthurst smiled, somewhat ruefully. "so am i! no doubt we will worry along as we have already done; but it is a very hard country we are going to." it was scarcely a sufficient expression of what he felt, but coulthurst had his strong points, and his daughter knew it was very unlikely he would ever allude to the subject again. there were, however, as usual, guests at holtcar grange just then, and they had formed a tolerably correct opinion as to what was happening. it was also natural that they should discuss it, and on that evening two matrons and the lady who had taken grace's part on a previous occasion expressed their views concerning the conduct of the latter. "the girl led him on shamefully," said one of them. "that was evident to everybody, and one would have fancied the reason was equally so--though, of course, we know now it wasn't the right one." grace's advocate appeared reflective, and, as it happened, her opinion was usually listened to. "i have watched the girl, and she is interesting as a study," she said. "i am, of course, not infallible, but it seems to me from what i have heard of the major that she has inherited his disregard of consequences. coulthurst, one would conclude, is not a man who ever saved himself or others trouble by anticipating anything." one of her companions signified concurrence. "and the fact that the opportunity for a flirtation with the most eligible man in the vicinity appealed to her natural arrogance accounts for the rest?" "not exactly, though you are in a measure right. i should rather call it love of influence, for, though i'm not sure grace coulthurst realizes it, one could fancy that the opportunity for dominating a man of position, or more especially character, would prove almost irresistible to her. still, one must discriminate between that and the not unusual fondness for love-making." "the distinction is a little difficult. it seems to lead to much the same thing." the previous speaker, who was a woman of discernment, shook her head. "there is a difference," she said. "the girl has, i think, a personality--by which i do not altogether mean physical attributes--that is apt to appeal to a man of character, though i almost fancy she will sooner or later be sorry she was ever endued with it. there is a good deal that is admirable in grace coulthurst, but unfortunately, in one respect, perhaps, not--quite--enough." it was not evident that the rest altogether understood her, but mrs. esmond appeared just then, and the subject was changed abruptly. in the meanwhile there were at least three people who would have found no fault with major coulthurst's description of western canada. having discovered somewhat to their astonishment that the population of quebec and montreal was already quite sufficient, and that strangers without means were not greatly desired in either city, these three had, in accordance with ingleby's previous purpose, started west again, and on the fifth day sat spiritlessly in a colonist car as, with whistle screaming, the long train rolled into sight of a little desolate station on the albertan prairie. all the way from winnipeg a dingy greyness had shrouded the apparently interminable levels, which lay parched and white beneath an almost intolerable heat, while the lurching cars swung through a rolling cloud of dust that blurred the dreary prospect. now, as they were slowing down, grimy faces were thrust from the windows and perspiring men leaned out from the platforms, gazing down the track and inquiring with expletives why they were stopping again. hetty leger, however, sat languidly still, where the hot draught that blew in through an open window scattered the dust upon her. her face was damp, and unpleasantly gritty, for the water in the tank had long run out. her head ached, as did every bone in her body, for colonist cars are not fitted as the pullmans are, and she had with indifferent success for four nights essayed to sleep on a maple shelf which pulled out from the roof above when one wanted it. she had certainly hired a mattress, but its inch or two of thickness had scarcely disguised the hardness of the polished wood beneath it; and although the cost of it and the little green curtain had made a serious inroad on the few dollars left in her scanty purse they had not solved the problem of dressing; while the atmosphere of a close-packed colonist car when the big lamps are lighted in hot weather is a thing to shudder at. it is also, in view of the fact that most of the passengers dispense with curtains, somewhat embarrassing to rise in the morning and wait amidst a group of half-dressed men and women for a place in the cupboard at the rear of the car where ablutions may at least be attempted when there is any water in the tank. presently, however, a big bell commenced to toll, and the jolting of the air-brakes flung her forward in her seat, while in another few moments the long cars stopped, and the conductor pushed his way through the perspiring passengers who surged towards the vestibule. "they've had a big washout up the track," he said. "you can light out and admire the scenery for two hours, anyway, if you feel like it." hetty looked round, but could see nothing of her brother or ingleby. she had seen very little to admire at other prairie stations; but anything seemed better than the close heat of the car, and when the vestibule was clear at last she went out languidly and stepped down upon the track. beside it rose two desolate frame houses, a crude structure of galvanized iron, and a towering water tank, but that was all, and beyond them the gleaming rails ran straight to the rim of the empty wilderness. nothing moved on its interminable levels; the dingy sky seemed suffused with heat, and along the track a smell that was stronger than the reek of creosote rose from the baked and fissured earth. the withered grass was of the same tint as the earth save where the clay on the bank of a _coulée_ showed a harsh red, and the vast stretch of dusty prairie seemed steeped in the one dreary grey. this, she reflected with a sinking heart, was the land of promise to which she had journeyed five thousand miles to find a home; but, though the track was suggestively littered with empty provision cans, there was as yet very little sign of the milk and honey. hetty was usually sympathetic, but the sight of the frowsy passengers and unwashed children wandering aimlessly round the station aroused in her a curious impatience that was tinged with disgust that hot afternoon. she wanted to be alone, and noticing an ugly trestle bridge a mile or so ahead followed the rails until she came to it. a river swirled beneath it; but it, too, was utterly devoid of beauty, for the banks of it were crumbling sun-baked clay, and it swept by a dingy, slatey green, thick with the mud brought down by the rockies' glaciers. however, it looked cool, and she climbed down until she found a place she could stand on, and laved her arms and face in it. then, as it happened, a piece of the crumbling clay broke away, and one foot slipped in above the ankle, while the skirt of her thin dress trailed in the water too. it was a trifling mishap, but hetty was overwrought, and when she had climbed back and taken off and emptied the little shoe she sat down on the dusty grass and sobbed bitterly. she felt insignificant and lonely in that great empty land, and its desolation crushed her spirits. she did not know how long she sat there, but at last there were footsteps behind her, and she coloured a little and strove to draw the shoeless foot beneath the hem of the dripping skirt when she saw ingleby smiling down upon her. then she remembered that the sleeves of the thin blouse were still rolled back, and the crimson grew plainer in her wet cheeks as with a little adroit movement she shook them down. ingleby smiled again, in a complacent, brotherly fashion which she found strangely exasperating just then, and sitting down beside her took one of her hot hands. "crying, hetty? that will never do," he said. hetty glanced at him covertly. his face was compassionate, but there was rather toleration than concern in it, and she pulled her hand away from him. "i wasn't--at least, not exactly," she said. "and if i was, it was the weather--and why don't you go away?" ingleby smiled again, in a manner which while kind enough had yet a lack of comprehension in it that made her still angrier. "people don't generally cry about the weather," he said. "well," said the girl sharply, "some of them say things they shouldn't. i heard you--in a crowded car, too." she stopped abruptly, as she remembered the scanty privacy of the colonist train, and that she was supposed to have been asleep about the time ingleby had allowed his temper to get the better of him. he, however, only laughed. "hetty," he said, "what is the matter? i always thought you brave, and i have almost a right to know." "i think you have," and there was a little flash in hetty's eyes. "it was you who brought us here, and this is a horrible country. it frightens me." ingleby was a trifle perplexed, and showed it. he had known hetty leger for four or five years, and had never seen her in a mood of the kind before. it also occurred to him, as it did every now and then, that, although she was not to be compared with miss coulthurst, hetty was in her own way beautiful. just then a pretty plump arm showed beneath the unfastened sleeve of the thin blouse, and the somewhat dusty hair with the tint of pale gold in it, lying low on the white forehead, matched the soft blue eyes, though there was a hint of more character than is usually associated with her type in hetty's white and pink face. ingleby noticed all this with impersonal appreciation, as something which did not greatly concern him. "well," he said, "i'm sorry, and by no means sure i'm very much pleased with the country myself; but i don't quite see what else i could have done in the circumstances. still, it hurts me to see you unhappy." hetty turned to him impulsively. "never mind me. i'm an ungrateful little--beast. that's the fact, and you needn't try to say anything nice--i know i am. if it hadn't been for you tom would have been in prison now." ingleby looked out across the endless dusty levels. "i'm sure the country must be a good deal better than it looks--when one gets used to it," he said a trifle dubiously. "anyway, we are three to one against it, and needn't be afraid of it while we stick together. that is the one thing we must make up our minds to do." "there was a time when you didn't seem very sure you wanted tom and me." "didn't you feel that i was right a little while ago?" hetty said nothing for a space. she was quick-witted, and not infrequently understood her companion rather better than he understood himself, while recollecting the half-shy delicacy which occasionally characterized him she felt a trifle comforted. it was not, she fancied, to please himself that he had been willing to leave her behind, and she watched him covertly as he, too, sat silent, gazing at the prairie with thoughtful eyes. he was not, she was quite aware, as clever as her brother, and he certainly had his shortcomings--in fact, a good many of them; but for all that there was something about him which, so far as she was concerned, set him apart from any other man. exactly what it was she persuaded herself that she did not know, or, at least, made a brave attempt to do so, for it was evident that he had only a frank, brotherly regard for her. still, the silence was getting uncomfortable, and she flung a question at him. "how much have we left?" she asked. ingleby laughed, somewhat ruefully. "eight dollars, i believe. still, we shall cross the rockies to-morrow, and start at once to heap up riches. we are certainly going to do it, as others have; and you will never be frightened any more." hetty had a stout heart of her own, but nevertheless she was glad of the reassuring grasp he laid upon her shoulder as she looked out across the muddy river and desolate, grey-white plain. however, she smiled at him, and once more they sat silent until a curious and unexpected thing happened. far away on the rim of the prairie there was a stirring of the haze, and a dim smear of pinewoods grew out of the dingy vapour. then a vista of rolling hills rose to view, and was lost in mist again, until high above them all a great serrated rampart of never-melting snow gleamed ethereally against a strip of blue. it was a brief, bewildering vision, sudden as the shifting of a gorgeous transformation scene, and then the vapours rolled down again; but they felt that they had looked upon an unearthly glory. hetty turned to her companion with a little gasp. "oh," she said, "it was wonderful!" "it was real, at least," said ingleby. "your first glimpse of the country to which i have brought you. i think we shall be happy there--and we will remember afterwards that we saw it together." again the little pink tinge crept into hetty's cheek, but she said nothing, and ingleby's glance rested on the shoe, which he had not noticed before. "hetty," he said severely, "do you want to catch cold? what is that doing there?" hetty essayed to draw her foot farther beneath the hem of the dusty skirt, and the colour grew a trifle plainer in her face; but ingleby made a little reproachful gesture, and taking up the shoe rubbed it with his handkerchief. "now," he said, "i'm going to the bridge. put it on!" he turned away; but the leather was stiff with water, and hetty struggled fruitlessly with the buttons, and when she rejoined him ingleby noticed that she was walking somewhat awkwardly. "stand still a minute," he said. "you can't limp back along the track like that." he dropped on one knee, and hetty turned her face aside when he looked up again. "it is such a pretty little foot," he said. then as they went back together they met leger on the trestle. he said nothing, but though he endeavoured to hide it there was concern in his sallow face. vi hall sewell the afternoon was clear and cool, but bright sunlight filled a glade among the towering pines which creep close up to the western outskirts of vancouver city. they are very old and great of girth, and though here and there a path or carriage drive has been hewn through the strip of primeval wilderness the municipal authorities have been wise enough to attempt no improvement upon what nature has done for them, and stanley park remains a pleasance whose equal very few cities possess. it is scented ambrosially with the odours of balsam and cedar; deep silence fills the dim avenues between the colonnades of towering trunks; and from every opening one looks out upon blue water and coldly gleaming snow. on the afternoon in question the stillness was rudely broken by a murmur of voices, unmodulated and sharp with an intonation which sounds especially out of place in the wilderness, though it is heard there often enough, from the redwoods of oregon to where alaskan pines spring from ten feet of snow. a crowd of people were scattered about the glade, and while some were dressed in "store clothes" and a few in coarse blue jean the eyes of all were turned towards the stump of a great cedar, sawn off a man's height above the ground, which formed a natural platform for a speaker whose address had astonished most of them. ingleby and leger lay a little apart from the rest, where the sunlight fell faintly warm upon the withered needles, while hetty was seated near them upon a fallen fir, displeasure in her eyes and her lips set together. her eyebrows also seemed unusually straight, as they often did when she was angry, and that gave to her delicately pretty face a curious appearance of severity one would scarcely have expected to find there. she was dressed tastefully, for she earned a sufficiency as a boarding-house waitress. ingleby, who lay nearest her, looked up at her with a little smile. "you would make rather a striking picture just now, hetty," he said. "that is a most attractive frown. i don't know where you got it, but taken together with your attitude it's--i can't think of a better comparison--almost roman." hetty glanced at him sharply. her education had not been very comprehensive, and she scarcely understood the allusion; but ingleby, who had made it at random, was nevertheless in a measure right, for there is a recurrent type of feminine beauty, not exactly common, but to be met with among women of her station in the north of england, while they are young at least, which approaches the classical. hetty might have posed just then as a virgin sitting with turned-down thumb. "well," she said, "i'm vexed with you and tom, as well as with that man. i wish he hadn't come now when we are nice and comfortable and you are both earning good wages--at least when the steamers come in." ingleby shook his head reproachfully. "you have spoiled it," he said. "hasn't she, tom? a young woman who frowns in that imperial fashion talking of wages!" leger only laughed as, turning over among the fir-needles, he filled his pipe again; but hetty was still a trifle angry. "of course, i don't understand you," she said. "i never do, but it's a good thing i've more sense than either of you. now, you know what came of listening to speeches of that kind in england, and you're doing the same thing again. i've no sympathy with that man. everybody has enough to eat and looks contented and comfortable. why does he come here worrying them?" leger smiled. "i'm not sure that the contentment of ignorance is the blessing some people would like us to believe. you see, when one doesn't know what he's entitled to he's apt to be satisfied with a good deal less, while when men like hall sewell point out that you don't get half as much as you ought to you are apt to believe them." ingleby laughed, though, as sewell's writings had stirred him to intense appreciation, even in england, he was not altogether pleased with the little twinkle in his comrade's eyes. he was quick to fire with enthusiasm, while it occurred to him that leger was a trifle too addicted to looking at both sides of a question, and occasionally admitting the weak points of his own case with dry good-humour. he had also a shrewd suspicion that leger was a cleverer man than himself. "well," he said, looking at hetty, "if you are content to carry plates to saw-mill hands and wharf-labourers, it's more than i am to see you do so." "why shouldn't i?" and hetty, who flashed a covert glance at him, noticed the tinge of heightened colour in his face and was not displeased at it. "they are all of them very civil to me, and the one who can get nothing to do as a doctor----" "oh, yes!" said ingleby curtly, "i've noticed his confounded assurance. every time i see you going round with his dinner i feel i'd like to poison him." leger looked up again with the twinkle in his eyes showing plainer still. "you haven't answered her, and i'm not sure you can," he said. "she put the whole thing in a nutshell when she asked--why shouldn't she." ingleby was silent, but he fidgeted, and leger grinned. "don't you find it a little difficult to cling to aristocratic prejudices--though i don't know how you became possessed of them--and believe in democratic theories at the same time?" he said. "one would fancy they were bound to run up against each other occasionally." just then an urchin with a satchel on his back came along. "hall sewell's latest speeches," he said. "fourth edition of 'the new brotherhood' and 'the grip of capital.'" "give me them all," said ingleby. "how much do you want?" "a quarter," said the lad, handing him several flimsy pamphlets, and while hetty glanced at him severely leger laughed. "twenty-five cents!" he said. "it would have purchased a packet of caramels for hetty." "we might manage both," said ingleby. "i'm sorry i didn't think of it earlier, hetty. but you haven't yet told me your opinion of the man himself." hetty glanced at the man upon the fire-stump. he was dressed as a workman in blue jean, which seemed to her a piece of affectation, since when workmen of that city take their recreation they usually do so attired in excellent clothing; but he had a lithe, well-proportioned figure, and it became him, though neither his face, which was bronzed by exposure, nor his hands were quite in keeping with it. it was a forceful face, with keen, dark eyes in it, but the mouth was hidden by the long moustache. hall sewell was, in his own sphere, a famous man whose printed speeches had been read with appreciation in europe, and he had not long ago played a leading part in a great labour dispute. he had just finished speaking and another man was somewhat apologetically addressing the assembled populace. hetty, who surveyed him critically, shook her head. "if you buy me any sweets now i'll throw them away," she said. "well, he's a good-looking man." "oh," said ingleby. "he's good-looking! can't you get beyond that, hetty?" hetty pursed her lips up reflectively. "well, why shouldn't he be? it's a pleasure to see a man of that kind. there are so few of them. still, i'll try to go a little further. of course, he's clever. at least, everybody says so, but there's something wanting. i think he's weak." "weak!" said ingleby indignantly. "you're wide of the mark this time, hetty. i've read every line he has had printed, and any one could feel the uncompromising strength in it. they've put him in prison and tried to buy him, but nothing could keep a man of that kind from delivering his message." hetty still pursed her lips up, and when she spoke again she somewhat astonished ingleby. "if i were a little cleverer and richer i think that i could. that is, of course, if i wanted to," she said. leger looked up with a little whimsical smile. "i hope she isn't right, but she now and then blunders upon a truth that is hidden from our wisdom. delilah is, after all, a type, you see, and one can't help a fancy that she has figured even more often than is recorded in history. go on, hetty." hetty put her head on one side. "i never could remember very much history; but that man's vain, vainer than most of you," she said. "a girl above him who pretended to believe in him could twist him round her finger." "above him?" said ingleby. hetty looked at him curiously. "yes. you know what everybody means by that, and it's generally a girl of that kind that men with your notions fall in love with. it's because you want so much more than is good for you that you have such notions." "considering that she is a girl and by no means clever, hetty's reflections occasionally, at least, display an astonishing comprehension," said leger. "i really don't mind admitting it, though i am her brother." ingleby said nothing, though he felt uncomfortable. he was fond of hetty in a brotherly fashion, but as he had never supposed her to be indued with any intellect worth mentioning, her occasional flashes of penetration were almost disconcerting. the last one was certainly so, for there were two people of diametrically opposed opinions whom he respected above all others: one was hall sewell the reformer, and the other major coulthurst's daughter. he was glad of the opportunity for changing the subject when the man who had been speaking stopped a moment and looked at the crowd. "i guess i'm through, and you have been patient, boys," he said. "hall will be quite willing to answer any reasonable questions. i'll get down." there was a little good-humoured laughter, and a man who stood forward turned to the assembly. "everybody knows jake townson, and there's no wickedness in him. he's a harmless crank," he said. "what i want to ask hall sewell is who's paying him to go round making trouble among people who have no use for it or him? it's a straight question." there was a little growl of disgust as well as sardonic laughter, and while one or two angry men moved towards the speaker the man with the dark eyes stood up suddenly. "let him alone, boys. we don't want to use our enemies' methods, and i'm quite willing to answer him," he said. "nobody has paid me a dollar for what i've tried to do for the cause of brotherhood and liberty, but i was offered a thousand to betray it not a month ago." "name the men who did it," cried somebody. "i will," said sewell, "when i consider the time is ripe--they may count on that, but in the meanwhile you will have to take my word for it. so far, i've been found where i was wanted--and that as our friend suggests was generally where there was trouble--but i never took five cents for reward or fee." there was a murmur of approbation, as well as incredulity, and then a cry broke through it. "how'd you worry along then? a man has got to live." sewell held his hands up, and though small and well-shaped they were scarred and brown. "what i want--and it's very little--i can earn with the shovel and the drill. i've given your man his answer, but i'm going farther." there was a clamour from one part of the crowd. "he's an insect. we've no use for him! let up, hall's talking. we're here to hear him!" "what did i get for my pains?" said sewell. "that's what the question comes to, and i'll tell you frankly, since, until we or our children bring in the new era, it's all that the man has to expect who believes this world can and ought to be made better. i've been ridden over by u. s. cavalry, and beaten by patrolmen's clubs. i've been hounded out of cities where i lawfully earned my bread, and sand-bagged by hired toughs. that would be a little thing if i were the only victim, but you know--you can read it in your papers almost any day--what happens to the men who have the grit to work as well as to hope for the dawn of better days for down-trodden humanity. you're to wait for it--on the other side of jordan--your teachers say. boys, we want it here and now, and it's coming, a little nearer every day. you have got to believe that, and when the outlook grows black get a tighter clinch upon your faith. was it a shadow and a fancy that the men died for who went down in every struggle for the last ten years?--we needn't go back farther. right across this prosperous continent you'll find their graves--men shot and sabred, strung to bridges and telegraph poles. boys, we've been waiting--waiting a long while----" he broke off abruptly, for a little, stolid park-warden and an equally unimpressed official of the vancouver police pushed their way through the crowd. "i guess," said the former, "you'll have to light out of this. you can't hold no meetings here." the crowd was a canadian one, good-humouredly tolerant, respectful of constituted authority, and, what was more to the purpose, reasonably contented with their lot. they were also, as usual, somewhat deficient in the quick enthusiasm which is common across the frontier. had ample time been afforded him the orator might have got hold of them and impressed upon them a due comprehension of their wrongs, but a good many of them were by no means sure that they had very much to complain of as yet. still, there were angry expostulations. "have you any ground for preventing my speaking here?" sewell asked. "yes, sir," said the warden. "i guess we have. it's down in the park charter. you can't peddle those papers either. call your boys in." "the men who made those laws, as usual, made them to suit themselves." "well," said the warden, "i guess that don't matter now. there they are. all you have to do is to keep them, and nobody's going to worry you." there was an embarrassing silence for a moment or two, for everybody felt the tension and realized that the position was rife with unpleasant possibilities; but the stolid warden stood eyeing the crowd unconcernedly, and, as usual, the inertia of british officialdom conquered. sewell made a little whimsical gesture of resignation, and raised his hand. "i'm afraid we'll have to break up, boys. there's nothing to be gained for anybody by making trouble now," he said. "if we can hire a big store of any kind i'll talk to you to-morrow." he sprang down from the stump, the crowd melted away, and hetty laughed as she glanced at her companions. "that man has really a good deal more sense than some people with his notions seem to have," she said. ingleby shook his head at her. "you mean people who pull gates down on sunday afternoons?" he asked. "still, i scarcely think it was to save himself trouble he told them to go home, and nobody could have expected very much sympathy from the men who listened to him. he's wasting his time on them--they're too well fed. what do you think, tom?" leger, who did not answer him for a moment, glanced thoughtfully through an opening between the stately trunks towards the far-off gleam of snow. "this province," he said drily, "is a tolerably big one, and from what i've heard they may want a man of his kind in the northern ranges presently. it isn't the supinely contented who face the frost and snow there, and the crown mining regulations don't seem to appeal to the men who stake their lives on finding a little gold. they appear to be even less pleased with those who administer them." vii hetty bears the cost it was towards the end of the arduous day, and ingleby was glad of the respite the breakage of a chain cargo-sling afforded him. the white side of a big empress liner towered above the open-fronted shed, and a string of box cars stood waiting outside the sliding doors behind him. a swarm of men in blue jean were hurrying across the wharf behind clattering trucks laden with the produce of china and japan, for the liner had been delayed a trifle by bad weather, and the tea and silk and sugar were wanted in the east. already a great freight locomotive was waiting on the side track, and, as ingleby knew, the long train must be got away before the atlantic express went out that evening. he had been promoted to a post of subordinate authority a few weeks earlier, and both he and leger were, in the meanwhile, at least contented with their lot, for the great railway company treated its servants liberally. there was, however, nothing that he could do for a minute or two, and he leaned against a tier of silk bales with a bundle of dispatch labels and a slip of paper in his hand, while leger sat upon the truck behind him. he had, though it was no longer exactly his business, been carrying sugar bags upon his back most of that afternoon, partly to lessen the labour of leger who had not his physique, and now the white crystals glittered in his hair and clung, smeared with dust, to his perspiring face. his sleeves were rolled back to the elbow, showing his brown arms, which had grown hard and corded since he came to canada; while his coarse blue shirt, which was open at the neck and belted tight at the waist, displayed as more conventional attire would not have done the symmetry of a well set-up figure. "we are still short of a few tea chests," said leger. "however, if you would mark the two lots i've got yonder we could clear that car for dispatch as soon as the rest come out." ingleby glanced at his slip. "i'll wait until i get the others. it will keep the thing straighter. there's a good deal more in sorting cargo than i fancied there could be until i tried it, and it's remarkably easy to put the stuff into the wrong car." "then it might be well to keep your eye on those chests of tea. i can't keep the boys off them. there's another fellow at them now." ingleby swung round, and signed to a perspiring man who stopped with a truck beside the cases in question. "leave that lot alone! it's billed straight through, express freight, east," he said. "stick this ticket on the cases, tom." leger moved away, and ingleby was endeavouring to scrape some of the sugar off his person when a man, whom he recognized as one of the leading citizens of vancouver, and several ladies, came down the steamer's gangway. then he started and felt his heart throb as his glance rested on one of them, who, as it happened, looked up just then. it was evident that she saw him, and he was unpleasantly sensible that his face was growing hot. there was, he would have admitted at any other time, no reason for this, but in the meanwhile it was distinctly disconcerting that grace coulthurst should come upon him in his present guise, smeared with dust and half-melted sugar. then he occupied himself with his cargo slip, for it was in the circumstances scarcely to be expected that she would vouchsafe him any recognition. the longing to see her again, however, became too strong for him, and looking up a moment he was conscious of a blissful astonishment, for she was walking straight towards him with a smile in her eyes. she seemed to him almost ethereally dainty in the dust and turmoil of the big cargo shed, and for the moment he forgot his uncovered arms and neck, and felt every nerve in him thrill as he took the little gloved hand she held out. what she had done was not likely to be regarded as anything very unusual in that country, where most men are liable to startling vicissitudes of fortune and there are no very rigid social distinctions; but ingleby failed to recognize this just then, and it was not astonishing that he should idealize her for her courage. "you are about the last person i expected to meet. what are you doing here?" she said, with the little tranquil smile that became her well. ingleby's heart was throbbing a good deal faster than usual, but he held himself in hand. miss coulthurst was apparently pleased to see him, but there was an indefinite something in her serene graciousness which put a check on him. it was, he felt, perhaps only because she was patrician to her finger-tips that she had so frankly greeted him. a girl with less natural distinction could, he fancied, scarcely have afforded to be equally gracious to a wharf-labourer. "i am at present loading railway cars with tea and silk, though i have been carrying sugar bags most of the day," he said. grace showed no sign of astonishment as she glanced at his toiling comrades, and, though this was doubtless the correct attitude for her to assume, ingleby was, in spite of his opinions, not exactly pleased until she spoke again. "don't you find it rather hard work?" she said. "of course, one cannot always choose the occupation one likes here, but couldn't you find something that would be a little more--profitable?" ingleby laughed. "i'm afraid i can't," he said. "in this city the one passport to advancement appears to be the ability to play in the band, and i was, unfortunately, never particularly musical. still, there is no reason why i should trouble you with my affairs. i wonder if i might venture to ask you how you came to be here?" "it is quite simple. major coulthurst was appointed gold commissioner in one of the mining districts, and i came out with him; but he has been sent to an especially desolate post in the northern ranges, and i am staying with friends in the city for a week or two. then i am going to join him." she stopped a moment, and then looked at him reflectively. "why don't you go north and try your fortune at prospecting, too? they have been finding a good deal of gold lately in the green river country where my father is." it had seemed to ingleby almost unnatural that he should be so quietly discussing his affairs with the girl he had last seen nearly six thousand miles away. this was not the kind of meeting he would have anticipated; but as she made the suggestion a little thrill once more ran through him, for he had heard that the district in question was a great desolation, and it almost seemed that she desired his company. however, he shook off the notion as untenable, for there would be, he knew, a distinction between a placer miner and the gold commissioner's daughter even in that land of rock and snow. "i have thought of it," he said. "some day i may go, but it is at the far end of the province, and for one who works on a steamboat wharf the getting there is a risky venture. i don't suppose everybody finds gold." "i'm afraid they don't, and the cost of transporting provisions is a serious matter to those who fail. in fact, some of them have been giving my father trouble. they appear to lay the blame of everything on the mining regulations." she stopped and glanced at him with a little smile. "from what i remember of your views, you would no doubt be inclined to agree with them." ingleby laughed, though it was pleasant to be told that she remembered anything he had said. "i really fancy i have learned a little sense in canada, and i am not going to inflict my crude notions upon you again. still, there is a question i should like to ask. did mr. esmond of holtcar--recover?" grace noticed the sudden intentness of his tone, and looked at him curiously. "of course. in fact, he got better in a week or two, and i think behaved very generously. the police could not induce him to give them any information about the men who injured him." ingleby started, and the girl saw the relief in his face. "i wonder," he said, "if you ever heard who they were supposed to be?" grace turned a trifle and gazed at him steadily, though there was now a little flash in her eyes. "you," she said, with incisive coldness, "were one of them?" ingleby grew hot beneath her gaze, for he felt that all the pride and prejudices of her station were arrayed against him. "you will remember the form of my question. i was supposed to be one of them--but that was all," he said. grace's face softened, and she glanced at her companions, who, after waiting a little while, were just leaving the shed. "of course," she said, "i should have known it was absurd to fancy that you could do anything of that kind." "i am afraid i have kept you," said ingleby. "perhaps i should not have abused your kindness by letting you stop at all, but the desire to see you was too strong for me. i wonder whether even you would have dared to do as much had it been in england?" there was a faint flush in the girl's cheek, but she smiled as she held out her hand. "i scarcely think we need go into that, and i can't keep the others waiting any longer," she said. "perhaps i shall meet you in the green river country." she swept away with a soft swish of dainty garments, and ingleby, whose face grew curiously intent as he watched her, climbed the slanting gangway to the deck of the liner when she disappeared. from there he could see the white tops of the ranges gleaming ethereally as they stretched back mountain behind mountain towards the lonely north. the green river country lay far beyond them, and there were leagues of tangled forest, and thundering rivers, to be crossed; but that day the untrodden snow he gazed upon seemed to beckon him, and a sudden longing to set out upon the long trail grew almost irresistible. there was gold in the wilderness, and with enough of it a man might aspire to anything, even the hand of a crown commissioner's daughter. then the winch beside him clattered, and he shook off the fancies as a fresh stream of bales and cases slid down the gangway. whatever the future might have in store, there were several more hours of arduous work in front of him then. one of them had passed when leger came hastily up to him. "i suppose you got those last few cases?" he said. ingleby started. "i'm afraid i never remembered them until this moment. have they pulled the car out, tom?" "it's not there, anyway. i fancied you had made the lot up. somebody has put those cases in." while they looked at one another the tolling of a locomotive bell broke through the clatter of the trucks, and ingleby sped towards the door of the shed with leger close behind him. when they reached it the hoot of a whistle came ringing down the track, and they saw the great locomotive vanish amidst the piles of lumber outside a big sawmill, with the long cars lurching through the smoke behind it. ingleby said nothing then, but turned back into the shed with his lips set and questioned several men before he looked at leger. "nobody seems to know whether they put that tea into the through east car or not, and it's no use being sorry now we didn't see it done," he said. "the sooner we have a word with the freight-traffic agent the better." the gentleman in question, had, however, very little consolation to offer them. "the fast freight has got to make kamloops ahead of the atlantic express," he said. "she's not going to be held up more than ten minutes there, and they'll have the mountain loco ready to rush her up the loops and over the selkirks. i'll send a wire along, but so long as the road is clear it's going to be more than any man's place is worth, to side-track that train for freight checking." ingleby's face grew anxious. "well," he said, "what is to be done?" "nothing!" said the traffic manager. "if there's anything wrong with your sorting you'll probably hear about it in a week or so." they went out of the office, and ingleby turned to his comrade. "i'm afraid we'll be adrift again before very long, and while i wish you had seen nobody moved those cases, it's my fault," he said. "there's another thing i must mention so that you may realize all you owe me. that was miss coulthurst of holtcar to whom i was talking, though, of course, i should have been attending to my business instead, and from what she told me it seems that i needn't have brought you and hetty out here at all. esmond got better rapidly, and could not even be induced to prosecute." leger smiled. "well," he said, "i'm uncommonly glad to hear it; and in regard to the other question neither of us has any intention of blaming you. so far, we have been a good deal better off than we probably should ever have been in england." nothing further was said about the affair, though both of them devoted more than a little anxious thought to it, until one morning they were summoned before the head wharfinger. "they're raising cain in the office about a consignment of tea billed through urgent to the east that's gone down the soo line into the states," he said. "i guess i've no more use for either of you." "i can't grumble," said ingleby, who had almost expected this. "still i should like to point out that only one of us is responsible." "no," said leger. "as a matter of fact, there were two, and if there hadn't been it would have come to the same thing, anyway." the wharfinger nodded. "well," he said, "i'd keep you if i could, but after the circus that's going on about the thing it's out of the question. i guess i'd try the green river diggings if i were you." they went out together, and when ingleby was about to speak leger checked him with a gesture. "i think i know what you mean to say--but there's another question to consider," he said. "trade's slack in the city just now, and taking it all round i fancy that man's advice is good. if we can induce hetty to stay here we'll try the new mining country." in different circumstances ingleby would have been exultant at the prospect, but as it was he recognized his responsibility. it was, however, late that evening before they were able to lay the state of affairs before hetty, and ingleby was almost astonished at the quietness with which she listened. "well," she said, "there's no use worrying about it now. all you have to do is to try the mines. the man who came down with the gold yesterday said they were offering five and six dollars to anybody who would work on some of the claims." "but you don't seem to realize that we should have to leave you behind," said leger. hetty laughed, and flashed a covert glance at ingleby. "no," she said, "i'm coming with you." the two men looked at each other, and leger protested. "hetty," he said, "it's out of the question. you couldn't face the snow and frost, and i don't even know how we could get you there. there are forests one can scarcely drag a pack-horse through, as well as rivers one has to swim them across, and we should probably have to spend several weeks on the trail. in fact, it seems to be an appalling country to get through." "go on!" said hetty drily. "isn't there anything else?" "there are certainly mosquitoes that almost eat you alive. you know you never could stand mosquitoes!" "are they quite as big as bluebottles?" said hetty. leger made a little gesture, and glanced at ingleby, as if to ask for support, but though hetty's brows were assuming a portentous straightness she smiled again. "walter was anxious to leave me behind once before, so you needn't look at him," she said. "in fact, there's not the least use in talking. i'm coming." ingleby said nothing. he did not wish to hurt the girl, though he fancied he knew how hard she would find the life they must lead in the great desolation into which they were about to venture. that grace coulthurst was going there did not affect the question, for there could be no comparison between the lot of a prospector's sister and that of the daughter of the gold commissioner. then he saw that hetty was watching him. "of course you don't want me, walter," she said. ingleby felt his face grow hot. "hetty," he said simply, "you ought to know that isn't so. if you must come we shall be glad to have you, and if you find the life a hard one you must try to forgive me. if i had known what i was doing i might have spared you this." they had decided it all in half an hour, but ingleby frowned when he and his comrade were left alone. "the whole thing hurts me horribly, tom," he said. "of course, we can worry along, and may do well--but you have read what the country is like--and hetty----" leger appeared unusually grave. "it is," he said, "certainly a little rough on hetty. she, at least, was not to blame, but she will have to face the results all the same, and whatever we have to put up with will be twice as hard on her." ingleby said nothing, for he realized his responsibility. in compensation for the few minutes he had spent with grace coulthurst, hetty leger must drag out months of privation and peril. viii on the trail darkness was settling down upon the mountains and the chill of the snow was in the air when hetty leger and ingleby sat beside a crackling fire. down in the great gorge beneath them the white mists were streaming athwart the climbing pines, and no sound broke the deep stillness but the restless stamping of the tethered pack-horses and the soft splash of falling water. hetty had a brown blanket rolled about her, and there were hard red blotches where the mosquitoes had left their virus on the hand she laid upon it. leger lay not far away, and his face was swollen, but ingleby had escaped almost scatheless, as some men seem to do, from the onslaughts of the buzzing legions which had pursued them through the swampy hollows. a blackened kettle, a spider--as a frying-pan is usually termed in that country--and a few plates of indurated fibre lay about the fire, for the last meal of the day was over, and it had been as frugal as any one who had not undertaken twelve hours' toil in that vivifying air would probably have found it unappetizing. where resinous wood was plentiful ingleby could make a fire, but he could not catch a trout or shoot a deer. indeed, a man unaccustomed to the bush usually finds it astonishingly difficult even to see one, and provisions were worth a ransom in the auriferous wilderness into which they were pushing their way. they had spent several weeks in it now, travelling, where the trail was unusually good, eight to twelve miles a day, though there were occasions when they made less than half the distance with infinite difficulty, and hetty alone knew what that journey had cost her. the white peaks that gleamed ethereally high up in the blue, crystal lakes, and the endless ranks of climbing pines, scarcely appealed to her as she floundered through tangled undergrowth and ten-foot fern, or stumbled amidst the boulders beside thundering rivers. she had lain awake shivering, with the ill-packed fir twigs galling her weary body, high up on great hill shoulders, and fared spartanly on a morsel of unsavoury salt pork and a handful of flour, while ingleby set his lips now and then when he saw the little forced smile in her jaded face. it was no great consolation to reflect that other women in that country had borne as much and more. "walter," she said, "you and tom are very quiet. i expect you're tired." ingleby smiled, though his heart smote him as he saw the weariness in her eyes. "i certainly am," he said. "still, we can't be half as worn out as you are. you were limping all the afternoon." "if i was it was only the boot that hurt me," said hetty. "all those loose stones and gravel made it worse, you see. how many miles have we come to-day?" "i feel that it must have been forty, but you shall have a rest to-morrow; and you don't look as comfortable as you ought to now. would you mind standing up a minute?" hetty rose, hiding the effort it cost her, and when he had shaken up the cedar twigs into a softer cushion sank gratefully down on them. then she turned her face aside that he might not see the little flush that crept into it as he gravely tucked the coarse brown blanket round her. "now," he said, "i think that ought to be a good deal nicer. you're too patient, hetty, and i'm almost afraid we don't take enough care of you." the girl saw his face in the firelight, and sighed as she noticed the gentleness in it. she knew exactly how far his concern for her went. leger noticed it, but his shrewdness failed him now and then. "he will make somebody a good husband by and by," he said. "she will have a good deal to thank you for, hetty." ingleby smiled with an absence of embarrassment which had its significance for one of the party. "there are, after all, a good many advantages attached to being a single man, and i shall probably have to be content with them," he said. "of course!" said hetty softly. "it is no use crying for the moon." "what do you mean by that?" "nothing in particular," and hetty glanced reflectively at the fire. "still, i don't think you would be content with any girl likely to look at you, and most of us would like to have a good deal more than we ever get." ingleby was a trifle disconcerted, though hetty had an unpleasant habit of astonishing him in this fashion, but leger laughed. "it probably wouldn't be good for us to have it. at least, that is the orthodox view, and, after all, one can always do without." "of course!" said hetty, with a curious little inflection in her voice. "still, it is a little hard now and then. isn't it, walter?" "is there any special reason why you should ask me?" hetty appeared reflective. "perhaps there isn't. i really don't know. do you hear a sound in the valley, tom?" they listened, and a beat of hoofs came out of the sliding mists below. for the last week they had met nobody upon the trail, but now several men and horses were apparently scrambling up the hillside, for they could hear the gravel rattling away beneath them. the sound grew louder, and at last a man called to them. "lead that beast of yours out of the trail," he said. ingleby glanced at his comrade, for the voice was english and had a little imperious ring in it, and leger smiled. "there is no doubt where that man comes from, but i scarcely think there's any great need of haste," he said. "do you mean to keep us waiting?" the voice rose again sharply. "it's some of your slouching prospectors, major. get down and cut that beast's tether, trooper." ingleby rose and moved out into the trail, and had just led the pack-horse clear of it when a horseman rode up. he was dressed in what appeared to be cavalry uniform and was, ingleby surmised, that worn by the northwest police, a detachment of which had lately been dispatched to the new mining districts of the far north. it was also evident that he held a commission, for the firelight, which forced it up out of the surrounding gloom, showed the imperiousness in his face. it also showed ingleby standing very straight in front of him with his head tilted backwards a trifle. then there was a jingle of accoutrements as the young officer, turning half-round in his saddle with one hand on his hip, glanced backward down the trail. "look out for the low branch as you come up, sir," he said. ingleby stood still, nettled by the fashion in which the man ignored him, for no freighter or prospector would have passed without at least a friendly greeting, and while he waited it happened that leger stirred the fire. a brighter blaze sprang up and flashed upon the officer's accoutrements and spurs, and then there was a pounding of hoofs, and a horse reared suddenly in the stream of ruddy light. the officer wheeled his beast with a warning shout, but ingleby had seen the shadowy form in the habit, and seized the horse's bridle. "hold fast!" he said. "there's a nasty drop just outside the trail." then for a few seconds man and startled horse apparently went round and round scattering fir needles and rattling gravel, until the half-broken cayuse yielded and ingleby stood still, gasping, with his hand on the bridle, while a girl who did not seem very much concerned looked down on him from the saddle. "you!" she said. "i fancied the voice was familiar. so you are going to the mines after all?" the firelight still flickering redly upon the towering trunks showed hetty leger the curious intentness in ingleby's gaze. then, having done enough to disturb her peace of mind for that night, at least, it sank a trifle, and as two more men rode out of the shadow the officer turned to ingleby. "have you no more sense than build your fire right beside the trail?" he asked. ingleby quietly turned his back on him, and patted the still trembling horse. "i hope you were not frightened, miss coulthurst," he said. grace smiled at him, but before she could speak the young officer pushed his horse a few paces nearer ingleby. "i asked you a question," he said. ingleby glanced at him over his shoulder. "yes," he said drily, "i believe you did." he turned his head again, and hetty, sitting unseen in the shadow, failed to see his face as he looked up at the girl whose bridle he held. she could, however, see the young officer glancing down at him apparently with astonishment as well as anger, and the police trooper behind sitting woodenly still with a broad grin on his face, until a burly man appeared suddenly in the sinking light. then grace coulthurst laughed. "will you be good enough to ride on, reggie? i told you my opinion of this horse," she said. "father, i really think you ought to thank mr. ingleby." major coulthurst turned suddenly in his saddle. "ingleby?" he said. "very much obliged to you, i'm sure. i have a fancy i've seen you before." "i once had the pleasure of handing you a cup of tea at a tennis match at holtcar." coulthurst laughed. "yes," he said. "i remember it now, especially as it was a remarkably hot day and i would a good deal sooner have had a whisky-and-soda. still, i've seen you somewhere since then, haven't i?" "yes, sir," said ingleby drily. "on a sunday afternoon--at willow dene." coulthurst laughed again, good-humouredly. "of course i remember that, too, though i hope you've grown out of your fondness for taking liberties with other people's property. that kind of thing is still less tolerated in this country. in the meanwhile we have a good way to go before we camp. once more, i'm much obliged to you." he touched his horse with the spur, and when he and the troopers melted into the night ingleby turned, with one hand closed a trifle viciously, towards the fire. "major coulthurst is human, anyway, but the other fellow's insolence made me long to pull him off his horse," he said. "is there, after all, any essential difference between an officer of the northwest police and a mineral claim prospector?" "one can't help admitting that in some respects there seems to be a good deal," said leger drily. "still, i should scarcely fancy the canadian ones are likely to be so unpleasantly sensible of it. the gentleman in question was apparently born in england." "where else could you expect a man of his kind to come from?" and ingleby kicked a smouldering brand back into the fire, "i fancied we had left that languid superciliousness behind us. it's galling to run up against it again here." "my uncle's spirit in these stones!" said leger. "still, aren't you getting a little too old now to run a tilt against the defects of the national character? one feels more sure of doing it effectively when he's younger." ingleby laughed, for his ill humour seldom lasted long. "i suppose nobody can help being an ass now and then, and, after all, the best protest is the sure and silent kick when people who treat you like one unnecessarily add to your burden. anyway, that trooper's grin was soothing. it suggested that there was a good deal of human nature under his uniform." "i was looking at the officer man, and scarcely noticed him. it occurred to me that the attitude you complain of probably runs in the family." "i can't say i understand you." "well," said leger reflectively, "i can't help a fancy that we once met somebody very like him on another occasion when we both lost our temper." "at willow dene?" "exactly!" said leger. "you can think it over. i'll wash the plates at the creek and get some water." he turned away, leaving ingleby considerably astonished and half-persuaded that he was right. the latter was still looking into the darkness when hetty spoke to him. "it's not worth worrying about. come and sit down," she said. "who was that girl, walter?" "miss coulthurst," said ingleby. hetty moved a little so that the firelight no longer fell upon her, and ingleby noticed that she was silent a somewhat unusual time. then she asked, "the girl you used to play tennis with at holtcar?" "yes." hetty wished that she could see his face. "you have met her before, in canada?" "once only. on the vancouver wharf, the day i let them put the tea into the wrong car. she was coming from the steamer." hetty's face grew a trifle hard for a moment as she made a tolerably accurate guess at the cause of his neglect on the afternoon in question. then with a sudden change of mood she laid her hand gently on his arm. "don't you think it would have been better for everybody if she had stayed in england, walter?" "i expect it would have been for tom and you. if i had remembered what my business on the wharf was i should never have brought all this upon you." hetty's hand closed almost sharply on his arm. "no," she said, "i don't mean that. you see, i was really glad to get away from the boarding house." "you assured me you liked it once," said ingleby. "well, perhaps i did, but we needn't go into that. i was thinking of you just now." ingleby would not pretend to misunderstand her. he felt it would probably be useless, for hetty, he knew, could be persistent. "men get rich in this country now and then," he said. "it would, at least, be something to work and hope for." he could not see hetty's face, but he noticed that there was a faint suggestion of strain in her voice. "do you think she would ever be happy with you even if you found a gold mine?" she said. "what do you mean, hetty?" and ingleby turned towards her suddenly with a flush in his face. "i only want to save you trouble. don't you think when a girl of that kind found out how much there was that she had been accustomed to think necessary and that you knew nothing about, she might remember the difference between herself and you. after all, it's not always the most important points that count with a girl, you know." she stopped somewhat abruptly, but ingleby made a little gesture. "i would rather you would go on and say all you mean to." "well," said hetty reflectively, "if i had been rich i think i should like the man i married to do everything--even play cards and billiards and shoot pheasants--as well as my friends did. it wouldn't be nice to feel that i had to make excuses for him, and i'm not sure i wouldn't be vexed if he didn't seem to know all about the things folks of that kind get for dinner." ingleby's laugh was a protest, but it was only half-incredulous, for he had now and then realized with bitterness the deference paid to conventional niceties in england. "you can't believe that would trouble any sensible woman?" he said. "well," answered hetty, "perhaps it mightn't, for a little while, or if there was only one thing, you see--but if you put everything together and kept on doing what jarred on her?" "one could get somebody to teach him." hetty laughed. "to be like the officer man, or mr. esmond of holtcar?" ingleby understood the significance of the question. the little conventional customs might be acquired, but the constant jarring of opinion, and absence of comprehending sympathy or a common point of view was, he realized, quite a different thing. still, though there was concern in his face, he had the hope of youth in him. there was silence for a moment or two, and then hetty spoke again. "besides," she said, "after all, aren't gold mines a little hard to find?" just then leger made his appearance, somewhat to ingleby's relief, and ten minutes later hetty retired to the tent while the men, rolling themselves in their blankets, lay down upon the cedar twigs beside the fire. one of them, however, did not sleep as well as usual, and leger noticed that his sister appeared a little languid when she rose in the morning. they were weary still, and it was afternoon when they once more pushed on into the wilderness along the climbing trail that had for guide-posts empty provision cans. ix hetty finds a way the day's work was over, and once more the white mists were streaming athwart the pines when ingleby lay somewhat moodily outside the tent that he and leger occupied on the hillside above the green river. just there the stream swirled, smeared with froth and spume, through a tremendous hollow above which the mountains lifted high their crenellated ramparts of ice and never-melting snow. still, though usually termed one, that gorge was not a cañon in the strict sense of the word, for a sturdy climber could scale one side of it through the shadow of the clinging pines, and there was room for a precarious trail, the one road to civilization, between the hillside and the thundering river. farther back, the valley opened out, and up and down it were scattered the green river diggings. from its inner end an indian trail, which as yet only one or two white men had ever trodden, led on to the still richer wilderness that stretched back to the yukon. above the tent stood a primitive erection of logs roofed with split cedar and hemlock bark which served at once as store and hetty's dwelling. she was busy inside it then, for ingleby could hear the rattle of cooking utensils and listened appreciatively, for he was as hungry as usual, although dispirited. his limbs ached from a long day's strenuous toil, and the stain of the soil was on his threadbare jean. he and leger had spent a good many weeks now upon a placer claim, and the result of their labours was a few grains of gold. he rose, however, when hetty came out of the shanty and stood looking down into the misty valley. she was immaculately neat, as she generally was, even in that desolation divided by a many days' journey from the nearest dry-goods store and where the only approach to a laundry was an empty coal-oil can, and she turned to ingleby with a little smile in her eyes. hetty had her sorrows, and the life she led would probably have been insupportable to most women reared in an english town, but she had long been accustomed to turn a cheerful face upon a very hard world, and ingleby, though he did not know exactly why, felt glad that she was there. there are women who produce this effect on those they live among, and they are seldom the most brilliant ones. still, he did not speak, for hetty leger was not a young woman who on all occasions demanded attention. "no sign of tom!" she said. "no," said ingleby. "i only hope he brings something with him, and hasn't lost the flies again. i gave a man who went out a dollar each for them, and i couldn't get another if i offered ten. the plain hooks i got in vancouver are no use either when there apparently isn't a worm in the country." hetty smiled, though there were reasons why a trout fly was worth a good deal to them, and one of them became apparent when she glanced at the empty spider laid beside the fire, which burned clear and red between two small logs laid parallel to each other and about a foot apart. "if he doesn't you'll have to put up with bread and dried apples. the pork's done," she said. it was, perhaps, not the kind of conversation one would have expected from a man at an impressionable age and a distinctly pretty girl, especially when they stood alone in such a scene of wild grandeur as few men's eyes have looked upon, but hetty did not appear to consider it in any way out of place. indeed, though there had been a time when she had accepted ingleby's compliments with a smile and even became a trifle venturesome in her badinage, there had been a difference since they left england, and while ingleby did not realize exactly what that difference was he felt that it was there. hetty leger had not enjoyed any of the training which is, usually, at least, bestowed upon young women of higher station; but she had discovered early that, as she expressed it, there is no use in crying for the moon, and she had a certain pride. it was also a wholesome one and untainted by petulance or mortified vanity. "i don't think," she said reflectively, "i would worry too much about those flies." "no?" said ingleby. "nobody could have called that pork good; but dried apples _ad libitum_ are apt to pall on one." hetty shook her head. "i'm afraid they're not even going to do that," she said. "there's very few of them left in the bottom of the bag." just then leger appeared, carrying a fishing-rod which ingleby had laboriously fashioned out of a straight fir branch. he had also a string of trout, but was apparently dripping below the knees and somewhat disconsolate. the trout were dressed ready, and he laid two or three of them in the pan, and then sat down upon one of the hearth logs. "i expect that's the last we'll get," he said. "you haven't whipped those flies off?" said ingleby. leger nodded ruefully. "i'm afraid i have," he said. "at least, i let them sink in an eddy and hooked a boulder. it comes to very much the same thing." hetty laughed as she saw ingleby's face. "perhaps i'd better go away," she said. "aren't there times when it hurts you to be quiet?" "there are," said ingleby drily. "this is one of them." "well," said hetty, "you can talk when you break out. i heard you one night in the car--but we'll get supper, and then if you're very good i'll show you something." she stirred the fire, and laid out the inevitable dried apples and a loaf of bread which was not exactly of the kind somewhat aptly termed grindstone in that country. then when the edge of their hunger was blunted she took out a very diminutive fluffy object and handed it to ingleby. "i wonder if the trout would be silly enough to jump at that," she said. "it's a little plumper than the other ones, but i hadn't any silk to tie it with." ingleby stared at the fly in blank astonishment, and then gravely passed it to leger. "look at that, and be thankful you have a sister," he said. "i am," said leger with a little smile, though something in his voice suggested that he meant it. "but whatever did you make it out of, hetty?" "strips of frayed-out cloth, the blue grouse's feathers, and the very little threads there are in a piece of cotton when you unwind it." "the tail was never made of feathers or cotton," said ingleby. "no more was this wing hackle. that's quite sure. look at it, tom. you'll notice the bright colour." hetty unwisely snatched at the fly, but leger's hand closed upon it, and a moment or two later he laughed softly. "it certainly won't come out in the water, and that is presumably more than could be said of everybody's hair." ingleby took the fly from him, and leger proceeded. "now we have got over that difficulty there is another to consider." "there generally is," said hetty. "this one is serious," said her brother. "one can no more live upon trout and nothing else than he can upon dried apples, and while the flour is running out we have neither dollars nor dust to buy any more with. our friend the freighter cannot be induced to grub-stake everybody, and i'm not sure one could blame him for asking five or six times as much for his provisions as they are worth in the cities when you consider the nature of the trail. of course, walter and i could earn a few dollars at tomlinson's mine." he stopped, and looked at ingleby, whose face grew a trifle grave. "a placer claim," said the latter, "can only be held while you work upon it continuously." "exactly! seventy-two hours after we lay down the shovel any other man who thinks it worth while can seize upon our last chance of making a fortune. i think you understand that, considering the present cost of provisions, we are scarcely likely to save as much as would keep us while we try again, out of what we make on tomlinson's claim." ingleby realized this and said nothing. the giving up of his claim implied the parting with certain aspirations which had of late supported him through long days of feverish toil; but one must live, and he had discovered that to work as the free miners do in that country a somewhat ample diet is necessary. he sat near the fire, and hetty, who saw the hardness of his face, understood it. "you really think there is gold in the claim?" she said. "yes," said ingleby. "tomlinson and one or two of the others who have played this game half their lives admitted that the signs were as good as any they had seen. still, i'm by no means sure we can hold out until we strike it." hetty smiled in a curious fashion. "especially while you have me to keep?" even leger appeared astonished, and ingleby flushed hotly as he turned to her. "hetty," he said sternly, "what do you mean by that?" the girl laughed, and pointed to the loaf. "that is nice bread?" "it is," said ingleby. "still, i don't see what that has to do with it." "there's no bread like it in the green river country," persisted hetty. "they taught me to bake at the boarding-house. i made it." ingleby looked at her in astonishment. "go on," he said. "i'll wait a little." "well," and though hetty spoke quietly her voice was not quite her usual one, "what are you and tom longing for just now more than anything?" "the means to go on working on our claim." "then what would you say if i gave you them?" ingleby gasped. for days he had been haunted by the fear that their provisions would run out before they found the gold he believed in, for a little very simple figuring had shown that there was only a faint hope of their making more than the value of their day's labour once they relinquished the hitherto unprofitable claim. there was also, it was evident, no great probability that a mere wielder of pick and shovel would ever gain the regard of the gold commissioner's daughter, though miss coulthurst, whom he met occasionally, had of late been unusually gracious to him. he had, however, not the faintest notion of the fact that hetty leger read his thoughts. "you see, it's quite simple," she said. "i made this bread, and there are men up the valley who are really finding gold. they don't want to waste a minute doing anything else, and it takes time to bake. you can't even make flapjacks in a moment. now, if i had two or three sacks of flour i think i could get almost what i liked to ask for every loaf." leger looked up with a little expressive smile. "i believe she has found the way out of the difficulty." it was, however, ingleby at whom hetty glanced, though it did not strike him then--as it did long afterwards--that she must have been quite aware what she was offering him. "well?" she said. ingleby's lips were set, and his face a trifle grim. to live, even for the purpose of working for a result by which she would benefit, upon the yield of a woman's enterprise and toil did not commend itself to him, though he could not very well tell her so. "we haven't got the flour," he said. "no," said hetty. "still, it can be bought at the settlement, and no doubt you could find the pack-horses in the bush. you could go down and get it while tom holds the claim." "there is still the difficulty that i haven't got the money." hetty laughed. "i have. the wages were really good at the boarding-house. of course, you and tom could build the oven and chop the wood, while i wouldn't mind your kneading the dough either if you wanted to. that would leave me with nothing to do but watch the bread baking." ingleby still said nothing; but his face, as the firelight showed, was a trifle flushed, and leger shook his head at him. "one can't afford to be whimsical up here," he said. "anyway, i'm willing to give the thing a trial, and if we don't strike gold we can always go over to tomlinson's or start baking, too. i shouldn't wonder if it should turn out as profitable as mining, and it is certainly likely to be a good deal more reliable." hetty once more glanced at ingleby. "of course, we can't make you join us if you don't want." at last ingleby turned to her. "hetty," he said quietly, "i don't think you could understand how much you have done for me. i would sooner cut my hand off than let the claim go." hetty only smiled, and they had almost thrashed out the scheme when a thud of hoofs came up faintly through the roar of the river from the gorge below. then the figure of a horseman became visible, and when he swung himself very stiffly from the saddle in front of the fire ingleby rose hastily and held out his hand. "mr. sewell!" he said. "i don't mean it conventionally, this--is--a pleasure." the stranger, who swept his wide hat off as he turned to hetty, laughed. "i have just come in. i wonder if i could ask--mrs. ingleby, isn't it--for a little supper?" the request was a very usual one in a country where the stranger is rarely turned away unfed; but hetty, who seemed to draw a little farther back into the shadow, was a trifle slow in answering it. "miss leger!" she said. "of course, you shall have supper. put on two more trout and fill the kettle, tom." sewell gratefully took his place beside the fire, and, for he had an engaging tongue, had almost gained hetty's confidence, which was not lightly given, by the time the meal was over. then she looked hard at him. "what did you come here for?" she asked. "wouldn't the fame of the green river mines be excuse enough?" said the man. hetty shook her head. "no," she said, "i don't think it would. people who talk as you do aren't generally fond of digging." "then finding i wasn't wanted in vancouver i went back into the states, and as usual got into a trifling difficulty there. that was in colorado, where the men and the manager of a certain big mine couldn't come to terms. the manager was, as not infrequently happens, friendly with the constituted authorities, and between them and the men's executive, with whom i managed to quarrel, they made that town unpleasant for me. of course, one gets accustomed to having his character pulled to pieces and being hustled in the streets, but they go rather farther than that in colorado." "and so you ran away?" sewell laughed. "i certainly went when it was evident that i could do no good. still, it was in the daylight, and half the populace came with me to the station." "i asked you what brought you here," said hetty severely. sewell made a little expressive gesture. "between friends--i think i can go so far?" he asked, and it was hetty alone he looked at. "you see, i met your brother and mr. ingleby in vancouver." hetty regarded him silently for a moment or two. he was a well-favoured man with a curiously pleasing manner. "yes," she said. "i think you can." "then i came here to see what i could do at mining--i have really used the shovel oftener than you seem to fancy--and, when it is necessary, go through by the indian trail to the camps between this country and the yukon. though they will probably work on quietly while the ground is soft, they're not pleased with the mining regulations yonder." he looked out into the soft blue darkness which now veiled the great white peaks that lay between him and the vast desolation of the northwest, and the smile died out of his eyes. a few moments slipped by before leger broke the silence. "i believe that trail is scarcely practicable to a white man. only one or two have ever tried it," he said. "that is so much the better. i am, however, certainly going in." there was a little silence, and then ingleby said suggestively, "they have been sending a good many of the northwest police into that country." sewell smiled. "from one point of view i think they were wise. it's not the contented that one usually finds mining in the wilderness. the soil, of course, is british, but that, after all, does not imply very much." "you mean that the men up there have no country?" asked leger. "some of them, at least, have unpleasantly good memories. they are the cast-outs and the superfluities; but, as no doubt you know, it is not their criminals the older lands get rid of now." "that," said hetty sharply, "is all nonsense. if they're really bad they are put into prison." sewell laughed. "i believe they are, now and then. now, suppose you tell me about the green river country." they sat late that night about the crackling fire, though there was a vague uneasiness upon two of them. hetty liked the stranger, as a man, but she had seen that trouble came of following out the theories he believed in; while all ingleby wished for just then was an opportunity for toiling quietly at his claim. sewell naturally slept in their tent, and it was not until he had breakfasted next morning that he rode into the valley. ingleby walked with him a short distance, and as it happened they met grace coulthurst on the trail. she smiled as she passed ingleby. sewell, his companion fancied, looked at her harder than was necessary as he sat still in the saddle, a somewhat striking figure of a man, with his wide hat in his hand. "who is that?" he asked. "miss coulthurst, daughter of the gold commissioner." "there is no reason why a prospector shouldn't look at a queen, and she has a striking face. of course, one would hardly call it beautiful--still, it is distinctly attractive." "you have no doubt met a good many beautiful women of her station?" asked ingleby, who was a trifle nettled and could not quite restrain the ironical question. sewell laughed. "well," he said, "i have certainly come across one or two. besides, i had rather a fancy that i might be an artist once--a good while ago." ingleby was duly astonished, but no more was said on the subject, and in another few minutes sewell rode on up the valley alone. x unrest it was as hot as it can be now and then during the fierce brief summer of the north, and the perspiration rose in beads on the crown recorder's face as he stood on the rude verandah of his log-built dwelling looking down at the tents and shanties which showed here and there amidst the pines. he was a little man with a quiet and almost expressionless face, and attired, although he lived far remote from civilization in the wilderness, with a fastidious neatness which with the erectness of his carriage furnished a hint as to his character. there was, however, nothing that any one could have termed finicking about him. he was precise, formal, and unemotional, a man of fixed opinions, as little to be moved by argument as by any attempt at compulsion, for recorder eshelby was one of the insular englishmen who, when entrusted with authority on the outskirts of the empire, are equally capable of adding to their nation's credit or involving it in difficulties by their soulless and undeviating regard for its law. there are a good many of them, and, while occasionally respected, they are, as a rule, not greatly loved in any of england's dependencies. sitting in the shadowy room behind him a hard-bitten canadian of a very different stamp watched eshelby with an ironical twinkle in his eyes. he had won his promotion, on merit, in the northwest police, and there was red dust on his faded uniform, which showed a roughly stitched-up rent here and there. outside the sunglare was dazzling, and when he turned his eyes from eshelby he could see the peaks gleaming with a hard whiteness against the blue. they were by no means high, for the level of perpetual snow is low in that country, and it was only on the eastern hand that they rose to any elevation. west and north a desolation of swamp muskeg, wherein few living creatures could face the mosquitoes, rock and river, stretched back to the yukon, and eshelby was there to carry out the mining laws of that district, which are less lenient than those of the province to the south of it. the valley was very still, and the drowsy fragrance of the firs crept into the dwelling; but slavin, who would sooner have heard the clatter of shovels or the crash of a blasting charge, was not in the least deceived. he knew that unusual quietness now and then presages storm, and he had felt that there was a tension in the atmosphere for some little time. he smiled, however, when eshelby glanced into the room. "if they do not turn up in another minute i will walk across to the outpost with you," said the latter. "the time is up." he spoke concisely, with a clean english intonation, and, as usual, betrayed no impatience; but slavin fancied he was by no means pleased at the fact that a band of miners with grievances should presume to keep him waiting for even a few moments. "i guess they'll come," he said. "if i were you i'd promise them something if it's only to humour them." eshelby glanced at him coldly, for he was not as a rule addicted to considering any advice that might be offered him. "a concession," he said, "is usually regarded as a sign of wavering. in dealing with a mob of this kind firmness is necessary." slavin made a little gesture, and smiled in a somewhat curious fashion. he had shepherded the blackfeet on the plains, as well as put down whisky-runners and carried out the prohibition laws, and he knew that to gain an end one must yield a point occasionally. it was, however, not his business to instruct the crown recorder, and eshelby seldom deviated a hair's-breadth from the course he had once decided on. "well," slavin said, "i guess i hear them, and i'll stay right where i am. they can't see me in the shadow, and if they knew i was hanging round it might worry them. you don't want to hang out a red rag when you have a difference of opinion with a bull." he moved his chair back a little farther from the door when a murmur of voices and patter of feet came up through the dimness beneath the stunted pines, for he was quite aware that his warning was not likely to restrain eshelby from a display of the exasperating crimson on the smallest provocation. then he leaned forward with a quiet intentness in his eyes as a group of men came out of the shadows. they were dressed for the most part in soil-stained jean, and were all of them spare of flesh and sinewy. they had bronzed faces with a significant grimness in them, and moved with a certain air of resolution that did not astonish slavin. they were hard men--english, canadians, americans, teutons, by birth--though that meant very little to most of them then; men who had faced many perils and borne as much privation as flesh and blood is capable of. to men of their kind all countries are the same, and they have not as a rule any particular tenderness for the land which had, in their phraseology, no use for them. they had also, or, at least, so they thought, legitimate grievances; for the exactions of the crown were heavy, and it is because the opinions of such as they were are seldom listened to that news now and then reaches england which is unpleasant to complacent optimists with imperialistic views. the wonder is, however, that the latter are not more frequently disturbed in their tranquillity, for even when peace and prosperity are proclaimed at st. stephen's there is usually, and probably must necessarily be, all round the fringe of the empire a vague unrest which is occasionally rife with unpleasant probabilities. the men of the outer marches have primitive passions, and, or they would in all probability never have been there at all, an indomitable will. slavin, at least, understood them, and knew that while it is well to keep a tight grasp on the reins, it is not always advisable to make those driven unduly sensible of it. two who came foremost stopped in front of the veranda, and one of them was a well-favoured man with restless dark eyes. slavin fancied he had seen the picture of somebody very like him in an american paper. the rest waited a few yards away, and the man with the dark eyes greeted eshelby, who responded with the curtest inclination, courteously. "we have come for an answer to the request we handed you," he said. eshelby glanced at him coldly. "you are a free miner? what is the name on your certificate?" "sewell," said the other. "you may, perhaps, have heard of it?" slavin started a little, and then smiled to himself, for there was, at least, no sign in the recorder's face that he attached any particular significance to the announcement. "well," he said, "i have, as i promised, glanced at what you are pleased to term your request, though it bears a somewhat unfortunate resemblance to a demand." "we're not going to worry 'bout what you call it," said the man who had not spoken yet. "we have come here so you can tell us what you mean to do." eshelby smiled a little, though it would have been wiser if he had refrained from it. "personally," he said, "i can do nothing whatever." there was a low murmur with an unpleasant note in it from the rest of the deputation. the curt _non possumus_ is usually the last resource of the diplomatist when argument has failed, and it very seldom makes for peace, as everybody knows. slavin wondered why the crown authorities should have inflicted upon him such a man as eshelby when his burden was already sufficiently heavy. "well," said the miner grimly, "something has got to be done. we let you know what we wanted. haven't you anything to say?" "only that i shall send your petition to the proper quarter." "i wonder," said sewell drily, "if you would tell us what is likely to be done with it there?" "it will receive attention when the department is at liberty to consider it." sewell laughed. "presumably at any time during the next two years! can you guarantee that it will not be neatly docketed and put away for ever?" "and," said one of the men who stood behind, "we may be dead by then. how're we going to worry through when the snow comes and it's going to cost a fortune to get provisions in when the crown takes the big share of what most of us make?" eshelby did not even look at the last speaker as he answered sewell. "i certainly can't guarantee anything," he said. there was a little murmur from the men, but sewell raised his hand restrainingly. "we had," he said, with a quietness which had, nevertheless, a suggestion of irony in it, "the honour of pointing out to you some of our difficulties and suggesting how they could be obviated. we may now take it that you can give us no assurance that the matter will even receive the attention we, at least, think necessary?" "i am," said eshelby, "not in a position to promise you anything. the petition will be submitted to men qualified to deal with it." "with a recommendation that as the matter is urgent it should be looked into?" eshelby straightened himself a trifle. "my views will be explained to those in authority. i do not recognize any necessity for laying them before you." the rest of the deputation had drawn a little closer to sewell, and slavin was watching their faces intently. he felt that unless they had confidence in their leader, and he was endued with all the qualities necessary for the part, there was trouble on hand. sewell, who made a little forceful gesture as he glanced at the rest, was, however, apparently still master of the situation. "then," he said, "there is in the meanwhile nothing you can suggest?" "i fancied you understood that already," said eshelby. "if those whose business it is think fit to modify the regulations you complain of i will let you know. unless that happens they will be adhered to as usual, rigorously." his coldly even voice was in itself an aggravation, and slavin, who saw one of the deputation move forward with a little glow in his eyes, rose sharply to his feet. he, however, sat down again next moment with a smile, for sewell quietly laid his hand upon the man's arm, and the rest stood still in obedience to his gesture. slavin was not astonished, for he, too, was a man who understood how to wield authority. "then," said sewell, "we need not waste any more of your time. we have heard nothing that we did not expect, boys, and now we at least know where we stand." he turned once more to eshelby, raising his wide hat, and then moved back into the shadow of the pines, taking care, as slavin noticed, that the others, who did not seem greatly desirous of doing so, went on in front of him. the recorder glanced at slavin complacently when they disappeared. "a little firmness is usually effective in a case of this kind," he said. "i will, of course, send on the petition, but as i scarcely suppose it will be referred to again we can consider the affair as closed." slavin smiled. "i am not quite so sure as you seem to be. the fellow's last remark was a significant one, and he's not the kind of man to stand still anywhere very long. anyway, he and you between you have forced my hand, and, while i have got to take your lead, the game is going to be a risky one." eshelby sat down with a little gesture which implied that he had already given the trifling affair rather more attention than it merited; and slavin went out to take such proceedings as appeared advisable, though it was not until that night that the result of them became evident. sewell was then sitting with eight or nine men in the general room of hobson's oregon hotel. it had walls of undressed logs, but the roof was still of canvas, for hobson had been too busy watching over his interests in several profitable claims and dispensing deleterious liquor to split sufficient cedar. there was another room in the building in which he slept with any newcomer who was rash enough to put his hospitality to the test. rather more than a hundred miners were at work in that valley, but only a few whose views and influence with the rest were known had been invited to attend the conference. the room was foul with tobacco smoke and the reek of kerosene, for the big lamp smoked when the roof canvas flapped now and then. sewell sat in a deer-hide chair with a pipe in his hand, and a man with a grim, bronzed face and a splendid corded arm showing through the torn sleeve of his shirt was speaking. he spoke quietly and like a man of education. "we have," he said, "as our host has pointed out, done the straight thing and given constituted authority a show. the constituted authority, as usual, prefers to do nothing. we naturally consider our grievances warranted, but i need not go into them again. some of us risked our lives to get here; the rest will probably do so by holding on through the winter, and, considering how we work, it is not exactly astonishing that we wish to take back a little gold with us--which we are scarcely likely to do under the present regulations. i, however, fancy the position is plain enough to everybody." "the question, hobson," said another man, "is how's it going to be altered?" "by kicking," said hobson drily. "you want to start in hard, and stay right there with it." there was a murmur of approval, and a man stood up. "that, i guess, is just the point--who's to begin, and when?" he said. "there's mighty little use in three or four of us wearing our shoes out before the rest. no, sir, slavin would come round with his troopers and run those men out." sewell nodded. "our friend has hit it; we have got to go slow," he said. "there are at least a hundred men in this valley, and a good many more with the same grievances farther west, without mentioning the green river country, where the regulations are easier. now, it will be your business to go round and make sure of the men here joining us. a good many of them are ready, and we'll strike when you can get the rest. the kick will have to be unanimous." "that's so," said another man. "lie low until we're ready. well, when the time comes you'll have your programme?" sewell leaned forward in his chair with a little glow in his eyes. "then," he said, "we will, for one thing, show recorder eshelby out of the valley by way of a protest, and, if it appears necessary, as it probably will do, seize slavin's armoury. we'll make our regulations and give the crown people a hint that they had better sanction them." there was a little hum of approbation, and a man stood up. "i guess that's the platform," he said. "half the men in this country are americans, and alaska is not so far away. once we show we mean it they're coming right in, and when we start in twisting the beaver's tail we're going to get some backing at home. do you know any reason why we shouldn't send somebody down south to whip up a campaign fund? there was plenty of money piled up when the chicago irishmen were going over to ask why the british nation threw out the home rule bill." most of the others laughed, but while there was no expression of sympathy it was significant that there was as little astonishment. visionaries talked of founding a new republic in the north just then, and some of annexation, but still the beaver flag flapped over every government outpost. there were many men with grievances in that country, but they knew the world and were far from sure that there was anything to be gained by changing their accustomed burden for what might prove to be a more grievous one. there were others who, while by no means contented with the mining regulations, were still characterized by the sturdy imperialism which is to be met with throughout most of canada. hobson turned to the speaker with a whimsical grin. "the chicago irishmen stayed right where they were," he said. "i don't know what they did with the money, but they bought no rifles--they weren't blame fools. the moral is that what an irishman looks at twice is too big a thing for us. no, sir, you wouldn't raise ten dollars in a month down there. america has all the trouble she has any use for already. what we want to do is to put up a good big bluff--and no more than that--on the british empire." "how's the empire going to take it?" asked another. sewell smiled. "patiently, i think. that is, if we go just far enough and know when to stop. they move slowly in england--i was born there--and i'm not sure they're very much quicker in ottawa. in fact, they rather like an energetic protest, and you very seldom get anything without it. once we show we're in earnest they'll send over a special commissioner with instructions to make any concessions he thinks will please us." "there are slavin and his troopers to consider," said the man who had spoken first. "they're not going to sit still, and if any of them got hurt during the proceedings it's quite likely we might be visited by a column of canadian militia." others commenced to speak--two or three together, in fact--but sewell raised his hand. "that eventuality will have to be carefully guarded against," he said. "slavin seems to be a man of ability and sense, and he would never pit his handful of troopers against a hundred men. in the meanwhile, everything depends on secrecy, and no move must be made until you are sure of everybody. i will answer for the green river men. i am going back there shortly." then they put their heads together to consider a scheme, and there was only a low hum of voices until hobson stood up suddenly. a tramp of feet and a sharp order rose from outside. "slavin and the troopers!" he said. "we don't want him to know who's here. get out through the roof, boys. put the lamp out." it was done, and while a sound of ripping and scrambling became audible in the black darkness hobson touched sewell's arm. "you and i have got to see it out. i guess he's sure of us," he said. in another moment or two somebody beat upon the door, and getting no answer drove it open. then a sulphur match sputtered, and the trooper who stood in the entrance turned to a man behind him. "there are only two men here, sir," he said. "light that lamp," said the other man. "i feel tolerably certain there were considerably more." hobson stood forward when the feeble light of the blue flame made him dimly visible. "i guess it's broke," he said. "bring rignauld's lantern!" said the man in the darkness. it was at least a minute before another trooper appeared with a light, and sewell surmised that his companions had made good use of the time. slavin, who, as he quite expected, was standing in the doorway, seemed to realize it too, for he glanced at the torn canvas. "i might have thought of that," he said. "you and rignauld will start down the trail and stop any man you come across, though i guess they're back in their tents or in the bush by now." the trooper went out, and slavin turned to hobson with a smile on his face. "we have got you, anyway, and you'll spend to-night, at least, in the outpost. to-morrow i'll look into the question of the liquor-sale permits, and it's quite likely this saloon will be closed. i'll have to take you along as well, mr. sewell." sewell made a good-humoured gesture of resignation. "i suppose i'll have to come. it's a proceeding i'm not altogether unaccustomed to. still, i'm not sure there is any charge you can work up against me." slavin looked at him almost appreciatively. "well," he said, "i fancy you're not going to make any trouble here. in fact, it's very probable that you will leave this settlement early to-morrow, though it would have been a good deal better had i choked you off from coming here. i would have done it had i known who you were. you will take any steps that seem necessary if these gentlemen try to get away, trooper nixon." sewell spent that night at the outpost, but not in the same room with hobson, and when he had breakfasted tolerably well slavin came in. "your horse is waiting, and you will start at once--for wherever you like so long as it's outside my boundaries, though i may as well mention that every officer in the district will be warned against you," he said. "if you feel yourself aggrieved you can, of course, complain to victoria." sewell made no protest. when he knew it would be useless he seldom did, and slavin, who handed him several days' provisions, waited until he swung himself into the saddle. "it wouldn't be wise to push your luck too hard by coming back," he said. sewell smiled from the saddle, and rode away. he knew that the seed was sown and need only be left to spring and ripen, though he would have felt easier had he been sure that slavin did not know it, too. eshelby could be trusted to stimulate the growth of the crop, but he had already grasped the capabilities of the quiet police officer, who, it was evident, was a very different kind of man. xi ingleby ventures a remonstrance it was late in the afternoon when ingleby, who led two jaded pack-horses, limped into the green river cañon. his long boots, which were caked with the mire of leagues of travel, galled him cruelly; every joint was aching; and it was only by an effort he kept himself on his feet at all. it had rained most of the way from the distant settlement where he had been for the flour hetty had asked for, and during the last week he had slept by snatches amidst the dripping fern while the pitiless deluge thrashed the fir trunks that indifferently sheltered him. the few strips of natural prairie in the valleys had turned to treacherous swamps, where he sank to the knee, and every few miles there was a furious torrent to be forded perilously. had he been called on to make that journey under such conditions when fresh from england he would probably never have reached the cañon, but strenuous toil with pick and shovel and the simple life of the wilderness had hardened him, and endued him with the strength of will which holds the worn-out body in due subjection. man's capacity for endurance is, as even the hard-handed bushman knows, moral as well as physical; but ingleby was making his last effort when he reached the great rift between the hills. the river roared close beneath him, swirling among its boulders, stained green with the clay of a great glacier, and overhead the sombre pines were blurred by mist and rain. no laden beast could scale the slope they clung to, and a treacherous bank of gravel on which a man could scarcely keep his footing dropped to the river just outside the slushy trail. ingleby sank ankle-deep in mire at every step, but he held on doggedly with a hand on the leading horse's bridle and the rain on his face, for leger's camp was not very far away, and he feared that if he rested now his worn-out limbs might fail him when he came to start again. that was sufficient to account for the sudden hardening of his face when a thud of hoofs came out of the rain. the trail was especially soft and narrow just there, and it would evidently be a risky matter to attempt to lead two horses past each other. thrusting the leading beast close in to the inner side he raised his voice as two figures materialized amidst the trunks in front of him. down in that great hollow the light was dim, but the clatter of accoutrements told him it was a couple of police troopers who were approaching. "stop where you are until i get by. there's scarcely room for both of us," he said. it was evident that the men heard him, for one said something to the other sharply, but they did not stop. they came on at a floundering trot instead, until ingleby saw who the foremost was and pulled the pack-horse across the trail. then there was a musical jingling as the men drew bridle, and ingleby and the leader looked at each other. he wore an officer's uniform and there was just then a little sardonic gleam in his dark eyes. he was also very like the man ingleby, who now knew he bore the same name, had faced at willow dene. "why didn't you pull up behind there, packer?" he asked. "you couldn't have got past, captain esmond," said ingleby. "i was well into the narrow stretch when i called to you." "that," said the policeman, "is a trifle unfortunate--for you. it ought to be tolerably evident that i can't wheel my horse now." it was apparently out of the question, but ingleby's wet face grew a trifle grim, for the assurance with which the young officer claimed precedence was exasperating, and he knew that any miner in the valley seeing him hampered by two laden beasts would have made way for him. one of them, it was evident, must leave the trail, but ingleby felt that the question which that one would be was by no means decided yet. he glanced at the swirling pool below, and though he fancied there was no great depth of water, it was clear to him that even if he could lead the worn-out beasts down the slippery slope of gravel he could never drag them up again. "you should have foreseen that when i warned you to stop," he said. a little flicker of colour showed in esmond's face, but he sat easily, and, as it seemed to ingleby, insolently, still in his saddle, looking at him with an excellent assumption of ironical incredulity, as though unwilling to believe that he had heard correctly. this was the more exasperating because ingleby had his share of the sturdy english independence, and an almost unreasoning dislike of anything that savoured of arrogance. it was, however, consoling to remember that in the wilderness the patrician is held of no more account than the manhood inherent in him warrants, and must either waive his claim to superiority or support it by his own resources. there was also no sign that the trooper sympathized with his officer. "will you be good enough to get out of my way?" asked esmond with portentous quietness. there was no answer; and he touched his horse with the spur. the beast floundered forward splashing in the mire; but ingleby stood still with a grim wet face in the middle of the trail, and a faint trace of astonishment crept into the young officer's eyes, for, as sometimes happens in the case of men with sufficient belief in themselves, he had hitherto found the world inclined to take him at his own valuation. now he found the position as galling as it was unexpected, for it was evident that the nerve of the wet and miry man who stood awaiting him with exasperating quietness was quite equal to his. esmond's blood was up, and it is very probable that he would have risked the encounter had he been free from official responsibility. as it was, however, he remembered that an officer of police is not warranted in riding down an unoffending citizen, and in addition to this the heavily-laden pack-horse drawn right across the trail promised to prove an embarrassing obstacle even if ingleby had not been standing beside it with a heavy fir staff in his hand. it occurred to esmond that there was very little to be gained except damage to his personal dignity by riding into two bags of flour, while a second pack-horse similarly encumbered blocked the trail close behind. thus at the last moment he swung himself backwards with a wrench upon the bridle, and there was a scattering of mire and gravel as his horse reeled down the slope to the river. the beast was used to the mountains, and the man had ridden from infancy, so that when they plunged to the girth in the swirling pool he was still in the saddle, and ingleby saw that his face was dark with a flush of anger. how he was to get out was his own business, and it was evident that he was in no danger, so ingleby turned and gazed at the trooper, who sat still with a faint but suggestive twinkle in his eyes. "i don't want to wait here. both the beasts and i are badly played out," he said. the trooper rubbed his chin with a wet hand, and glanced at his officer, who had, however, his back to him just then as he picked his way amidst the boulders. "well," he said, "i guess if i got down and edged out to the off side you might pass me. the trail's a little wider here." "thanks!" said ingleby, and looked at the man as he carefully led his beasts by him. the trooper also looked at him, with a little comprehending grin. "somebody's going to make trouble if he can find a speck on anything to-morrow," he said. he swung himself into the saddle with all the haste he could contrive, and with one eye still upon his officer. ingleby plodded on, and, as dusk was closing in, limped into sight of a ruddy blaze among the pines. leger, who had heard his approach, took the pack-horses' bridles, and ingleby stood stupidly still, blinking at him. "i've got it," he said, pointing to the flour. "where is it to go? i'll give you a hand to heave it down." leger laughed and pointed to the shanty. "go right in. i'll manage the bags myself," he said. "tomlinson and the boys have been up and built us a new store-shed." ingleby turned towards the shanty, and as he neared the doorway a slim figure cut against the light, and a hand was stretched out to draw him in. then he felt a little thrill run through him as he stood in the welcome warmth with hetty looking up at him. there was an almost maternal gentleness and compassion in her eyes, for ingleby's face was a trifle grey and the water ran from him. then she turned swiftly and thrust an armful of clothing upon him. "put them on this minute; they're warm and dry. there's a light in the new shed," she said. "then come back here. you're not to go outside again." ingleby was glad to obey her, and when he came back hetty had drawn a rude chair of deerhide towards the fire. "sit down, and don't worry about trying to talk," she said. ingleby sank wearily into the chair, and lay there in a state of blissful content watching her with half-closed eyes. it was an inestimable luxury to be free from the chill of his saturated clothing and feel the warmth creep through him, but by degrees he became sensible that his contentment had more than a physical origin. the soft rustle of hetty's dress was soothing as she laid out a simple meal; her quick, light footsteps suggested a gratifying anxiety to minister to his comfort; and he found the fashion in which she smiled at him, as she did once or twice, especially pleasant. hetty had a spice of temper and a will of her own, but she was also endued with the kindliness which makes up for a good many deficiencies. ingleby turned his head at last and looked at her languidly. "you make this shanty feel like home--though it is a very long while since i had one," he said. hetty flushed, ever so slightly, and ingleby naturally did not notice it. "we have been making improvements since you left," she said. "it really doesn't need very much to make a place look comfortable." ingleby appeared reflective. "well," he said, "i suppose it doesn't. i don't know how you manage it, hetty, but everything seems just as one would like it when you arrange it. still, that's not quite what i mean either. i'm really not sure i know what i do mean--you see, i'm sleepy." hetty stopped close beside him and looked down with a little smile, though there was just a shade more colour than usual in her face. "you are worn out, and needn't worry about it until you have had supper," she said. "if i had known you would come back like this i would never have let you go." "still, you wanted the flour." "i didn't mean you to wear yourself out to save those lazy miners from baking their own bread." ingleby shook his head. "i shall be all right to-morrow, and i'm going to talk," he said, "that wasn't why you sent me. one doesn't start a bakery out of philanthropy." "well," said hetty, "you know i wanted the money." "for tom and me!" said ingleby reproachfully. "i felt horribly mean about it all the way to the settlement." "is it very unpleasant then to let me do anything for you?" "no," said ingleby. "that is, of course, it's generally very nice. still, in this case----" hetty looked at him curiously. "oh, i know! still, you seemed quite angry once because i didn't care to let you lend tom the money to bring us out." "that, of course, was very different." hetty smiled. "yes," she said. "when one is a girl it usually is." ingleby, who was very drowsy, did not seem quite sure what to make of this, and gazed meditatively at the fire. "that stone hearth wasn't there when i left," he said. "who made it, hetty?" "tomlinson. tom went round to tell the boys about the bakery, and tomlinson came over to show him how to build the oven." "and he made this chair? now i think of it we hadn't one before, and tom certainly didn't make it. it's too comfortable." "yes," said hetty. "and he built the new shed?" "he certainly did!" ingleby seemed by no means pleased. "it seems to me," he said severely, "that tomlinson has been doing a good deal here. now, you ought to know that when you want any improvements made you have only to ask tom and me." "could you build a chimney like that one?" "no," said ingleby decisively. "if i must be honest, i don't think i could. still, there wasn't the least occasion to ask tomlinson. he must have been here more than once?" "i believe he was here three or four times." "why did he come so often?" hetty laughed. "he said it was to see how tom was getting on with the oven." "of course!" said ingleby. "well, i suppose one excuse was as good as another. one would, however, fancy that tomlinson had quite enough to do looking after his mine." hetty flashed a swift glance at him, but ingleby was not looking at her. he was too drowsy to be quite sure of what he felt, but the fact that tomlinson had been there on several occasions was far from pleasing him. just then tom leger came in with the kettle which he had boiled on the fire outside, and ingleby roused himself. "i suppose you have struck nothing on the claim?" he said. "no," said leger. "only a trace of colour, but i don't want to talk of that to-night. you can tell us about your journey when you have had supper." ingleby did so, though the narrative was distinctly tame in its unvarnished conciseness until he came to his meeting with esmond. he had no desire that hetty should know what he had endured on her account, while it is, after all, difficult to make another person understand what one feels like when worn-out to the verge of exhaustion. ingleby did not attempt it, but his tone changed a trifle as he tried to picture the policeman floundering in the river. leger laughed softly, but the firelight showed a little flash in hetty's eyes. "splendid!" she said, and her voice had a little vindictive ring. leger looked up with a whimsical smile. "you appear almost as angry with the man as walter was," he said. "well," replied hetty sharply, "so i am." it did not occur to ingleby to wonder why the fact that the policeman had attempted to drive him off the trail should cause her so much indignation, and when hetty abruptly asked a question calculated to give a different trend to the subject leger answered her. "i fancy i should have endeavoured to let him scrape by if i had been there," he said. "crowding a police officer of that kind into a river may be soothing to one's ruffled temper, but i can't help concluding that it's likely to turn out expensive." ingleby did not answer this, and shortly afterwards retired to the tent, where he spent the next ten hours in dreamless sleep. he rose a little later than usual next morning, but did his accustomed work at the mine, though leger fancied he was a trifle preoccupied during most of the day. shortly before they left their task in the evening they saw tomlinson climbing the trail to their camp with a heavy burden on his shoulders. the miner had apparently got rid of it when they met him coming back, and smiled in a deprecatory fashion in answer to ingleby's inquiring glance. "i struck a fir that was full of resin knots when i was chopping props," he said. "it kind of struck me miss leger would have some use for them at the bakery, and i just took one or two along." ingleby appeared rather more reflective than ever when the big miner went on, and finally laid his hand on his companion's shoulder. "of course, it's not exactly my business, but are you wise in encouraging that man to prowl about the shanty continually, tom?" he said. leger looked at him in astonishment. "i'm not aware of having done it, but if it pleases him to come there why shouldn't he?" "i suppose it doesn't occur to you that there is anything unusual in the fact that a man whose time is worth a good deal just now should spend several hours of it hacking pine knots out of trees and then scramble two miles with as much as a horse could carry on his back over an infamous trail?" "you mean that he does not do it to please you or me?" "yes," said ingleby. "that is it exactly. of course, i know i'm taking an unwarranted liberty, but if i had felt that hetty could have had any liking for him i should not have mentioned it to you. still, don't you think it might be better if she didn't see so much of him?" leger laughed. "so far, at least, she hasn't shown the smallest sign of recognizing the merits of the fortunate tomlinson." ingleby looked down across the pines. "we are old friends, and you won't mind my saying that i'm very glad." "well," said leger, who glanced at him sharply, "i can't quite see why you should be. the man has an excellent character, and i like him. he has also, what some folks would consider of as much importance, a profitable mine." "still, he isn't half good enough for her," persisted ingleby. leger did not speak for a moment, and during the somewhat embarrassing silence his face grew a trifle grave. then, he said quietly, "i fancy that is a point for hetty to decide." xii the major's bear darkness had closed down on the hillside, and supper was over, when ingleby and leger lounged on a cedar log outside the shanty. hetty lay close by in the deer-hide chair, and tomlinson had stretched his long limbs just clear of the fire. he lay placidly smoking, with no more than an occasional deferential glance at hetty. now and then the flickering firelight touched his face and showed the harsh lines of its rugged chiselling and the steadiness of his contemplative eyes. tomlinson, it was generally admitted, could do more with axe and shovel than most of the men in that valley, but a certain deliberateness of speech and gesture characterized him in repose. he was a man who worked the harder when it was necessary because he seldom wasted an effort. it was slowly he raised his head and glanced at hetty. "the boys can get away with another twenty loaves this week," he said. "jake figured you'd have seven or eight more of them from the gully workings coming in. they told him they'd no use for flapjacks or grindstones when they could get bread like that." "very well," said hetty. "i'll have an extra batch ready on saturday." she cast a little quick glance at ingleby, for it was gratifying that he should have this testimony to the quality of her bakery, though it was scarcely necessary. the venture had, in fact, been a success from the commencement, and though hetty's flour was rapidly running out she found it just as profitable to bake what the miners brought her at a tariff which in few other regions would have been thought strictly moderate. she was also as popular as her bread, for she turned nobody away, though there were men in that valley with neither money nor provisions left who had failed to find even the colour of gold. her boys, she said, would strike it rich some day, and one must risk a little now and then; but it is not given to many women to win the faith and homage accorded her by most of them in return for a handful of flour. tomlinson, however, had not delivered all his message yet. "i ran up against wolverine gordon yesterday," he said. "he wants more salt in his bread. says that sweet dough's ruining his digestion, and if you can't fix it to suit him he'll do his own baking. i guess i'd let the old insect have his salt by the handful." hetty laughed good-humouredly. "i must try to please him." tomlinson watched her with grave, reflective eyes. "gordon was 'most glad to eat cedar bark not long ago," he said. "did you ever get a dollar out of him?" "that," said hetty quietly, "is not your business, mr. tomlinson." the long-limbed miner apparently ruminated over this. "well," he said, "i guess it isn't, but you just let me know when you want any debts collected. i figure i could be quite smart at it." "they do it with a gun in your country?" asked leger. tomlinson held up a hard and distinctly large-sized hand. "no, sir! if ever i get that on one of the fakirs who sling ink at us i guess i'll make my little protest." there was silence for a minute or two, and during it the beat of hoofs came out of the valley. they drew nearer, and tomlinson laughed softly as he glanced at the listeners' faces. "hall sewell! he's coming back," he said. "mr. sewell is across the divide ever so far away," said hetty. "well," said the big prospector, "that cayuse of his is coming up the trail 'most too played out to put its feet down." it was five minutes later when sewell appeared leading the horse, which was in almost as sorry a case as he was. his jean garments hung about him torn to rags, and his face was gaunt and drawn with weariness and hunger. he stood still, smiling at them, in the uncertain light of the fire. "i've come back--warned off by the police as usual," he said. "in the language of the country, nobody seems to have any use for me." the naive admission appealed to hetty as much as the signs of privation, which were plain upon him, did, and stirred her more than any account of a successful mission would have done. sewell was, perhaps, aware of this, for he had the gift of pleasing women. "well," she said, "where else would you come to? whenever you want it there's room here for you. walter, take his horse, and then spread his blankets out near the fire. tom, you'll get another trout and fill the kettle." they did her bidding, though ingleby wondered a little as he set about it, for hetty had astonished him somewhat frequently of late. he had long regarded her as a girl devoid of intellectuality, to be petted with brotherly kindliness and taken care of in case of necessity, and it had never occurred to him until he came to canada that there was any depth of character in hetty leger. it was, in fact, almost disconcerting to find that she had changed into a capable woman who had by her enterprize alone enabled him and her brother to hold on to their claim. she was virtually mistress now, as the commands she had given him indicated; but, while it afforded him a gratification he did not quite understand to do her bidding, it was a trifle difficult to accustom himself to the position. in the meanwhile tomlinson, who chafed inwardly because no commands had been laid on him, lay, with respectful admiration, watching her prepare sewell's supper. when it was ready sewell made an excellent meal, and then stretched himself out wearily on a pile of branches near the fire. the red light flickered uncertainly upon the towering trunks behind him, and now and then fell upon the long-limbed tomlinson lying in the shadow and hetty sitting in her deer-hide chair with ingleby and leger stretched close at her feet. it never occurred to her that there was anything anomalous in this. they were, in the phraseology of the country, her boys, and though hetty leger was far from clever she had the comprehension that comes of sympathy, and she understood and ruled them as a woman with greater intellect probably could not have done. the night was cool and still, and the hoarse murmur of the river came up in pulsations across the pines. "after a long journey through the bush this is exceptionally nice, even though it is a little rough on miss leger," said sewell, with a quiet smile. "her cares are increasing, for another of her boys has come home a trifle the worse for wear to-night, but i scarcely think she minds. it is the women who never do mind that are worth all the rest." once more ingleby was astonished and gratified. sewell was, of course, a speaker by profession, but there was a vibration in his voice which signified that this was more than a passing compliment. ingleby believed implicitly in sewell, and the fact that the man he looked up to should regard hetty as he evidently did had naturally its effect on him, since it not infrequently needs the appreciation of others to make clear the value of that which lies nearest to one. hetty, however, as usual evinced no originality. "when you came in one would have fancied it was quite a long while since you were a boy," she said. "now and then i feel it is. men who lead the life i do grow old rapidly, you see. we are, in fact, nurtured on the storm, but that is really no reason why we shouldn't occasionally like to rest in the sunshine." "it has been dark 'most an hour," said tomlinson the practical. sewell turned and glanced at him reproachfully. "it is always sunshine where hetty leger is." "well," said hetty, with a little laugh, "you haven't seen me when the dough won't rise, and i don't like idle boys. they get into mischief. what are you going to do?" "peg down a claim and earn my living virtuously. i have, you see, tried mining already. i like this end of the valley, and because you have made me one of the family i fancy i'll put up a shanty here. that brings on the question of provisions, and when i was clambering down the range i came upon two or three black-tail deer. i'm going back to get one as soon as the stiffness has worn off me. will you or leger come with me, ingleby?" "walter will go," said hetty. ingleby turned towards her slowly, and she noticed the jaded look in his face, which was a trifle hollow as well as bronzed. he had toiled with a fierce, feverish impatience for long weeks at two profitless claims, and mind and body felt the strain. still, he remembered that it was some time since he had contributed anything to the common fund. "i've ever so much on hand," he said. "send tom." hetty made a little authoritative gesture. "tom couldn't hit a deer to save his life, and my boys are expected to do what they're told. you will take him, mr. sewell, and if you let him come back to the claim in less than a week i'll be vexed with you." ingleby, who knew that hetty could be persistent, permitted sewell to arrange the expedition; and when the latter retired shortly afterwards, tomlinson, who had said very little, looked up. "you like that man?" he asked. "of course!" said hetty. "if i hadn't i wouldn't have had him here." tomlinson said nothing further, but hetty laughed when he glanced inquiringly at ingleby. "you needn't ask walter. there are two people he believes in before anybody else, and mr. sewell's one of them." "and i guess i know who the other is," said tomlinson, who was a trifle tactless now and then. hetty looked at him instead of at ingleby. "no," she said reflectively, "i don't think you do. it doesn't matter who she is, anyway, and you haven't told me what you think of mr. sewell." tomlinson, who watched her with steady eyes, sat silent a moment as though ruminating over something he could not quite understand. then he said, "the man has grit. still, i haven't much use for his notion of going round trailing out trouble." "it isn't difficult to find it," said ingleby. "well," said tomlinson, "i'm not going to light out when it comes along my way; but i guess i'll wait until it does, like a sensible man, and just now i have no use for any. our folks in oregon are poor, and if my luck holds out there's an old woman who's had 'bout as much trouble as she can bear going to have an easy time the rest of her life." he stopped a moment and rose leisurely to his feet. "well, i'll go along now. i guess sewell means well. good night." he turned away, and when he lumbered into the shadow of the pines leger smiled at ingleby. "it seems to me that tomlinson's recommendation didn't go very far," he said. ingleby laughed, a trifle scornfully. "did you expect anything else? when a man who could have made himself almost anything he wished gives himself up to a life of privation for the good of his fellows, it's a little gained when men of tomlinson's description are willing to admit that he probably has good intentions." he retired to sleep shortly afterwards, for he and leger commenced their labours at sunrise every day. a week later, towards dusk one evening, he and sewell stopped near the edge of a deep ravine some distance from their camp in the ranges. the torrent which had worn it out moaned far down in the shadow below, and the sombre firs rolled up to the edge of it two hundred yards away. thickets of tall fern and salmon-berry hung over the brink, and for a score of yards or so a slope of soil and gravel sprinkled with tufts of juniper and dwarf firs ran down steeper than a roof. then it broke off abruptly, and from where they stood ingleby could not see the bottom of the gulf beneath, though he knew that the depth of such cañons is often several hundred feet. they had left their camp that morning, and one small black-tail deer, which sewell had shot, was all they had to show for a day of strenuous labour. "no way of getting across there," said sewell as he flung himself down at the foot of a cedar. "it's a little unfortunate, too, because from what tomlinson said it's a good bear country on the opposite side. one deer won't last very long even if we can manage to dry it, and there are parts of the black bear that are a good deal nicer than you might suppose." "have you ever tried them?" asked ingleby. sewell laughed. "i have. in fact, i lived on black bear for rather longer than i cared about when i was up in the ranges once before. it's not unlike pork. i mean the kind the canadian usually keeps for home consumption." that a man, who could probably get nothing else, should have lived on bear meat is, of course, not necessarily any great recommendation, but the fact tended to increase ingleby's respect for his companion. there was, it seemed, very little that sewell had not done or borne for the cause of the democracy, and ingleby had already indued him with the qualities of garibaldi. other men, older and shrewder than he was, are, however, occasionally addicted to idealization; and sewell could certainly ride and shoot as well as he could rouse the hopes and passions of the multitude--which was a good deal. ingleby, who could do neither, had the englishman's appreciation of physical capability, and it had once or twice been a grief to him to discover that other exponents of the opinions sewell held were flabby, soft-fleshed men whose appearance warranted the belief that the adoption of the simple laborious life they lauded would promptly make an end of them. the hard and wiry sewell, who, while he preached his gospel, earned his bread by bodily toil, a man of comely presence and finished courtesy, spartanly temperate in everything but speech, with unquestioned physical as well as moral courage, approached in his opinion the paulinian ideal. it was, however, seldom that he permitted it to become apparent, for ingleby, like most men who shape their lives by them, kept his deeper thoughts to himself, and on that occasion he complained about a boot which had split in an untimely fashion at a seam, until sewell looked up. "did you hear anything?" he asked. ingleby, who had not lived very long in the bush, naturally heard nothing until the sudden crash of a rifle was flung back by the hillside. then there was a sharp smashing of undergrowth, and it was plain to him that a beast of some description was travelling through the bush. "a bear!" exclaimed sewell. "the small black kind go straight at everything which lies between them and their covert. i fancy that one's partly crippled, too. it's your shot. if he breaks cover you might stop him for the man he belongs to." ingleby took up the rifle he was not greatly accustomed to, and waited, crouching, with his eyes on the forest and one foot drawn under him while the snapping and crackling drew nearer, until a shambling form lurched out of a thicket. then, while the foresight, which he could not keep still, wobbled all over it, he pressed the trigger, or, at least, attempted to do so as the miner to whom the rifle belonged had instructed him. he felt the butt jar his shoulder, and the smoke blew in his eyes, while a man burst out of the undergrowth. there was no sign of the bear, and ingleby fancied it had plunged over the edge of the ravine. the man was red in face, and gasped as he brandished his rifle in their direction. "who the devil are you trying to shoot?" he said. he did not stop, however; and sewell, who recognized him as major coulthurst, sprang to his feet, and sent a warning shout after him. "hold on, sir. there's a big gully right in front of you," he said. the major did not seem to hear him, and next moment there was a crash as he floundered through a thicket. then he disappeared suddenly, and ingleby felt a little shiver run through him as he heard a suggestive rattle of stones. "gone over!" he said hoarsely. "still, the top part's not quite so horribly steep." they made for the spot at a floundering run, for it is a trifle difficult to travel fast in the bush, and came gasping to a rent in the undergrowth on the edge of the gully. ingleby set his lips as he looked down. the major, who looked up at them with fear in his eyes, lay full length on the steepest part of the slope beneath, with both hands clenched upon a little bush of juniper. two or three yards beneath him lay a shadowy gulf, and the dull roar of water that came up suggested its depth. "i think this thing is coming out," he said. ingleby saw a diminutive fir close to the man, and two more between himself and the edge of the cañon, for in that country the firs will grow on anything short of an upright wall, and next moment he swung himself over the edge. however, he did it cautiously, taking care to drive his feet well into the gravel, and finally contrived to slide down to the nearest tree. sewell was evidently coming down behind him, for the stones went rattling by and struck the upturned face beneath. it was flushed and distorted, with swollen veins on the forehead, for the man was evidently feeling the strain. "can you hold on for a minute or two, sir?" ingleby asked. "i might manage one--not more," was the hoarse answer. "that should do," said ingleby reassuringly, and letting himself go again clutched at the tree close above the brink of the declivity. he also grasped sewell, who was coming down backwards amidst a shower of stones; and, when he arrived safe, lay full length with his comrade's hand upon his waist and one arm stretched out. nor did he stop to consider whether he could get back to the tree again when the major clutched his hand. "hold fast, and we'll pull you up," he said. next moment a strenuous grip closed upon his hand, and he felt his arm being drawn out of its socket as he strove to bend his back. coulthurst was horribly heavy and apparently incapable of rendering him any assistance. indeed, for a moment or two he was far from sure that they would not slide down into the shadowy gorge together. he could see the major's suffused face and hear sewell gasping behind him. then coulthurst, apparently by a supreme effort, raised himself a trifle, and he was a foot or two nearer the fir when he lay prone again. ingleby fancied he could feel his sinews cracking, and knew they would not endure that tension long. "reach your left hand back!" said sewell hoarsely. ingleby did so, and felt the bark of the slender tree, while sewell leaned out recklessly over him and clutched coulthurst's shoulder. then, for a few seconds, they made a very grim effort, until the major got one foot under him and seized the tree. after that there was no great difficulty, and when they dragged him out of peril he lay still, gasping, for almost a minute. then he raised himself so that he could sit. "i think my rifle went over," he said. "where's the bear?" sewell's eyes twinkled, and ingleby laughed, as did the major. "of course!" he said. "very much obliged, i'm sure. i mean it. but--where is--the bear?" personal peril was not exactly a new thing to the major, who was also a man of fixed ideas; but he made a little comprehensive gesture when sewell glanced significantly at the edge of the precipice. "i don't know, sir, and really don't think an attempt to find out would be advisable," he said. as a matter of fact, they never did discover what became of the bear; but in the meanwhile nobody said anything further for a moment or two. then the major rubbed his leg. "we couldn't very well stay here all night--and i've hurt my knee," he said. ingleby glanced at the almost precipitous descent. "i'm afraid we couldn't get you up without a rope." "i am quite satisfied that you couldn't, and don't propose to let you try," said the major. "there are, however, the pack-horse lariats at my camp, and it can't be more than two miles away. i have a police trooper there. one of you could get up?" ingleby fancied that it was within his powers. "i'll try, sir, if it's only because i believe i came very near shooting you," he said. coulthurst laughed. "you were within an ace of it." ingleby said nothing further, but crawled very cautiously up the slope. xiii esmond acquires information ingleby contrived to discover coulthurst's camp, and when a police trooper carrying a stout lariat accompanied him back to the ravine they had some little difficulty in transporting the major, who was no light weight, to the surface. it was, however, safely accomplished, and ingleby was not greatly astonished to hear he had in the meanwhile insisted upon their spending at least that night in his commodious tent. sewell possessed the useful faculty of making a good impression upon almost anybody, and generally exercised it, even when it did not appear worth while. they spent the next day with the major, who extended them a bluff but cordial invitation to visit him at his official residence, which ingleby, for reasons of his own, promised to do. he was, however, a little astonished that sewell, who had not his inducement, and could scarcely be expected to consider major coulthurst's patronage any particular compliment, should evince an equal alacrity. still, he did not feel warranted in inquiring his comrade's reasons, and promptly forgot all about it when a few days later he and leger bottomed upon gold. it was not a rich find. indeed, they laboriously transported and washed down a good many hundred-weights of débris in return for an insignificant quantity of the precious metal; but it was sufficient to fill ingleby with fresh ardour, and he lengthened his hours of toil until it was with difficulty he dragged himself back at night to the camp on the hillside. every stroke of pick and drill brought him so much nearer the realization of his aspirations. leger protested now and then, but hetty, who was wiser, said nothing, though there were times when she watched ingleby, who naturally never suspected it, with anxious eyes. the physical strain and tension were commencing to tell on him, for even the experienced placer miner seldom knows whether the next few strokes of the shovel will bring him wealth or make it evident that he has thrown his toil away. there, however, came an evening when ingleby desisted early in order to redeem his promise to coulthurst, and when he had made what he felt was a very insufficient toilet sewell, who had pegged out a claim in the vicinity, arrived at the bakery. hetty and leger were sitting, as usual at that hour, beside the fire, and there was a little twinkle in the latter's eyes as he glanced at sewell. "i suppose," he said, "major coulthurst knows whom he is to have the pleasure of entertaining." sewell laughed. "i felt it my duty to inform him; but my name did not seem to convey very much to him. in fact, i don't mind admitting that one could have fancied he had never heard of it. then, having a certain sense of fitness, i endeavoured to make him understand what my views were. they didn't appear to affect him greatly, either. he was good enough to predict that i would probably grow out of them." "he hasn't told you all," ingleby broke in. "major coulthurst graciously admitted that most men are occasionally afflicted with fancies of the kind when they are young. no sensible person minded it. he had even indulged in them himself when his colonel had been unduly hard on him, and he seemed quite under the impression that people generally took to our opinions by way of protest when they fancied themselves badly used." for a moment it almost seemed to ingleby that sewell's face hardened, and he remembered that his comrade had appeared faintly disconcerted when the major expressed this view in camp. it had naturally not occurred to ingleby that major coulthurst's deductions, like those of other men with no great appearance of intelligence, might come near the truth now and then. hetty, who was looking at sewell, did not, however, appear to notice anything unusual. "so you told him who you really were?" she asked. sewell, for no very evident reason, stooped and flicked a little dust off one of his boots, and it was a few moments later when he looked up with a smile. "i think you heard me mention it," he said. "you are ready, ingleby?" ingleby stood up, with a somewhat rueful glance, not altogether unwarranted, at his attire. he did not know what hetty meant, and felt no great interest in the question, for he had a supreme faith in one man and one woman, and if he had discovered that sewell had been charged with felony it would not have concerned him greatly. he would have believed in him, almost in spite of the evidences of his senses. coulthurst received them cordially when they reached his little log-built dwelling, which stood not far from the police outpost beyond the cañon where a tremendous wall of hillside shut in the adjacent valley. that region, while unpleasantly remote from civilization, was still accessible, and the gold commissioners' quarters were, considering their situation, far from uncomfortable. there was even a very artistic set of chessmen at which coulthurst glanced during a pause in the conversation. "i was once in a native indian state, and those pieces are a little memento," he said. "they played the game rather well there, and i've had a liking for it ever since." now ingleby's father had also played chess well, and he knew a little of the game; but he was accustomed to yield his comrade priority and was more than usually content to do so that evening. sewell, who seemed to understand this, smiled. "i'm afraid i should make a very indifferent opponent, sir, but that is your affair," he said. coulthurst drew out a little table with some alacrity, and grace and ingleby found a place apart from them. the latter made no great attempt at conversation, for he was worn-out by a long day's toil and quite content to be there and listen to his companion. ingleby could talk when he felt prompted to; but, like other men with the capacity for strenuous effort, he could be silent without embarrassing himself or those about him. in the meanwhile the surroundings had their effect on him. the soft light of the big shaded lamp was pleasant after the glare of the crackling fire; the hangings that hid door and windows conveyed to one who had lived as he had done a suggestion of comfort and luxury; and his eyes did not miss the fashion in which each trifle brought up through long leagues of forest on the pack-saddle had been arranged. grace coulthurst had artistic tastes, and she had also, to some extent, the means of indulging them. it was, however, her propinquity that most affected him. her daintiness appealed to his senses, and the faint perfume that hung about her and the touch of her gown when it brushed against him sent a little thrill through him. miss coulthurst was possibly not unaware of this, but she was none the less gracious to him. ingleby was a well-favoured man, and physical effort and endurance with a wholesome singleness of purpose had set a stamp on him that almost amounted to distinction. athletic toil and plain living, with the moral discipline which binds the worn-out flesh in obedience to the will, have a refining influence on most men, and there was in ingleby's gaunt face, steady eyes, and clear, bronzed skin the faint suggestion of spirituality which in that country, at least, not infrequently characterizes even the placer miner of low degree. grace coulthurst, who had quick perceptions, recognized it, but naturally kept her impressions to herself. "mr. sewell plays chess very well," she said. "in fact, he made what seemed to me a really brilliant opening." "he is one of the men who do everything that is worth while well," said ingleby. "that sounds a little comprehensive, but i almost think it's no more than the fact." grace asked no very pertinent question that ingleby could remember; but she nevertheless induced him to speak of his comrade, which, being simple of mind in some respects, he had evident pleasure in doing. in the meanwhile she watched the man at the chess-table, and it seemed to her that part, at least, of his friend's belief in him was justified. sewell's face was expressive and mobile as well as forceful, and there was a subtle suggestive gracefulness in his speech and gesture which was not to be found in ingleby's. then she smiled, and changed the subject. "i wonder," she said, "why he sacrificed the castle?" "the knight," said ingleby gravely, "was certainly not a very good exchange." grace laughed. "i scarcely think you would ever, as they say in this country, go back on a friend. my father, as he said, is fond of the game, but that doesn't go very far, after all." "he plays it creditably." "and mr. sewell, as you are quite aware, plays it exceptionally well. i wonder if he realizes that the major is not fond of losing." ingleby smiled as he again glanced round the room. then he turned to her, the origin and complement of its refinement, and she read his thoughts without difficulty. "i scarcely think that anybody who knows how we live would blame him," he said. grace laughed. "then," she said, "as i'm not quite sure that i know, suppose you tell me." ingleby did so in simple fashion, and it is probable that most young women would not have found his story entertaining. grace coulthurst, who had lived in the bush, however, had comprehension and could fill in a good deal that he did not supply. it was also, in its own way, to one who knew that country, an epic, a recital of man's high endeavour and herculean grapple with untrammelled nature, for in the struggle for the subjugation of the wilderness the placer miner leads the van. the smothering rush of slipping gravel, the crash of shattered props as the little shaft closed up, and the unexpected fall of half-charred trees had a place in it, as well as the monotony of toil, and the girl listened gravely. "and you have found the gold?" she said. "a little," said ingleby, "but not half enough. we have failed to bottom quite on the old creek bed, and are going to sink again or drive an adit." the mention of insufficiency was in itself significant, for though he had spoken no word in canada that could afford the slightest hint of the aspirations that had animated him grace was quite aware of them. there are not many women who do not know when a man is in love with them. "but there are only two of you, and it will take you ever so long," she said. "still, we will get it done," and there was a curious brightness in ingleby's eyes. grace noticed the hollowness of his quiet face and the leanness of his hard, scarred hands, and her heart grew soft towards him. the sign of the strain was plain upon him, though the breaking point had not yet been reached, and it was for her that he had done so much. "and you expect the effort will be warranted?" she said. ingleby turned and looked at her gravely. "men get rich placer mining now and then, and it might happen to me," he said. "in fact, i almost think from what one or two of the old prospectors tell me that i am going to be successful. i don't know if you will understand me, but after a life like mine the probability of being so is a little overwhelming." there was a tension in his voice which had its effect upon the girl, and she sat silent for a moment or two until the major's voice broke sharply in on them. "check! i fancied at one time the game was in your hands, but there's seldom much use in anticipating when there are points you can't foresee," he said. grace glanced at ingleby, who smiled. "i'm afraid major coulthurst is right. one can only wait," he said. just then there was a tapping at the door, and ingleby moved abruptly when esmond came in. the officer, however, showed no sign of astonishment when he saw who was there, but smiled as he looked at grace, and turned to the major. "i have just come across for a few minutes, and will not disturb you, sir," he said. "i don't suppose you have any objections to my looking over your register?" "no," said coulthurst. "it's yonder. has anything gone wrong?" esmond's eyes rested for just a moment on sewell. "only two or three of the men talking rather wildly, sir. somebody has been putting notions into their heads. it occurred to me i might as well make sure they all had certificates." "quite right!" said coulthurst appreciatively. "i have decided objections to their doing me out of my money." esmond took down the register, which was not remarkably well kept, and had some little trouble in tracing out the information he desired. at last, however, he read, "thomas leger, free miner's certificate, five dollars; also five dollars, walter ingleby." he made a careful note of the date, and then turned over the pages systematically. later on he found, "walter ingleby, five dollars," but there was no further entry for leger. then he put the book back, and the major glanced at him. "check!" he said. "i almost think i've got you, mr. sewell. you found what you wanted, reggie?" "yes, sir," said esmond, whose eyes now rested on grace and ingleby. "i fancy i have." he crossed the room in a leisurely fashion, and ingleby rose when grace turned to him. "you have no doubt come across mr. ingleby in the course of your duties, reggie, but i should like to present him formally as one of my friends," she said. esmond made ingleby, who responded as briefly, a little curt inclination. "i have," he said, "certainly met mr. ingleby at least twice already." "i believe i remember one occasion," said grace, with a little twinkle in her eyes. she had naturally not heard of the second encounter. "i'm not sure you were in quite as good a temper as usual that night. still, you see, circumstances are very different now." esmond laughed, but there was a dryness in his tone which ingleby afterwards remembered. "circumstances have a trick of changing somewhat rapidly in this country," he said. "you have, i believe, bottomed on gold, mr. ingleby?" "yes," said ingleby. "you struck it rich?" "no," said ingleby. "still, the signs are promising. we hope to be more fortunate when we have driven our adit." "how long do you expect to be over it?" "it is a little difficult to tell." esmond appeared to reflect, and grace, who watched him, did not quite understand his face. "well," he said, "i suppose placer mining is always a trifle uncertain. one would almost fancy that baking was more profitable. your friend miss leger seems to be doing well, or is it your venture?" ingleby wondered if this was meant for miss coulthurst's enlightenment; but he could not very well permit his dislike of the man, who would seize such an opportunity, to become apparent then, and there was also something in esmond's tone which suggested that he might, after all, have a different purpose. unfortunately, he had no notion of what that purpose was. "she is," he said quietly, "selling a good deal of bread." "at excellent prices! still, she probably deserves all she gains. it would cost a good deal to bring flour up. how did she get it?" ingleby was a little astonished at the man's persistence, and grace noticed it. "are you going to turn baker, too?" she asked. esmond laughed in a fashion which brought the blood to ingleby's face. still, he answered the man's question. "i went down for it," he said. just then the major's voice broke in again. "a very good fight, mr. sewell. i scarcely think i could have beaten you if you hadn't let me see your game. however strong your position is, that is very seldom wise." "major coulthurst," said esmond, "is now and then astonishingly accurate. one could generalize from such a speech as that. but to resume the topic, wasn't it a little careless of you, ingleby? you invalidate your record when you leave a placer claim." ingleby, secure, as he fancied, smiled. "leger," he said, "holds a share with me." "of course!" said esmond, as though the subject had no longer any interest to him. "so you left leger! well, i must get back to the outpost now. grace, you will excuse me." he went out, and while grace entertained ingleby the major and sewell, who lost again, played another game. then she made and served them coffee with her own hands, and ingleby, at least, went back to his tent filled with the memory of how she did it. in the meanwhile grace, sitting by the fire when he had gone away, glanced at her father. "i wonder," she said, "what you think of mr. sewell?" "the man," said coulthurst, "is, in spite of the opinions he seems to hold, evidently a gentleman; i can't think of a more appropriate word for it. there is also, i fancy, a good deal more in him than any one who was not good at reading character might suppose. he plays chess exceptionally well. in fact, almost as well as i do." grace smiled a little. "i fancied he did," she said. "were you equally pleased with his companion?" "yes," said the major reflectively. "he strikes me as sensible and solid--and one has a fancy that there's often a screw loose somewhere about brilliant men. they are apt to--double up unexpectedly--when the strain comes. the other kind i always find are more likely to wear well." grace laughed, but made no observation. major coulthurst, as she was quite aware, was almost painfully solid himself, but he had, at least, stood the rough usage of a hard world remarkably well, and she was disposed to admit the correctness of his opinion. still, there was, in spite of his name, something about sewell that ingleby did not possess which appealed to her. xiv the necessary incentive while ingleby and sewell made their way back to their tent esmond sat thoughtfully in his comfortless room at the outpost, cigar in hand. he felt distinctly pleased with his astuteness, but he was by no means sure what use he would make of the information ingleby had somewhat unwisely supplied him. esmond was merely a capable police officer with certain defects in his character, and not a clever scoundrel. in fact, he had his good points, or he would not have retrieved his credit, in a service which demands a good deal from those who would rise in it, after becoming involved in difficulties in england; but he was arrogant, vindictive, and apt to be carried away by his passions. he disliked ingleby, and would in any circumstances have found it difficult to forgive the miner for having twice caused him to appear at a disadvantage, while the fact that grace coulthurst had shown ingleby some degree of favour was an almost worse offence. esmond had the prejudices that occasionally characterize men of his station, and it seemed to him distinctly unfitting that the gold commissioner's daughter should patronize, as he expressed it, a placer miner. he was not exactly in love with her, though he had once come near being so, but he cherished a tenderness for her which might in favourable circumstances have ripened. the circumstances were not, however, favourable, for there was a certain stain on his reputation which he fancied major coulthurst, at least, remembered. it was therefore pleasant to feel that he held the whip over the presumptuous miner, and could apply it when advisable, though he had in the meanwhile no very definite purpose of doing so. it was not his business to see that major coulthurst carried out the mining laws, and, in any case, ingleby had found no gold that would render the sequestration of his claim a matter of very much moment; besides which esmond reflected that it would be considerably more congenial to humiliate him openly in person instead of inflicting a malicious injury on him by the hand of another man. an opportunity would no doubt be forthcoming, and he could afford to wait. with this commendable decision he flung his cigar away, and went to bed. however, he became a little less sure that reticence was advisable when he saw that ingleby and sewell visited the gold commissioner every now and then; and it happened, somewhat unfortunately, that he dismounted to take up a stirrup leather when riding back to his outpost through the cañon one evening. save for the hoarse roar of the river the tremendous hollow was very still, and the sound of voices came faintly up to him. turning sharply, he made out two figures among the pines, and an expletive rose to his lips as he recognized them. one was a miner in miry long boots and soil-stained jean, the other a girl in a light dress. esmond's eyes grew a trifle vindictive as he watched them, and though he had one foot in the stirrup he did not obey the impulse that prompted him to swing himself to the saddle and ride away. instead he led the horse behind a wide-girthed cedar and stood still, with a trace of darker colour in his face. it was unfortunate that he did not know grace had met ingleby by accident and that he could not hear their conversation when they stopped for a few minutes by the edge of the river. "you have not been near us for awhile," said the girl. "i have been busy, though i am not sure that is a very good excuse," said ingleby. "besides, one feels a little diffident--in the circumstances--about presuming too much on major coulthurst's kindness." grace laughed, though she understood the qualification. "i am, of course, not going to press you, but come when you wish. the major, if one might mention it, rather approves of you, and when he and mr. sewell play chess there is nobody to talk to me." ingleby, who had sense enough to take this admission for what it was worth, looked thoughtful. "sewell," he asked, "has been there without me?" "once or twice." "then he certainly never mentioned it to me." "does he give you an account of everything he does?" and grace laughed. "how is your work at the mine progressing?" "slowly. in fact, considering our appliances, we have had almost overwhelming difficulties to contend with. still, one could scarcely expect you to be interested in them." "i am, however," and there was a faint but subtle suggestion of sympathy in the girl's voice that sent a thrill through him. it cost him an effort to hold himself in hand; but ingleby had been taught restraint in canada, one sign of which was that he seldom inflicted his opinions on other people. he had decided that it would be time to let his aspirations become apparent when he had found the gold and made himself a position; it never occurred to him that the girl was probably quite aware of them already. it was not an easy thing to hide them, and, though he was growing accustomed to the discipline, the topic she had suggested was a safe one. "well," he said, "the gold we expect to strike lies in what was presumably an ancient river bed, though there is, strange to say, very little of it in the green river now. it was probably deposited there thousands of years ago, and it is evident that we have struck only the outer edge of the patch of sand and gravel containing it. we tried tunnelling, but twice the soil came in and nearly buried leger, and at tomlinson's advice we sank another shaft. all the work had to be done again, and we often go on half the night now. it is, i think, only a question if we can hold out long enough, for winter is coming. still, it--must--be done." he had not purposed to indulge in more than a very matter-of-fact narration, and had, in one respect, certainly not exceeded this; but there was a curious ring in his voice; and grace understood his thoughts as she flashed a swift glance at him. his face, which was a trifle haggard, had grown intent, and the little glint in his eyes had its meaning. grace coulthurst recognized, as hetty leger had done some time earlier, that ingleby was toiling harder than was wise. she also knew as well as if he had told her what purpose animated him. still, she had no intention of admitting it just then. "i think," she said, "you should be careful not to do too much, and if you are going back to work to-night you must come no farther." ingleby protested, but grace was resolute, and, turning, left him standing in the trail. she walked homewards thoughtfully with a faint trace of colour in her face, for the man's unexpressed devotion had stirred her. then, in a somewhat unfortunate moment, she looked up and saw esmond waiting beside the trail for her. a glance at his face sufficed to show her that he was quite aware she had not come there alone, and roused in her a curious sense of antagonism. it had become evident to her already that he bore no particular good will toward ingleby. "the view is really worth even your attention," she said. esmond knew what the suggestion of hardness in her tone meant, and smiled as he glanced, down the froth-smeared river towards the tremendous rift in the rocks through which it thundered. beyond it the mists were streaming across the deep valley and crawling filmily athwart the pines that climbed in serried battalions towards the gleaming snow. "it is. in fact, i scarcely think i could improve on it; but it was not the view that kept me here," he said. "no?" and grace's voice was a trifle harder still. esmond looked at her steadily. "i had," he said, "the pleasure of seeing you coming down the cañon--a little while ago." his meaning was very plain, but he had given her an opportunity, for grace had noticed that the cedar he stood near was great of girth and the undergrowth was trampled at one side of it. the man winced as she moved forward a little and glanced at it. "i suppose," she asked, with quiet contempt, "that was why you thought it necessary to lead your horse out of the trail?" esmond, who had not expected affairs to take this turn, fumed inwardly. he was not quite sure why he had stayed there at all, but in his indignation he had become possessed by a vague and very senseless notion that a friendly remonstrance might be admissible, and, at least, afford him an opportunity for expressing his opinion of ingleby. he was, of course, by no means a clever man, and angry at the time, or he would never have made that mistake; but his purpose was not altogether a base or selfish one. grace coulthurst, who was of his own station, must, he felt, be guarded against herself, and, since there was apparently nobody else available, he undertook the task. he became vindictive, however, when he realized that it would be difficult to carry out his commendable purpose. "i think we need not go into that," he said. "perhaps i did wrong, but it would only lead us away from the topic i want to talk about. has it occurred to you that unless you put a stop to his presumption that miner fellow might get ideas into his head?" grace appreciated his courage in persisting, especially in view of the result of her previous thrust; but while she was not exactly sure of her sentiments towards ingleby, he was, at least, the man who loved her, which counted a good deal in his favour. esmond, she was quite aware, chiefly loved himself. "isn't that a trifle vague? what ideas do you mean?" she asked. esmond stood silent a moment or two, for his task was becoming unpleasantly difficult; but his bitterness against ingleby rashly determined him to go on. "i should prefer not to be more definite--and i'm not sure that it is necessary," he said. "still, one might, perhaps, venture to warn you that the miners and my troopers, who, of course, have eyes, have already found an entertaining topic." grace coulthurst's face grew a trifle colourless with anger, though she did not quite believe him. "so you can listen while your policemen discuss--me?" she said. "no," said esmond unguardedly. "i would have risked my commission by thrashing the man i heard mention you." a sardonic gleam crept into grace's eyes. "then, since you haven't done it, it is a little difficult to understand how you could be aware of what they are saying." the man's embarrassment was evident, but it lasted only a moment, and he made a little abrupt gesture. "i'm no match for you at this game, grace," he said. "of course, i'm taking a great liberty, but if you think a little you might find some excuse for me." "for playing the spy on me?" esmond's lips set tight, and the bronze in his cheeks took on a still deeper tinge; but there was, as is usually the case, good as well as evil in him, and he was to some extent endeavouring just then to discharge what he considered a duty. "i suppose i deserve it, and i am in your hands, but you can be angry with me afterwards if you will let me speak. we are old friends, and i feel that implies a certain responsibility. there is nobody else in this country except the major who would concern himself about you, and he, with all due respect to him, seldom sees beyond his nose." there was a suggestion of genuine solicitude in his voice now, but grace was, unfortunately, far from being conciliated. "and you possess the faculty of seeing very much farther?" esmond made a little deprecatory gesture. "in this case, at least. you see, i know the presumption of those half-trained fellows of ingleby's description, and i would like to save you the unpleasantness i think you are courting. there are times when one has to be candid. the fellow is quite capable of fancying you are in love with him." he stopped, for there was a red spot of anger in grace coulthurst's cheek, which was otherwise curiously colourless. "i think," she said incisively, "you had better change the topic. you have gone quite far enough." esmond gazed at her with evident appreciation. she had never seemed so alluring to him as she did just then while she stood very straight in front of him quivering a little with ill-suppressed anger. in fact, he felt very far from sure that he was not in love with her. still, he persisted. "it would have been less preposterous had he been a man with any education or nicety of feeling; but you have even to take his antecedents on trust, and a good many of the men here have a somewhat astonishing history." grace stopped him with a little imperious gesture. "i have heard enough," she said. "in fact, a good deal more than i shall probably ever forgive you. besides, it was scarcely advisable of you to allude to other people's antecedents. one would have fancied that you had a better memory." esmond closed one of his hands, for he had almost hoped that grace had not heard of the little discreditable affair in england. the contempt in her face made the fact that he had deceived himself unpleasantly plain. "i scarcely think that is quite what one would have expected from you," he said. "a little charity is always advisable--and you may find it indispensable." he swung himself into the saddle, and grace went on alone, well content that he had gone, but nevertheless wondering whether she had ventured too far on ingleby's behalf, for she realized that the rejoinder which had closed the discussion was not altogether excusable. she did not care to ask herself why esmond's insinuations should have stirred her to an indignation that was stronger than her sense of what was fitting. esmond rode back to the outpost furious, and, since he could not retaliate on the girl, decided to seize the first opportunity for injuring the man, and he had reasons for believing that one would shortly be offered him. it is, however, probable that he would never have profited by it had not the girl stung him to vindictive passion. it was, though she was not aware of it, by no means a kindness grace coulthurst had done ingleby. xv ingleby strikes it rich it was late at night, but the red light of a fire flickered among the trunks where a creek swirled across the bottom of the valley, and leger, who had just flung fresh branches upon it, leaned against the rude windlass at the head of the adjacent shaft. the roar of the river seemed to have sunk to a lower tone that night, and save for its dull reverberations there was deep silence among the pines across which the fleecy mists were drifting. it seemed to emphasize the harshness of the persistent clink of the pick which broke sharply though the stillness of the night. leger was stiff in every joint, and his limbs were aching from a long day's labour. he was also wet with the dew and now and then shivered a little, for the night air was chilled by the snow; but he scarcely noticed this as he listened to the sound of his comrade's toil below. he had not ingleby's incentive, but it is probable that very few men would have concerned themselves much about weariness or discomfort just then. the shaft they had painfully driven had at last reached, or was very close upon, the ancient river bed, and now any stroke of the pick might make the result of their labour plain to them. it might be disastrous failure or a competence for the rest of their days, and the oldest prospector could have done no more than guess at the probabilities. placer mining is a gamble in which, in the northwest, at least, man stakes the utmost toil of his body, and often his life, on the chance of finding a very uncertain quantity of the precious metal. at last the tension grew almost unendurable, and leger, worn-out as he was, felt his courage fail him. his body craved sleep, and he dreaded the answer to the question which had occupied him ceaselessly for the last few days. he felt that should it be unfavourable he could hardly face it then, and even the harrowing uncertainty was better than a negative. "come up, walter. i'm getting cold," he said. there was a harsh laugh below, and a voice that sounded strained and hollow rose from the shaft. "then sit by the fire!" it said. "come up!" said leger sharply. "if you must have the truth, i've borne about as much as you could expect of me to-day. we'll probably know the result soon enough." "i can't wait," said ingleby. leger said nothing further. he could not leave his comrade there, and he sat down by the windlass with his fingers trembling a little on the pipe he did not light. the faint sighing in the fir tops had died away, and only the noise of man's petty activity ran on, discordant and, it almost seemed, presumptuous. a half-moon hung above the shoulder of a towering peak wrapped in a mantle of everlasting white, the river twinkled in the gloom below; but it counted for nothing with leger that earth and sky were steeped in a profound serenity. he was sensible only of the jar of the pick below. in the meanwhile ingleby, stripped to the waist, toiled feverishly by the light of a few blazing resin-knots in the narrow pit. his hands were bleeding, and the dew of effort dripped from him while he swung with the clinking pick like an automaton. he was grimed with mire, his long boots were sodden, and the drip from the shaft side splashed upon his naked shoulders, while his face was grim and grey with the weariness he did not feel. at last there was a sharp ringing as the pick went down, and while his raw hands tingled he flung the implement aside. "bed rock or a boulder!" he said hoarsely. "send the bucket down." it was a bald announcement, but that was not a time for speech, and leger fully realized the significance of it. the crazy windlass rattled, and the rude receptacle of deer-hide stretched on a willow-hoop came down. ingleby filled it with the shovel, and then pressed down a further load of sand and soil and pebbles with quivering hands. "heave!" he said sharply. the bucket went up, and it was with a little grim smile ingleby struggled into his rent shirt, though the operation cost him at least a minute. there was, he knew, a necessity for keeping his head now, and, holding himself in hand by an effort, he crawled slowly up the notched fir-pole lowered into the little shaft. then he and leger, saying nothing, proceeded to the creek with the heavy bucket and a big indurated basin. ingleby went in knee-deep, with the firelight flickering on him, and with a twirl of his hands washed out half the lighter contents of the basin. then he glanced at leger. "shall we try it now?" he said. "no," said leger, a trifle hoarsely. "put in the rest." ingleby emptied into a little heap what was left in the basin, after which he filled it again, and repeated the process several times while leger stood still upon the bank watching him. neither said anything, though there was a strained expectancy in their faces that showed the importance of the result. at last there was nothing left in the bucket, and leger's hands shook as he scooped up the little heap upon the bank and flung it into the basin. "get it done!" he said. ingleby stepped back into the stream, and was busy some little time tilting and twirling the basin, and now and then stirring its contents with his hand. then he very carefully let the water run away, and waded with a curious slowness to the bank. he stood there for a tense moment while he and leger looked at each other, until the latter, turning, stirred the crackling fire. "pour it out!" he said hoarsely. "i can't stand much more of this." ingleby shook out the contents of the basin on a little strip of hide, and for a moment or two could scarcely discern anything, for his heart throbbed painfully and his sight was a trifle dim. then he made out that there were little yellow grains scattered about the hide, and when he stirred the fragments of stone and pebbles with his fingers larger particles of the same hue became visible. he straightened himself slowly with a little gasp, and the blood surged to his face. "i almost think--we've struck it rich!" he said. leger said nothing whatever, for there are times when it is difficult to express one's feelings articulately, and he stood quite still in the firelight blinking at ingleby. then he sat down, and scraping the precious grains into a little bag poised it in his hand. "there will be no need for any more baking--at this rate. we'll go home and tell hetty," he said. "she's asleep," said ingleby, whose voice shook a little. "perhaps she is," said leger, with a curious smile. "i fancy i shall rest to-night." they climbed the hillside together, ingleby carrying the little bag; but he scarcely saw the glow of the fire that still burned outside the shanty or the clustering pines. his heart no longer throbbed as it had done, and while a curious lassitude came upon him, alluring visions floated before him. then as they stopped in front of the shanty a shadowy figure slipped out of it, and, for the firelight fell upon them, hetty felt her fingers quiver as she glanced at ingleby's face. "oh!" she said with a little gasp, "you have found the gold!" ingleby gravely held out the bag. "that is the first of it--and it's yours," he said. "if it hadn't been for you we should never have held the mine. one third of it all belongs to you." hetty took the gold with a little smile. "i am very glad you found it--and remembered me," she said. then she turned away somewhat abruptly, and went back into the shanty. "hetty scarcely seems as delighted as one would have expected," said ingleby. leger, whose face had grown a trifle grave, laughed in a fashion which suggested that it cost him an effort. "one so seldom gets a windfall of this kind that it's a trifle difficult to know how to express one's satisfaction. the only thing that occurs to me is to smash all the cooking utensils, but, considering the distance from the settlement, that would scarcely be convenient." ingleby, who flung himself down beside the fire, made no answer, but vacantly drank the coffee and ate the food that hetty brought him. he was, in fact, almost oblivious of his surroundings, for again his fancy was busy with alluring visions, and now that the tension was over his perceptions were dulled by the weariness of his worn-out body. at last, however, he became sensible that leger was no longer there and that hetty was sitting alone on the opposite side of the sinking fire. "where's tom?" he asked. "i think he's asleep," said hetty. "it's no wonder. aren't you very tired, walter?" ingleby laughed drowsily and stretched his aching limbs. "i really believe i am, though i scarcely felt it until this moment. what are you sitting up for, hetty?" "i don't quite know. still, one doesn't come into a fortune every day. i suppose it is a fortune, walter?" ingleby's face grew a trifle grave. "it at least looks like it, but nobody could tell just now. a placer mine often works out unexpectedly." "still, if it doesn't, what are you going to do?" "why don't you say--we?" hetty smiled curiously, and shook her head. "you will not want tom and me now." "if you fancy i would ever be willing to lose sight of either of you you are doing me a wrong. haven't i been living on your bounty--on what you made by baking with your own little hands? would we have found the gold if it hadn't been for you?" hetty flushed a little, but she persisted. "i'm not sure the new friends you will make would approve of us," she said. "then," said ingleby decisively, "they will not be friends of mine. you don't seem to understand that you have a third share in the mine, and tom holds another. the result of that will be that you will be able to live as you like and dress as prettily as anybody. still, don't you think that old print gown--i suppose it is print--you put on to bake in is worth all a court-lady's finery?" hetty once more shook her head. "i should still be hetty leger--who waited at a boarding-house, and sold bread to the miners," she said. "if i pretended to be any one else people would only find me out and laugh, as well as look down on me. nothing that i could put on or any one could teach me would make me quite the same as--miss coulthurst--you see." ingleby, who had not expected this, was not exactly pleased. he was very grateful to hetty, and thought, which was how he expressed it, a good deal of her; but since she had raised the point, there was certainly a difference between her and grace coulthurst. it did not occur to him that the difference might, after all, be in hetty's favour, and that there were qualities she possessed which are worth more than many accomplishments and a reposeful manner. in the meanwhile hetty appeared to expect an answer, and he felt that she had placed him in a difficulty. "what you have suggested applies as much to me," he said. hetty laughed. "i was wondering what you would say--and i suppose it does. still, nobody seems to mind the little difference so much in a man when he has plenty of money. you are going to marry miss coulthurst if you get rich, walter?" "yes," said ingleby gravely, "if she will have me, which i am afraid is far from certain; but i must make myself more than a placer miner first. that is why, if tom is willing, i shall probably start a contractor's business and build roads and bridges. they are always wanted in this province, and i fancy making them wouldn't be so very difficult. tom would stay in the office--he has the brains, you see--and i like the outside life in the bush. it is a useful profession that everybody looks up to here, and we could, of course, bring out a young english engineer." he had sunk back a little upon the pile of branches where he lay, and hetty noticed that his eyes were heavy; but he roused himself with an effort. "we will go back to vancouver when the mine works out. you shall choose the house--one of the pretty ones outside the town with the wooden pillars and painted scrollwork. we will get a china boy to cook for you--and you shall have a pair of ponies to drive in stanley park. tom will keep the books and get the orders while i do the work. roads and bridges, flumes and dams, are always wanted--and i must be more than a placer miner." then his head sank forward, and hetty, who sat still for a minute, rose with a little wistful smile, and looked down at him. he lay with eyes quite closed now, and one arm stretched out, for the needs of the worn-out body had at last proved stronger than his will. his jacket had fallen open to the waist, and hetty noticed how thin he was and the hollowness of his quiet face. then she slipped softly into the tent where leger lay asleep, and coming out with a coarse brown blanket, spread it over ingleby, though as she did it the flickering light showed a rich damask in her cheek. then laying fresh wood on the fire she stole away and left him to sleep. the great branches that met above him kept off the dew, and one could sleep as well there as in the tent. the sun had cleared the redwoods when he opened his eyes again and saw leger smiling down at him. "it's a very long while since i got up so late, and i don't quite know how i came to be lying here," he said. "i suppose i fell asleep beside the fire, but in that case it's a little difficult to understand how i could have got the blanket and tucked myself in." then he stood up and stretched himself, while leger glanced at him curiously. "i don't think it matters very much. you looked half-dazed when i left you, and scarcely likely to remember what you did," he said. "breakfast is almost ready, and we have a good deal on hand to-day." within the next half-hour they were at work again, and by afternoon had satisfied themselves of the richness of the claim. they also, in accordance with established custom, put up a little flag to show all whom it might concern that they had bottomed on gold. as it happened, nobody but a police trooper, who asked them a few questions, saw it, for the pines were thick and most of the placer workings situated farther up the valley. the trooper mentioned the matter to esmond, and the latter forthwith called upon major coulthurst. his opportunity had come. "i wonder if you know that your friend ingleby has struck gold?" he said. "i didn't," said coulthurst, who did not appear to notice his sardonic tone. "i'm pleased to hear it." esmond's smile might have meant anything. "it would," he said, "have been wiser if ingleby had stayed on his claim. you remember that he left it for a considerable time." "i do," said coulthurst, who glanced at him inquiringly, with a trace of dryness. "in different circumstances it might have cost him his title." esmond sat silent for a moment or two. "so far as i understand the enactments, one only holds a placer claim on the condition that the work goes on continuously," he said. "in the case you are referring to i believe it did. ingleby left his partner in possession." esmond smiled. "it is, one understands, essential that everybody holding a mineral claim of any kind should have a free miner's certificate." "of course! ingleby and leger each took one out. i remember it very well." "all certificates," said esmond, "expire on the thirty-first of may." "ingleby renewed his," said coulthurst, and stopped abruptly. "ingleby, as you remember, invalidated his title." coulthurst rose sharply and took down his register. he flicked over several pages and closed it with a little bang. then as he turned to esmond his face grew a trifle grim. "i'm not quite sure how far my authority goes until i look it up," he said. "i have rather a liking for ingleby." esmond smiled in a deprecatory fashion. "it is not exactly my business, but one would fancy that you couldn't very well discriminate, sir. anything of the kind would have an undesirable effect upon the other men." "that is my affair," and coulthurst glanced at him sharply. "it is a little difficult to understand why you raised the question only when they had found the gold." "i fancy that it is very natural, sir. it is no part of my duty to see the mining regulations are carried out, and it was not until i heard they had struck the lead that i remembered the little fact i noticed in looking over your register. it seemed advisable to let you know. the men seem inclined to find fault with everything just now, and if it came out that ingleby's claim had not been sequestrated when it should have been they might get it into their heads that you had winked at the irregularity because you were on good terms with him. that would naturally increase my difficulties with them." coulthurst stood looking at him with a hardening face. "i am," he said, "very sorry that this has happened, but it will be gone into. may i trouble you to send one of your troopers over for ingleby and leger?" xvi an invalid record supper had just been finished, and ingleby was lying, pipe in hand, beside the creek waiting until leger should bring another load of wash-dirt from the mine. the sunlight was still pleasantly warm, the air filled with the balsamic odours of the pines, and there was a little smile of unalloyed content in ingleby's face as he drank them in. though he had toiled since morning, those few minutes would be the only rest he would enjoy until long after darkness closed in, and once more he indulged in visions of a roseate future as he made the most of them. they had washed up each bucket-load as they brought it to the surface, and the result had made the richness of the mine increasingly plain. ingleby was getting accustomed to the fact that he was now, in all probability, at least, comparatively rich, and already his brain was occupied with half-formed projects. they did not include a further course of prospecting, for he had discovered that placer mines are addicted to playing out with disconcerting rapidity, and that in case of the deep lodes it is not as a rule the man who records the claim, but the capitalist or company-jobber, who takes the profit. he would go back to civilization and embark on an industrial career, for there was, he fancied not altogether incorrectly, wealth awaiting the resolute and enterprising man with sufficient money who was willing to play his part in laying the foundations of the future prosperity of that rich land, and he had a young man's faith in his abilities which was in his case more or less warranted. then when he had won a footing he would boldly ask major coulthurst for his daughter's hand. social distinctions count for little in western canada, and, though the waiting would be hard, there was consolation in the thought that every bold venture would bring him so much nearer her. ingleby was proud, and content to possess his soul in patience until he had shown that he could hold his own with his fellows and hew his own way to fortune. it was, at least, a wholesome resolution, and there was behind it a vague participation in the belief held by primitive peoples and proclaimed in courts in the days of chivalry, that man before he mated should be required to make his manhood plain by deeds accomplished and pain endured. it was not fitting, he felt, that the woman should give everything or stoop too far. he must have something to offer, as well as the ability to lift himself to her level; and through all there ran the desire of the democratic englishman for an opportunity to prove himself at least the equal of those accounted his betters. before leger reached him with the bucket there was a rustling in the tall fern behind him, and tomlinson came out upon the bank of the creek. he glanced at the little flag above the mine and the pile of debris at the water's edge, and then took up the pan ingleby had laid down and dipped it in the stream. a whirl of it in his practised hand was enough for him. "yes," he said quietly, "i guess you've struck it rich!" ingleby laughed and handed him a little bag. "i almost think we have. feel that!" he said. tomlinson poised the bag in one hand, and then sat down with a little gesture of assent, for he was not by any means a demonstrative man. "well," he said, "it will make it easier for hetty, and i'm glad of it. slaving away at that bakery isn't the kind of thing for her. it's going to the opera at vancouver with the best of them she ought to be doing. i guess that would suit most young women quite as well as baking bread; but it's a little rough on me that hetty leger would sooner stay right where she is." "what do you mean?" asked ingleby. "tom knows," said tomlinson, ruefully. "i haven't put it quite straight to hetty. just now, anyway, it wouldn't be any good. she's quite happy holding on to that blame bakery, though what she wants to do it for is more than i can figure. it can't be the money, because i've a claim back yonder that's turning out a pile of it every day, and she could have all she'd any use for." ingleby found himself in a position of some perplexity. he could not well admit that there was any reason why an honest man of excellent character, such as tomlinson appeared to be, should not marry hetty, and yet the mere probability of this was distasteful to him. it was, in fact, unpleasant to contemplate the possibility of hetty's marrying anybody. he remembered that she had by no means displayed the satisfaction one would have expected when they found the gold, and from this it appeared that tomlinson's suggestion that she was quite content to continue the bakery was warranted. it was, however, difficult to discover any reason for this, and he was still considering the question when leger came up. tomlinson turned to him. "you kept the thing kind of quiet. told nobody yet?" he said. "only one of the policemen. we were too busy to spend a good deal of the day coming over to let the boys know, though ingleby was thinking of going across to-night. you have a good claim already, and you can't hold more than one, you know." tomlinson nodded. "that's quite right," he said. "it's kind of unfortunate sewell isn't here. you don't know where he is?" "no," said ingleby. "he has been away for two days looking for a deer. i suppose anybody pegging off a claim next to ours would strike gold?" "it's quite likely. he'd get the colour, sure, but when the creek that washed the metal out was running it dropped the heavy stuff only here and there. anyway, the chances would be good enough, i figure. what policeman was it you told?" "probyn." tomlinson's face hardened suddenly. "oh, yes!" he said. "he's quite often hanging around here." it occurred to ingleby now that the trooper in question had certainly found occasion to visit their mine or the bakery somewhat frequently, but just then the lad in question appeared and came up to them. he disregarded tomlinson, who showed no sign of recognizing him, and looked at ingleby. "major coulthurst would be glad if you and leger could find it convenient to see him now," he said. "what does he want?" asked leger sharply. "i don't know," said the trooper. "i'm telling you what he said." there was a curious silence for a moment or two, and ingleby felt a little thrill of apprehension run through him. then tomlinson rose with sudden abruptness. "i guess you've got to go. i'm coming along," he said. "the recorder did not mention you. if he'd been anxious for your company he probably would have done so," said the trooper drily. tomlinson looked at him with a little glint in his eyes, and then laid his hand on ingleby's shoulder. "i've played this game quite a long while, and i guess i know the pointers 'most as well as anybody," he said. ingleby said nothing, but his face became suddenly intent, and, though the pace they made was fast, he grew feverishly impatient as they swung along the trail to the gold commissioner's office. coulthurst was awaiting them when they reached it and glanced at tomlinson inquiringly. "you have some business with me?" he said. tomlinson sat down uninvited, with a smile. "well," he said, "the fact is, i don't quite know yet. when you've trouble with the crown folks in the cities you can take a lawyer along. at this game i'm 'most as good as one." coulthurst made his indifference apparent by a gesture. "i don't suppose it matters. will you sit down, mr. leger? there's a seat yonder, ingleby." ingleby sat down, and, with a sinking heart, watched him open a book. there was a difference in coulthurst's manner. he was precise and formal and did not appear quite comfortable. one could almost have fancied that what he was about to do was distasteful to him. "you left your claim on or about the twentieth of june, ingleby," he said. "you did not return until--" "hold on!" said tomlinson. "you've got to prove that. i guess there's no reason why you should admit anything, walter." just then there were footsteps outside, and ingleby looked up sharply as esmond came in. he appeared a trifle disconcerted when he saw what was going on, and turned towards the door again. "i didn't know you were busy, sir," he said. "sit down," and the major's tone was very dry. "i should prefer you to hear this affair with me. you remember on what day mr. ingleby left his claim?" tomlinson nodded. "that's the straight thing, major," he said. "keep him right there. i guess the insect's at the bottom of everything." "we can dispense with your advice," said coulthurst, chillingly, though there was a suggestion of a twinkle in his eyes. in the meanwhile ingleby looked at esmond, and his face was a trifle pale, though a faint tinge of darker hue showed in the young officer's cheek. he was apparently not altogether free from embarrassment. it was ingleby who spoke. "i have no doubt captain esmond remembers exactly when i left the claim, sir, and there is nothing to be gained by disputing over a day or two," he said. "i was away a good deal longer than the seventy-two hours the law permits." "which invalidates your title!" said the major. "you failed to notify me or claim the privilege which under certain conditions i might have accorded you." ingleby, who had been anxious hitherto, but by no means dismayed, gasped. "if i understand the regulations, it would be quite sufficient to leave another miner to carry on the work on my account. besides, under the mineral-claim enactments which i think apply, the title would, in any case, revert to my partner." esmond, who appeared to have recovered his tranquillity, smiled a little, and there was a curious silence in the room as coulthurst took down a book. ingleby could feel his heart throbbing as he listened to the sharp rustle of the leaves while the major looked for the clause he wanted. "you hold a free miner's certificate, leger?" he asked. "yes, sir," said leger, and then started visibly, while ingleby, who saw his face, closed one hand a trifle as he leaned forward in his chair. "you can produce it?" said the major. leger dejectedly passed the paper across to him, but ingleby, who found the suspense becoming unendurable, turned to him. "tom," he said hoarsely, "you didn't neglect to renew it?" leger did not seem to remember that anybody else was there. he smiled wryly and made a little gesture. "i'm afraid i did," he said. "i hadn't the money when the time came round. i didn't want you to know that--and i couldn't ask hetty. we scarcely expected to find anything, you see. afterwards, i suppose it slipped my memory." ingleby said nothing, though his face was very grim, and the little thud of coulthurst's hand upon the book broke sharply through the silence. "should a free miner neglect to renew his certificate upon expiry all mineral-claims held by him under it revert to the crown," he said. then he stood up, straight and burly, though his face was a trifle flushed. "i'm sorry, ingleby, but i'm afraid you have thrown away your claim." ingleby sat very still for part of a minute with one hand closed tightly. then he also rose. "i can't blame you, sir," he said hoarsely. "i don't think there is anything to be gained by protesting." "well," said tomlinson, "you're 'way more patient than i would be. why did they let you go on working until you had found the gold?" ingleby turned and looked at the police officer with a very unpleasant glint in his eyes. "that," he said, "is a little kindness for which, i fancy, i am indebted to captain esmond." he would have gone out, but tomlinson laid a hand upon his arm and turned to the recorder. "now," he said, "i'm going to do some talking. that claim's ingleby's, major, until you've declared it open, and wiped out his record." "well," said coulthurst drily, "i am sorry to find myself compelled to do it. the claim lately held by walter ingleby and thomas leger, having reverted to the crown, is open for relocation. a notice will be issued to that effect. i may, however, point out--to you--that no free miner can hold more than one claim in the same vicinity." "that's all right," said tomlinson. "the one i've got is quite enough for me. you have a certificate, ingleby. take out a new one, leger." leger drew the little bag from his pocket, but tomlinson waved it aside, and threw another down before coulthurst, glancing at esmond as he did so. "that gold came out of the reverted mine, and they might claim it wasn't yours. we'll make sure," he said. "there's a man worth keeping your eye on who has a hand in this deal. more than the necessary amount there, sir? let him have his certificate. i'll look in for the rest any time that suits you." coulthurst's eyes twinkled a little as comprehension dawned on him, and he passed leger the paper. "i fancy any advice that prospector tomlinson desires to give you would be worth considering," he said. tomlinson wasted no further time, but drove ingleby and leger before him out of the room. "it's rustle now!" he said. "there's nothing to stop either of you pegging a new claim down on the lead alongside the old one. it's even chances you strike it quite as rich there. get your stakes in!" "where are you going?" asked leger. tomlinson laughed. "to put the boys on the lead. still, it's quite likely that a friend of mine will relocate your old claim a little ahead of them. he'll be there 'most as soon as the major puts up his notice that it's open. he may think it worth while to let me in somehow for telling him." he set off at a run, and as he disappeared ingleby and leger, leaving the winding trail, went straight through the undergrowth towards the cañon. vigorous movement with a definite purpose was a relief to them, and they were gasping and dripping with perspiration when at last they stopped beside the sequestrated claim. nobody else had reached it, and the bush was very still, but it was in feverish haste they hewed and drove in certain square-faced stakes. they were still on the lead, and once more a little hope sprang up in them. in the meanwhile coulthurst sat at his table looking hard at esmond. "i hope," he said grimly, "that you are now satisfied." esmond met his gaze without embarrassment. "i'm not sure i quite catch your meaning, sir." "in that case," said coulthurst, "it is a trifle difficult to understand how you came to hold a commission in a service in which one understands intelligence is necessary. i have carried out the law, but i don't mind admitting that i do not appreciate being made use of in this fashion. it is very evident you do not like ingleby." esmond, who made no disclaimer, appeared to reflect for a moment or two. "well," he said, "you have, perhaps, some ground for feeling aggrieved, sir; but i can't help thinking that i have done nothing that was unnecessary." "i am not blaming you for--doing your duty." "i scarcely think you would be warranted in considering me very much at fault for going a little beyond it. i admit that it would please me to see ingleby driven out of the valley. the fellow's presumption is almost insufferable." coulthurst glanced at him sharply, and his face grew a trifle red. "ingleby is very young in comparison with myself, but you were once good enough to allude to him as a friend of mine, and you certainly met him at my house as my guest. if there was any particular meaning in your speech, it would be better to come straight to the point. i don't like hints." "i can only offer you my excuses for momentary bad memory, sir. absurd as it may seem to you, i'm far from sure that ingleby is likely to be content with the status mentioned. a very little reflection should make the warning clear. in the meanwhile i have a couple of troopers waiting for me." he went out, and coulthurst sat still at his table gazing vacantly in front of him with his lips unusually firmly set. then he rose with a little shake of his shoulders and a gesture of relief. "the thing is quite out of the question. grace has too much sense," he said. xvii trooper probyn's misadventure nobody blamed coulthurst for dispossessing ingleby of his claim. in fact, the bluff and usually good-humoured major was more or less a favourite with the miners, who admitted that while it was rough on ingleby no other course was open to him. for all that, the affair made an unfortunate impression when news leaked out of the part esmond had played in it, for the latter's arrogance had gone a long way to gain him the hearty dislike of every man in the valley. the canadian is, as a rule, a sturdy imperialist with democratic tendencies, a type of citizen which would elsewhere probably be thought an anachronism. there were, however, as sewell had pointed out, a good many men in the north just then who had no country, and a vague unrest and discontent, that once or twice came near producing unpleasant results, spread sporadically across the wilderness that season. nobody was pleased with the mining regulations, and there were quiet canadian bushmen who thought the drafting of detachments of the northwest police into that country not only unnecessary, but a reflection upon them. there were also other men, who had carried the memory of their wrongs with them from lands ruled by the mailed fist, to whom this symbol of imperial authority was as a red rag to a bull, and here and there a heavy responsibility was laid on the agents of the crown. major coulthurst, however, felt very little. he was not a keen-sighted man, and there were no signs of discontent in the green river country so far, at least, as he could discern. it was true that sewell, who played chess with him somewhat frequently, now and then made disturbing recommendations which the major occasionally went so far as to consider; but the country was apparently quiet, and might have remained so, in spite of esmond's insolent tactlessness, had it not been for a little mistake made by trooper probyn. he was a reckless stripling with a certain grace of manner which he could scarcely have acquired in the ranks of the northwest police, though men whose family name is well known in the older country occasionally join that service for reasons which they do not as a rule explain. he was comely, and he not infrequently loitered at the bakery, even when he was supposed to be elsewhere at his duty. it happened that he stood there one saturday afternoon, watching hetty leger with undisguised appreciation, when there was nobody else about. he had perhaps chosen that particular time because leger, who had shown that he did not approve of him, was at the mine; but there were smears of flour upon his uniform which suggested what his occupation had been. hetty, who rather liked the lad, looked distinctly pretty just then, as, with sleeves rolled to the elbow, she moulded a loaf for the oven. the bush was very still, and it was pleasantly cool in the shadow of the pines, which rolled in sombre ranks down the face of the hill. it was, perhaps, unfortunate that hetty smiled as she held out the bread. "you can put this loaf in and seal up the oven if you're very good," she said. probyn seized the loaf somewhat clumsily, so that in steadying it hetty's fingers left an impression on the plastic dough. "now," said probyn gravely, "that ought to make it worth another ten dollars to anybody." "would you think it worth all that?" "a hundred," said probyn, "would not be too much. i'd buy the thing now only, unfortunately, i haven't a coin of any kind by me. there are, you see, a good many disadvantages attached to being a police trooper." "are there?" said hetty. "then why did you become one, and what would you have liked to be?" "that," answered the lad, with a trace of dryness, "is neither here nor there." then his eyes twinkled again. "a baker! couldn't you give me that loaf on credit--to keep forever?" "i certainly couldn't. besides, you would eat it the first time you were hungry. hold it still while i make it smooth again!" she did it with dainty little pats, and the lad watched her, openly appreciative, with his head on one side, for her pose and the movements of arm and shoulder effectively displayed a prettily moulded figure. "there's a little bit you have left out. hadn't you better go round it again?" he said. it was, perhaps, not altogether wise of hetty to laugh provokingly as she glanced at him; but she was young, and masculine approbation was no more distasteful to her than it is to most young women. she also believed--as she had, indeed, once pointed out to tom leger--that, though trooper probyn had very little sense, there was not a grain of harm in him. "why? it's quite smooth enough," she said. "you do it so prettily. of course, that's only what one would expect from a girl with a hand like that. the wrist runs into it so nicely, too. when some people try to work their wrists get red, you know." "put the bread into the oven--now," said hetty severely. the lad, who noticed a certain warning tone he had heard before, did as he was bidden, and luted up the door of the big clay-built oven. when he returned there was no longer any of hetty's arm visible beneath her sleeve. "it's getting late, and i have the boys' supper to look after," she said significantly. probyn knew by the lengthening of the shadows that this was true, and he had still a long round to make; but he was a trifle more inconsequent than usual that afternoon, and in place of taking his departure leaned against a cedar. "well," he said, "i mean to stay a little. it's very pleasant here." the statement was perfectly warranted, for the sound of the river came up soothingly across the pines, and through openings between them one could see the tremendous ramparts of never-melting snow that cut cold and white against the blue. hetty, too, standing with fluffy hair a trifle disordered, and with the sunlight streaming between the great branches upon her, was very alluring; but still, it was unfortunate that trooper probyn did not go. he was not aware that tomlinson, who had had difficulties with the flume he was building, was just then coming up the hillside in a somewhat uncertain temper. "you have been here quite an hour," said hetty. "a year," said probyn, "wouldn't be half enough for me. now, i've a piece of news i hadn't the heart to tell you--and you'll try to be brave. esmond is sending two or three of us south very shortly, and i'm very much afraid i will be one of them." "is that all?" and hetty laughed. the lad looked at her reproachfully. "you seem to bear up astonishingly well. it will be different with me. you may even have married one of those miner fellows by the time i come back again." there was no apparent reason why the suggestion should drive the smile out of hetty's eyes; but it certainly did; though probyn did not notice her sudden change of mood. "yes," he said, "i'm afraid i'll have to go, and that's why i want you to give me something to remember you by when i'm far away. it needn't be very much. that pretty little ribbon at your neck would do." the request was not out of keeping with the trooper's usual conversation, which consisted largely of badinage, and hetty could not be expected to realize that he now and then meant what he said. it, however, happened that ingleby, who said it suited her complexion, had once laughingly bought her that ribbon in a vancouver dry-goods store. "you certainly can't have it," she said, a trifle sharply. probyn, who perversely fancied her decisiveness was assumed and intended to be provocative, lost his head. "then you don't mean to give me a trifle of that kind after chopping wood for you two days every week and kneading an ovenful of bread?" he said. "no," said hetty, who was by no means anxious to detain him now. "it wasn't anything like that often, and i told you i was busy. why don't you go?" "then i'm afraid i'll have to take it," said probyn, with a reckless laugh. in another moment his hand was on hetty's shoulder, and it was unfortunate he did not see the indignation in her face as she strove to thrust him away. there was no doubt about the genuineness of it now, for her cheeks were flushed with anger; but the trooper's persistence was not lessened by the fact that a pin entered one of his fingers as he clutched at the little bow. the momentary pain, indeed, drove what little sense he had out of his head, and he became the more determined upon obtaining possession of the coveted ribbon. just then a big, long-limbed man with a grim, bronzed face came out of the shadow of the pines and stopped for a moment with a smothered expletive. it was not altogether unnatural that he should misunderstand the situation, and he sprang forward suddenly when he recovered from his astonishment. probyn had by this time succeeded in tearing away the bow, and there was a rustle of draperies as hetty, who shook off his relaxing grasp, inconsequently fled; but in another moment a hard hand fell upon his shoulder and swung him round. in fact, so rude was the wrench that he reeled backwards for a pace or two, and on recovering his balance found himself face to face with a big and very angry man who regarded him out of half-closed eyes in a distinctly unpleasant fashion. "it's you, tomlinson! what the devil did you mean by that?" he said. "well," said the miner drily, "i guess it ought to be quite plain to you." probyn, who looked around, saw that hetty had vanished into the shanty. "now, look here, there really isn't the slightest reason why you should make an ass of yourself," he said. "i am, of course, not telling you this because i am afraid of anything you can do." tomlinson's face grew a little darker in hue as he glanced at the strip of crumpled ribbon still in the lad's hand. "i want that thing. pass it across," he said. probyn smiled, for his recklessness was, perhaps, partly accounted for by the fact that there was what is usually termed good blood in him. "i'll have considerable pleasure in seeing you hanged first," he said. "well," said tomlinson, "we'll fix all that. now, light out of this. you don't want the circus right in front of the shanty." the lad made a little gesture of comprehension as he swung round, and tomlinson gravely walked after him until they could no longer be seen from the shanty. then probyn turned to him again. "we're far enough, i think," he said. he stood, strung up, but apparently impassive, with his left arm across him and his right hand clenched at his side, and only a suggestion of watchfulness in his steady eyes. tomlinson smiled grimly. "if i were to hit you hard i'd kill you, sure. i'm raised to-day," he said. "i guess a souse in the creek will have to do instead." probyn saw that the issue must be faced, and he was by no means deficient in courage, or he would not have ridden long with the northwest police. stepping forward, with a thrust from his right foot, he feinted with his left hand at the miner's face, and then, swinging downwards with lowered head, got in a right-hand body blow that would probably have staggered another man. tomlinson, however, took it with no more than a gasp, and flinging out his right hand closed with him, which was singularly unfortunate for trooper probyn. he had been accounted tolerably proficient with the gloves in another land, but it is not for pastime that men fight in the wilderness, and there the disablement of one's opponent by any means available is the object of the game. probyn had the pride which breeds courage and endurance, as well as vigour; but he had not swung the axe and shovel for twenty years, as tomlinson had done, in the strenuous, unceasing grapple with unsubdued nature which hardens every muscle and sinew in the men of the northwest. they have the pride of manhood in place of the pride of birth, and a grim optimism which chiefly finds expression in attempting that which is apparently beyond accomplishment, and in holding on, in spite of frost and snow and icy gale, until achievement comes. thus it came about that in a very few seconds trooper probyn recognized that he was no match for the miner, though he had no intention of admitting it or of being put into the creek if he could by any means avoid it. for several strenuous minutes they reeled, locked together, about the trail, and fell against the trees, while neither of them concerned himself greatly about the strict rules of the game. they smote when it was possible and clinched when they could; but all the time they were drawing steadily nearer the creek. in the meanwhile leger and ingleby, as well as one or two miners who purposed purchasing bread from hetty, came out from among the pines, and a corporal of police rode up on the opposite side of the creek. the miners, who did not notice him, naturally stopped. "it's that young ass probyn," said ingleby. "no doubt he deserves all he is apparently getting." "he is in uniform, anyway," said leger. "we'll have to stop them. let the lad go, tomlinson!" tomlinson did not hear him, for just then he swung the trooper off his feet, and staggering forward a pace or two fell with him into the creek. they splashed into the water, and apparently rolled over and over in the midst of it, while confused shouts rose from the miners. "pull him off. no, stand clear. let them have a show!" then the corporal of police, trotting forward, pulled his horse up at the edge of the creek. "let up on that man, prospector," he said sharply. tomlinson seemed to hear him, for he relaxed his hold and slowly stood up, while trooper probyn rose in the middle of the creek with the water draining from him and blood on his cheek. the miners gathered round, but the corporal sat stiffly in his saddle with expressionless face. "stand off, you," he said, with a glance at them, and then turned to probyn. "now, what in the name of thunder is the meaning of this circus?" "it's a little difference of opinion," said the trooper. "prospector tomlinson felt i'd said something insulting to him." the corporal appeared to reflect. "considering where you were sent to, i can't quite figure what you were doing here, anyway; but that's not the point," he said. "i'll trouble you to come along to the outpost, tomlinson." one of the miners stepped forward. "he's staying where he is," he said. "i guess the trooper made the trouble and only got what he wanted. hadn't both of you better light out of this?" there was a little grim murmur of approbation, but the corporal, who dropped his bridle, looked at the men with steady eyes. "i'm not asking your opinions, boys," he said. then probyn turned to him. "as a matter of fact, they're right in one respect," he said. "the little row had nothing to do with any question of duty. it was a private affair of mine. if it appears necessary, you can report it to captain esmond." once more the corporal, who was a shrewd man, appeared to reflect. "well," he said, "i saw your grey tethered when i came along the trail. you'd better get him. if you're wanted we'll come along for you, tomlinson." tomlinson turned, and looked at probyn. "i guess," he said, slowly and distinctly, "if ever you start the same circus again i'll kill you." the corporal, who did not appear to hear him, though everybody else did, wheeled his horse, and probyn walked by his stirrup when he rode away. then ingleby turned to tomlinson. "there's a good deal i want to know," he said. "well," said the big miner drily, "there's very little you need worry about. you see, that young trooper isn't fond of me, and there was a kind of unpleasantness when we ran up against each other." "you were coming down the trail from the bakery when i saw you," said leger. "yes," said tomlinson, "we were." "then," said leger, "since he ran up against you, probyn must have been going there." tomlinson appeared to be considering the point. "well," he said, "it looks quite like that." there was evidently no more to be got out of him, and leger and ingleby went up the trail together towards the bakery. tomlinson, however, stayed behind, and slipped a little crumpled bow of ribbon into his pocket. xviii ingleby goes away it was a week after the sequestration of the claim, and ingleby leaned against a cedar with the firelight on his face, which was unusually resolute, and a bundle of clothing and blankets at his feet. hetty sat on one of the hearth-logs in the shadow watching him quietly, and leger stood in the doorway of the shanty with something very like anger in his eyes. he had for the last ten minutes enlarged upon every reason he could think of why ingleby should remain with them, and the latter was still apparently as firmly decided as ever on going away. "there's not a grain of sense in your point of view," said leger. "it's sentiment run to seed, and sentiment of the most maudlin kind, at that. of course, i know all this is useless--nothing would move you--but it's some small relief to let you know what i think of you. i suppose you will admit that what you're going to do isn't quite in keeping with the theories you once professed to believe in." hetty, who had a spice of temper, laughed. "walter never believed in them--he only thought he did. he's like the rest of you. you keep your ideas to talk about and worry people with." ingleby made a little deprecatory gesture. "i've no doubt i deserve it, hetty, but you ought to see that i can't stay here. i should, in fact, have gone away before, but i felt almost sure we would find the gold sooner or later." "who is responsible for throwing the claim away?" broke in leger. "both of us, i fancy. anyway, that's not quite the question." leger made a last effort. "now," he said, "you know very well that your chance of finding gold on the new claim is good, and we can very easily afford to grub-stake you until you strike it. in this country it's quite a common arrangement. apart from that--since you seem to be so abnormally sensitive--there's enough for you and me to do chopping wood for the oven in the evenings to square the account altogether. i have, of course, pointed that out already; but if you will make an effort, i think you will remember that there was a time when you insisted on lending me what was, in the circumstances, a considerable sum of money." "i can remember most clearly that only the fear of seeing you arrested for manslaughter induced a certain young lady to agree to it." hetty looked up sharply. "i'm not going to answer that--i'm too vexed," she said. "it isn't the least use trying to persuade him, tom." "no," said leger, with a little gesture of resignation, "i'm afraid it isn't. you are going to work for tomlinson, walter?" "yes," said ingleby. "that is, now and then--a day or two to keep me going while i find out what is in the claim. he wants more water, and is putting up a flume. i had a five-dollar bill from him yesterday." he stopped a moment, and the firelight showed there was a trace of deeper colour than usual in his face as he held out a little strip of paper to hetty. "will you put that to my credit, and let me have two loaves now?" he said. leger said something viciously that was not very distinct, while hetty sat still a moment glancing at the paper without touching it, and then gravely held out her hand. "you will get them in the store," she said. ingleby disappeared into the shadows, and the two who were left said nothing whatever, but hetty moved a trifle so that leger could not see her face. then ingleby came back with the bread, and quietly slung his traps about him before he held out his hand. "i don't want to go, hetty, but it can't be helped," he said. "of course, i'll come back often in the evenings." hetty did not move out of the shadow, and though ingleby did not seem to notice it there was a curious hardness in her voice. "well," she said quietly, "i suppose you know best." ingleby turned away, and shook himself in a fashion that suggested relief as he swung down the trail. he had left a good deal behind him, and it was a hard thing he had done, much harder, in fact, than he had ever anticipated; but he could not live on the bounty of a girl. for all that, he shrank from the loneliness of the life before him, and his fancy would dwell upon the evenings he had spent with hetty and leger beside the crackling fire. hetty was by no means clever--at least, in some respects; but he did not expect her to be so, and where she was there was also cheerfulness and tranquillity. now the bush in front of him seemed very black and lonely. he had scarcely disappeared when hetty, rising slowly, crumpled a strip of paper in her hand and flung it into the fire. as it happened, it fell upon the side of one of the logs a little distance from the hottest blaze, and leger made a little instinctive movement, and then sat still again. "i suppose you realize what that is?" he said. "yes," said hetty, whose face showed flushed in the flickering light, "it is a five-dollar bill." leger looked at her sharply, and then laughed. "well," he said, "i suppose you can afford it--and, after all, i'm not sure it isn't the best thing you could do with it." hetty said nothing but went into the shanty, and it was next morning before leger, who looked very thoughtful as he sat beside the fire, saw any more of her. he had already realized that the possession of a pretty sister is a responsibility. for a week or two afterwards ingleby alternately assisted tomlinson in the building of a flume and worked on his claim, but it was, perhaps, fortunate that he had now shaken off the fierce impatience which had driven him to overtax his strength when hope was strong in him. indeed, of late a curious lassitude had crept upon him, though he still toiled on; and it was only the fact that provisions were a consideration which induced him to accompany sewell and tomlinson on an expedition to look for a black-tail deer. tomlinson brought a tent with him, and ingleby and sewell were sitting outside it one evening when trooper probyn and the corporal came up leading a laden horse. horses were very little use for riding in that country, but there were trails they could with some difficulty be led along, and the few strips of natural prairie afforded them a precarious sustenance. there was also no other means of transport except the miner's back. the corporal bade probyn pull the beast up beside the tent and loosed the pack-lariat. "you can get up when we've hove the traps off, and see if the indian's there," he said. "if he is, bring him along. i guess we'll make nothing by pushing on to-night." trooper probyn, swinging himself into the saddle, scrambled up the hillside, which was comparatively clear of undergrowth just there, while the corporal sat down beside the fire. "we've had supper. you don't mind our camping here?" he asked. sewell, who lay, pipe in hand, upon a bundle of withered fern, raised his head. "there's room in the tent. it's a fair-sized one," he said. "you're going on into the ranges?" the corporal looked at him meditatively. "right through to the westerhouse gully, if we can get there. it appears a blame rough country; but captain esmond has a notion that a trail could be made this way, and from westerhouse one could make the yukon. it's part of his business to see what can be done to open up communication." sewell turned and glanced towards the snow which stretched in a great white rampart across the valley. beneath it a tremendous wall of rock dropped to the pines below, which crawled round the crests and up the gullies of a desolation of jumbled crags. dark forest streaked by filmy mist filled the devious hollows at their feet. "you are right about the country. i should imagine it to be a particularly rough one," he said. "well," said the corporal, "it seems quite certain the indians used to go through after the deer and salmon; and it's believed that one or two white men have made westerhouse that way, too." he stopped a moment, and glanced at sewell. "you were away somewhere quite a while, weren't you?" sewell laughed, and ingleby, who watched them both, wondered whether the corporal knew that he was one of the few white men who had traversed the defiles of the divide. "i was," he said. "still, you see, it really isn't any other person's business where i go to." the corporal nodded with dry good-humour. "i guess it wasn't westerhouse, anyway," he said. "i'm not sure we'll get there, though an indian came along to the outpost who figured he could take us." ingleby glanced at sewell with a little smile. the corporal's belief in the capabilities of the police was admirable, and more or less warranted, for the wardens of the northwest are hard-riding men; but he was, after all, from the prairie, and horses are very little used in the green river country. ingleby, however, fancied he was not quite certain that communication had not been already effected with the westerhouse gully. sewell, who apparently understood ingleby's glance, said nothing. "there are only two of you here?" asked the corporal. "no," said ingleby. "tomlinson is with us. he went out this afternoon to look for a deer, and should be back any minute now." the corporal looked thoughtful. "i'm not quite sure we'd have camped here if i'd known that," he said. "still, if you can keep your man in hand, i guess i can answer for the trooper." ingleby fancied they could promise this, and for a while nothing more was said. darkness crept up the valley, though there was still a saffron light on the towering snow, and the peaks that lay in shadow cut with a cold, blue whiteness against a wondrous green transparency. then the dew began to settle, calling up the drowsy odours of the pines, and an impressive stillness pervaded the mountain solitude. it grew colder rapidly, and ingleby, who rose and flung fresh branches on the fire, stood looking towards the west, a spare black figure, with outline clean-cut as a cameo against the flickering light, when the sharp ringing of a rifle came suddenly down the valley. it rang from rock to rock, as the hillsides flung it back, and died away among the dimness of the pines. "tomlinson!" said sewell. "i fancy he has got that deer. there's scarcely wood enough to keep the fire in until morning, walter. if you don't want to light another for breakfast, hadn't you better cut some more?" ingleby, who took up an axe, moved back into the bush, and the silence was broken by a rhythmic thudding that vibrated among the shadowy trunks, which was unfortunate, because it tended to confuse the corporal's hearing. he was an opinionated man, and a good deal depended upon his being able to correctly locate a sound just then. he would, however, probably have done so, had his attention not been fixed upon the tobacco he was shredding. a minute or two had passed when the crash of a rifle came down the valley again, and he laughed. "i guess your man didn't get that deer right off," he said. sewell smiled, and waited until ingleby came back with an armful of wood. "our friend suggests that tomlinson has been throwing cartridges away," he said. "well," said ingleby, "it's a thing he very seldom does, and i feel almost sure the last shot came from a different direction, and was farther off. probably trooper probyn fired at something in the bush." it was an unfortunate suggestion, for the corporal, who had spent a good many years on the lonely levels of the prairie, was, with some reason, proud of his fine sense of hearing, and it by no means pleased him that a young man new to the wilderness should presume to throw the least doubt upon his ability to locate a rifle shot. this naturally confirmed him in his belief in the correctness of his opinion. "it was tomlinson who fired twice," he said. "i guess probyn knows better than to blaze away government ammunition without permission." ingleby said nothing. the point was, or so it appeared to him, of no importance; and the three, drawing in closer to the fire, sat smoking in silence while the pale stars came out above the pines. at last there was a tramp of feet, and tomlinson strode out of the shadows carrying a deer with its forelegs drawn over his shoulders. he threw it down, and stood flushed and gasping, with the firelight on his face. ingleby fancied he did not see the corporal, who could, however, see him. "i suppose you didn't meet trooper probyn?" asked sewell. tomlinson started a little, and there was for a moment a curious look in his face, which did not escape the corporal's attention. "no," he said shortly. "i don't know that i want to. what is he doing here?" "he went out to meet an indian who's to show us a trail across the divide," said the corporal. "rode out 'most an hour ago. he'd keep the range side." "then, as i came down the south fork of the creek, i wouldn't have met him, anyway," said tomlinson promptly. he stood still a moment, and then turned to ingleby. "hang that deer up, walter. i'll have supper, if it's ready." sewell set food and a can of green tea before him, and he ate in silence until ingleby glanced at him. "did you get that deer a little while ago?" he said. "no. it was two hours since, anyway." "still, we heard you shooting." tomlinson, who was an excellent shot, and somewhat proud of the fact, laughed in a slightly embarrassed fashion. "well," he said, "i guess you may have done so, but i didn't get the deer. it was in the fern, and the light was going. i just got the one shot, and it was too dark to follow up the trail." "one shot?" said ingleby, with a little smile. "the corporal heard two, both close together, and there certainly was another." "then it was another man who fired it," said tomlinson shortly. "i guess i don't often waste cartridges." the corporal, who was usually a trifle persistent, took up tomlinson's rifle and pushed back the slide of the magazine. "a forty-four marlin! it was full when you went out?" he said. "yes, sir. two cartridges gone. you'll find one bullet in yonder deer." the corporal, for no particular reason, jerked a cartridge into the chamber, and then snapped it out. "you use nicked bullets?" tomlinson did not, as everybody noticed, appear exactly pleased. in fact, it was not difficult to fancy that he was a trifle embarrassed. it is a little easier to bring down a deer with a bullet that will split up into a torn strip of metal when it meets a bone than with one that has a solid nose and makes a clean, punctured wound. "well," he said, "i don't know any reason why i shouldn't, and now and then i get the hack-saw and cut one or two across. when i go shooting it's a deer i want." nothing more was said on that point, though ingleby fancied that the corporal was a little incredulous still. he rose, and looked up the trail as though listening. "i can't quite figure what is keeping probyn," he said. "the indian was to meet him at sundown, where the north creek fork twists round the rocks, and he should have been back by now." they sat silent a minute or two, but no sound came out of the silence of the pines. there was not even the murmur of water. the wilderness was very still. then tomlinson laughed. "perhaps he's not coming back." "what do you mean by that?" "well," said the miner, "i've heard esmond has been worrying the boys lately. they don't seem quite fond of him, anyway. it kind of seemed to me probyn might have lit out without you." now it is not often that a trooper takes the risk of discharging himself from the ranks of the northwest police, but the thing has been done. it was, however, unfortunate that tomlinson made the suggestion. the corporal's face grew a trifle grim as he looked at him. "i've no use for that kind of talk," he said. "there's not a man up here i'm not 'most as sure of as i am of myself." "then he's probably up there with the indian," said ingleby. "it would be a little risky leading a horse down the big gully in the dark." another hour passed, and as there was still no appearance of trooper probyn, the corporal decided that ingleby was right, and, rolling themselves in their blankets, they lay down inside the tent. they were fast asleep when a beat of hoofs came out of the silence of the night as a jaded horse floundered along the hillside, and the corporal wakened only when there was a trampling of undergrowth outside the tent. he shook the blankets from him and stood up. "is that you, probyn? tether the beast and come in," he said. there was no answer, and the corporal, stooping suddenly, touched tomlinson's shoulder. "i guess you had better get up. you're awake, ingleby?" he asked. ingleby, who had been roused by the sound, noticed that he had not asked tomlinson this; but they were both on their feet in another moment and went out of the tent. the fire had almost burned out, but a few red brands still gave a faint light, and the spires of the pines seemed a little blacker and sharper than they had been when the men went to sleep. it was very cold, for dawn was coming, and they shivered a little as they looked about them. there was nothing to excite apprehension, only a jaded horse that stood just within the uncertain light with loose bridle and lowered head, but ingleby felt a curious uneasiness come upon him. the sight was unpleasantly suggestive. "probyn!" the corporal called again. there was no answer, and, though he scarcely knew why, ingleby felt that he did not expect one. then the horse, moving very lamely, walked up to the corporal, whom it apparently recognized, and he laid a hand upon the bridle. "throw on a piece or two of wood and stir the fire," he said. ingleby did it, and nothing more was said until a blaze sprang up. then the corporal ran his hand along the horse's coat. there was a smear of blood on it when he glanced at it. "been travelling quite fast before he dried," he said. "through some thick bush, too; here's a scar where a branch ripped the hide. looks to me as though he'd been scared and bolted, though i don't quite see what has lamed him." the rest watched him with a curious intentness while he lifted one of the beast's hoofs. it was plain to all of them that there was something wrong, but nobody cared to give his misgivings vent. then as the firelight blazed up a little more ingleby touched the corporal. "you are looking in the wrong place," he said. the corporal raised his head, and saw a deep, red scar. stooping, he drew a brand from the fire, and the men looked at one another uneasily when he held it up. "yes," he said grimly. "that was made by a bullet. i figure the beast was going away from the man who fired it." again there was silence for almost a minute. the pines were growing a trifle blacker and clearer in outline, and it was very cold. ingleby shivered again, for a curious creepy feeling troubled him. the corporal stood very still, a tense black figure, apparently gazing fixedly at tomlinson. it was the latter who spoke first. "i fired once--at the deer," he said. "well," said the corporal, with a curious certainty that jarred on ingleby's nerves, "probyn's back yonder, and it will be daylight in an hour. we'd better look for him." then he turned towards the jaded horse. "it's kind of unfortunate that beasts can't talk." nobody said anything further, and they plodded silently into the gloom that still shrouded all the hillside. it was dusk when they came back again, but they had found no sign of trooper probyn, or anything that might account for his disappearance, except an empty -cartridge lying not far from his trail. xix trooper probyn comes back it was late next night when the corporal reached the police outpost, and on the following morning esmond and major coulthurst sat at a little table in the latter's dwelling. the corporal, who had told his story concisely, had just gone out, and coulthurst, who rolled an unlighted cigar between his fingers, was grave in face. esmond glanced at him inquiringly. "it is, in one respect, not exactly your business; but you and i are between us responsible for the tranquillity of the green river country, and i should be glad of your opinion, sir," he said. "i don't want to make a mistake just now. there is no doubt that most of the men are in an uncertain temper, and they do not seem pleased with me." coulthurst smiled, a trifle drily. "i presume you don't want me to go into that?" "no. the fact is, after all, of no great importance. the point is--what do you make of the corporal's story?" the major appeared to be taxing his brain for a moment or two. "not being a detective, i can make nothing at all. i suppose he is trustworthy?" "as reliable a man as there is in the force. let me try to set out what we know. tomlinson thrashed probyn and pitched him into the creek. neither of them would explain the cause of the trouble, which is a trifle significant; but tomlinson was heard to say that if the trooper played the same game again he would kill him. he is apparently not an impulsive man, and the corporal seems to think it was a warning and not mere bluster." "that," said coulthurst, "gives you a little to go upon. we can admit that tomlinson fancied he had a grievance against the trooper. he is not the man to say a thing of that kind without sufficient reason." "then probyn leaves sewell's camp, and never comes back. sewell, ingleby, and the corporal hear two shots, apparently from the same part of the range." "i understand ingleby does not admit that." esmond smiled. "one would scarcely expect ingleby to agree with a corporal of police. still, i may point out that he has been less than a year in the bush, and the corporal has, at least, spent most of his life on the prairie. you know the effect the life my troopers lead has in quickening the perceptions. most of them could locate and tell you the meaning of a sound i couldn't hear at all." coulthurst made a sign of concurrence. "his view is certainly worth a good deal more than ingleby's. still, admitting that the two shots were fired from about the same place, it doesn't necessarily follow that they were fired by the same person." "we know that, leaving out probyn, tomlinson and the indian could have been the only men on that part of the range just then. when tomlinson appeared he seemed disconcerted to find the corporal there. he also showed signs of embarrassment when questioned about the shots, and persisted that he fired no more than one. when told which way the trooper had gone he stated that he had come in just the opposite one. it is significant that he did not mention where he had been until then. several hours later probyn's horse came back grazed by a bullet, and a forty-four cartridge was found beside the trail. that is the size of rifle tomlinson uses." "it seems to me the several hours are the difficulty." "not necessarily. whoever shot trooper probyn would naturally be afraid of his horse doing exactly what it did, and fired at it. the wounded beast would probably run as long as it was able. it is evident that it must have smashed through several thickets. somebody fired at it, and the man who did so was the one who shot probyn." "you don't know he was shot. i'm not sure i should find it necessary to keep quite as tight a hand on your troopers as you do," said the major suggestively. esmond flushed a little. "i feel absolutely certain the lad never intended to give us the slip." "there were two men in the vicinity about that time," said coulthurst reflectively. "tomlinson was known to have a grievance against probyn. the indian, who apparently did not turn up at all, had never seen him. men do not kill one another without a strong inducement, and nobody would expect to find much money on a police trooper." "his carbine," said the major, "would be worth a little." "the man had an excellent rifle of his own." "well," said coulthurst, "it is tolerably easy to see what all this points to, but i could never quite believe tomlinson would do the thing. there's another point that strikes me." esmond appeared expectant, though he had consulted coulthurst more from a sense of duty than because he looked for any brilliant suggestion. "it's rather an important one," said the major gravely. "you can't well have a murder without a corpse, you see." esmond failed to hide a little sardonic smile. "that is a trifle obvious, sir. you have no advice to offer me?" "i have. it's good as far as it goes. lie low, and keep your eyes open until you find probyn." esmond rose. "i suppose that is the only thing, after all, though it looks very much like wasting time. i feel quite sure there will be a nicked forty-four bullet in him when i do." he went out; but the longer he considered the major's advice the more reasonable it appeared to him. esmond, with all his shortcomings, had a keen sense of duty, and had he consulted his own inclination would have wasted no time in seizing tomlinson. he was, however, quite shrewd enough to recognize that he was not regarded with favour, and that, although the major did not seem to realize it, the miners were not likely to content themselves with looking on while he did anything that did not meet their views. he had reasons for believing that once tomlinson's culpability was evident he need expect no trouble from them; but it was equally plain that unless he had definite proof it would be a risky thing to lay hands on him. esmond was arrogant and impulsive, but he had discovered in the northwest that it is not always advisable to run counter to popular opinion, and in this case there was a faint probability that tomlinson's friends might be right. he therefore set himself to wait as patiently as he could until trooper probyn should be found; while the men, who for the most part believed probyn to be living, waited for him to come back--which he eventually did, though by no means in the fashion they had expected. there had been a sudden rise of temperature, and a warm wind from the pacific had sent the white mists streaming across the mountain land. it had rained for several days, as it usually does in the northern wilderness in those circumstances, and the snow on the lower slopes had melted under the warm deluge. the river swirled by, thick with the wreckage of the forests the snow had brought down, frothing between its crumbling banks; and on a certain saturday evening most of the men in the valley assembled by the ford where the trail crept perilously down the opposite side of the cañon. it appeared very doubtful whether any man or beast could cross it then, but the freighter, with mails and provisions, was already overdue, and they had awaited him anxiously for a week or so. it was possible that he might arrive that evening; and, in any case, the six o'clock supper was over and there was very little else to do. ingleby, leger, hetty, and tomlinson were there with the rest, and they sat among the roots of a great cedar where it was a little drier. the rain had stopped at last, but all the pines were dripping, and the river came swirling out of a curtain of drifting mist. the hoarse roar it made filled all the cañon. hetty was vacantly watching the slow whirl of an eddy when a great trunk that plunged into it held her eye. it had been a stately hemlock well over a hundred feet in height and great of girth, and now it gyrated slowly round the pool, a splendid wreck, with far-flung limbs that thrashed the water as they rose and fell. then the great butt tilted, and there was a crash that rang high above the turmoil of the flood as the branches that smashed and splintered struck a boulder whose wet head rose just above the foam. the forks held for a moment, and then the ponderous trunk swung again and, with its shattered limbs whirling about it, drove madly down the white rush of a rapid. it was an impressive sight, and the sound of rending and smashing was more impressive still; but when the trunk had gone hetty found her attention fixed upon the pool. it swirled and lapped upon the rocks with nothing on its surface now but muddy smears of foam, but she watched it with a vague sense of expectancy. it seemed to her that she and that sullen eddy alike were waiting for what should follow. another trunk, with branches that heaved out of the turmoil and sank into it again, was coming down the river, but a dusky, half-submerged object slid on in front of it. hetty could scarcely see it save when it was lifted by the buffeting of the flood, until it plunged into the head of the eddy. then she rose suddenly. "look at it," she said. "it's like--a bundle of old clothes!" ingleby, who was nearest her, stood up. the light was growing dim in the cañon, and it was a moment before he could make out what she pointed to. hetty, however, was staring at it with a curious intensity, and there was, he noticed, apprehension in her eyes. the object drove on quietly, an insignificant dusky blur, swinging and swaying with the pulsations of the river, and ingleby felt the girl's hand close suddenly on his arm. "oh," she said, with a little gasp, "it's coming straight here. i'm afraid of it, walter." the thing swung in towards them with the whirl of the eddy, and ingleby had for a moment a glimpse of a white patch in the water that was horribly suggestive of a face. then he seized hetty's hand, and drew her with him as he turned away. "stay there!" he said, when a great pine rose between them and the river, and went scrambling back to the water's edge. two or three other men, among whom was tomlinson, had reached it by this time, and sewell stood on a boulder gazing at the stream, while the dusky object, drawn almost under now, swung by amidst a rush of foam. then he stepped down, and looked steadily at the men about him. "i fancy trooper probyn has come back," he said. ingleby was close beside him, and for a moment the two men looked into each other's eyes. in less than another minute the object they had seen would swing out with the outflow at the tail of the pool, and the long white rapid would whirl it beyond their reach into the gloom again. night was close at hand, and, if they let him pass, trooper probyn would by morning have travelled far into the heart of a wilderness where it was scarcely likely that any of them would ever overtake him. the rivers of the north run fast, and that is a country wherein the strongest man must travel slowly. it seemed to ingleby that it might be better to let him go. then he was ashamed of the doubt that this implied, and sewell, who knew what he was thinking, glanced for just a second in tomlinson's direction. "one can't hide the truth. it will come out," he said, and then raised his voice. "that's a man we have something to do for. the rapid will have him in a minute, boys." tomlinson was first into the water, with ingleby almost at his side, and the rest floundering and splashing close behind. they went straight, while the thing that swung with the eddy went round, but they were in the lip of the rapid before they came up with it. ingleby gasped as he braced himself against the flood which broke in a white swirl to his waist, while the stream-borne gravel smote his legs, and he clutched at the big miner as trooper probyn drove down on them. he evaded tomlinson, but ingleby, stooping, seized his uniform, and tightened his hold on his companion as his feet were dragged from under him. he could almost have fancied that trooper probyn struggled to be free from them, and while the current frothed about him tomlinson was dragged backwards by the strain. ingleby went under, still clinging fiercely to the sodden tunic, and for a second or two it seemed that all of them, the dead and the living, must go down the rapid together, in which case no man could have distinguished between them when they were washed out at the tail of it. then a man clinging to his comrade with one hand seized tomlinson; there was a straining of hardened muscles, a wild splashing and floundering, and, while one who leaned across a boulder gasped and wondered if his arm was leaving its socket, the line swung into slack water again. still, ingleby had driven against a stone with a thud that drove out most of the little breath left in him. they brought probyn ashore between them, and sewell, who kept his head, left them a moment and went straight up the bank, where he came upon hetty standing with hands closed at her sides. she could see very little beyond a group of men bending over something that lay between them. "go back to the shanty. make a big fire and some coffee," he said. hetty did not seem to understand him. "tomlinson held on to him, but he struck a stone," she said. "i couldn't see any more, but--of course--you brought him out? is he hurt?" sewell looked astonished. "hurt!" he said. "you must know that the man is dead." then comprehension dawned upon him, as he remembered that he had for several anxious moments fancied that the man who seized trooper probyn would drive with him down the rapid. "i scarcely think tom is any the worse--and ingleby appears to have got off with a bruise on his head," he said. he saw the sudden relief in hetty's face, for she had not remembered the need of reticence then; but she turned away from him silently, and he went back to the river, where the group made way for him. sewell, who held only an unremunerative claim, was already an influence in the green river country. the light was rapidly failing, but he could still see the faces of the men, who turned to him as though uncertain what to do. tomlinson stood still among the rest, and his voice and attitude were both unmistakably compassionate. "i hove him into the creek. i 'most wish i hadn't now," he said. "he was young and had no sense, but there was good hard sand in him." sewell turned, and looked down on trooper probyn, who lay very still, a rigid shape in sodden uniform, with the water running from him, and his face partly turned away from them, which was just as well. "two of you go for captain esmond, boys," he said. "it will be some time before you make the outpost, and i want the rest of you. there is something we have to do in the meanwhile. the police make mistakes now and then, and it is, i think, our business as well as captain esmond's." he knelt down, and presently pointed to a little hole, very small and cleanly cut, in the soaked tunic. "i think you know what made that," he said. "one of you get down. i can't do what is necessary, alone." nobody seemed very anxious, which was, perhaps, not astonishing, and it was not until sewell looked up again that ingleby, who shivered a little, knelt down. he wondered when he saw that sewell's fingers were very steady as he opened the tunic and saturated vest. then the latter signed to the men to draw a little nearer, and pointed to what appeared to be a folded pad of wet cotton held in place by a strip of hide. he moved it a little so that all could see it, and then let the tunic fall again. ingleby was, however, the only one who noticed that there was something in sewell's hand that had not been there before. "there is nothing to show whether trooper probyn was dead when he reached the water, though i think he was," he said. "he was certainly shot, and it is evident that he did not shoot himself. his uniform isn't charred, you see. then you saw the pad. police troopers do not make their shirts or patch their clothes with cotton flour-bags, and a man hit where probyn was would not be very likely to bandage himself. the man who shot him tried to save his life. why should he do that if he meant to kill him?" there was no answer, and sewell stood up. "we don't know what has happened, boys. perhaps we never shall; but it seems to me one thing is certain--it wasn't murder." there was a little murmur of concurrence, and then sewell made a gesture. "it's getting dark, and we're most of us very wet," he said. "one or two of you cut a few fir boughs, and we'll make a litter." it was done, and in another few minutes a line of wet and silent men plodded behind their comrades who carried trooper probyn up the climbing trail. xx accessories esmond was not at the outpost when the messengers reached it, nor was the corporal there, and it was two troopers to whom the miners delivered the dead lad. this fact, however, appeared to afford sewell a certain satisfaction, and he and tomlinson went back with ingleby through the growing darkness to leger's shanty. it was once more raining hard when they reached it, and when hetty had set a kettle of coffee before them they sat steaming in the little log-walled room with the door shut. each of them was aware that there was a good deal to be said, and in all probability little time in which to say it; but the subject was difficult, and hetty had cleared the table when sewell turned to tomlinson. "there's a plant in this country whose leaves the indians believe are efficacious in stopping blood," he said. "i wonder if you could tell me where to find it?" tomlinson looked up with evident astonishment. "if there is, i never heard of it," he answered. "i've no use for worrying 'bout any plants just now." then he glanced round at the faces of the rest, and his eyes rested a moment upon hetty. "i'm in a tight place, but you don't believe i did the thing?" "of course not!" said hetty, with a little flash in her eyes. "why don't you answer him, some of you?" ingleby would have spoken, but sewell held up his hand. "i'm not sure you know how tight the place is, tomlinson. if you'll listen i'll try to show you." he spoke for two or three minutes, and even ingleby, who had long looked up to him as a man of brilliant ability, was a trifle astonished at the acumen which marked every point of the tersely logical exposition. it apparently left no loophole for doubt as to who had killed trooper probyn, and once or twice leger moved uneasily. there was, however, a little incredulous smile in hetty's eyes. "now," said sewell incisively, "have you anything to tell us?" tomlinson sat gazing at them stupidly, with the veins on his bronzed forehead swollen, and a dusky hue in his face. ingleby was troubled as he watched him, and leger leaned forward in his seat as though in a state of tense expectancy, but still the faint smile flickered in hetty's eyes. for almost a minute they could hear the wailing of the pines and the rain falling on the roof. then tomlinson spoke. "i fired once--at a deer. that's all," he said. ingleby was conscious at once of a certain sense of shame and an intense relief, for he recognized the truth in the miner's voice, and sewell had set out with relentless effectiveness the view the prosecution might be expected to take. the latter laughed as he glanced at hetty. "you would not have believed he did it if i had talked for hours?" he asked. "no," said hetty simply. sewell made her a little inclination, and then turned to the rest with a smile. "we have only reason to guide us, and we argue clumsily," he said. "women, we are told, have none--in their case it apparently isn't necessary. they were made differently. insight, it seems, goes along with the charity that believes no evil." it was not evident that hetty quite understood him, for she sat looking at the fire with hands crossed in her lap, and sewell turned to tomlinson. "i think the boys would believe you, as we do, but that, after all, scarcely goes very far. we have esmond and the corporal to consider, and they are certainly not troubled with instinctive perceptions or any excess of charity. what is more to the purpose, they wouldn't try you here." tomlinson made a little forceful gesture. "now, if i'd nobody else to think of i'd stop right where i am; but there's an old woman back there in oregon who's had trouble with the rest of us--'most all she could bear--and half of what i took out of the claim was to go to her. she was just to sit still and be happy, and never work any more. i guess it would break her heart if they hung me here in canada." he stopped a moment, and glanced at hetty. "still, she'd never believe i did it. she's like you." there was very little on the face of the statement, but a good deal lay behind it, as hetty apparently realized, for a flush spread across her cheek for a moment and then faded away. tomlinson turned to the others with a gesture that was merely clumsy now. "i'm going away, boys, and i want a partner to hold my claim for me. if i leave it without an owner it falls to the crown. you'd do the square thing by me and a widow woman on a half-share, mr. sewell?" it was an offer most men would have eagerly closed with, but sewell shook his head. "you must ask some one else--it wouldn't do," he said. "i have never taken a dollar i didn't earn, and, you see, i would scarcely have tried to show you that you must clear out right away if i had meant to make a profit by your doing so." tomlinson smiled a little. "is there a man along the green river who'd believe that of you?" "there are," said sewell drily, "at least a few in other places who would be glad to make the most of the story. in fact, if certain papers got hold of it, i'm not sure i could live it down. that wouldn't matter greatly, only, you see, a professional agitator's character doesn't belong to himself alone. still, you are quite right on one point. you must have a partner--now. the agreement could, perhaps, be upset if it was made after it was known that there was a warrant out for you." it appeared to all of them that sewell had thrown away an opportunity for winning what might amount to a competence for life; but he only smiled at tomlinson, who turned to ingleby. "then it has to be you. a half-share, and you and leger can work the thing between you. neither of you is going to go back on me?" ingleby almost gasped, and his face flushed a little. it had seemed quite fitting that the offer should be made to sewell, but there was no apparent reason why it should be thrust on him. he also saw that leger was as little anxious to profit by it as he was himself. "do you suppose i would take advantage of your necessity by making a bargain of that kind?" he asked. tomlinson made a clumsy gesture. "you'd have to let your own claim go. a man can't hold two placer claims, and you're on the lead," he said. "i've got to have a partner, and i guess i'm not offering any more than the thing's worth to me." "he's right in one respect," said sewell. "there are, of course, men in the valley who would be glad to take the claim on a smaller share--but they're not here now, and esmond and his troopers may turn up at any minute. besides, the prospects of your finding gold on the claim you hold are tolerably good." "i'll be gone in 'bout five minutes," said tomlinson quietly. "if none of you will have the claim, it falls to the crown." that, at least, was evident, and leger nodded when ingleby glanced at him. "a half-share is more than you are entitled to, but what you can do for tomlinson is, as he pointed out, worth something, and you would have to let your own claim go," he said. "then i'll offer him a thousand dollars for a third share, on condition that he takes a four months' bill for them. i'll divide the risk and profit with you, leger." leger smiled. "it seems to me tomlinson is taking all the risk there is. if you don't find the money in the mine it's scarcely likely that you will meet the bill. still, the notion's a good one. the thing has a more genuine look when it's based on value received." the agreement was drawn up hastily on a scrap of uncleanly paper with sewell's fountain pen, but he made it hard and fast, while hetty flitted busily between the shed and the shanty. then sewell carefully wiped and put away his pen. "do you know where you're going, tomlinson?" he asked. "no," said the miner simply, "i hadn't quite thought of that." "then if you head south for the settlements you will certainly be overtaken. in fact, i'm not sure the corporal will not have sent a man along the trail already. you can't live in the ranges with nothing to eat, and that only leaves westerhouse. they would never expect you to strike out for there, but if you will listen for two minutes i'll tell you the trail." he was scarcely so long, for time was precious, but, though few men unused to the wilderness would have understood or remembered most of what he said, it was quite plain to tomlinson, who nodded. "well," he said, "i'll light out when i've got the major to record the agreement." they pointed out that this was not exactly necessary and entailed a risk, but tomlinson was quietly resolute. "i'm going away to save my claim, and i'll make quite sure," he said. "it's an old woman back in oregon i want the money for. she hasn't another son--they're all gone but me. well, i guess i'm ready. the troopers would pick up my trail if i took a horse along." he was scarcely a minute stowing the provisions hetty thrust upon him inside two blankets, which he rolled up and lashed with strips of deer-hide to pack upon his back; and he wasted no time in thanks; but when sewell opened the door he walked gravely up to the girl, and laid both his big hands on the one she held out to him. "i guess i'm not going to worry you any more. it's scarcely likely i'll ever come back," he said. hetty's face flushed a little, and there was a slight tremor in her voice. "it's all my fault," she said. tomlinson slowly shook his head. "you couldn't do anything that wasn't just right if you tried, and you'll think of me now and then," he said. "i'm going to remember you while i live." he did not wait for her answer, but turned abruptly away, and hetty stood still a moment with hot cheeks and misty eyes. then she moved hastily forward, and touched ingleby's arm as he went out of the door. "there's one of the horses in the swamp. couldn't you put the pack-saddle on him and make a trail down to the ford?" she said. "the troopers couldn't help seeing it. the ground's quite soft." ingleby laughed. "of course! it's an inspiration, hetty." he was some little time catching the horse, and when he reached the commissioner's house coulthurst was already sitting with a book in front of him. he looked up with a little dry smile when ingleby came in. "it is after my usual office hours, but i understand from mr. sewell that you are anxious i should register you to-night as one of the owners of the claim held by tomlinson?" he asked. "yes, sir," said ingleby. "there are one or two reasons that make it advisable." he fancied there was a very faint twinkle which might have suggested comprehension in coulthurst's eyes as the latter took up a pen. "then i think i can make an exception in your case, especially as tomlinson seems equally anxious, and we will get the business done," he said. there was silence for a minute or two, and they waited with an impatience that was the fiercer because it was suppressed while coulthurst turned over the papers in front of him and took down a book. there was no sound but the splashing of the rain upon the roof and the snapping of the little stove, but ingleby felt his nerves tingle as he listened. coulthurst, however, closed the book at last and handed him a paper. "that should meet your requirements, and it will be quite in order for you to carry on the work at the claim should tomlinson be absent from any cause," he said, and stopping abruptly looked up as though listening. "i fancy you were wise in getting the agreement recorded--now. delays, as you are aware, are apt to be especially dangerous in case of a placer claim." he appeared to busy himself again with his book; but tomlinson rose suddenly, and stood a moment, tense and strung up, with head turned towards the door, as a sound that suggested men and horses splashing in the mire reached them faintly through the rain. then he stepped forward towards the veranda by which they had entered, but ingleby seized his arm and pointed towards the other door at the back of the room. he and sewell knew that one could reach the bush that way through the outbuilt kitchen. coulthurst, who could not see the door from where he sat, looked up from his book for just a moment, and did not appear to notice that tomlinson was no longer in front of him. "i presume there is nothing more i can do for you, and that is apparently captain esmond. i think he has some business with me," he said. the hint that he would excuse them was plain enough, even if it went no further, and he drew another bundle of papers towards him. this, no doubt, accounted for the fact that he failed to notice that while leger and sewell moved towards the veranda, ingleby slipped out through the other door. sewell, however, gasped with relief when he saw it swing silently to. just then there was a tramp of feet outside, and in another few moments esmond sprang upon the veranda, splashed with mire and dripping with rain. two wet troopers appeared behind him, carbines in hand. he stopped them with a little gesture of command, and then, striding past sewell and leger into the room, appeared to have some difficulty in restraining himself when he saw only the major there. "you will excuse me for coming in unceremoniously, sir, but i had reasons for believing tomlinson was here," he said. "he was here," said coulthurst. "in fact, i don't quite understand how it was you didn't meet him going away." "i certainly did not," and esmond flashed a keen glance at him. "if i had done so, i should naturally not have troubled you about him." coulthurst appeared reflective. "he was here. in fact, i have just done some business for him," he said, and stopped; for one of the troopers cried out, and all could hear a thud of hoofs and the smashing of undergrowth. coulthurst glanced suggestively at esmond. "that sounds very much like somebody riding through the bush," he said. esmond certainly wasted no time now in ceremony. he was on the veranda in another moment and shouting to the trooper, who led up a horse. they vanished amidst a rustle of trampled fern, and sewell laughed as he and leger turned back towards the shanty. "one could fancy major coulthurst belonged to the aristocracy some of our friends are pleased to consider played out; but there are at least signs of intelligence in him," he said. "he is, by the way, i am somewhat proud to claim, a friend of mine, though that is, of course, no compliment to him." "well," replied leger drily, "it is seldom wise to generalize too freely, which is a mistake we make now and then. after all, it may be a little hard on the major to blame him for being a gentleman. he probably couldn't help it, you see." he had spoken lightly to hide his anxiety; but now he stopped a moment and stood listening intently. a faint sound of splashing and scrambling came up out of the hollow through the rain. "it's not a trail most men would care to ride down in daylight, but they seem to be facing it," he said. "if they caught ingleby it would complicate the thing." "it's scarcely likely," said sewell. "he got away two or three minutes before they did." "the difficulty is that ingleby can't ride as you and the troopers can." sewell touched his shoulder. "listen," he said, and leger heard the roar of the river throb across the dripping pines. "when they get near the ford the troopers are scarcely likely to hear anything else through that, and they would naturally not expect the man they're after to double back for the cañon. if they push on as they seem to be doing, they should be a good way down the trail by morning." they both laughed at this, and were sitting in the shanty half an hour later when ingleby limped in, smiling and very miry, with his jean jacket badly split. "tomlinson got away?" he asked. "presumably," said leger. "we were almost afraid you hadn't. we haven't seen him. where are captain esmond and his troopers?" ingleby laughed. "they were riding very recklessly over an infamous trail with my horse in front of them when i last saw them. i was just then behind a tree. the beast i couldn't stop simplified the thing by flinging me off. i hadn't any stirrups, perhaps fortunately." "they'd catch the horse eventually," said sewell. "of course! that is, if they could keep in the saddle long enough, which is far from certain, considering the state of the trail. then they would naturally fancy that tomlinson had taken to the range. in fact, i shouldn't wonder if they spent most of to-morrow looking for his trail. still, there is a question i should like to ask. why did you worry tomlinson about that plant?" sewell took a little packet from his pocket and opened it. there were one or two pulpy leaves inside it. "those grew on the plant in question, which tomlinson had never heard of. the indians use them for stopping blood," he said. "i took them from the body of trooper probyn." there was silence for a little while, and during it the sound of the river came up to them in deep pulsations through the roar of the rain. then leger laughed. "i'm afraid captain esmond and his troopers will be very wet," he said. "he is a capable officer, but such simple-minded persons as hetty and ingleby are now and then a match for the wise." "haven't you left somebody out?" asked ingleby. "major coulthurst," said leger, "is, of course, the gold commissioner, and could not be expected to have any sympathy with such a man as tomlinson. it would, in fact, be unpardonable to suggest that he could be an accessory. still, it is, perhaps, not quite out of the question that people outside the class to which hetty and ingleby and i belong should possess a few amiable qualities." "you and ingleby and hetty?" said sewell reflectively. leger looked at him with a little smile. "yes," he said, "you heard me quite correctly. it's not worth discussing, but i scarcely think one could place you in quite the same category." xxi a doubtful exchange it was the monday morning after the flight of tomlinson when ingleby stood beside a pile of debris on the claim which was no longer his. the rain had stopped, and there was a wonderful freshness in the mountain air. overhead the mists were streaming athwart the forest, pierced by arrows of golden light, and the fragrance of redwood and cedar filled the hollow. it is a scent that brings sound rest to the jaded body when night closes down and braces it as an elixir in the coolness of the dawn. ingleby drank it in with vague appreciation. there was hope in it and vigour, and as he stood with the torn blue shirt falling apart from his bronzed neck, looking out on the forest with steady eyes, there was something in his attitude which suggested the silent, hasteless strength of the wilderness. the impulsiveness which had afflicted him in england had gone, and steadfastness had grown in its place. the crude, half-formed thoughts and theories which had worked like yeast in him had ceased their ebullition, purging themselves, perhaps, by the froth of speech, and had left him with a vague optimism too deep for articulate expression. faith he had always had, and now the half-comprehending hope that looks beyond all formulas had also come. so much, at least, the wilderness had done for him. he laughed as he turned towards sewell and leger, who sat on the pile of thrown-up gravel behind him. "i've been standing here almost five minutes, doing nothing--i don't know why," he said. "one does not, as a rule, get rich that way in this country." leger grinned at him. "you have just finished a remarkably good breakfast, for one thing," he said. "still, haven't you made an admission? you always knew why you did everything in england." ingleby smiled good-humouredly. "well," he said, "i'm seldom quite so sure now. perhaps, it's because i'm older--or it may be the fault of the country. floods and frosts, slides of gravel, and blue-grit boulders are apt to upset the results one feels reasonably certain of here. that recalls the fact that i broke out a quantity of promising-looking dirt the last time i went down this shaft, and didn't try the colour." "you have sunk several shafts now, and you're evidently improving," said sewell. "the original one wasn't sunk or driven. it was scratched out, anyhow." "three or four, and i've made some two hundred dollars out of the lot of them. in fact, i've been spending my labour profitlessly ever since i came into the country. that is, at least, so far as one can see." sewell smiled. "there's a good deal in the reservation. the whole country's full of just such holes from caribou to kootenay. a few men took gold out of them. the rest put something in." "buried hopes," said leger with a grin. "probably," answered sewell. "now and then buried men. still, the ranches and the orchards came up after them. it was presumably good for somebody, although a little rough on the prospectors in question." leger appeared reflective. "i wonder if any one could grow plums and apples on captain esmond. in the language of the country it's about the only use it could have for him. well, i've smoked my pipe out. are we going to stay here and maunder any longer, ingleby?" "i'm going down the mine; though, as it doesn't belong to me now, i don't know why. still, it's close on bottom, and i'd like to try the colour of the dirt i broke out on saturday." he went down the notched pole, and filled the bucket sewell lowered after him, and, when the latter hove it up, they proceeded to the creek, and the others sat down while ingleby washed out its contents. neither of them showed any particular interest in what he was doing. they had been some time in the gold-bearing region now, and had discovered that it is generally wise to expect very little. then ingleby scrambled up the bank with a curious look in his face, and gravely held out the pan. "placer mining is a tolerably uncertain thing, but here's a result i never anticipated two or three days ago," he said. "look at this!" they bent over the pan, and their faces grew intent at the sight of the little grains of metal in its bottom. then leger looked up with a gasp. "you've struck it again," he said. "apparently as rich as ever!" ingleby stood still a moment, gazing straight in front of him with vacant eyes, and one hand closed a trifle at his side. "yes," he said harshly. "the second time, and once more it's of no use to me. when i recorded as part-owner of tomlinson's claim, this one fell in to the crown. you're on the lead, tom, and you'll strike it, too; but you can get your stakes in, sewell. sunday's an off day, or the major would have had his notice out by now." it was a relief to do anything just then, and he cut and drove in two of the location pegs the law required. then when the last was driven he turned to sewell with grim quietness. "well," he said, "why don't you get away and make your record? there's no reason you should throw away a fortune, too." sewell smiled a little. "for one thing, major coulthurst would certainly not be up when i reached his office. for another, before i record the claim there's something to be said. the law, you see, cannot be expected to cover every contingency, and, if you look at it from one point of view, the claim is still yours. i'll buy the goodwill of you, if you'll take my bill." ingleby shook his head impatiently. "i can't sell you what isn't mine," he answered. "anybody who thinks it worth while can record that claim. it belongs to the crown. i have my share in tomlinson's mine, and, in one respect, i'm not sorry to see this one come into your possession. you, at least, would not consider the gold you took out belonged to yourself." sewell looked at him with an expression in his face which somewhat puzzled leger. "no?" he said. "it's not wise to be too sure of anything, ingleby." "i believe you told us you had struck gold once before. what did you do with it? when we met you in vancouver you hadn't the appearance of a man who has a balance at his bank." a suggestion of darker colour crept into sewell's face. "you can't carry on a campaign of any kind without funds. the one i embarked upon not long before you came across me was too big for us. it broke the exchequer, and landed me in jail." "precisely!" said ingleby. "and what title have i to the money you would hold in trust? that is the difference between us. i'm not a leader--i'm glad of it just now--and what gold i find i want for myself." once more sewell's expression furnished leger with food for reflection, though ingleby did not appear to notice it. it is now and then a trifle embarrassing to have one's good deeds proclaimed to one's face, and leger was aware that all sewell gained was usually expended on the extension of his propaganda; but that did not seem to account for everything, and he fancied the man had winced at his comrade's speech, as though it had hurt him. then sewell made a curious little gesture. "it is," he said, "seldom worth while to decide what other people will do. they don't know themselves very frequently. well, since nobody ever persuaded you, i'll get on and record the claim." he left them, and neither ingleby nor leger broke the silence as they pushed on up the valley, near the farther end of which tomlinson's claim lay. leger knew that, because his claim adjoined the one his comrade had allowed to fall to the crown, he, too, would in all probability find gold, and, since now it would all be his, that fact alone was sufficient to occupy him. still, he was getting accustomed to the dramatic unexpectedness of the results of placer mining; and he was also sensible of a certain sympathy for ingleby, who held no more than a third-share in tomlinson's mine. then he recalled sewell's face and wondered again. the man had certainly appeared embarrassed, and that had its significance in connection with what ingleby had said. sewell was certainly entitled to use what gold he dug toilfully from the earth as seemed best to him, and there was no reason why he should devote it to the liberation or enlightenment of those he might regard oppressed unless he wished. that he had done so hitherto was, it seemed to leger, plain; but he fancied it was to be different now. this led to the question, what did sewell, who lived with spartan simplicity, want the gold for--and to that there was no answer until he changed the what to whom. then a reason suggested itself, for sewell of late had played chess with major coulthurst frequently, more often, indeed, leger fancied, than ingleby knew. it was a relief to both of them when they reached tomlinson's mine, which was by no means imposing at first sight, consisting, as it did, of a little gap in the forest strewn with blackened branches and charred fir stumps, a shanty, a pile of shattered rock and gravel, and a black hole with a very rude windlass straddling it. it did not count at all that it was engirdled by towering trees whose sombre spires, lifted one beyond the other in climbing ranks, led the wondering vision upwards ever across the face of a tremendous crag, where they clung dotted against the grey rock in the fissures, to the ethereal gleam of never-melting snow. it was sufficient that the clink of the shovel and clatter of flung-up gravel came out of the scented shadow, in token that tomlinson's claim was on the lead, the bed which had been worn out and left ages ago by the green river, or some other, which had washed away the matrix rock. ingleby stopped beside the windlass and rolled the sleeves of his blue shirt to the elbow as he looked into the shadow beneath him. "exactly what is down there i don't know, and it seems a little astonishing now that i didn't ask tomlinson when i bought the mine," he said. "there should be a thousand dollars, anyway. tom, are you going to stand shares with me?" leger looked at the shaft, and for no very apparent reason became sensible of unpleasant misgivings. "no," he said. "you hold only a third-share, anyway, and i'm not sure that if you split it up there would be enough for two. still, i'll stay with you until this evening. you should have some notion how the thing will work out by then." they went down and toiled steadily for several hours in the short heading tomlinson had driven. then leger ascended and hove up the bucket ingleby filled, after which they transported the debris to the rocker at the adjacent creek. tomlinson's flume, which would bring the water to the mine, was not finished yet. by the time this was done the dinner hour had come, and leger looked at ingleby as he took up his axe. "would you like to go on?" he asked. "no," said ingleby, with a little harsh laugh. "there was a time when if i'd had no food since yesterday i should not have stopped, but one gets over that. besides, i almost fancy we shall know quite soon enough what a third-share in the tomlinson mine is worth." leger made a fire, and sewell appeared while they ate. "i have made the record. how have you got on?" he inquired. ingleby pointed to the pile of soil and stones and sand. "so far. we are not going any farther until after dinner. it is not very long since i turned prospector, but i have twice bottomed on gold and had to let it go. the last occasion was only two or three hours ago--and i'm not quite sure i've got over it yet." sewell nodded sympathetically. "there is gold here--though it's remarkable that nobody seems to know how much," he said. "tomlinson apparently was not communicative." "that," said ingleby, "is, of course, the question. if there is not a good deal a third-share is scarcely likely to recompense me for leaving the other claim, especially when there is a thousand dollars to come out of this one. that's one reason i'm getting dinner before i go any further. i bought a pig in a poke, you see, and now i'm almost afraid to open it." "i wonder why you made the bargain, especially in view of the fact that tomlinson told you the chances of striking gold on your own claim were good." ingleby appeared a trifle confused. "well," he said, "tomlinson had found gold while i hadn't then--and one naturally prefers a certainty. the man was in a difficulty, too." "tomlinson, in fact, made use of the old woman back in oregon somewhat artistically." ingleby flushed a trifle. he was one who, though he had, formerly, at least, proclaimed his views, nervously concealed his charities. "tomlinson never meant to wrong me of a dollar. he isn't that kind of man," he said. "no," said sewell, with a little laugh, "i scarcely think he did. well, are we to help you with the wash-up?" they toiled for awhile knee-deep in very cold water while the rocker clashed and rattled, and ingleby, whose face grew a trifle grim as the time wore on, washed out the residue of its contents in a little pan. then, for the others insisted, when there was a good deal of the pile left, they went back to the mine; and the hour of supper had crept round again when ingleby came out of the stream carrying the result of all that they had done in a little pan. he stood still a moment in the shadow of the pines, and his lips were set and his eyes unusually grave as he looked at sewell. "if your new claim turns out dirt equal to what we found this morning you will go south rich," he said. "i would sooner you had it than anybody else--and i don't think i grudge it you." sewell took the pan from him and glanced into it. "i'm sorry," he said simply. "the thing is done now, and i can't make you a partner unless you let tomlinson's claim go, which i presume you don't mean to do." "that is, of course, quite out of the question. tomlinson went out believing it was safe with me." "then we come back to the other suggestion. i still fancy you are entitled to sell me what one might consider your option on the claim. there are men in the valley who would have willingly handed you their bill for a thousand dollars for the information you supplied me." ingleby looked at him steadily, with his head held back a little. "it already belonged to the crown," he said. "have i ever done anything that would lead my friends to believe they could bestow alms on me?" sewell smiled. "i fancy there are one or two of them who advocate a community of property!" it occurred to leger that it might be advisable to change the subject. "i'm afraid we usually stop there," he said, with a grin. "it has seemed to me lately that there are two difficulties in the way of bringing an equitable division, about, though most people only recognize the obvious one, which is, however, serious enough. i mean inducing the people who have anything worth having to part with it." "and the other?" "the other," said leger reflectively, "would consist in inducing the people who have very little to receive it. there are a few of them who wouldn't be willing to do so--at least, in the colonies. they want to reap only what they have sown." "it isn't quite clear that they will be permitted." leger smiled drily, though he looked hard at sewell. "well," he said, "i almost fancy one could leave it to them. it would be an unfortunate thing for the men who insisted on getting in the way of the sickle." then he turned to ingleby, and laid a hand on his shoulder. "it might be worse," he said. "yes," answered ingleby, who laughed a little, though it cost him an effort, "considerably. the man who has what is evidently a very good living in his hands really doesn't deserve very much sympathy. still, you see, i twice threw away what looked like a fortune. any one would find the reflection apt to worry him." they went away and left him sitting on a blackened cedar stump in the desolate clearing. the clink of the shovels no longer rose from beyond the sombre trees, and there was deep stillness in the hollow. the gaps in the forest grew duskier, and a peak across the valley flung a cold blue shadow athwart the gleaming snow. the dew was settling heavily; but ingleby sat still, grave in face, seeing nothing, until he rose with a little resolute shake of his shoulders and, slipping down from the stump, took up his axe. he had twice thrown away a fortune, and with it, for a time, at least, the prospect of realizing a very precious hope; but fortunes are now and then retrieved suddenly in that country; and, in any case, a man who would work must eat. xxii alison's sault some weeks had passed since ingleby took over tomlinson's claim, when one lowering evening grace coulthurst pulled up her cayuse pony in the depths of the green river valley. leaden cloud had veiled the peaks since early morning, and now the pines were wailing dolefully beneath a bitter breeze. a little dust of snow, fine and dry as flour, whirled about her, and the trail was hard as adamant beneath her pony's feet. the beast pricked its ears and stamped impatiently, for it had been bred in the wilderness and knew what was coming. grace, whose fingers were growing stiff, relaxed her grasp on the bridle, and looked about her observantly, but without uneasiness. she was some distance from home, and daylight was dying out unusually early, while few horses unaccustomed to the mountains could have scrambled over either of the trails. there were two of them, foot-wide tracks which climbed up and down steep hollows and twisted round great fallen trees, and she had stopped at the forking, though there was, she knew, very little to choose between them. the bush was a little thinner just there, but she could see nothing beyond dim colonnades of towering trunks that were rapidly fading into the gloom. the cold was nipping, and she shivered when the breeze dropped a moment. the silence was startling, and she felt it almost a relief when a low crescendo murmur like the sound of distant surf rose from the pines as the wind awoke again. then a puff of powdery snow stung her tingling cheeks, and she shook the bridle and turned the cayuse into the lower trail. she had ridden to the mines at the head of the valley early in the afternoon, while her father walked by her stirrup, which, considering the nature of the trail, he had no difficulty in doing. indeed, he had led, and now and then dragged, the horse up parts of it. there had, as not infrequently happened, been a dispute concerning the boundaries of a placer claim, and the commissioner had gone over to adjudicate. he was not a brilliant man, but he showed no one favour, and the whimsically expressed decisions which he apparently blundered upon gave general satisfaction and are still remembered in the green river valley. it was also characteristic of him that he had saved more than one difficult situation, in which a logical exposition of the mining laws would probably have been unavailing, by a little free badinage. in the meanwhile his daughter, whom he had bidden ride home, realized without any undue anxiety that it might be advisable to reach there as soon as she could. she was at home in the saddle, and rightly thought herself secure from any difficulty that might not be occasioned by the weather. the free miner is a somewhat chivalrous person, which is going far enough by way of appreciation, since the epithet which might suggest itself to those acquainted with his characteristics has little meaning in the land to which he belongs, where men have outgrown the need of meretricious titles. still, when a thin white haze blotted out the dim colonnades and obscured the firs beside the trail she strove to quicken the cayuse's pace a trifle. the beast was apparently already doing what it could, clambering up slopes of gravel, sliding down them amidst a great clatter of stones, and turning and twisting amidst tangled undergrowth. now and then a drooping branch whipped the girl as she went by or shook the snow that was gathering on it into her face, and the withered fern smote smears of white powder across her skirt. winter was closing in earlier than any one had expected, and that night an arctic cold descended suddenly upon the lonely valley. her hands grew numb on the bridle, all sense of feeling seemed to go out of the foot in the stirrup, and at last it was with difficulty she pulled up the cayuse, which appeared as anxious to get home as she was. they had floundered round the spreading branches of a great fallen tree, and now there no longer appeared to be a trail beneath them. grace shivered all through as she looked about her. the pines were roaring in the sliding haze; the air was thick with dust, not flakes, of snow. here and there she could dimly see a tree, but the white powder obscured her sight and stung her face when she lifted it. she could not remember having passed that fallen tree when riding out, nor could she recall how long it was since she had seen the narrow trail in front of her. where it was now she did not know, but there was, at least, the sound of the river on one side of her, when she could hear it across the moaning of the trees. in heading for it she would probably strike the trail again, and once more she spoke to the cayuse and shook the bridle. she was becoming distinctly anxious now. then a hazy object appeared suddenly a few yards in front of her, and stopped at her cry, while in another moment ingleby was standing by her stirrup, and her apprehensions melted away. it was significant that she was by no means astonished. she felt that it was only fitting that when she wanted him he should be there. the mere sight of his face, of which she caught a faint glimpse, was reassuring. "do you know that i am very glad i met you? where is the trail?" she said. ingleby did not protest that it afforded him an equal gratification, and if he had done so it would probably not have pleased her. grace was critical, and rather liked the reticence which was, it seemed, in harmony with his character--that is, since he had, fortunately, grown out of the evil habit of discussing social economics. "i don't think it can be far away. in fact, i was just trying to cut off a bend of it," he said, with a little laugh. "it isn't exactly a pleasant night for a stroll through the bush," said grace suggestively. "no," replied ingleby, who fell into the snare. "still, you see, they were expecting me at the bakery." grace was by no means pleased at this. certain observations esmond had once let fall with a purpose had not been without their effect on her, and she remembered that the girl at the bakery was, it had to be admitted, pretty. it also appeared likely that she was what is now and then termed forward. grace's displeasure, which she did not, of course, express, might, however, have been greater had there been any delay in the man's answer. "then if you will show me the trail i will not keep you. i am getting cold," she said. ingleby took the bridle, and he and the cayuse floundered through what appeared to be a horrible maze of fallen branches and tangled undergrowth. in fact, grace fancied she heard her skirt rip as they struggled in it. then the bush became a little clearer, and they went on more briskly, up and down steep slopes and past dim blurs of trees, while soil and gravel alike rang beneath the cayuse's feet. how long this continued grace did not exactly know, nor had she any notion as to where they were. the only reassuring thing was the glimpse she had of ingleby plodding on beside her horse's head, which was, however, quite sufficient. still, civility demanded something, and at last she bade him stop. "i'm afraid i must be taking you away from the bakery," she said. ingleby laughed. "i am, of course, not going there now." that should have been sufficient, but grace was not quite contented. compliments on her beauty seldom pleased her, but she liked to feel the hold she had upon those she attracted, and was not averse to having it explained to her. "no?" she said. "then where are you going?" ingleby appeared a trifle astonished, as though he considered the question quite unnecessary, which was naturally gratifying. "to the gold commissioner's residence," he said. "with my permission?" and grace laughed. ingleby did not look at her. he was apparently staring at the forest, which loomed through the whirling haze a faint blur of vanishing trees, and he flung the answer over his shoulder. "i think i would venture to go without it to-night," he said. this was significant, but although the snow was certainly getting thicker and the cold struck through her like an icy knife, grace no longer felt any apprehension. she was not unaccustomed to physical discomfort and peril, and there could be, she felt, no doubt of her reaching home safely while ingleby plodded at the horse's head. he was young, and by no means assertive, but there were men in the green river valley who shared her confidence in him. still, the rough flounder through the brushwood was becoming irksome, and where the trees were smaller she could not avoid all the drooping branches by swaying in the saddle, and at last she bade him pull up again. "we are a long while striking the trail," she said. "yes," said ingleby, without turning towards her. grace leaned down and touched him. "why haven't we found it? i mean you to tell me." the man made a little gesture, for he recognized that tone. "i'm sorry," he said quietly. "we have struck it, and didn't recognize it. in fact, we must have gone straight across and left it behind us." grace sat still and looked at him. she could not see his face; he was no more than a blurred shadowy shape in the haze of sliding snow. still, she could make out that he was standing very straight with slightly tilted head, and she knew the intentness of gaze and look of tenacity in the hidden face which usually accompanied that attitude. his answer also pleased her. there was no attempt at concealing unpleasant probabilities, for the man spoke frankly as to one whom he regarded as his equal in courage and everything except, perhaps, bodily strength. in the meanwhile, however, they were alone in the wilderness, cut off from all hope of succour by anything but their own resources in a haze of snow, with their limbs slowly stiffening under the arctic cold. "then what are we to do?" she asked. "push on," said ingleby. "the river must be close at hand to the right of us. that is why i'm keeping to the higher ground. i don't want to strike until we have passed alison's sault." he wrenched at the bridle; but grace had faint misgivings as they floundered on again. sault in that country implies a fall or rapid, and the one in question was called after a prospector who had drowned himself and a comrade there. it swept down to the mouth of the cañon in a wild white rush, studded with great boulders that bruised and scarred the pines the flood hurled down on them; and what made it more perilous in the dark was the fact that the trail dipped to the brink of the smaller rapids at the tail of it. indeed, it was often necessary to splash knee-deep through the slack of them along the shore; and alison had come by his death through mistaking the big sault for one of the smaller ones on a black night. the man who fished him out of an eddy a week later said that alison looked very much as though he had been put through a threshing mill. it was, grace fancied, half an hour later when they floundered down a declivity, with the roar of the river growing louder in their ears. it was with difficulty she kept in the saddle, and she was vaguely conscious that her skirt was rent to tatters, though she was too stiff and cold to trouble about that now. even in the thicker timber the snow was almost bewildering, and it was only now and then she could see ingleby scrambling and floundering in front of her. he was evidently making his course by sound, for there was nothing that she could discern to guide him. then somehow they slid down a bank, and there was a splash that told her the cayuse was in the water. ingleby seemed to be struggling with the beast, but she could not make out why he did so. nor did it seem of any moment. she was dazed and bewildered and intolerably cold. there was a further splashing, a plunge, and a flounder; the water rose to her stirrup, and for a few horrible moments she felt that the beast was going downstream with her. it was evident by the depth that they were in the sault. she fancied she cried out in her terror and that ingleby shouted in answer, but the roar of the river drowned the sound. in another few seconds, however, the horse apparently struck rock with its hoofs again; then the water that had lapped about her skirt seemed to fall away, and in a frantic scrambling ingleby dragged the pony up the bank. the cayuse stood still, trembling, at the top of it, and ingleby was apparently quivering, too, for his voice shook a little as he answered her half-coherent questions. "alison's sault!" he said hoarsely. "it should have been behind us. i never recognized it until the river swept my feet from under me. i suppose i was dazed by the snow." grace sat silent a moment. she knew that they had looked death in the face, for nothing made of flesh and blood could carry the life in it through the mad turmoil of rock and flood in alison's sault. the roar of the river was very impressive now, and the man's voice had shown that he was shaken by some strong emotion which was not personal fear. then, as the crash of a great pine against a stream-swept stone rang through the deep reverberations, she bent down and touched his shoulder. the contact was momentary, but she felt a little quiver run through him. "nobody could have recognized it on such a night. it was not your fault," she said. "i can't forgive myself. the cayuse got out of hand--i couldn't hold him. he was heading out into the stream. if that ledge hadn't been there----" he stopped with a gasp, and grace was glad to recognize that of the two she was the one who showed less concern. she guessed what he was feeling, but could not restrain the desire to make certain. "well," she said. "if the shelf of rock had not been there?" ingleby turned and seemed to be listening to the river. perhaps he did it unconsciously, but the hoarse roar of the flood among the boulders was sufficient answer. "you were not cumbered with a horse that had lost its head. there is a little slack close to the bank," she said. the man turned and seemed by his attitude to be gazing at her in astonishment. "you can't suppose i should have scrambled out alone?" he said. there was a suggestion of anger in his voice which grace recognized as wholly genuine. she had met and formed her own opinion of the protestations of not a few young men in her time, and it was evident to her that, while ingleby's attitude became him, he did not recognize the fact. "you felt yourself responsible then?" she suggested. "no," said the man slowly. "i certainly didn't; though it's clear that i was. i don't think i felt anything except that--you--were in the rapid." this was also evidently perfectly sincere, but he seemed to pull himself up abruptly, and laughed in a fashion that suggested embarrassment. "you will not remember that little speech. it's not the kind of thing one is pleased with afterwards; but, in the circumstances, it was, perhaps, excusable," he said. he gave her no opportunity for answering, but struck the cayuse, and they went on again. still, grace had noticed the tremor in his voice, and knew that he had meant exactly what he said. nor was she displeased at it. then the thoughts and fancies which the moment of peril had galvanized into activity grew blurred again, and she was only sensible of the physical pain and weariness and an intolerable cold, as the man and beast stumbled on. twice again they dipped to the river, which, however, scarcely rose to his knee, and after that there was only a sliding past of snow-dimmed trees, while by a grim effort she kept herself in the saddle. then at last a light blinked in front of her through the filmy haze, the cayuse stopped, and ingleby, it seemed, lifted her down. at least, she felt his arm about her, and then found herself standing beside him before the commissioner's dwelling without any very clear notion of how she came there. it was only afterwards she remembered, with tingling cheeks, how she had seen a miner walk away with a one-hundred-and-forty-pound bag of flour. then they went into a lighted room together, and stood still, gasping, a moment, with a distressful dizziness creeping over both of them. ingleby apparently roused himself with an effort, and threw the door open. "keep away from the stove," he said, a trifle faintly. "there's a chair yonder." he stood in the entrance, white with snow, looking at her. the blood was in her head now, and a most unpleasant tingling ran through her half-frozen limbs, but ingleby was a trifle grey in face. "you can shut the door in another minute or two. i may come back to-morrow to make sure you are none the worse?" he asked. grace looked at him with a smile. "you can't go away now." ingleby turned and glanced at the whirling haze that swept athwart the light in the veranda. "i'm afraid i must," he said. "it would be difficult to get off the trail as far as the bakery, and there is apparently nothing i can do for you here. somebody lighted the fire?" "one of the police troopers," said grace. "that doesn't matter. it is snowing harder than ever. you can't go away." she had brushed aside the dictates of conventionality, and the blood was in her face and a curious sparkle in her eyes. they had been close to death together a little while ago, and it was a long way to the bakery. still, it was not this fact alone that impelled her to bid him stay. "i'm afraid i must," he said slowly, as with an effort. "you see, there is something i have to talk over with leger. he expects me. besides, it would be advisable to send back any of the boys who may be there to see what has become of the major." then he turned abruptly, and grace, who had scarcely remembered the major, laughed curiously when he went out of the door. she knew now, at least, exactly what she felt for ingleby, and had he stayed and declared boldly what his wishes were, it is probable that coulthurst would have been astonished when he came home. ingleby, however, had gone away, and the girl was left standing, flushed in face, with the melting snow dripping from her, beside the stove, which she remembered with some little satisfaction was precisely what he had told her not to do. then with a little disdainful gesture she swept into the adjoining room. xxiii ingleby loses his head a keen frost had followed the snow, but there was warmth and a brightness in the little inner room of the gold commissioner's house. its log walls and double casements kept out the stinging cold, the stove snapped and crackled, and a big lamp diffused a cheerful light. ingleby, who had just come in, sat with his back to the logs, with coulthurst and grace opposite him. grace was in the shadow, but the light shone full upon the major's weather-darkened face. "grace," he said, "is, as you can see, none the worse, but it was a fortunate thing you turned up when you did. very much obliged to you for taking such good care of her." it was evident to ingleby that coulthurst did not know what had nearly happened at alison's sault. he had, in fact, already had reasons for surmising that miss coulthurst did not think it advisable to tell her father everything. "i'm not sure it wouldn't have been better if i had not met miss coulthurst, sir," he said. "in that case she would probably have gone back, and waited with you until daylight, which would have saved you both a good deal of anxiety. of course, when we made up our minds to push on, i had no idea the snow would be so bad." "it's questionable whether she could have found the way. i could see nothing whatever, and scarcely fancy i would have got here if two of the older prospectors hadn't come with me. in fact, i scarcely remember a worse night anywhere, and one result of it is an unpleasant twinge in the shoulder. i never used to get anything of that kind. i suppose i'm getting old." it occurred to ingleby that coulthurst was certainly looking older than he had done in england. there was a good deal of grey in his hair, his cheeks were hollower, and there were deepening lines about his eyes. ingleby felt sorry for the man, who had served his nation for so small a reward, that after a life of hardship he must bear the burden still, and yet the fact was in one respect encouraging. since coulthurst's means were scanty, there was less probability of his objecting too strenuously to the successful miner who aspired to his daughter's hand; and, though not so rich as the one ingleby had thrown away, tomlinson's claim was yielding well. he, however, said nothing, and coulthurst went on again. "a devil of a night! it would be hard on any one in the ranges. i wonder where tomlinson could have gone?" "one would naturally expect him to head for the settlements," said ingleby indifferently. "he left no trail behind him if he did. at least, esmond's troopers couldn't find any. there was, however, a good deal it is difficult to understand about the affair. one point that would strike anybody is how tomlinson got away from here without being seen by esmond, who turned up almost as he must have gone off the veranda." "it really is a trifle hard to understand, sir." they looked at each other steadily for a moment or two, and then ingleby could have fancied that there was a twinkle in coulthurst's eyes. "perhaps it was as well he got away after all," he said. "appearances were against him, and it might have gone hard with him; but i can't quite bring myself to believe that tomlinson did the thing." then grace, who laughed softly, broke in. "of course," she said, "you tried very hard." a moment later there was a tramp of feet outside, and the major, who passed into the outer room, came back in a minute or two. he smiled at ingleby somewhat drily. "it isn't news of tomlinson," he said. "noel has brought the frenchman over. they've been burrowing into each other's claims, and if i can't straighten the thing out they'll probably settle their differences in their own way with the shovel. i shall probably be half an hour over it, but don't go." he went out, and left ingleby with grace. she looked none the worse for the journey she had made the previous night, and was dressed with unusual simplicity. ingleby did not know what the fabric was, or whether the colour was blue or grey, nor did it occur to him that its severe simplicity was the result of skill; but he noticed that it enhanced the girl's beauty and added a suggestion of stateliness to her figure, of which miss coulthurst was probably quite aware. she looked up at him with a little smile when a murmur of excited voices rose from the adjoining room. "they will, of course, both be disgusted with his decision, whatever it is," she said. "a gold commissioner has really a good deal to put up with." "major coulthurst's position is naturally a responsible one," said ingleby. grace laughed. "with a very disproportionate emolument--which is a point one has to consider after all. i'm not sure it wouldn't have been better if he had been a prospector." ingleby's pulse throbbed a trifle faster. he had no great knowledge of the gentler sex; but he was not a fool, and it seemed to him that the girl had not spoken altogether without a purpose. "i don't think you really believe that," he said. "perhaps i don't," and grace appeared to reflect. "at least, i suppose i shouldn't have done so once, but, of course, a prospector who has done sufficiently well for himself can take any place that pleases him in canada." "still, you don't think that right." "it would naturally depend a good deal upon the prospector." ingleby sat still, almost too still, in fact, for a moment or two; but he could not hide the little gleam in his eyes. he had, it is true, democratic views, that is, so far as everybody but grace coulthurst was concerned; but he was quite willing to admit that she was a being of a very different and much higher order than his own. that added to the attraction she had for him; and now she had suggested that they were, after all, more or less on the same level. it was almost disconcerting. he did not know what to make of it; but while he pondered over it she flashed a quick glance at him. "i wonder if you know how tomlinson got away?" she asked. it was apparently an astonishingly abrupt change of subject, but when ingleby, who had grown wiser in the meanwhile, afterwards recalled that night, he was less sure that it might not have been, after all, part of an instinctive continuity of policy. he had discovered by then that even very charming and ingenuous women not infrequently have a policy. "i don't mind admitting that i do--to you," he said. grace was pleased and showed it. it is gratifying to feel that anybody has complete confidence in one, and the possession of a common secret of some importance is not infrequently a bond between the two who share it. ingleby realized this and felt with a curious gratification that the girl recognized it as clearly as he did. still, she had said nothing that could lead him to believe so. "then you no doubt know where he went?" she asked. "i naturally know that, too." grace smiled. "that means you helped him to get away. are you wise in admitting that you were an accessory? captain esmond is a friend of ours." ingleby made her a little whimsical inclination, though there was a look in his eyes which was not quite in keeping with it. "i am," he said, "quite safe in your hands." it was a fortunate answer, and worth the more because he was not usually a very tactful person, as the girl was aware. she was afflicted by a craving for influence, and it was not the adulation of men she wanted, but an insight into their thoughts and purposes, and the privilege of controlling them. thus ingleby, who did not know it, could not have done more wisely than he did in admitting that he had an unquestioning confidence in her. he was, as she had discovered some time ago, in spite of his simplicity, a man capable of bold conceptions and resolute execution, the type of man, in fact, that usually came to the front in western canada. she had the intelligence to realize and weigh all this, and yet there was a strain of passion in her which he had awakened. "i almost think you are," she said. "how is the new claim progressing?" "reasonably well. in fact, although sewell is apparently getting rich on the one i threw away, i can't complain. what he makes will, at least, be spent on what he thinks is doing good, while i want mine for my own selfish purposes." "they are necessarily selfish?" ingleby laughed, though the little glow crept into his eyes again. "well," he said, "i suppose so. you see, a third-share in tomlinson's claim is not of itself of much value to me. it only provides the money to make a start with." grace nodded comprehendingly. he was crude in his mode of expression, but she understood him. "that implies a going on?" she asked. "it does," and ingleby laughed. "there is room, i think, in this province for men who will take big risks, and boldly stake what they have on the advancement of its prosperity. i'm not sure there is any reason i shouldn't be one of them." "and gather in the money? more than you are entitled to? haven't you been changing your opinions?" ingleby made a little whimsical gesture, which alone sufficed to show that he had, as the girl expressed it to herself, expanded. "i suppose i have--that is, i have modified them. one has to now and then," he said. "still, you see, the men i mean don't grind money out of others. they create it. they take hold of the wilderness, bridge the rivers, drive the roads through it, and the ranches and the orchards follow. every man who makes a new home in the waste owes a little to them." "still, all that is not done easily. one must have the faith--and, as you suggest, the money with which to make the start. even then the ladder is hard to climb." ingleby involuntarily glanced down at his hands, and the girl noticed the scars on them, which, however, did not repel her. she also noticed the spareness of his frame, the curious transparency of his darkened skin, and the brightness of his eyes, all significant of an intensity of bodily effort. the man had been purged of grossness, moral and physical, by toil in icy water and scorching sun, and the light that shone out through his eyes was the brighter for the hardships he had undergone. he had gained more than vigour while he swung the shovel and gripped the drill with hands that bled from the blundering hammer stroke, after other men's work was done. it is possible that he had also gained more than tenacity of will. "still," he said slowly, "i think i shall manage it." grace felt that this was likely. she realized the purpose which animated him, and there suddenly came upon her a desire that he should tell it to her. she knew that he would do so when he felt the time was ripe; but she wished to hear it now, or, at least, to see how far his reticence would carry him. she leaned forward a little and looked him steadily in the eyes. "it will be a struggle," she said. "is it worth while?" ingleby stirred uneasily beneath her gaze, for it seemed to him that she had brushed aside every distinction there might be between them. he did not know how she had conveyed this impression, but he felt it. she was also very close to him. as she moved, the hem of her skirt had touched him, and he felt the blood tingle in his veins. "it would be worth dying for," he said. grace laughed in a curious fashion. "the money, and the envy of less fortunate men?" ingleby stood up suddenly, though he scarcely knew why he did so, or how it came about that he yielded with scarcely a struggle now to the impulse that swept him away. it is, however, possible that grace coulthurst, who had only looked at him, understood the reason. "success would be worth nothing without another thing," he said. "like what i have already, the money wouldn't be mine, you see. i am not poor now--but i should never have held on here by any strength of purpose that was in me alone. i borrowed it from another person." he stopped abruptly, half-afraid, wondering what had happened to him that the truth should be wrung from him in this fashion. then he saw the clear rose colour creep into the girl's cheeks and the sudden softening of her eyes, and his courage came back to him. he had ventured too far to be silent now. "yes," he said, "there is somebody i owe everything to--and it's you." grace do longer looked at him, but sat still now with hands clasped on her knees, and ingleby felt the silence becoming intolerable. there was still a murmur of voices in the adjoining room, and he could hear the wind outside moaning among the pines. "i suppose i have offended past forgiveness. i did not mean to tell you this to-night," he said. grace looked up for a moment. "oh," she said softly, "i think i knew--and you see i am not blaming you." ingleby quivered visibly, and his face grew hot; but while the desire to kneel beside her and seize the clasped hands was almost irresistible, he stood still, looking gravely down upon her, which was, perhaps, not wise of him. "you knew?" he said. "is that so difficult to understand, after what happened at alison's sault?" ingleby bent down and took one of her hands, but he did it very gently, though the signs of the fierce restraint he laid upon himself were in his face. "i should never have told you, grace--i lost my head," he said. "still, the one hope that has led me so far, and will, i think, lead me farther, has been that i might--one day when the time was ripe--induce you to listen, and not send me away. now it must be sufficient that you are not angry. i can take no promise from you." "is it worth so little?" grace said softly. ingleby's grasp tightened on her hand until it grew almost painful. "it would," he said, "be worth everything to me, but i dare not take it now. what i am, you know--but the claim is yielding well--and i only want a little time. until i can ask major coulthurst for you boldly you must be free." grace looked up at him. "and you?" "i," said ingleby with a little grave smile, "was your very willing bondsman ever so long ago." the hot flush had faded from his face, and the girl swept her skirt aside, and made room for him beside her. there was, she knew, no fear of his again breaking through the restraint he had laid upon himself. she was, however, not altogether pleased at this, for while it was evident that his attitude was warranted, the self-command which now characterized it was not quite what she had expected. it scarcely appeared natural under the circumstances. "well," she said, "we will let it be so, and i have something to tell you. i am going to vancouver for the winter. in fact, i should have left already but for the snow." ingleby started visibly. "you are going away?" "yes," said grace, with a trace of dryness in her smile; "is that very dreadful? you will go away in due time, too. while you struggle for what you think will buy my favour, _i_ must wait patiently." "i suppose i have deserved it," and ingleby winced. "still, it will be horribly hard to let you go. it is a good deal to know that you are here even when i may not see you." grace smiled. "well," she said, "if that would afford you any great satisfaction, is there any reason why you should not go to vancouver too? most of the placer miners do." ingleby's glance at her suggested that the notion had not occurred to him. regular work at the mine would be out of the question until the spring came round again, and already several of the men were talking of leaving the valley. he could also readily afford to spend a few months in vancouver now. still, there was one insuperable obstacle. "if i had only kept my claim!" he said. "it is horribly unfortunate i let it go." "how does that affect the question?" "i made a compact with tomlinson to hold his claim for him." once more the colour crept into grace's face. "you do not mean to let that stop you when there are men you could hire to do what the law requires?" "you don't seem to understand," and there was a trace of astonishment in ingleby's eyes. "one could not depend absolutely upon them, and i made a bargain with tomlinson. that claim is worth everything to him and his mother--i think it is--back in oregon." the flush grew plainer in grace's cheek. she was a trifle imperious, and now her will had clashed with one that was as resolute as it. she was, however, sensible that she had blundered. "those men could do almost as much as you could, which would, after all, be very little just now," she said. "i never meant that you should risk the claim falling in." "they might fall sick, or get hurt." "and that might happen to you." "i should, at least, have kept my word to tomlinson," said ingleby gravely. grace was too proud to persist. he was right, of course, but the fact that he would sooner part from her than incur the slightest risk of breaking faith with tomlinson had nevertheless its sting. that, however, she would not show. "then i suppose i must not complain," she said. "you evidently have no intention of doing so." ingleby made a little gesture. "it will be hard--but it can't be helped," he replied. "as you said, i must go away too one day. still, i think that i, at least, will feel by and by that it was all worth while." then there was a tramp of feet in the adjoining room, and he raised the hand he held and just touched it with his lips. it was not what grace would have expected from him, but she noticed that he did not do it awkwardly. "that is all i ask until i have won my spurs," he said. "just now i am only the squire of low degree." grace said nothing, for the door opened and the major came in. xxiv the unexpected happens it was a bitterly cold night, and hetty leger sat close to the fire which crackled on the big hearth in the bakery shanty. it flung an uncertain radiance and pungent aromatic odours about the little room, but there was no other light. kerosene is unpleasantly apt to impart its characteristic flavour to provisions when jolted for leagues in company with them on the same pack-saddle, and the bringing of stores of any kind into the green river country was then a serious undertaking. tom leger sat by the little table, and sewell lay upon a kind of ottoman ingeniously extemporized out of spruce-twigs and provision bags. it was significant that they were assembled in what had been hetty's private apartment, for the bakery had grown, and there were two other rooms attached to it now. leger had also struck gold a little while ago, and there was no longer any necessity for hetty to continue baking, though she did so. she said she had grown used to it, and would sooner have something to do; but it had seemed to leger that while everything was done with her customary neatness and system there was a change in her, and he fancied she did her work more to keep herself occupied than because she took pleasure in it. it had not been so once. in fact, the change had only become perceptible after ingleby left the bakery; but leger was wise in some respects and made no sign that he noticed this. on that particular evening hetty had not displayed her usual tranquillity of temper, and she turned to her brother with a little shiver. "can't you put on some more wood? it's disgustingly cold," she said. "if i'd known they had weather like this here i'd have stayed in vancouver." leger remembered that she had once professed herself perfectly contented with the green river country, but he did not think it advisable to mention the fact. he rose and flung an armful of wood upon the fire, and then stood still smiling. "you know you can go back there and stay through the winter, if you would like to," he said. "that's nonsense," said hetty. "how could i go myself? you and your friends haven't made everybody nice to everybody yet. i'm not going, anyway, and if you worry me i'll be cross." she looked up sharply and saw that sewell's face was unnaturally grave. "of course," she said, "you were grinning at tom a moment ago. still, i can't help it if i am a very little cross just now. it's the cold--and tom spoiled the last batch of bread. it is cold, isn't it? if it hadn't been, we shouldn't have seen you." "i don't know why you should seem so sure of that," said sewell. hetty looked at him sharply. "well," she said, "i am. you would have gone on to the major's. you know you would. what do you go there so often for?" sewell had occasionally found hetty's questions disconcerting, but he saw that she expected an answer. "i am rather fond of chess," he said. hetty smiled incredulously. "that's rubbish!" "the major, at least, likes a game, and after pulling him back into this wicked world from the edge of a gully one naturally feel that he owes him a little." "you didn't pull him. it was walter. hadn't you better try again?" sewell appeared a trifle embarrassed, for he saw that leger was becoming interested. "it is, to some extent, my business to understand the habits of the ruling classes," he said reflectively. "you see, it's almost necessary. unless i know a little about them, how can i persuade anybody how far they are beneath us, as i'm expected to do?" hetty laughed. "well," she said, "you haven't tried to do anything of that kind for a long while now. anyway, it seems to me that you knew a good deal about them before you ever saw major coulthurst. of course, it's not my business, but if i were the major i'd make you tell me exactly what you were going there for." sewell apparently did not relish this, though he laughed. it happens occasionally that those most concerned in what is going on are the last to notice it, and it had not occurred to coulthurst or ingleby that sewell spent his evenings at the gold commissioner's dwelling frequently. he had, however, not often met ingleby there, and it was significant that neither of them ever mentioned grace coulthurst to the other. in any case, sewell did not answer, and while they sat silent there was a tramp of feet outside and the corporal came in. he was a taciturn and somewhat unsociable man, but he smiled as he looked at hetty and sat down where the rude chimney tomlinson had built was between him and the one small window. "it's a bitter night, and there's 'most four foot of snow on the range. i figured i'd look in to tell you it will be two or three days yet before you get the flour the folks at the settlements are sending up," he said. "a trooper has just come in with the mail, and he left the freighter and his beasts held up by the snow." he stopped a moment, and looked at leger somewhat curiously. "somebody has just gone away?" "no," said leger. "we have had nobody here. we are expecting ingleby, but he hasn't turned up yet." "quite sure he's not outside there?" "it's scarcely likely. it's a little too cold for anybody to stay outside when he needn't. ingleby would certainly come in." "well," said the corporal, "i guess i didn't see anybody, after all. it was quite dark, anyway, in among the trees. winter's shutting down on us 'most a month before it should have done. it's kind of fortunate we sent the horses out when we did. i don't know what they wanted to bring them for. nobody has any use for horses in this country." it was evident that the worthy corporal was bent on getting away from what he felt to be an awkward topic, and hetty laughed outright at his quite unnecessary delicacy. "no," she said, "you know you saw somebody, and fancied it was one of the boys waiting to see me." the corporal appeared embarrassed, but was wise enough not to involve himself further. "well," he said, "when i was coming along the trail i saw a man slip in behind a cedar. that kind of struck me as not the usual thing, and i went round the other way to meet him. it was quite a big tree, and when i got around he wasn't there. you keep the dust you get for the bread in the shanty, leger?" "yes," said leger. "most of the boys who come here know where it is. i really don't think there is any reason why they shouldn't, either." "no," said the corporal reflectively, "i guess there isn't. i'll say that for them. still, i did see somebody." he contrived to glance round at the faces of the rest, unnoticed by any of them except hetty, and was satisfied that they knew no more than he did. the corporal had been a long while a policeman, and had quick perceptions. he decided to look into the matter later. "well," he said, "i guess it's not worth worrying over." he drew a little closer to the fire, and nobody said anything for a minute or two, though hetty glanced towards the little window. the room was dim except when a blaze sprang up, and turning suddenly she stirred the fire, and then, for no very apparent reason, set herself to listen. the bush outside was very still, and she could hear the frost-dried snow fall softly from a branch. then there was a sharp snapping of resinous wood in the fire, and it was not until that died away she heard a sound again. it was very faint, and suggested a soft crunching down of powdery snow. nobody else seemed to hear it, not even the corporal, who was apparently examining a rent in his tunic just then, and she had almost persuaded herself that she had fancied it when she glanced towards the window again. a flickering blaze was roaring up the chimney now. then a little shiver ran through her, and closing her hands tight she stared at the glass in horror. a face was pressed against it, a drawn, grey face that seemed awry with pain. there was, however, something that reminded her of somebody in it, and she was about to cry out when she felt a hand laid restrainingly on her arm. glancing over her shoulder, she saw that her brother was also gazing at the window, and then she knew suddenly to whom the face belonged. it had gone when she looked round again, and it was evident that neither sewell nor the corporal had seen it. unfortunately, it appeared very unlikely that the man outside could have seen the latter, and she knew that something must be done, or in another moment or two prospector tomlinson would walk into the arms of the policeman. leger appeared incapable of suggesting anything and was gazing at her with apprehension in his eyes. it was a singularly unpleasant moment. hetty was aware that she and her brother owed tomlinson a good deal, and, in any case, it would be particularly distasteful to see him arrested. she was also by no means certain that her brother and sewell would permit it, and the corporal was a heavily-built man. it very seldom happens that a northwest policeman lets a prisoner go; and hetty was quite aware that the result of a struggle might be disastrous to everybody. she realized this in a flash, and then there was a sound of shuffling feet outside in the snow. they were approaching the doorway, and she knew it would be flung open in another moment or two. then the inspiration came suddenly. "there's somebody outside," she said, and laughed as she noticed the bewildered consternation in her brother's eyes. "if it's ingleby i don't think i'll let him in." her voice was almost as steady as usual, and apparently leger alone noticed the suggestion of strain in it, while next moment she crossed the room and threw the door open. it was narrow, however, and she stood carefully in the middle of it. "you're not coming in, walter, until you cut some wood," she said. "you never touched the axe the last time you came." hetty's nerve almost failed her during the next few moments, and she felt the throbbing of her heart while the man the others could not see blinked at her stupidly. she dare venture no plainer warning, and he was apparently dazed with cold and weariness. "i'm not going to stand here. it's too cold," she said. "if you're too lazy to do what i tell you, i'll ask the corporal." then she banged the door to, and went back to her seat with a little laugh that sounded slightly hollow to her brother, at least. "if there's one thing walter doesn't like it's chopping wood--and that's why i wouldn't let him off," she said. "he hasn't troubled to come round and see me for a week. i'm vexed with him." now, the corporal was, of course, aware that throughout most of western canada visitors to a homestead not infrequently lighten their hostess's labour by washing the dishes or carrying wood. in the case of the miners, who were pleased to spend an hour at the bakery, chopping wood for the oven was the most obvious thing, though those specially favoured were now and then permitted to weigh out flour or knead the bread. there was thus nothing astonishing in what hetty had apparently said to ingleby, nor did sewell, who provoked the corporal into an attempt to prove that the troopers' carbine was a more efficient weapon than the miners' marlin rifle, appear to notice anything unusual, and only leger saw that hetty's colour was fainter than it had been and that she was quivering a little. in the meanwhile there was a tramp of feet outside, which grew less distinct, until the ringing chunk of the axe replaced it, and leger wondered how he could make sewell understand that it was desirable to cut the discussion short. he could think of no means of doing it and glanced at hetty anxiously, for how long the corporal meant to stay was becoming a somewhat momentous question. a man accustomed to the axe can split a good deal of wood in ten minutes, even when he works by moonlight; and it was evident that the one outside could not continue his chopping indefinitely without the corporal's wondering what was keeping him. ten minutes passed, and the regular thud of the axe rang through the forest outside, while the corporal, who was a persistent man, still discussed extractors and magazine springs. leger felt the tension becoming intolerable. then hetty contrived to catch sewell's attention, and, looking at him steadily, set her lips tight. the corporal had, as it happened, turned from the girl; but she saw a gleam of comprehension in sewell's eyes. "well," he said reflectively, "i suppose you are right. i like the easier pull-off of the american rifles. one is less apt to shake the sights off the mark, but no doubt with men accustomed to the handling of rifled weapons, as the police troopers are, the little extra pull required is no great matter." the corporal was evidently gratified. "i've shown quite a few men they were wrong on that point, and now i guess i must be getting on. you'll excuse me, miss leger?" he put on his fur-coat and opened the door, but hetty's heart throbbed again when he stopped a moment. as it happened, the fire was flashing brilliantly, and the corporal appeared to be looking down at the footprints by the threshold. "i've seen ingleby twice since the snow came, and he was wearing gum-boots," he said. "the man who was outside here had played-out leather ones on." "walter has an old pair he wore until lately," said leger. "there's a good deal of sharp grit in the tomlinson mine, and he'd probably come along in the boots he went down in." this appeared reasonable, and the corporal made a little gesture as though to show that he concurred in it, and then, stepping forward, disappeared into the night. sewell rose and shut the door, and then glanced at hetty, who stood quivering a little in the middle of the room. "i fancy one of you has something to tell me," he said. hetty gasped. "oh," she said, "i thought he meant to stay until morning! it was getting awful, tom." then she looked at sewell. "don't you know?" she said. "it's tomlinson." "now," said sewell, whose astonishment was evident, "i think i understand. there can scarcely be many girls capable of doing what you have done." hetty made a little sign of impatience. "yes, there are--lots of them. of course, you think all women are silly--you're only a man. besides, tom pinched me. but why are you stopping here and talking? go and bring him." both leger and sewell went, and tomlinson came back with them. he was haggard and ragged, and his thin jean garments were hard with the frozen snow-dust. he dropped into the nearest chair and blinked at them. "yes," he said, "i'm here and 'most starving. get me something to eat, and i'll try to tell you." they gave him what they had, and he ate ravenously, while hetty's eyes softened as she watched him. "you have had a hard time?" she said. "yes," answered the man slowly, "i guess i had. i got stuck up in the range. couldn't make anything of the gorge in the loose snow. tried to crawl up over the ice track and dropped through. burst the pack-straps getting out, and don't know where most of the grub and one blanket went to. it was the bigger packet. that was why i had to come back. i don't quite know how i made the valley." "when did you lose the grub?" asked sewell. tomlinson shook his head. "i don't quite know," he said. "i guess it must have been 'most three weeks ago." leger looked at sewell, for that was quite sufficient to give point to the bald narrative. "what was in the smaller package would scarcely keep a man in health a week," he said. "i'm not going to keep you talking, tomlinson, but--although it's fortunate you did so--why did you stop outside instead of coming in?" "i saw a man," said tomlinson. "i figured it wouldn't be wise to show myself until i was sure of him. then when i crawled up to the shanty i didn't seem to remember anything. i only wanted to get in." he stopped, and looked at leger. "i can't push on to-night--i'm 'most used-up, but i'm not going to stay here and make trouble for you. i'll light out again to-morrow." "you are going to lie down and sleep now," said hetty severely. "we'll decide what is the wisest thing to do to-morrow, but you shan't leave the shanty for a day or two, anyway. no, i'm not going to listen to anything. he's to sleep in the store, tom." tomlinson appeared desirous of protesting, but leger laid a hand on his shoulder and led him into an outbuilt room. xxv tomlinson gets away the early canadian supper had been cleared away, and sewell was sitting with grace coulthurst opposite him by the little stove in the inner room of the gold commissioner's dwelling, as he had done somewhat frequently of late. the major was apparently occupied with his business in the adjoining room, for they could hear a rustle of papers, and now and then the shutting of a book, through the door, which stood partly open. he closed one a trifle noisily, and the next moment his voice reached them. "this thing has kept me longer than i expected, but i must get it finished before i stop. esmond's sending a trooper off first thing to-morrow," he said. "still, i shall not be much longer, and then we'll get out the chess." coulthurst had spoken loudly, and as sewell and grace did not raise their voices it appeared probable that he could not hear what they were saying. sewell smiled as he glanced at the girl. "i am not particularly impatient, or sorry for major coulthurst, though one could fancy that his dislike of official correspondence is quite as strong as his fondness for chess. he knows exactly what he has to do, and does it without having to trouble about the results, which in his case concern the crown. that naturally simplifies one's outlook." "the major," said grace reflectively, "has arrived at an age when one does not expect too much, and is content with the obvious, which is certainly an advantage." "and we, being younger, are different in that respect?" grace was a trifle disconcerted, which occasionally happened when sewell talked to her, though she looked at him with a little smile in her eyes. it was, at least, not very clear to her why she found it pleasant to discuss such questions with him in a confidential voice when she had, to all intents and purposes, plighted herself to ingleby. sewell was always deferential, but there was something in his attitude which suggested personal admiration for her, though she was not quite sure that the vague word "liking" was not a little nearer the mark. how far that liking went she did not know, but while she had no intention of allowing it in any way to prejudice her regard for ingleby, sewell was, she knew, of subtler and more complex nature, and the craving for influence was strong in her. she knew what, under any given circumstances, ingleby would probably do, and though this was satisfactory in one respect it had its disadvantages. she had long been troubled with a fondness for probing into masculine thoughts and emotions, and it pleased her to find an opportunity for directing them, which was not often afforded her in ingleby's case. his programme was usually cut and dried, and it was, as a rule, an almost exasperatingly simple one. "i suppose we are," she said. "when i know what is expected of me, i usually want to do something else." now sewell was not aware how matters stood between her and his comrade, but he might have guessed what she was thinking, for his next remark was curiously apposite. "i'm not sure that the obvious people are not the most fortunate," he said, with a little laugh. "they know exactly what they want, which not infrequently means that what they have to do to get it is equally plain. it must necessarily save them a good many perplexities. now take the case of my very obvious comrade, ingleby." "well?" "ingleby wants to make a fortune placer mining." "which is, from your point of view, a most reprehensible thing!" sewell laughed. "that is not quite the point. perhaps he means to do good with it, and it ought to be quite plain that ingleby has no real sympathy with communist notions. in any case, he sets about it in the simplest fashion by working most of every day and often half the night as well. the result is that he has acquired what is apparently a competence and is more or less contented with everything. any one can see it in the way he looks at you lately." grace smiled, for it was evident that there were directions in which sewell's penetration was defective. "the fortune will probably come later," she said. "and then--" "yes," said sewell, with a little gesture of comprehension. "since he has made his mind up, he will, i fancy, manage that, too. ingleby is that kind of person. then, if he does not do so sooner, he will naturally marry hetty leger." grace turned to him sharply and then directed his attention to the fact that the door at the bottom of the stove admitted rather too much draught. he was a moment or two adjusting it, and when he looked up again she was smiling indifferently. "you are sure of that?" she said. "i think so. ingleby invariably does the obvious thing, and she is eminently suited to him. i'm not sure he recognizes it yet; but it will certainly become evident, and then he will save himself and everybody trouble by marrying her off-hand." grace sat silent for almost a minute. it was perfectly clear that sewell did not know what his comrade's aspirations were, even as ingleby did not know how far her acquaintance with sewell went. she was not altogether displeased that it should be so, though she felt that it would, after all, make no great change in their relations to each other had they been aware. she did not desire sewell as a lover, though it was pleasant to feel that he valued her approbation and that she had his confidence. "there are, of course, advantages in doing the obvious thing," she said, with a little laugh. "i suppose we are really different from ingleby in that respect?" sewell looked at her reflectively. "i think you are. one could almost fancy you wanted so many things that you couldn't quite decide which was the most important and give up the rest. the difficulty is that we can't very often have them all, you see." it seemed to grace that there was some truth in this. "you," she said, "speak feelingly--as though it were from sympathy." "well," said sewell, with a curious little smile, "perhaps i do. in fact, i'm not sure i'm not diagnosing my own case. a little while ago i had a purpose and believed in it, though the belief naturally cost me a good deal." "the creation of a new utopia out of the wreck of the present social fabric?" asked grace, a trifle maliciously. "something of the kind, though i did not expect to do it all myself. while i was sure the thing was feasible, the fact that i was, or so i felt, taking a little share in bringing it about was sufficient for me. now, however, i am not quite so sure on any point as i used to be, which is why i often envy ingleby." grace felt a little thrill of satisfaction. he had, of course, spoken vaguely; but she wondered how far she was responsible for the change in the opinions which he had held until a little while ago. she knew that he had borne a good deal because of them, for ingleby had told her so. "then there may be a little good in a few of our institutions as they stand?" she said. "of course!" answered sewell, who smiled again. "most of them are, however, capable of improvement. i am quite as sure of that as ever. the question is, whether anybody would gain much if it were effected too rudely." grace was not greatly interested in the point. she preferred a more personal topic, but she saw an opportunity for trying how far her influence went. it had been a trifle painful to find that ingleby had not yielded to it when she had desired him to spend the winter in vancouver and leave somebody else to hold tomlinson's claim. sewell was, she recognized, a cleverer man than he, and it would be consoling if he showed himself more amenable. "i think not--at least, so far as anybody in the green river country is concerned," she said. "it seems to me that its tranquillity depends a good deal on you." "on me?" grace smiled. "of course! you know it as well as i do. wouldn't it be better for your friends to put up with a few little grievances rather than run the risk of bringing a worse thing upon themselves?" "would we do that?" "i think so. the major is a lenient commissioner; and the law would be too strong for you." sewell laughed. "that," he said, "would have to be proved, and i am not sure it is a good reason you are offering me." grace nodded. "no," she said, "perhaps it isn't. you rather like opposition, don't you? still, i think one could leave it to your good sense, while i would especially like to see all quiet this winter in the green river valley. that, however, could, of course, scarcely be thought a reason at all." sewell made no disclaimer, but he looked at her with a curious intensity. "events," he said slowly, "may be too strong for me, and when i am sure they are right, i cannot go counter to my opinions." "of course!" and the girl leaned forward a little nearer him, resting one hand on the arm of her chair. "that is more than i would ever ask of you. still, perhaps you could----" sewell looked at her gravely, and laid his hand upon the one that rested on the chair. "i will," he said quietly, "with that one reservation, do whatever appears most likely to preserve tranquillity." grace did not shake his grasp off, as she should have done. indeed, a little thrill of triumph ran through her as she realized the significance of what had happened. the man who held her hand fast had borne imprisonment for his beliefs, and had also braved hostile mobs, hired bravos, and detachments of u.s. cavalry, and now she had made him captive with a smile. it was, from one point of view, a notable achievement, and it did not dawn on her that if regarded from another point what she had done might wear a different aspect. just then a book in the other room was closed with a bang, and grace drew her hand away as coulthurst came in. "sorry to leave you alone so long, but we can get the chessmen out at last," he said. sewell set out the pieces, and grace, who flashed a little smile at him, which implied that there was now a confidence between them, took up a book. as it happened, neither of them knew that prospector tomlinson was plodding down the trail that led south through leagues of forest and snow-blocked defiles towards the settlements just then, though the fact had its results for both of them. a half-moon hung low above the white shoulder of a hill, and here and there a shaft of silvery light shone down upon the snowy trail which wound in and out through the gloom of the firs. tomlinson was one of the simple-minded persons who content themselves with doing the obvious thing, and, as it was quite plain to him that he could not stay at the bakery without probability of being discovered and getting his hosts into trouble, he had, in spite of hetty's protests, persisted in setting out for the settlements, though he was still scarcely capable of the journey and it had been pointed out that there was a likelihood of his falling in with the police troopers. the latter fact did not, however, so far as tomlinson could see, affect the question. the one thing that was clear to him was that he could not permit hetty and tom leger to involve themselves in difficulties. he carried two rolled-up blankets and a good many pounds of provisions, as well as a marlin rifle, for it was a very long way to the settlements, and the snow was deep in the passes. he also walked slowly and with an effort, for the strength he had exhausted had scarcely come back to him yet, while the dusty snow balled beneath his worn-out boots. the bush was very still, for only a low murmur came up across the pines from the rapids, which were free of ice. the trees rose above him, solid spires of blackness cut sharp against the white hillside beyond them, and tomlinson was glad of their shadow, because the corporal and one of the troopers had gone down the trail that afternoon, and, uncertain whether they had come back, he had no wish to meet them. it is scarcely likely that he would have done so, for he had an excellent sense of hearing and was making very little noise, had not a trooper stopped to do something to his newly-issued winter coat, which did not fit him comfortably. he spent some little time over it, as it was necessary to take his big mittens off, and the corporal improved the occasion by sitting down on a fallen tree to light his pipe. they were both a little outside the trail and in black shadow. tomlinson, in the meanwhile, came to an open space some two or three score yards across. there were black firs all about it, but the snow among them seemed deeper, and, as he could hear nothing but the murmur of the river, he made haste to cross it. it appeared advisable that nobody should see him. he had almost reached the gloom of the firs again when he heard a little, scraping sound not unlike that the rubbing of a sulphur match would make, and he stood still listening until a faint blue radiance appeared amidst the trees, and then he moved towards the nearest undergrowth with long and almost noiseless strides. in another moment he stopped abruptly, and a man in uniform, who came out from the dark gap of the trail, also stopped and appeared to gaze at him. he carried a carbine. the men were close together, and the moon, which had just cleared the dark fir-tops, shone down on both of them. the miner's face, as the policeman saw, was drawn and grim. "tomlinson!" he gasped and then appeared to shake his astonishment from him. "stop right where you are!" tomlinson said nothing but, springing forward, hurled himself into the undergrowth, which opened with a crash and then closed behind him, while the trooper, who glanced over his shoulder as if to see where the corporal was, wasted another moment. then he, too, sped across the little gap in the forest, floundering through loose snow; and fell into a barberry bush, which held him fast. so far, fortune had favoured tomlinson; but as he flitted through the bush looking for a little bye-trail which he knew was near, the corporal appeared suddenly from behind a tree and threw his carbine up. "hold on!" he said. "i've something to say to you." a stray gleam of moonlight that shone down just there flung a patch of brightness athwart the snow, and tomlinson could see the white face pressed down upon the carbine-stock, but he did not pull up. instead, he leapt into the shadow, and in another second there was a pale flash, and a sharp detonation rang among the trunks. then he whipped behind a tree, and, seeing two men close behind him now, flung up his rifle. in his country a man who is shot at usually considers himself warranted in retaliating, and tomlinson was accustomed to the rifle. in fact, he handled it much as an english sportsman does a gun, by the balance of it, and with an instinctive sense of direction which did not necessitate the aligning of the sights. the result of this was that as the butt came home to his shoulder the trooper dropped his carbine with a cry, and tomlinson sprang away once more through the smoke. he might have got away altogether, but the corporal could shoot as well as he could, and a few seconds later the fugitive felt a stinging pain in one shoulder. he staggered but recovered himself again, and running a few yards farther dropped into a thicket, and wriggled under it on his hands and knees. then, while an unpleasant faintness crept over him, he felt for the long knife which the prospector uses for cutting up an occasional deer. it did not appear advisable to snap another cartridge into the rifle-breech just then, and the knife would prove equally serviceable if his pursuers crawled into the thicket after him. prospector tomlinson was, like most of the men who sojourn in that wilderness, a little primitive in his notions, and the troopers had fired on him. one of them made a good deal of noise floundering through a belt of undergrowth just then, and only stopped when the corporal called to him. "where's that blame branch-trail?" he asked. "it's right here," said the trooper. "i guess our man's lit out along it." time was of some consequence, and the corporal did not deem it advisable to stop and consider. a man floundering through the undergrowth would, he reasoned, be heard a long way off, while a bushman could proceed with very little noise along a beaten track. thus, as he could hear nothing, it appeared very probable that tomlinson had taken the latter. he and the trooper pushed on along it for awhile, but there was no sign of the prospector, and they came back moodily to where they had last seen him, and proceeded to search every thicket in the vicinity. they spent at least an hour over it, but there was still no appearance of tomlinson, and at last the corporal sat down disgustedly upon the fallen fir. "i feel 'most certain i plugged him once," he said. "what d'you let go your carbine for?" the trooper held the weapon up in the moonlight and glanced at the grey smear down the barrel. then he held up his left hand, which was stained with red. "i'm not quite sure if the top of one of my fingers is on or not," he said. "anyway, my mitten's full of blood." the corporal nodded curtly. "i guess it will grow again," he said. "well, it seems to me nobody could do anything more to-night. we'll pick his trail up soon as it's daylight." then they shook the powdery snow from them and plodded on towards the outpost. xxvi the obvious thing the stars were paling overhead, and the snow that cut against the sky was growing white again; but it was very cold among the pines where leger was busy about the crackling fire. a column of smoke rose slowly straight up into the nipping air, and the blaze flickered redly upon the clustering trunks, while the sound of an unfrozen rapid broke faintly through the snapping of the fire. leger, who felt his fingers stiffening, took up his axe, and the rhythmic thudding rang sharply in the stillness of the woods when hetty appeared in the door of the shanty, shadowy and shapeless in the coarse blanket she had thrown about her shoulders. she shivered a little as she looked around her. "it has been a bitter night--the cold woke me when the fire got low," she said. "tomlinson must have felt it horribly. i wonder where he's getting his breakfast? you shouldn't have let him go." leger laughed and leaned upon his axe. "i couldn't have stopped him, and i don't think you need worry. the cold is scarcely likely to hurt him--he's used to it. he is probably three or four leagues away down the trail by now." "that isn't very far." "it's tolerably good travelling in this country. besides, nobody except sewell and ingleby has the faintest notion that he was here." hetty appeared reflective. "i wasn't quite sure about the corporal that night. he's too quiet and has eyes all over him. still, i suppose tomlinson has got away--of course, he must have done so. his running away would look very bad if they did get hold of him. isn't that kettle boiling, tom?" leger stooped above the fire, and then, straightening himself, suddenly stood still listening. he could hear the sound of the rapid, and nothing else for a moment or two, until a crackle of undergrowth came out of the gloom below. then there was a tramp of footsteps coming up the trail, and hetty turned to him sharply. "tom," she said, with a little gasp, "who can it be?" leger laid down the kettle he held in his hand. "the troopers, i'm afraid," he said. the light was growing clearer, and they could see each other's faces. hetty's was flushed and apprehensive, leger's portentously quiet. "they've come for tomlinson," she said. "tom, do you know why he threw probyn in the creek?" "i fancy i could guess. tomlinson, however, never mentioned it." "he wouldn't," and hetty gasped again. "tom, i'll never forgive you if you let the troopers know anything about him." "i really don't think that was necessary," said leger, with a faint, dry smile. hetty clenched one hand tight. "oh," she said, "can't we run away?" leger turned and pointed to a shadowy figure that materialized out of the gloom among the trees below. there were others behind it, and the two stood still watching them as they came quickly up the trail. then they stopped at a sharp word, and a man in a big fur-coat stepped forward. hetty had no difficulty in recognizing him as esmond. "are you willing to tell me where prospector tomlinson is? it would be the wisest thing," he said. "i don't think that is quite the point," answered leger quietly. "you see, i don't know." "then i'll ask you where he went when he left here last night?" "you fancy he was here?" esmond made a little sign of impatience. "i should like to warn you that a good deal depends upon the way you answer me. you probably know that the person who hides a murderer or connives at his escape is liable to be tried as an accessory." leger stood silent a moment or two. it seemed rather more than probable that esmond had only supposed it likely that tomlinson had visited the bakery; but that did not greatly matter after all. his course was clear, and that was to allow the officer to believe as long as possible that tomlinson was in the vicinity. every minute gained would be worth a good deal to the fugitive. "i scarcely think i need worry myself about that," he said. "you see, before you could charge me as an accessory you would have to prove that tomlinson really killed probyn. it's tolerably clear that you can't have a trial without a prisoner, and i don't mind admitting that tomlinson isn't here." esmond smiled unpleasantly, and signed to one of the troopers, who went into the shanty. "he certainly isn't very far away. i have no doubt you could tell me where he would make for; but you do not seem to know that he was shot, and, we have reason to believe, badly wounded within a league of your house last night." it was growing light now, and he saw the sudden horror in hetty's eyes. "if you have any control over your brother, miss leger, i think it would be wise for you to use it," he said. "you would not like him to get himself into trouble?" hetty straightened herself a little. "if he knew where tomlinson was and told you, i'd be ashamed of him forever--but he doesn't," she said. esmond glanced at her sharply. she stood very straight, regarding him with a set, white face, and it was evident that she was resolute. then he turned to leger. "are you willing to expose your sister to a very serious charge?" he asked. again leger stood silent, but when he glanced at her a little flash showed in hetty's eyes. "you daren't disgrace us both. remember, it was all my fault," she said. then leger turned to the officer. "i do not know where tomlinson is. that is all i have to tell you." esmond raised his hand. "then i arrest you both for concealing prospector tomlinson and contriving his escape. you will hand them over to robertson at the outpost, trooper grieve, and then come on after us as fast as you can. i don't wish to submit either of you to any indignity, leger, unless you are likely to make it necessary." leger's face turned crimson, but he made a little sign of comprehension. "we will make no attempt to get away." esmond signed to the trooper, who pointed somewhat shamefacedly to the shadowy path among the pines as he swung his carbine to the trail. then hetty and leger moved on in front of him, while esmond and the others vanished into the bush. it was almost daylight now, and the troopers spent some time tracing tomlinson's footsteps between the trunks. they also found the thicket where he had flung himself down, but that, after all, told them very little, and both the bye-trail and the larger one were tramped too hard for his worn-out boots to leave any recognizable impression. it was, however, evident that tomlinson could have adopted only one of two courses. if he had escaped uninjured he would certainly head for the settlements along the beaten trail, down which a trooper had been sent already; but no wounded man could face that arduous journey, and assuming that the corporal's shot had taken effect, he would, as a matter of course, be lurking somewhere in the valley. in that case the trailing of him could only be a question of a day or two, for even if he could face the bitter frost in the open he must have food, and there would be no difficulty in tracing the footsteps of any one who brought it to him. the one question was whether tomlinson was badly hurt, and as the corporal, who fancied so, could not be quite sure, esmond pushed on southwards along the trail. if tomlinson had not headed in that direction he was in the valley, and, if so, he certainly could not get away. as a matter of fact, he was just then lying weak from loss of blood in a little, decrepit shanty on an abandoned claim. he had contrived to reach one of the miners' dwellings late the previous night, though he was never quite sure how he accomplished it, and fell in across the threshold when its astonished owner opened the door. the man, however, kept his head, and within an hour tomlinson was carried to the claim in one of the more distant gorges, where it appeared a little less likely that esmond would lay hands on him. now he was huddled half-sensible, in his blanket upon a pile of cedar twigs, with ingleby and a young american, who had just dug out a carbine-bullet which had badly smashed his shoulder-blade, sitting by his side. ingleby did not know whether his companion was a qualified surgeon; but he had, at least, contrived to cut out the bullet and stanch the wound. he appeared a trifle anxious about his patient. "the shock would have dropped a man raised in the cities right off, but i think we'll pull him round," he said. "still, it's not going to be done in a day or two." the fact was very evident, and ingleby nodded. "how long do you think it will be before he can walk again?" he said. "a month, anyway, and quite likely six weeks; that is, before you could let him start out on the trail. i don't quite know what we're going to do with him in the meanwhile." tomlinson, who appeared to understand him, looked up with his face awry. "you're not going to do anything," he said half-coherently. "i'll give myself up. i can't stay here and make trouble for the boys." "you go to sleep!" said the other man severely, and made a little sign to ingleby, who sat silent for a minute or two after tomlinson sank back again on the twigs. "that's just the point," he said. "the boys don't mean to let the police have him?" "no," and ingleby's manner suggested that the subject was not worth discussion. "they wouldn't think of it for a minute. i'd have nothing more to do with them if they did." the american nodded. "well," he said, "i can pull the man round, but i'm not going to answer for what will happen if the troopers get hold of him. he's tough, but he wants looking after, and there's no one at the outpost knows more than enough to pull a stone out of a cayuse's hoof." "you can take out a bullet, anyway," said ingleby suggestively. "oh yes. i'd have had quite a nice practice by this time if it had been convenient for me to stay in connecticut. as it happened, it wasn't." ingleby looked at him steadily. "tomlinson," he said, "is a friend of mine, and that, of course, implies an obligation. you, so far as i know, have had very little to do with him, and it seems only reasonable to warn you that you may get yourself into serious trouble by looking after him. the law is generally carried out in our country." the american laughed. "i can take my chances. i'm not going back on a sick man, anyway." they said nothing more for awhile until a man who had apparently been running came in. "where's sewell?" he gasped. "i don't know," said ingleby. "he wasn't at home this morning. most likely he's looking for a deer." "then i guess you'll have to do. esmond has trailed tomlinson to the bakery. he has got hetty and tom leger at the outpost now." ingleby rose suddenly to his feet. "you're quite sure?" "well," said the other, "i guess i ought to be. i met them. trooper grieve didn't stop their talking, and they told me. esmond tried to bluff where tomlinson was out of them, and they're to stand in with him as accessories." it was evident to ingleby that since sewell was away a heavy responsibility devolved upon him as a friend of tomlinson and leger. he was expected to do something, and, as usual, he did the obvious thing without counting what it would cost him. "where is esmond?" he asked. "hitting the trail to the settlements all he's worth," said the other man. "then go round and let the boys know what you have told me. they can meet outside ransome's shanty. the dinner-hour will do. i'll be there to meet them." the man went out, and at the time appointed ingleby stood outside a little hut of bark and logs with a crowd of bronze-faced men about him. they were somewhat silent, but their manner was quietly resolute. it suggested that their minds were made up and that they were only waiting for a leader in whom they had confidence. ingleby had gained their liking, but he was young, and they were not quite sure whether he would be the man or whether they must choose another. in the meanwhile they were willing to give him a hearing. it was evident that he was equal to the occasion when he stepped forward and looked at them with steady eyes. "boys," he said, "do any of you believe tomlinson killed trooper probyn?" there was a general murmur of dissent, and ingleby made a little sign of concurrence. "are you willing to let the troopers have him? you must remember that the thing looks bad against him, and he will not be tried by you." the murmurs were articulate now, and it was very clear that not a man there had the least intention of giving up tomlinson. "then it should be quite plain that you will have to keep the troopers from him. it is only a question of a day or two at the longest before they trail him. they may do it to-night. esmond will very soon find out that he isn't pushing on in front of him for the settlements." a big man stood forward, and glanced at the rest. "there's not a trooper in this valley going to lay hands on tomlinson." again the murmurs rose portentously, and ingleby smiled. "well," he said, "since the trouble can't be shuffled off, we may as well face it now. we have got to make a stand and maintain it until esmond finds he has to humour us. he has leger and his sister in the outpost. do you know any reason why we shouldn't take them out?" "i guess not," said the man who had spoken already. "still, if there's any shooting, two or three of us are going to smell trouble as well as tomlinson." "there will not be any," said ingleby. "esmond has only two men at the outpost. nobody wants to hurt them. the thing can be done without it. in fact, that's essential. i want three or four determined men." they were forthcoming, but one of the rest asked a question. "have you figured what's going to happen when esmond comes back?" he said. "i have," said ingleby. "he will have a handful of tolerably active men under his orders then, but only a handful, after all. now, the outpost's outside the cañon, and there's a spot where a log barricade would effectively block the trail. the troopers will have to be kept outside it until we can arrive at a compromise. esmond will probably make it. it would be two months, anyway, before he could get more troopers in, and if there's another heavy snowfall it mightn't be done till spring." none of those who listened could find fault with the scheme. it was evidently workable, and they had already decided that tomlinson was not to be given up at any cost. that, as ingleby had pointed out, would necessarily involve them in difficulties with the police. there was thus very little further discussion, and the men went back, a trifle thoughtfully, to their work until the evening. it seemed to most of them a long while coming, and to none of them slower than it did to hetty leger, who sat with her brother in a very little, log-walled room at the outpost as dusk was closing down. tom leger, glancing at her as she sat huddled in a chair by the window, fancied that she was crying. "why did we come here, tom?" she said. "everything has gone wrong since we left vancouver." "the outlook certainly isn't very cheerful just now," said leger, with a rueful smile. "still, after all, you made a good many dollars at the bakery, and my claim is doing well. ingleby will see that while i'm kept here the work is carried on. one can put up with a good deal of inconvenience when he's washing out gold-dust." "dollars!" said hetty. "and gold-dust! is there nothing else worth having?" "well," said leger drily, "when you have no prospect of getting it, it's as well to content oneself with dollars. if i remember rightly you used to think a good deal of a shilling in england." hetty glanced at him sharply with hazy eyes. "what do you mean by--no prospect of getting it?" "i don't quite know. you suggested the notion. anyway, i scarcely think esmond can make out very much of a case against us. he doesn't really know that tomlinson was at the bakery." "it isn't that that's worrying me. it's--everything," said hetty. "i don't think you need cry over tomlinson. the boys will take care of him." "i wasn't crying about tomlinson. in fact, i'm not sure i was crying at all. still, you see, it was all my fault." leger smiled whimsically. "well," he said, "i scarcely think that should afford you any great satisfaction, though it almost seems to do so. no doubt it's part of a girl's nature to make trouble of the kind." hetty closed one hand. "i'm going to be angry in a minute. that's not the way to talk to any one who's feeling--what i am just now." leger rose and patted her shoulder. "i'd sooner see you raging than looking as you do. shake the mood off, hetty. it isn't in the least like you." hetty said nothing but turned from him and looked out of the little window. a young trooper was leaning over the rude balustrade of the veranda, and beyond him the sombre pines rolled down the darkening valley. night had not quite fallen yet, though a half-moon that showed red and frosty was growing brighter above the white shoulder of a hill. another trooper was apparently busy in the adjoining room, for they could hear his footsteps as he moved, but that was the only sound. then a face rose suddenly into sight above the floor of the veranda where the trooper could not see it. it was a horrible, grey face, and hetty shrank back, while her chair grated harshly on the floor. in another moment tom leger's hand closed tightly on her arm. "keep still!" he said. "it's a masked man. i fancy the boys have come for us." hetty looked again, and saw that a strip of deer-hide with holes cut in it was tied across the face. then she became sensible that there was something suggestively familiar in the attitude of the man who, moving noiselessly, raised himself erect and stood watching the trooper, whose back was towards him. "oh," she gasped, "it's walter!" "be quiet!" said leger, and the grasp upon her arm grew tighter. another face appeared between the rails, but the first man had already swung one leg over them, and in another moment he sprang forward along the veranda. the trooper heard him and swung round, but even as he did so the newcomer flung his arms about him and they reeled together down the little stairway. then the second trooper flung open the door, but as he ran out of it two or three men who had apparently crept into the veranda grappled with him, and hetty could hear them tumbling up and down the adjoining room. then there was a brief silence until somebody burst open the door of the room in which she was shut. a masked man who strode in grasped her shoulder, and she struggled vainly as he drew her towards the door. "i won't go. it will only get you into worse trouble," she said. the man laughed. "if i had to face it all my life, do you think i would leave you here?" hetty recognized the tension in his voice, and something that seemed to answer it thrilled in her; but she still protested, and the man, who flung an arm about her waist, swung her off her feet. he did not let her go until he set her down, flushed and gasping, among the pines outside. then she laughed. "i'm not sure you could have done that in england, walter." "no," said ingleby. "anyway, you wouldn't have let me, but we can't stop to talk now. esmond may come back at any time, and there is a good deal to do." he turned from her suddenly. "you have got those fellows' carbines?" "oh yes," said another man. "we'd better bring along their cartridges and heave them in the river too. we haven't hurt either of them much, considering." ingleby signed to the rest, though he still held hetty's arm. "now," he said, "the sooner we light out of this the better it will be for everybody." xxvii the blockade the moon was high above the white peaks, and a stinging frost was in the air, when ingleby and leger sat a little apart from a snapping fire behind a great redwood trunk that had been felled across the trail in the constricted entrance to the cañon. it was wide of girth, and lay supported on the stumps of several splintered branches breast-high above the soil, with the rest of its spreading limbs piled about it in tremendous ruin. on the side where the fire was some of them had been hewn away, and a handful of men lounged smoking in the hollow between them and the trunk. another man stood upon the tree, apparently looking down the valley, with his figure cutting blackly against the blueness of the night. sewell leaned against a shattered branch a few feet away from ingleby, gazing about him reflectively. he noticed that the great butt of the fir was jammed against the slope of rock that ran up overhead, too steep almost for the snow to rest upon it, and that the top of the tree was in the river some twenty yards away. the stream frothed and roared about it in a wild white rapid, though long spears of crackling ice stretched out behind the boulders, and there was a tremendous wall of rock on the farther side. it was absolutely unscalable, and from the crest of it ranks of clinging pines rolled backwards up a slope that was almost as steep. it was evident that nobody coming from the police outpost or the commissioner's dwelling could approach the fallen tree except by the trail in front, and on that side the branches formed an entanglement an agile man would have some difficulty in scrambling through, even if nobody desired to prevent him, while two or three of the men beside the fire had rifles with them. the rest had axes. sewell, who noticed all this, glanced towards them thoughtfully. he could not see their faces, but their silence had its significance, and there was a vague suggestion of resolution in their attitudes. most of them were men of singularly unyielding temperament, who had grappled with hard rock and primeval forest from their youth up. "it is a tolerably strong position, and it's the strength of it that particularly pleases me," he said. "if there were any prospect of his getting in esmond would no doubt try it. as it is, he will probably find it advisable to stop outside and compromise." "i'm glad you're satisfied," said leger. "still, it's a little unfortunate you were not here this morning. in that case we might have found some other means of getting over the difficulty, though i'm not sure that there was any." ingleby glanced sharply at leger. his face was clear in the moonlight, and it was expressionless, but his tone had been suggestively dry, and for just a moment an unpleasant fancy flashed upon ingleby. it was certainly unfortunate that sewell, whom everybody looked to for guidance, had been away that day, and the fact might have had significance for any one who doubted him. ingleby, however, had unshaken confidence in the man and thrust the thought from him. sewell smiled as he turned to leger. "i was looking for a deer," he said. "anyway, you had ingleby." "ingleby," said leger, "is usually where he's wanted. some men have that habit. it's a useful one, though i'm afraid i haven't acquired it. in fact, i fancy i'm rather like trooper probyn. he was addicted to turning up just when it would have been better for everybody if he had stayed away." he turned from them somewhat abruptly and strolled towards the men about the fire, while sewell looked thoughtful as he filled his pipe. "leger doesn't appear to be in a particularly pleasant mood, but he's right in one respect," he said. "it would have been a good deal better if he and hetty had been anywhere else when esmond turned up at the bakery. of course, they couldn't help it, but the result of it is going to be serious. it is not exactly convenient that the thing should have happened now." ingleby made a gesture of comprehension as he glanced towards the men about the fire. their big axes gleamed suggestively, and the rifle of the man upon the tree twinkled coldly where the moonlight rested on the line of barrel. "it's all of it unfortunate," he said deprecatingly. "i suppose i'm responsible--but i don't quite see what else anybody could have expected me to do. i couldn't leave hetty in esmond's hands. it was out of the question. the police wouldn't have much difficulty in making her out an accessory." sewell smiled. "that was all that occurred to you?" "yes," said ingleby. "i think so. i don't seem to remember anything else. anyway, it was sufficient." he made a little forceful gesture which suggested even more plainly than what he said that the thought of leaving hetty exposed to any peril was intolerable. "and you inconsequently decided to put up a bluff of this kind on the british nation because esmond might involve in difficulties a girl with whom you are not in love. i'm presuming you are not in love with her?" ingleby seemed a trifle disconcerted. "no," he said sharply. "of course i'm not. what made you suggest it?" sewell laughed. "well," he said, "for one thing, if you had been in love with her, you could scarcely have done anything that would have made the fact clearer." there was silence for a minute or two, and ingleby leaned upon the tree with his thoughts in confusion. he was not in love with hetty leger, but it was certainly a fact that her arrest had filled him with an almost unaccountable consternation. he also remembered the curious little laugh with which she had clung to him, and that it had stirred him as no trifling favour grace coulthurst had ever shown him had done. the commissioner's daughter had, however, certainly never leaned upon his shoulder with her arms about him, though he had on one occasion, when she was half-frozen, practically carried her into her father's dwelling. the thought of it was, in a curious fashion, almost distasteful, as well as preposterous. his regard for her was largely that of a devotee, an æsthetic respect which would have made any display of purely human proclivities on the part of the goddess a trifle disconcerting. there are men like ingleby whose life is, partly from inclination and partly from force of circumstances, in some respects one of puritanical simplicity, especially in the back blocks of england's colonies; and, startled by sewell's suggestion, he tried to reason with himself as he leaned against the tree. he remembered now how he had thrilled to the girl's touch as, half-crying and half-laughing, she had rested in his arms a few hours ago, and he could not admit the almost unpleasant explanation that this was because they were man and woman. still, he had felt her heart beating upon his breast, and something in his nature had, it seemed to him, awakened and throbbed in response to it. it was, he felt, not sensual passion; it was not love, since it was grace coulthurst he loved; and his confusion grew more confounded as he vainly strove to classify it. ingleby, as one who did the obvious thing, and was usually doing something unless he was asleep, had seldom been led into any attempt to unravel the complexities of human thought and emotion. men of his temperament are as a rule too busy for anything of the kind. it is material facts that interest them, and their achievements are usually apparent and substantial, written in that country on hard rock and forest or on the orchards and wheatfields that smile where the wilderness has been. "well?" said sewell at length. ingleby made a little gesture. "the thing is done. why i did it doesn't, after all, greatly matter. we have the results of it to face just now." "precisely! that's why i'm pleased you chose a very convenient spot to chop the tree in. there's one of them becoming apparent already." he pointed across the fallen log, and the man who stood upon it made a little sign. the tree was in the shadow, but beyond it lay a narrow strip of moonlit snow, upon which the dusky pines closed in again. a man moved out into the strip, walking cautiously, and carrying a carbine. he stopped abruptly, dropping the butt of it with a little thud, and, turning his head, he apparently glanced at somebody behind him. "they've chopped a big tree right across the trail," he said. his voice rang clearly through the nipping air, and ingleby almost envied him as he stood unconcernedly still, a dusky, motionless object, with a blacker shadow projected in front of him on the gleaming snow. he, at least, had no responsibility, and was there to do what he was bidden, while the law would hold him guiltless. the brief and decisive attempt on the outpost had scarcely given ingleby cause for thought, but it was different now. there was nothing exhilarating in standing still and wondering what course the police would take, while other men have felt misgivings when brought face to face with constituted authority with arms in its hand. sewell in the meanwhile moved quietly towards the fire. "you will leave this thing to me, boys," he said. "above all, keep your hands off those rifles. it's a bluff we're putting up." by this time several other men had moved out upon the strip of snow, and one who came up from behind walked past them and stopped not far from the tree. ingleby could see his face in the moonlight, and recognized him as esmond. he looked up at the man who, though he had handed his rifle to a comrade, still stood upon the log regarding him quietly. "well," he said, "what are you doing there?" "seeing that nobody gets over," was the uncompromising answer. esmond laughed, as though he had partly expected this. "there are no doubt more of you behind there. if you have one, i would prefer to talk to your recognized leader." sewell sprang up upon the tree. "i think i can venture to claim my comrades' confidence," he said. "in any case, i am quite willing to accept the responsibility for anything that has been done." "you may be asked to remember that," said esmond drily. "do you mind explaining why you felled this tree?" "i think the man who answered you already made that clear. to prevent anybody's getting over. once you recognize that it would be difficult to do it without our permission, we'll go a little further." "then you are deliberately placing obstacles in the way of the police carrying out their duty? i warn you that it may turn out a serious matter." sewell laughed. "i'm not sure the question is a very happy one. it is rather too suggestive of monday morning in england. still, i suppose what we mean to do amounts to that, although we will have pleasure in permitting you to enter the valley when you wish, on one or two perfectly reasonable conditions." "it remains to be seen whether you can keep us out." esmond raised his voice a trifle. "climb up on that log, trooper grieve, and let me know who prospector sewell has with him," he said. "you have authority to fire on anybody who tries to prevent you." it seemed to ingleby that esmond had displayed a good deal of tact. he was aware that in an affair of the kind the right start counts for a good deal, and that if the miners permitted the trooper to survey their position it might lead to an unwished-for change in their attitude. if they did not, it would make them the aggressors, and there was the further difficulty that they would probably shrink from offering violence to a single man. "the trooper must not be hurt, boys, but he must not get up on the log," he said, and turned to sewell with a little gesture of deprecation. sewell nodded. "you're right--if we can manage it," he said. in the meanwhile the young trooper was walking towards the barrier. ingleby surmised that he had no great liking for his task, but beyond the fact that he was holding himself unusually straight, and looking steadfastly in front of him, he showed no sign of it. the moonlight was on his face, and it was almost expressionless. "stop right where you are," said one of the miners sharply. "i guess you'd better!" the trooper did not stop, nor did he answer. if he had his misgivings as a human being, he was also a part of the great system by which his nation's work is done and its prestige maintained; and he went on with stiff, measured strides which suggested the movements of an automaton. a handful of men behind the log, and another handful standing in the moonlight on the gleaming snow, stood silently watching him, and most of them felt an almost unpleasant sense of tension. then he came to the branches, and stopped a moment, as though uncertain what to do. his carbine presented the difficulty, since to scramble over that tangle of branches and twigs both hands would be necessary. then he slung it behind him, and every one could hear the sharp snap of the clip-hook through the bitter air. after that there was a crash as he plunged into a maze of dusky needles, and he was gasping when he emerged again. he was, however, still coming on, crawling over branches, swinging himself under some of them, while two miners waited for him, intent and strung up, behind the log. when he reached it the top of the bark was almost level with his head, and, throwing an arm upon it, he essayed to draw himself up. at the same moment two pairs of sinewy hands seized his shoulders, and lifted him from his feet. then there was a shout and a swing, and he was hurled backwards like a stone. he broke through the shadowy needles amidst a crash of snapped-off twigs, and there was a confused floundering in the darkness below. then a head rose out of it, and the trooper stood straight in the moonlight upon the fork of a great limb, looking back towards his officer now. "am i to try again, sir?" he asked. there was a burst of approving laughter from the miners, and the trooper sprang down from the branch and moved towards his comrades when esmond made a sign, while a man who had been speaking apart with the latter suddenly stepped forward. "it's the major," said one of the miners. "give him a show. come right along, sir. nobody going to hurt you!" coulthurst made a little gesture with a lifted hand, and his remarks were brief. "you'll gain nothing by making fools of yourselves, my men," he said. "the law is a good deal too strong for you. now, try to tell me sensibly what is worrying you, and if it comes within my business i'll see what i can do." sewell stood up upon the log, and took off his big, shapeless hat. there was silence for a moment while the major looked at him. "mr. sewell," he said gravely, "i'm sorry to see you here." "i'm a little sorry myself, sir," said sewell. "still, that's not quite the point, and if you will listen for a minute or two i will try to make our views clear. they are really not unreasonable. in the first place we want tomlinson tried here by his peers, which, although a little unusual, could, i think, be done. if captain esmond can prove him guilty, we will give him up, and he can get a regular court to confirm the verdict. then we ask immunity for the men who held up the outpost, and one or two trifling modifications of the mining regulations which are probably within the discretion afforded you by your commission." "it seems to me," said coulthurst drily, "that you are asking a good deal. more, in fact, than you are likely to get. you insist on all that?" "we feel compelled to do so, sir." coulthurst made a little sign and moved back to where esmond stood. they conferred together, and the major spoke again. "captain esmond is willing to promise that if you go home straightway no proceedings will be taken against any man for his share in this night's work. he will promise you nothing further, and i may say that in this i quite concur with him. i must warn you that what you are doing is a very serious thing." "then," said sewell quietly, "there is nothing more to be said. we have strength enough effectively to prevent captain esmond from going any further up the valley. it would be better for everybody if he did not compel us to make use of it." esmond, who had been unusually patient hitherto, apparently lost his self-command. "we will endeavour to whip the insolence out of you," he said. "by the time the thing is settled your leaders will be exceptionally sorry for themselves." he drew back a little with the major, and they appeared to be talking earnestly for a space. it seemed to ingleby that esmond wished to chance an attack; but perhaps the troopers were worn-out, or the major recognized the strength of the miners' position, for at last he made a little sign, and the men moved back silently into the shadow of the pines. then the tension slackened, and ingleby shivered a little as he strode towards the fire. "it's horribly cold, though i never felt it until a minute or two ago," he said. "well, i suppose we are in for it now!" sewell laughed in a curious fashion. "i almost think so. captain esmond is not a very imposing personage in himself, but he stands for a good deal, you see. still, it's tolerably evident that he will not trouble us any more to-night." a few minutes later another miner climbed up on the log, and the rest lay down, rolled in their blankets, about the crackling fire. xxviii snowed in two months passed almost uneventfully after the felling of the tree, for esmond found no means of forcing the entrance to the valley. the cañon furnished the only road to it, and he found a band of determined men ready to dispute his passage each time he appeared before the tree. a company of sappers could scarcely have raised them a more efficient defense than the one they had made at the cost of an hour's labour with the axe, and esmond reluctantly recognized that it was practically unassailable by the trifling force at his command. an attempt to carry it by assault could only result in his handful of men being swept away, and strategy proved as useless, for when the troopers floundered upstream at night through the crackling ice-cake in the slacker flow of the rapid they came to a furious rush of water, and with difficulty gained the bank again. an attempt to crawl up to the barrier in the darkness resulted as unsuccessfully, for a man leapt up upon the log with a blazing brand almost as they left the shelter of the pines. the getting in was also only half the difficulty, for even if he passed the barrier the miners could muster a score of men for every one he had. it was thus apparently useless to provoke actual hostilities. the cards were evidently in sewell's hand, and it was clear that he recognized this and had his men in perfect command. not a shot had been fired--indeed, no miner had actually been seen with a rifle--and the only act of overt violence was the hurling of trooper grieve from the log. in the meanwhile esmond had written to the provincial authorities in victoria, but two different troopers who set out with his letters came back again. the snowfall had been abnormal, and, though they were hard men, they admitted that to force a way through the passes was beyond their ability. as one result of this, grace coulthurst had abandoned all idea of going to vancouver. in the meanwhile work was being carried on slowly and painfully in the valley, where the men thawed the soil with great fires on the shallow claims and postponed the washing until the ice should melt again. between whiles they mounted guard behind the log, and slept when they could. they were as far from submission as ever, but the tension had slackened long ago, and there was nothing but the breastwork to show that imperial authority was being quietly set at nought in the green river valley. it was merely a question whose provisions would hold out longest now; but the question was a vitally important one and one night three or four of the leaders sat discussing it in sewell's shanty. "so far, everything has gone very much as one could expect," he said. "the trouble will naturally come in the spring when esmond can bring more troopers in. that is, of course, unless we can make terms before then, which is, i fancy, quite probable." "and if we can't?" asked the american who had attended to tomlinson. "that police captain shows very little sign of backing down." "then we'll have to bring over the men from westerhouse," said ingleby. "i think they'll come, and, because it will not be difficult to block out slavin, who is in command of the police there, if he comes along after them, the position will be much the same as before." he looked at sewell, who, however, did not appear to have heard him. "what's going to stop the other people from sending a whole regiment along?" asked the american. "the british official character," said sewell drily. "it wouldn't look well, you see, and it would hurt somebody's dignity to admit that it was necessary,--that is, of course, so long as we play our cards cleverly. this trouble would be regarded from the official point of view as merely a little temporary friction which could be got over if handled tactfully. indeed, i shouldn't wonder if esmond is quietly reprimanded for causing it; but one has to remember that if you persist in making our rulers see what they don't wish to, they're apt to display an activity that's likely to prove as unpleasant to men in our position as it is unusual. they don't want to move if they can help it, but somebody has to smart for it if they're forced to." "that's quite right," said another man. "i remember riel, and they'd have let him down again if he'd known enough not to aggravate them by killing that man at fort garry. well, i guess we've no use for that while esmond keeps his head, and the one question is what we're going to eat. it's quite certain i can't live on cedar bark. we want grub, and we've got to get it. there are men right here who could break a trail to anywhere." "if we try the usual one we'll only clear it for esmond to bring troopers in," said ingleby. that was evident to everybody, and there was silence until sewell spoke again. "i've been well up the south fork of the river looking for deer," he said. "the valley's level, and i didn't strike a rapid, while with the snow on the river one could keep clear of the timber. the slight thaw we had should make a good crust for travelling, and it wouldn't be much trouble to make a few jumper-sleds for the provisions. the difficulty is that whoever went would have to cross the divide from headwater and pick up the usual trail on the other side." "nobody has ever been over," said another man. "i've no use for crawling up precipices with a big flour-bag on my back." "that might be because nobody has ever tried," said sewell. "one advantage in going that way is that esmond wouldn't know you had either gone out or come back again. we don't want to make a road for him." then he turned to the american. "how's tomlinson to-night?" "going very slow. the frost's against him. wound won't heal, and half-rotten pork and bread isn't quite the thing to feed a sick man. he should have been on his feet quite a while ago." there was a brief discussion, and as the result of it twenty men, of whom ingleby was one, were fixed upon to make the attempt. they were all of them willing, and started two days later before the stars had paled, while every man in the valley, except those on guard behind the log, assembled to see them go, though ingleby did not know that hetty leger stood a little apart from them watching the shadowy figures melt into the gloom beneath the pines. it was, everybody knew, by no means certain that all of them would come back again. they made their way up-river, dragging a few rude sledges with them, and they crossed the big divide in the face of one of the blinding snowstorms that rage on the higher ranges most of the winter. that cost them a week of tremendous labour; and then they floundered through tangled muskegs, where the stunted pines that grew in summer out of quaggy mire had been reaped and laid in rows by the arctic winds. their branches were strewn about them, and the men smashed a way through the horrible maze, making, with infinite pains, scarcely a league a day. still, the muskegs were left behind, and the ground was clearer in a big _brûlée_ where fire had licked up undergrowth and branches and the great trunks rose gauntly, charred and tottering columns. there they made as much as four leagues in a day through ashes and dusty snow, and at last came out on the trail to the settlement, dragging with them one man whose feet were frost-bitten. nobody had crossed the divide before; but that was probably because nobody had hitherto been driven by necessity into trying, and now, as usually happens in that country, the thing attempted had been done. the settlement was not an especially cheerful spot, consisting as it did of three or four log-houses roofed with cedar shingles which their owners had split, a store, and a frame hotel covered in with galvanized iron, though slabs of bark had been largely used as well. they, however, rested there several days, and they needed it, while the hearts of most of them sank a trifle at the contemplation of the journey home. they had set out light, but the store was crammed with provisions, which the freighter, who had somehow brought them there, had abandoned all hope of taking farther. it was evident they must each go back with a load which a man unaccustomed to the packing necessary in that country could scarcely carry a mile, and the hardiest prospector among them shrank from crossing the divide with such a burden. the thing, however, had to be done, and on the night before their departure they were arranging their packs in the store when the man who kept it pointed to a pile of bags and cases in a corner. "that's the police lot, and i guess they'll want the grub," he said. "i can't quite figure why none of them have come in for it, but you could strike them for transport on anything you took along." the reason esmond had not sent down to inquire about his stores was, of course, quite plain to the miners; but nobody in that settlement knew which way they had reached it or what had happened in the green river valley, and sewell laughed. "i am not," he said, "a freight-ox or a dromedary, and the rest of us have already got a good deal more than any one could reasonably expect them to carry." the storekeeper glanced at a stout deal box. "well," he said, "i guess there's not much more than twelve pounds in there, and it's for the major--tea and coffee and some special fixings from vancouver. if he don't get it, he and miss coulthurst will come right down to drinking water. the freighter couldn't take more than a half-case of whisky in for him last time, and i guess that's not going to last the gold commissioner long." ingleby, who was acquainted with the major's habits, surmised that this was very probable, but it appeared of much less consequence than the fact that grace might also have to do without even the few small comforts it had hitherto been possible to bring into the green river country. he no longer remembered the galling of the pack-straps or the tremendous struggle over the big divide, but laid his hand upon the box. "we'll manage this one, anyway," he said. "i'll take it along with me." then, turning at the sound of a step, he saw that sewell, who had followed apparently with the same purpose, was looking at him. "well," he said, "what do you want?" "you can't take that case," said sewell. "my pack's lighter." ingleby was a trifle astonished. "i was first," he said. "is there any special reason why you should have it instead of me?" sewell laughed, though his tone was not quite his usual one. "no," he said. "if one must be candid, i scarcely think there is." it had never occurred to ingleby that his comrade might have set himself to gain miss coulthurst's favour and in a measure succeeded. he would have thought the notion preposterous in view of sewell's opinions, and he smiled good-humouredly. "it really doesn't matter. i wouldn't have let you have it, anyway," he said, and drew the storekeeper aside. they started at daybreak next morning, and before they had gone a league ingleby found that the extra twelve pounds made his burden almost insupportable. still, he set his lips and bore it, taking a grim pleasure in the nip of the straps that galled his shoulders as he remembered for whom he was carrying the box. they were raw, and he was worn-out when the men made camp beneath a towering fir as the coppery sun went down, but it was very much worse on the morrow when he rose with aching limbs from the frozen soil to start again. somehow he kept his place with the others throughout that weary day and the ones that dragged by after it, though when he remembered them afterwards the blurred pictures his fancy called up were like an evil dream of fatigue and pain. they sank ankle-deep in ashes in the _brûlée_, rent their limbs and garments smashing through the muskeg, melted the snow with their camp-fires by lakes and streams whose shores even the wandering prospector's foot had scarcely trodden, and slept, or lay awake shivering, with boots in the embers and half-frozen bodies radiating like spokes from the hub of crackling fire, while the smoke, which was sharp with the sting of the resin, curled about them. ingleby's shoulders bled daily and troubled him seriously in the frost at night, a seam of his boot had fretted a raw place across his foot, and in the bitter mornings the cold struck deep and keen. twelve pounds more count for a good deal when the burden is already all that its bearer is fit to carry, and the effort drained the store of heat in his worn-out body and left nothing for the up-keep of its vitality. that heat is the source of energy everybody knows, but only those who have taxed every muscle in the cold of the northwest realize the fact's full significance. the man who has tried his strength too hard in the arctic frost may char his boots in the camp-fire, but he cannot get warm. to add to his troubles, ingleby had no proper mittens, and when the one extemporized from a strip of flour-bag burst, the hand with which he clutched the pack-straps split at every finger joint and at that temperature a sore will rarely heal. the others were not in much better condition, though day by day the line of weary men stumbled on in a silence that seemed the grimmer for the burst of anathemas from the one or two of them who had to be dragged up from the fire and brutally shaken into wakefulness when the hour to resume the journey came. then they came to the tremendous barrier of the divide, a rampart of ice and snow which even in summer no man new to that country would attempt to climb. it cost them a day to make the first thousand feet or so, and then they lost count of the rest, during which they dragged themselves upward from dwarf pine to pine or crawled along scarped slopes with the peaks still above them. they were waist-deep in snow when they crossed the ridge through the gap of a ravine down which all the winds of heaven apparently rioted, but they fought their way foot by foot, and were floundering down the farther side when ingleby, who was staggering, grey in face, behind the rearmost of them, lost his footing and rolled down a declivity. he brought up with a crash in a juniper, and rising, half-dazed, recovered his legitimate burden and dragged himself on again. he could scarcely see the others, for his head was throbbing intolerably and his sight was dim, but it seemed to him that he was travelling a little more easily than he had done. it was, however, not until they lay beside a snapping fire that night with their packs piled behind them as a barrier to the bitter wind, that the reason for this became apparent. "where's that case of yours?" asked one of the men. ingleby glanced behind him, and then laid down the blackened can of tea he held and rose unsteadily. "you haven't got it," he asked hoarsely, "none of you?" there was a little sardonic laughter, and one of the others said, "i guess we've got 'most enough without humping another case along for anybody." "then i must have left it where i fell into that juniper this afternoon." he shook his galled shoulders, which were bleeding through the shirt that was glued to them, and he winced as the movement tore it from the wound. then he turned slowly away from the fire. "hold on. where are you going?" said one of the men. "back for the case. if i'm fortunate, i may make camp before you start to-morrow." he stopped for just a moment, and looked back at the fire with a fierce physical longing in his eyes, for all that was animal in him craved for food and the rest of repletion. sewell, he saw, was lying half-asleep, with a partly consumed flapjack fallen from his hand. "now, see here," said somebody, "we can't wait for you. unless we get down out of the frost into thick timber by to-morrow night, it's quite likely one or two of us will stay up here altogether. you've got a straight warning. let the blame thing go." ingleby said nothing. he knew that if he dallied his flesh would master him, and he limped out of the firelight with a groan. the red flicker faded suddenly, and he was alone on a great sloping waste where a few dwarf firs and junipers were scattered, black as ink on a ground of blinking white, under the big coppery moon. there was a pain in every joint, the rag wound about one hand was stiff, and he dare not move his shoulders now, while at every step the torturing boot ate into his flesh. that was all he remembered, for he could never recall afterwards much of what he felt and did that night. he was not back at the camp next morning, and when his comrades had waited an hour or two they moved on slowly without him. one can live in the open under a greater cold than they were called upon to face, that is, if one is provided with costly furs and sleeping bags to suit it; but there are reasons why the prospector usually has neither, and there was no more endurance left in the men. ingleby, however, would, at least, have no difficulty in picking up their trail, and unless they made shelter that night it seemed very probable that some of them would freeze. they found it at the foot of the mountain wall in a thick belt of young firs where the jumper-sledges and two or three axes had been left, and that night they lay in comfort about the fire with a kettle of strong green tea in their midst, and the springy cedar and spruce twigs piled high about them. two of them, however, were not there, for sewell had gone back in search of ingleby. it was snowing a little, and there was no moon visible, while, though the rest of the journey down the valley would, by comparison, be easy, now they had the sledges, the men were curiously silent as they lay about the fire. nobody seemed disposed to sleep, and the kettle had been emptied when one of them glanced round at the rest. "if he doesn't come in by to-morrow i'm going back," he said. "i guess it mightn't be much use to-morrow," said a comrade. "if i could get a move on me i'd go to-night, but i'm not sure i can. what d'you say 'he' for, anyway? there's two of them." the men were dead-weary, too dazed with fatigue almost to think. nor was there one of them anxious to make the effort, which if successful might drag him from his rest. thus they were willing to be led away from the point at issue, which was what might have happened to ingleby. "well," said the first speaker, "sewell's a smart man, and he means well, but i hadn't quite remembered him. when i was broke, and hadn't a dollar's worth of dust to get the truck i had to have from the freighter, ingleby went bond for me. he don't know a good deal more than he has any use for, like the other man, but he's there when he's wanted. that's the kind he is. i'll give him another half-hour. then i'm going back for him." there was a drowsy murmur of concurrence. sewell was liked in the green river valley, and no man doubted his sincerity; but that was, after all, not quite enough, for it is, though somewhat difficult of comprehension, a fact that the dwellers in the wilderness, who see fewer of their fellowmen, have usually a clearer insight into the primitive essentials of human character than the men of the cities. they do not ask too much of it, but on certain points their demand is inexorable, and it is very seldom that a simply meretricious quality goes far with them. ingleby was not a genius, he blundered in details, and he had few graces; but they believed in him. the half-hour had almost passed when one of them sharply raised his head, and, though few other men would probably have heard anything, the rest shook themselves to attention. high up on the range above them there was a soft pattering in the snow, which grew louder, until they could hear two men stumbling down the steep hillside. after that there was a snapping of twigs among the firs, and sewell strode into the red light with his hand on ingleby's shoulder. the latter's face was grey, and he staggered until somebody seized him and dragged him down beside the fire. then he blinked at them out of half-closed eyes. "i got the case," he said. "that's all right," said a man soothingly as he loosed the straps about his shoulders and lifted the case aside, but ingleby turned upon him savagely. "put it there, ---- you! i want to see it. it's hers," he said. his voice was strained and broken, and sewell did not hear all he said. "get him some tea and flapjacks. i think he's a little off his head," he said. xxix esmond's hands are tied grace coulthurst had not long cleared the evening meal away, but she was already waiting esmond's departure with an impatience which was somewhat difficult to hold in check. he had come across from the outpost while she was occupied with the task, and that in itself would have been sufficient to displease her, but there were also other causes for the strain upon her temper. miss coulthurst had not expected to fare luxuriously in the green river country and had hitherto borne the necessary discomforts exceptionally well; but of late she had been actually hungry, which, in her case, was as unpleasant as it was unusual. there was still a store of flour and salt-pork in the gold commissioner's house, but there was practically nothing else, and the pork was rancid, while grace had a very rudimentary acquaintance with the art of cookery. as one result of this, she had risen unsatisfied from each untempting meal, and, brought up as she had been, the deprivation had its effect on her physical nature, though she felt the isolation which had succeeded the blockade even more. of late the company of ingleby or sewell had become almost a necessity, while she had naturally not seen either of them since the miners made their protest. coulthurst had also been a trifle difficult to get on with. he was not addicted to indulgence, but neither was he particularly abstemious, and tea brewed from leaves which had been infused once or twice already was not a beverage he appreciated or one that tended to make him more companionable. he lay somewhat wearily in a big deck-chair beside the stove with an unlighted cigar in his hand, while esmond sat opposite him with an unpleasant look in his face. "there is nothing to be gained by hiding the fact that i'm a little anxious about the state of affairs, sir," he said. "the scoundrelly miners are still apparently as far from giving in as ever, and, unpleasant as it is to admit, they have the upper hand." "it looks like it," said the major drily. "i suppose you haven't thought of making a compromise? nobody's hurt as yet, and i fancy they would be satisfied if you met them with regard to tomlinson. you're not bound to send a man up for trial unless it's reasonably evident that he's guilty, and i don't believe tomlinson did the thing, myself. couldn't you hold a kind of informal inquiry, and give the boys an opportunity for proving him innocent?" a vindictive sparkle crept into esmond's eyes. "and permit a rabble of that kind to teach me my duty? i'm afraid not. even if i wasn't sure the man was guilty, which i am, the thing would be out of the question." "you feel warranted in calling all of them--rabble?" asked grace. "i do. every one of them. their leaders, in particular, belong to that most intolerable class to be found anywhere--the half-taught proletariat, with just enough education to increase their natural unpleasantness and inspire them with a hatred of their superiors. that, however, is not quite the point." the blood rose to the girl's face, but remembering that the major occasionally displayed some little penetration she contrived to keep silent, though this was by no means easy. coulthurst, however, nodded. "i scarcely think it is," he said, with a trace of dryness. "as i pointed out once before, you do not seem to remember that i occasionally had mr. sewell and ingleby here." "i'm afraid i didn't--i'm sorry, sir," said esmond. "of course, i should have done so. one could almost have fancied that they were here frequently." again grace said nothing, though it cost her a stronger effort, and the major did not appear to notice the younger man's sardonic smile. "since you don't seem to care for my suggestion, have you any notions of your own?" "i haven't, which is partly why i came to you. if i could only find a way of getting word to victoria and a few more troopers in, it would be easy to bring them to reason. as it is, i have sense enough to realize that nobody would thank me for forcing a contest that could only end in disaster and the subsequent sending up of a battalion of canadian militia. the miners are twenty to one, you see." again coulthurst nodded. "you are right in one respect," he said. "personally, i shouldn't care to undertake the thing with less than three or four strong companies, and i'm not sure i could get in then. well, since a compromise appears out of the question, you can only wait events." "that is the difficulty. i can't wait too long. we're on full rations still, but stores are getting low and certainly won't last until the thaw sets in. of course, if affairs had been different, i could have hired enough of the fellows to break out a trail." perhaps the major did not intend it, but he looked at grace, and saw comprehension of his thoughts in her eyes. they were not on full rations, or anything approaching it, at the gold commissioner's house, and a few of the comforts esmond could have spared would have been worth a good deal to them. he was in some respects not an ungenerous man, but though he must, grace fancied, have seen how meagrely they fared, such a course had evidently never suggested itself to him, and in that fact lay the sting. he rose to go, in another minute or two, but just then there was a knocking at the door, which swung open a moment later, and grace gasped as she saw ingleby standing on the threshold with a heavy case in his hands. his garments were ragged, and his gauntness showed through them. his face was worn, and darkened by exposure to the frost, but his eyes were steady, and he glanced at the girl with a smile. there was a curious silence for a moment or two until he turned to the major. "may i come in, sir?" he asked. coulthurst regarded him sternly. "you could scarcely expect me to welcome a man in arms against his country." "no," said ingleby. "not as a friend. that would be unreasonable. still, i have a little explanation to make, and it is a bitter night to keep the door open. with your permission!" he swung round and closed it, after which he laid down the case, and grace felt a thrill of appreciation as she watched him. his self-possession appealed to her. "you have come--alone?" asked the major. "of course!" said ingleby. esmond smiled, though there was no good-humour in his eyes, and, as if inadvertently, dropped his hand on his hip. his uniform was raised a trifle there, in a fashion which suggested that a pistol lay beneath it. "wasn't that a little rash?" he asked. "can you point out any reason why i shouldn't arrest you?" "i fancy i can," and ingleby made a gesture of impatience. "for one thing, if you attempted to lay hands on me or reached for your pistol i should fling you out into the snow. that, of course, isn't in good taste to say in another man's house; but it may save everybody unpleasantness, and, in any case, i'm one of the proletariat from whom too much is not expected." there was a harshness in his voice and a glow in his eyes which seemed to indicate that he was perfectly willing to make his promise good, while, though his attitude was certainly not all that conventionality demanded, it was, at least, natural in the circumstances, and grace was not displeased by it. esmond, perhaps because he recognized the necessity for displaying his superior training, kept his temper, and coulthurst watched them both, with a little grim smile. "i haven't the least intention of indulging in an exhibition of that kind, which would be quite unnecessary," said the police officer. "there is a trooper within call who has a carbine." "i saw him, though, being a policeman on duty, he naturally did not see me. what would you gain by calling him?" "i think he and i between us could take you to the outpost." "you might. i haven't a weapon of any kind with me, but what then? two of my comrades know where i am, and you would have thirty or forty armed miners inquiring for me before morning. it is, of course, quite plain that you can't afford to force an outbreak of that kind." esmond realized that this was true. ingleby, it was evident, held the cards and was quite aware of it. he wisely said nothing, though his face grew hot, and there was a wicked look in his eyes. then ingleby turned to the major again. "what i have to say is not in the least important, and will not keep you a minute, sir," he said. "still, there are reasons why i would sooner captain esmond didn't hear it." "i believe he was going when you came in," said coulthurst reflectively. the hint was plain enough, and esmond moved towards the door, while ingleby, who stood between him and his fur-coat, handed the coat to him. then as the officer went out he lifted a partly-filled flour-bag in from the veranda, and, when he had closed the door, laid it with the case on the table. "won't you sit down?" grace said quietly. ingleby looked at coulthurst. "i scarcely think major coulthurst would object to anything you suggest, but i am in his hands." "sit down--and be hanged to you!" said the major, whose face grew suddenly red. "do you suppose i enjoy the position you have forced me into?" ingleby did as he was bidden. "i came across this case at the settlement, sir, and was told it was for you. from what the storekeeper said i fancied miss coulthurst would be pleased to have it, and that you wouldn't mind my bringing it up with me." "you were at the settlement?" and coulthurst glanced at him almost incredibly. "perhaps you know esmond sent down two or three troopers, and they couldn't face the snow?" "yes, sir. you will probably understand why i preferred not to mention it in captain esmond's presence." "the box is proof that you were there--but how the devil you managed it is more than i know. the troopers certainly couldn't." "they didn't go the right way," said ingleby drily. "then there is another one?" and coulthurst flashed a sharp glance at him. "as a very little reflection would show you that there must be, there is no use in running away from the question. besides, i feel i'm safe in your hands, and, while circumstances continue as they are, captain esmond couldn't profit by any conclusions you might come to. shall i open the case for you, sir?" the major made a little sign, and ingleby, crossing to the hearth, picked up the rock-drill, which served as poker, and contrived to prize up the lid with it. it was a trifling action, but it was characteristic; and grace noticed that he made use of the thing that was nearest without troubling anybody to find him a more suitable implement. then he laid out the contents of the box upon the table, and the girl's face softened as she watched him. the little comforts in themselves were worth a good deal to her just then, but the fact that he had thought of her was worth far more. the major, however, appeared a trifle disappointed, and she fancied she knew what he was looking for. ingleby seemed to know it, too, for there was a suggestion of a smile in his eyes. leaning one elbow on the table she looked at him with her rounded chin in the palm of one hand. "whichever way you went you must have crossed the range," she said. "that box was heavy. how did you carry it?" "on my back," said ingleby. "that is the usual way. we had sold all the horses off to the freighter for a few dollars quite a while ago. of course, as i hadn't asked your permission, it was a liberty." grace made a little gesture. "what did you go down to the settlement for?" "provisions." "but nobody could carry many of them over the mountains." "i think i managed forty pounds," said ingleby incautiously. "most of the boys had considerably more." the clear rose colour crept into grace's cheeks, and she did not trouble to prevent his seeing it. she knew what the simple admission meant, and that it must have cost him toil incredible to make that journey with a double burden. it was for her he had borne it. "and the box?" she asked. ingleby's embarrassment was evident, and she turned to the major with a curious little laugh and a faint ring in her voice. "do you understand what mr. ingleby has done?" she said. "he has carried that box besides his own load up from the settlement--over the mountains--so that we should not suffer for anything." coulthurst also appeared embarrassed. in fact, his face was distinctly red. "i'm very much obliged to him," he said. "it's devilishly unfortunate you got drawn into that outpost business, ingleby. excuse me, grace, it is--unfortunate. can't you see how you have placed me? as a man who has served his nation, even though he has been kicked for it, i can't very well----" he stopped a moment, still a trifle flushed, and then broke into a little laugh. "well," he said, "you're too strong for me--i'll capitulate. you know the ground i ought to take as well as i do; but it's more than could reasonably be expected of any man, under the circumstances. still, that storekeeper fellow might have put in something a little more exhilarating than tea." ingleby opened the flour-bag with something as nearly approaching a grin on his gaunt face as was compatible with the deferential attitude he had assumed. "i feel a little diffident about the next proceeding, sir," he said. "in fact, it is a piece of almost intolerable presumption on the part of a man setting constituted authority at defiance, as i'm afraid i am. still, you see, people must eat and drink, in any case." he took two carefully wrapped bottles out of the bag, and the major's eyes twinkled, while as he spread out the rest of its contents grace felt her heart grow very soft towards him. he had, it seemed, thought of everything that could minister to her comfort. then she saw that he had guessed what she was thinking, and his honesty became apparent. "the storekeeper had his wife there," he said. "i had a little talk with her." "it is to be hoped she didn't drink whisky of that kind," said the major, with a chuckle. "you couldn't get anything better in a montreal club." ingleby laughed. "i fancy some of my comrades have belonged to associations of the kind, and a good many of them have cultivated tastes," he said. "as a matter of fact, they can afford them." "will you be good enough to tell me how much those things cost?" asked the major. "if you insist. in fact, there's an invoice here. still, after the little kindnesses you have shown me i would much sooner not let you see it." coulthurst looked at him sharply, and then, reaching out, laid his hand upon the grocery bill. after that he rose and went into the adjoining room, and when he came back he handed ingleby a cheque on a vancouver bank. grace watched the miner curiously as he did so. "now you have relieved your feelings, sir, i can make what use i like of what is my own," he said. he crossed the room and flung the paper into the fire, then turned with a little smile to the major. it was a bold step, and the boldness of it appealed to the girl. she understood it as an assertion of equality, something he owed to himself, and withal it was done with deference and not aggressively. for a moment coulthurst gazed at him in astonishment. then he laughed, and made a little sign of comprehension. "i'm not sure i've met many young men with nerve enough to do that, but i think you're right," he said. "i was pleased to make your acquaintance, mr. ingleby--and it is, perhaps, not altogether your fault that the present unfortunate circumstances must necessarily lead to a temporary break in it." ingleby made him a little grave inclination. "i understand, sir, and there is only one thing i would like to ask," he said. "we may make some suggestions shortly for a compromise, and, in view of captain esmond's temperament--and our own--they might be considered more dispassionately if passed through a third party. would you be willing to receive sewell here?" he was evidently about to go, and coulthurst held out his hand. "send him as soon as you can. if your ideas are reasonable, i'll do my utmost with esmond. this state of affairs can't go on." ingleby turned towards the door, but grace, who was waiting, opened it for him, and let her hand rest in his a moment. "walter," she said very softly, "it was exactly what i would have expected from you." ingleby did not think it advisable to turn round, but he gripped the little fingers hard as he passed out into the darkness. xxx sewell's downfall sewell went to major coulthurst's the following night, and remained some time in conference with him. he also went there a day or two later to hear esmond's answer to the suggestions he had conveyed, and when it was delivered he found himself no nearer a compromise. there was not a man in the valley who would agree to what the police officer demanded; and though sewell went back with somewhat modified proposals from time to time, affairs dragged on at a deadlock, while each party hoped to starve the other into surrender. the miners could with difficulty have obtained a temporary and insufficient supply of provisions, but fearing that esmond would be driven to action, their leaders were dubious about sending any number of their men away again. it was a game of bluff they were playing, and it had dragged out much longer than any of them had anticipated, while all could recognize that it was only by holding command of such a force as would render hopeless any attempt to drive them from their barricade that they could avoid an actual recourse to arms, which must eventually prove disastrous to them. finally, after a meeting of all concerned, sewell was dispatched again with what practically amounted to an ultimatum, and on the evening on which he was to deliver it he and ingleby and leger discussed the affair at the bakery. hetty was not present, for though they were on short rations, she had gone up the valley with one or two little dainties she had contrived to make for tomlinson. he had been a strong and healthy man, but wounds, complicated by comminuted bones, give trouble in the cold of that country, and the very indifferent food had further militated against his recovery. sewell stood ready to set out, ingleby and leger sat by the hearth, and there was anxiety in the faces of all of them. "i'm afraid it's a fool's errand i'm going on," said sewell. "it is, of course, useless to threaten to seize the outpost when esmond must realize that we have no intention of doing it. the thing's out of the question. it was all very well to block the troopers out, but if we shot one of them it would bring every policeman in the country, and, if necessary, the whole canadian militia, down upon our heads." "it's almost a pity you didn't realize that before," said leger. sewell made a little gesture which might have expressed anything. "mutual recriminations seldom do much good, and i scarcely think any one would have expected esmond to hold out as he has done. i met one of the troopers the last time i went to coulthurst's, and he admitted that they were practically starving. it was a bluff we put up, but we made the mistake of assuming that the opposition had less nerve than we had. after all, it's not a very uncommon one." "are you quite sure it was only bluff when you began?" asked leger quietly. sewell started, almost imperceptibly, but leger saw it, and even ingleby, who would have believed in him in spite of everything, fancied that there was embarrassment in his face. "circumstances alter cases, and i've learnt a little about british official inertia since i've been up here," he said. "it's rather a big contract to dictate terms to the dominion of canada when we have failed to make any great impression on one police officer. anyway, i may as well get on to the commissioner's. neither of us is, i fancy, in the most amiable temper." he went out, and ingleby looked at leger, who shook his head. "he's quite right, walter. it's too big a thing for us, and we have failed," he said. "if it comes to the worst and esmond goes down, he'll beat us still." ingleby said nothing, though his face grew grim, and leger continued with a little dry smile, "sewell will do no good. it's almost a pity we hadn't chosen another man. his heart isn't in the thing." "you can say that--when you know his record?" and there was a flash of anger in ingleby's eyes. "don't misunderstand me. sewell will not actually play us false. he is, of course, a much more brilliant man than either of us, and he'll handle our case with his usual ability. still, that is scarcely enough, and one has to admit that it's a poor one intrinsically. we started with the mistake of taking it for granted that esmond could be bluffed." "i'm not sure that we did. to be correct, i started the thing without thinking of anything. anyway, you believed as firmly as the rest of us in sewell and that the men here and at westerhouse could make a stand that would result in their getting what they wanted." leger sat silent a moment or two. "perhaps i did, though i think i saw the weak points of the scheme clearly. they, however, didn't count for so much then. nobody, you see, can put a big thing through by working it all out logically beforehand. it appears all difficulties if you look at it that way. one has to take his chances with the faith that attempts the impossible and the fire that carries him through an obstacle before he realizes that it is one. sewell had the faith and the fire, and the trouble is that he hasn't now. there has been a big change in the man since he came into the green river country." ingleby could not controvert this, but it was evident to leger, who watched him closely, that he had still full confidence in sewell, and was as far as ever from guessing at any reason that might account for the change in him. "well," he said slowly, "we can't back down now. what are we to do?" "go on. play the game out to the bitter end. i think you know that as well as i do." the little sign ingleby made seemed to imply that there was nothing more to be said. "isn't it time hetty was back?" he asked. he opened the door, and the cold struck through him like a knife. there was not a breath of wind astir, and the pines cut sharp and black against the luminous blueness of the night without the faintest quiver of a spray, for that afternoon an arctic frost had descended upon the valley. "i'll go along and meet her," he said. it was ten minutes later when he did so. she was plodding somewhat wearily up the climbing trail, a shapeless figure in a big blanket-coat, and she took his arm and leaned upon it. it occurred to him that hetty had lost some of her brightness, and had been looking a little worn of late; but that was not astonishing, since the scanty food and strain of anxiety were telling upon everybody in the green river valley. it was also a long way from the bakery to the hut where tomlinson still lay helpless, and ingleby felt very compassionate as the girl, who said very little, walked by his side. when at last he opened the door for her she sank into the nearest chair and turned to him with a curiously listless gesture. "keep it open--wide," she said. ingleby understood her, for the little room was very hot, and the sudden change of temperature from the frost of the northwest had once or twice painfully affected him. then as he turned again he heard a faint cry and saw hetty clutch at the table. in another moment her chair went over with a crash, and he caught her as she fell. "no!" said leger sharply. "don't try to lift her. lay her flat." ingleby stupidly did as he was bidden, and when hetty lay at his feet, a pitiful, huddled object with blanched hands and face, beneath the snow-sprinkled coat, he felt an unnerving thrill of apprehension run through him as he looked down at her. leger, however, kept his head. "i don't think there's anything to be afraid of, but we must get these things loose about her neck," he said. "undo that hook while i lift her head a little. it's pressed right into her throat." ingleby dropped on one knee, and with clumsy fingers loosed the blanket-cloak. then he stopped a moment, and glanced at leger, who had slipped one arm under hetty. as she lay, her garments were drawn tight about her neck and shoulders. "go on!" said leger sharply. "get that collar undone. be quick. the thing is choking her." ingleby loosed the collar, though the blood crept to his face as the bodice fell apart from hetty's white neck. leger was, however, not contented yet. "pull those hooks out, or cut the stuff," he said. "what--are--you stopping for?" ingleby got the hooks out, that is, one or two of them, and then he stopped again, while leger saw the narrow black ribbon pressed into the white flesh upon which his eyes were fixed. "i don't know what that is, but pull it out," he said. "if you can't get it loose, cut the thing." ingleby did as he was bidden, but there was no need to use the knife, for, as leger moved his arm a little, the ribbon slackened, and a little trumpery locket which, as ingleby knew, was not even of high-carat gold, slid out and lay on hetty's breast. as he saw it all the blood in his body seemed to rush into his face. leger, however, apparently did not notice that. "get me the old jacket yonder. i want it under her shoulders," he said. ingleby got it and then stood leaning on the table, while leger still knelt by his sister's side. his face was set and anxious, but it was evident that he was equal to the occasion, and had not let his apprehensions master him. it was, however, different with ingleby, for now there was no longer anything to do he felt that he was quivering. "i'll run for the american who's looking after tomlinson," he said. leger made a little sign. "no. don't go. i may want you. she'll come round in a minute or two. this room must have been seventy, and outside it's forty below. where has your nerve gone?" ingleby did not know. it had, however, certainly deserted him, and he felt for once scarcely capable of doing anything as he leaned upon the table. then leger, who slipped the locket back beneath the dress, looked up at him. "she mightn't like to think we had seen it, and, of course, i didn't know what the thing was," he said, and then added, without moving his eyes from ingleby, "i wonder where she got it?" ingleby said nothing, though he knew. he had bought her the little trinket in england long ago, but it seemed to him that hetty might not like her brother to know it. apart from that, he was scarcely sensible of anything clearly, for he was overwhelmed by a horrible confusion, and he looked down at leger vacantly until a little shiver seemed to run through the girl. "now see if you can find the coffee," said his comrade sharply. "there is a little somewhere. we have nothing else to give her." ingleby waited another moment until he saw a faint tinge of colour creep into hetty's face, and then he moved towards the box of stores, dazed from relief. he was busy for a moment or two, and when he turned again hetty was lying in the low hide-chair with her brother's arm about her and the blanket-coat clutched closely to her neck. leger flashed a swift glance at him and pointed towards the door. "i think it would be better if you got out of this," he said. ingleby also thought so and went forthwith. he felt that he could not meet hetty's eyes just then, and he wanted to be alone and get rid of the almost insufferable confusion that afflicted him. he had never made love to hetty. they had been comrades, almost as brother and sister to each other; but she had worn his locket hidden on her breast, which was, he surmised, considerably more than a sister would have done. brotherly tenderness could also, he realized, scarcely account for the uneasiness he had felt and the relief that had replaced it; but it appeared quite out of the question--in fact, a thought to shrink from--that he could be in love with two women. it was as unpleasant to contemplate the probability of two women being in love with him. he could find no solution of the problem as he swung along beneath the solemn pines, and when he reached his black and silent shanty his brain was still in a whirl. one thing alone was clear to him, and that was that hetty was alive and apparently recovering. in the meanwhile sewell found that coulthurst, who, it seemed, had gone across to the outpost, had not yet come home. grace told him so standing in the doorway, with the sweeping lines of her figure cut in black against the light, and though she could see the admiration in his face he could not see her curious little smile. miss coulthurst had decided that the struggle between the miners and their rulers had continued long enough, and it was time she made some attempt to put an end to it. "still, i really think you might come in," she said. "he will be back before very long." sewell came in, and sat down opposite her across the hearth, and grace glanced covertly at her little watch which hung upon the wall. major coulthurst was punctuality in itself, and she realized that she had about twenty minutes in which to do a good deal. ingleby's devotion to her--and it was, perhaps, significant that she felt that was the best description of it--was evident; but there were points on which he was as unyielding and impervious to suggestion as a rock; while sewell, with his more delicately balanced nature and wider grasp of comprehension, was, in her hands, at least, as malleable clay. "how long is this very unpleasant state of affairs to continue, mr. sewell?" she asked. "you promised me we should have quietness this winter." sewell made a little deprecatory gesture. "circumstances were too strong for me, but i have done what i could. unpleasant as things are, they might be worse--considerably." "it is a little difficult to see how they could be." she had straightened herself a little, and sat looking at him with a certain quiet and half-scornful imperiousness which she knew became her, and yet was not altogether affected. sewell, the democrat, understood exactly what she meant, and knew that it was not the loneliness or physical discomfort the blockade entailed that she was thinking of. it was the humbling of the pride of the ruling caste to which she belonged, and the bold denial of its prerogative of authority, that she felt the most. it was curious that he could understand this and sympathize with her as ingleby, who only saw and did the obvious thing, could not have done. "well," he said, "i think this winter might have seen an undreamt-of overturning of constituted authority and the setting up of what you were once pleased to call a visionary utopia. my comrades were almost ready to undertake it a little while ago. in fact, they only wanted somebody to show them how." grace laughed a careless, silvery laugh, which would have been wasted on ingleby. there was no scorn in it now, only amusement, but sewell nodded comprehendingly as he looked up at her. "your friends would naturally never believe it, but i almost think the inauguration of the utopia would have been possible," he said. "at least, we could have cleared the ground for it." "there are," said grace suggestively, "men enough in this valley to make about one company." "and between here and the arctic sea enough to make such a small army-corps of marchers and marksmen as no country has ever enrolled beneath its banner. a very little spark in the right place will kindle a great blaze, you know; but i only want to show you that the thing might have happened. i scarcely think you need expect it now." grace looked at him with a curious intensity. "then," she said, "you were afraid?" "no," answered sewell slowly. "i was not sure i was strong enough to control the forces i could set in motion, or that the result of unloosing them would be--utopia. it seemed too big a risk. that was one reason--you can, perhaps, guess the other. after all, one has to admit that there are certain advantages attached to the direction of affairs by the more highly trained divisions of society." "to which," said grace, with a soft laugh, "you, of course, belong. what made--you--a democrat?" sewell made a little gesture. "ah," he said, "that is a different story, and one i hardly care to go into, but perhaps the instincts one is born with can't be entirely rooted out. i am, at least, not the iconoclast i was when i came into the valley. that, however, really isn't very astonishing. i now have a good deal to lose." he looked at her steadily with grave deference, but as like to like, and the girl recognized this and what his words implied. she was, however, playing a game then, and another swift glance at her watch showed her that she had little time in which to finish it. "and so, for fear you should lose it, you did not strike the spark? well, i think that was wise. it would certainly have cost you one thing which you seem to value," she said. this was vague, but it seemed to sewell that there could be only one meaning to it. what he had feared to lose was not yet beyond his reach. he did not know that there were in the girl qualities which would have made her a successful pompadour. just then her craving for influence was irresistible; but she swept away from the topic with a swift smile expressive only of the indifference which of all the feelings that she could show he most shrank from. "still, to be practical, how could the blaze have spread?" she said. "it would have smouldered out in one snow-bound valley, and in the spring there would have been a very inglorious downfall to the strictly limited utopia." sewell was nettled. there was, though it was seldom apparent, vanity in him, as both hetty and grace had guessed. her blame he could have borne, but there was a sting in her smile. that she should think him a visionary schemer led away by his imagination, and without the faculty of execution, hurt him. "the blaze would have leapt the snowy barriers," he said. "in fact, that was all arranged. then it would have flashed from range to range across to the yukon. one tolerably big bonfire has been waiting some time ready for lighting. i had only to send the message. i think you know why i didn't." grace saw his eyes, and understood the look in them. it was suggestive of passionate admiration. she also knew that a word would dispel it, perhaps forever, but she was lost in the game now, and what the man might think of her afterwards did not matter. "then there is a road out--beside the one you made to the settlement? it must be to westerhouse?" she said. "yes," answered sewell simply. "i have been there." grace had just five minutes left, and a task before her which, under ordinary circumstances, she could scarcely have expected to accomplish; but she had to deal with a man who was, after all, of her own caste, a man with a deep vein of vanity in him, who was also in love with her. the latter fact had been apparent for some little while, and she let him see now that she recognized it, while during the next few minutes she used every attribute with which nature had endowed her, as well as art of a very delicate description. in fact, grace had never until then exactly realized her own capabilities. neither sewell nor she could afterwards remember all that she said, and in fact she said very little, though that little was suggestive; there was no great need for a girl with her patrician beauty to waste words unduly when she had her eyes. in any case, sewell was as wax beneath her hands, and when she had finished with him she knew that the mountain barrier between the green river country and westerhouse was not impassable, and how the one gorge ran that traversed it. if sewell fancied she appreciated the passion which had led him to do so much for her, that was his affair. there was, however, a curious glow in his eyes when he rose as the major came in. xxxi broken idols coulthurst sat with a big hand clenched on the table and a grim look in his face when sewell left him, nor did he turn his head until grace, who came softly out of the inner room, sat down close by him. "you can't come to terms, father?" she said. "we can't," and there was an ominous sparkle in coulthurst's eyes. "i'm not sure that i wish to now. in fact, i've borne quite as much as i'm willing to put up with from both of them, and there's some reason, after all, in esmond's plan. he'll give them another week, and then we'll cut our way in." "it's not your affair," and grace started visibly. "you are the gold commissioner." coulthurst smiled. "i am also entitled to the rank of major, and that, after all, means a good deal." grace mastered her apprehension, for she realized the major's point of view and indeed concurred with it. "there is no other way than the one you are thinking of?" she asked. "there are two," said coulthurst drily. "we can sit still and starve, or march out and leave the valley in the possession of the miners while we try to break through the snow. neither of them, however, commends itself to esmond or me." "of course!" said grace, with a little flush in her face, which, however, faded suddenly. "but suppose one or two of the troopers were killed while you forced the barricade?" "then," said coulthurst, "our friends ingleby and sewell would certainly be hung." the major's terseness was more convincing than a great deal of argument, and grace saw what she must do. the pride of station was strong in her, so strong, in fact, that she would never have come down to ingleby's level. it was only because he had shown that he could force his way to hers--at least, as it was likely to be regarded in that country--that she had listened to him. when the grapple became imminent that pride alone would have driven her to take part with constituted authority instead of what she considered the democratic rabble. then there was the peril to her father and to ingleby. he must be saved--against himself, if it should be necessary. "there are troopers at westerhouse across the mountains?" she asked. "i believe there is a strong detachment and a very capable officer." grace sat silent a moment before she spoke again. "father," she said, "i want you to make a bargain with reggie esmond for me. on two conditions i am willing to tell you how he can bring those troopers in. you are to be the gold commissioner and peacemaker, but nothing else. as there will be two police officers, they will not want you as major. then there must be an indemnity for mr. sewell and ingleby." coulthurst gazed at her in blank astonishment. "you are quite serious? you mean what you say?" "of course! i can tell you--on those two conditions--how to bring the westerhouse troopers in." coulthurst banged his hand down on the table. "then i think there will be an end of the trouble--and the affair could be arranged to meet your views. but however did you find the way into the westerhouse country?" grace looked at him steadily, though there was a little more colour than usual in her face. "that does not concern reggie esmond or you. hadn't you better go over and see him?" it was getting late, but coulthurst went straightway; and as the result of it esmond and two troopers set out with a hand-sled early next morning for a certain peak that overhung a gorge through the barrier-range that cut off the westerhouse country. he could not pass up the valley, but that was no great matter since the peak could be seen leagues away. it was a long journey, and he had intended going no farther than the gorge with the troopers, but he was not destined to get even there. on the second day they came on a tree lying across their path with its branches interlocked among the shattered limbs of a neighbor so that the great trunk was sharply tilted, an obstacle which is frequently to be met with in that country. as the undergrowth all round was tall and thick, esmond and one trooper swung themselves upon the log to see if they could find an opening, and made their way along it until they came to a branch where the trunk was high above the ground. the trooper crept round it, and then, as esmond came after him, there was a crash and a shout, and the trooper who had stayed below saw his officer vanish amidst the rattling twigs. it was several minutes before they could reach him, and then he was lying, with a grey face, and with one leg changed in its usual contour and significantly limp. he looked up with a grin of pain when the first trooper bent over him. "gone at the thigh-bone. i felt it snap," he said. "simpkin will get me home on the sled, but you'll go on, grieve, and tell captain slavin how we are fixed. he will come in with every man available." "i guess i'd better see you safe back, sir," said the trooper. esmond stared at him fiercely, though his face was awry with pain. "you'll go on," he said. then he winced, and, moving a little, fell over with his face in the snow, and, because the boughs he had fallen among were thick, it was two hours before the troopers got him out and on the sled. it was not altogether astonishing that they managed to compound the fracture during the operation. after that grieve pushed on alone, and he was, as it happened, from the wild bush of northern ontario, which, though the trees and rocks are smaller, is a very similar country. in the meanwhile simpkin headed back for the valley with the sled, and it was not his fault that three nights of bitter frost overtook him on the way. indeed, if he had not been an exceptionally resolute man, inured to fatigue, it is very probable that esmond would have frozen before they reached the outpost. on the morning after they got there a trooper appeared before the miners' barricade without his carbine and hailed the men on guard. "have you brought along the american who fixed up jackson's foot when he smashed his toes, boys?" he asked. the man who had nursed tomlinson climbed up on the log. "i'm here," he said. "is anybody wanting me?" "i guess captain esmond does," said the trooper. "he fell off a log two or three days ago, and his leg-bone has come right through. the corporal can't get it back inside him. if you can see your way to do anything, we'd be much obliged to you." "did captain esmond send you?" "no, sir," said the trooper, "he didn't. he's way too sick to worry about anything." the american smiled at ingleby, who stood beneath him. "it's very probable! a compound fracture of the femur is apt to prove rather serious at this temperature, especially if our friend the corporal has been trying to reduce it. we don't owe the man anything, but i guess i'd better go along." "of course!" said ingleby simply, and in another minute the doctor was on his way to the outpost with the trooper. it was evening when he came back with news of esmond's condition, which, it appeared, was serious, and sewell forthwith set out for the gold commissioner's dwelling. he did not see grace at all, and coulthurst granted him only a two minutes' interview. "it is quite out of the question that i should worry captain esmond now," he said. "unless you are prepared to make an unconditional surrender, which i should strongly recommend, there is nothing i can do for you." "that," replied sewell, "is about the last thing we should think of doing." he came back, and related what had passed to leger and ingleby. the latter looked thoughtful when he heard him. "one could almost fancy by the change in his attitude that the major had something up his sleeve," he said. "the game thing occurred to me, though i don't see what it could be. the accident to esmond has probably upset him. anyway, we have our own course to consider now." "since esmond's not likely to worry us for awhile, we had better send all the men we can spare down for provisions, for one thing," said leger. it was decided on, and still ingleby looked grave. "that's all right as far as it goes, but it's only a side issue, after all," he said. "this state of things can't continue indefinitely, and tomlinson doesn't seem to be getting much better, or we could have simplified the affair by getting him out of the valley. the winter's wearing through, and if nothing is done before the thaw comes we'll be in the troopers' hands. in the meanwhile there's an unpleasant probability of the freighter or somebody else finding his way in now we've broken out a trail. have you thought about asking the boys at westerhouse to join us?" "no," said sewell, with a momentary trace of embarrassment. "there are a good many reasons why it wouldn't be convenient." "i should like to hear one or two of them," said leger bluntly. sewell managed to think of several reasons, but none of them appeared altogether satisfactory when his comrades considered them. it was, however, evident that he was determined on not sending to westerhouse, and they had to be content, though leger looked very grave when the conference broke up. "one could almost have fancied that sewell had lost his nerve, and if i could send hetty out of the valley it would be a big weight off my mind," he said. the same thought had occurred to ingleby, and it troubled him again that night as he kept his watch behind the tree, for he could not altogether understand the tense anxiety he felt about hetty. she had scarcely been out of his thoughts since the night she fainted at the bakery, which, considering that he was in love with grace coulthurst, appeared an almost unnatural thing. there was no doubt that he was in love with the commissioner's daughter, he assured himself. all his hopes and projects for the future were built upon the fact; but he was commencing to realize vaguely that she appealed, for the most part, to his intellect, while he felt for hetty a curious, unreasoning tenderness which was quite apart from admiration of her or her qualities. he puzzled over it that night, sitting still while the men slept about him under the stars, and then gave it up as beyond solution when one of them relieved him. in the meanwhile trooper grieve had found the gorge through the barrier-range, and was pushing on through dim fir forests and over snowy hillsides for westerhouse. esmond lay half-insensible in the outpost, for fever and dangerous inflammation had supervened; but nobody told the american where the lieutenant was going when he fell from the tree or anything about trooper grieve. there was thus no apparent change in the state of affairs until one night, when every man who could be spared was away at the settlement, a stranger worn with travel was brought in by two miners. sewell was standing with the others about the fire behind the tree, and ingleby saw the colour sink from his face when it was told them that the stranger was from westerhouse. "you have got to do something right away," said the visitor. "slavin's coming in with every trooper he can raise. he went round the way the trooper came, and i pushed on by the trail sewell told us of to get in ahead of him. a few of the boys are coming along behind me." there was a murmur of astonishment and consternation, and then a somewhat impressive silence, which leger broke. "you mean that one of the green river troopers reached westerhouse?" he said. "that's just what i do mean. your man sent him." leger looked hard at sewell, who stood back a little in the shadow now. "it isn't quite clear how he found the way, but, after all, we needn't worry about that in the meanwhile," he said. "you are still our acknowledged leader, mr. sewell. hadn't you better ask him a question or two? we want to understand the thing." sewell stood still for almost a minute, and the men, who were tensely impatient, wondered at it and the hardness of leger's voice. then he sat down on a branch where the wood-smoke drifted between them and him. "try to tell us as clearly as you can what happened," he said. "well," said the stranger, "one of the green river troopers came in badly played out, and when he asked us where the outpost was we took him along. after what you'd told us we guessed it meant trouble for you. it was dark then, and one of us crawled round to the little back window; but a trooper came round the house, and we lit out kind of quietly for the bush. then a trooper started out on the trail as hard as he could hit it, and 'bout half an hour later slavin came out in front of the outpost. 'i'm going away by and by--for my health--but i've sent to clatterton creek for two or three more policemen, and if you start any blame circus while i'm away, i'll see the boys who made it are sorry for themselves,' he said." "the boys took it quietly?" asked ingleby. "yes," said the stranger. "that's what they did. you see, the folks in victoria had moved on eshelby, and the new man was doing what he could for us within reason. anyway, we hadn't heard from you, and the boys weren't going to make trouble for nothing when slavin was there." again leger glanced at sewell, who said nothing, and then made a little sign to the speaker. "nobody would expect it of them," he said. "get on." "well," said the stranger, "when slavin and his troopers lit out quietly 'bout an hour after, we got our packs made and came on after them. that is, a few of us who hadn't struck any dirt that was worth the washing. we were willing to take a hand in if we were wanted, because we heard of hall sewell before he came to westerhouse. if he was in a tight place, we figured we'd stand behind him. he'd often done what he could for men like us." sewell made no sign, but leaned back, a shadowy figure, against the tree, and there was something in his silence that set ingleby's nerves on edge. "we kept 'most a league behind slavin, and we had to get a move on at that," continued the speaker. "he wasn't wasting time. then when we'd got through the range he broke off to the north, and we figured that was the way the trooper came. we let him go, and came right on by the trail sewell told us of." "how many are there of you?" asked leger. "eight. they're 'most as cleaned out of grub and money as i am. we'd have sent you a hundred if you'd wanted them soon after sewell came." ingleby laughed harshly, a jarring, hopeless laugh, and there was a murmur from the men. "our hand's played out. the contract was too big for us," said one of them. "what d'you figure on doing--now--mr. sewell?" sewell rose slowly, as though it cost him an effort, and, face to face with them, stood where the firelight fell upon him. the bronze had faded from his cheeks, and his glance was vacillating. "nothing in the meanwhile, boys," he said. "in fact, there is nothing we can do but try to extort some trifling concession from slavin before we surrender to-morrow." he stopped a moment, and looked at them with steadying eyes. "if we had westerhouse behind us i would have asked you to make a fight for it. it would at least have been an easy way out of the tangle for one of us--but it would only mean useless bloodshed as it is. i can't get you into further trouble, boys." his voice had been growing hoarser, and there was an uncomfortable silence when he stopped. this was not what the men had expected, and everybody seemed to feel that there was something wrong. then ingleby looked at leger with a little bitter smile. "well," he said, "we have made our protest, and, as any one else would have foreseen, have found it useless. established order is too strong for us. i never felt of quite so little account as i do to-night." leger nodded sympathetically. "that," he said, "isn't, after all, of any particular consequence--and i scarcely think it was quite our fault. why didn't sewell send over to westerhouse?" "i don't know," said ingleby. "it doesn't matter now." "have you asked yourself how the trooper found his way across the range?" ingleby turned round on him suddenly. "what do you mean by that?" "if you can't find an answer, i think you should ask sewell. it seems to me you are entitled to know." ingleby met his eyes for a moment, and then the blood rushed to his face as he rose. he said nothing, but he saw sewell leave the fire, and, turning abruptly, he moved on behind him up the little trail to the bakery, though he made no effort to overtake him. it was very dark beneath the pines, and he felt that he must see the man he had believed in. it seemed a very long while before he reached the bakery and, going in quietly, saw hetty regarding sewell with a flash of scornful anger in her eyes. "oh," she said, "it's perfectly plain to me! the girl tricked you. i knew she would." then she started as she saw ingleby in the doorway, though the flush in her cheeks grew deeper and the little vindictive glow in her eyes plainer still. "you heard me, walter? well, he knows she did. look at him," she said. "if you will go away for about five minutes, hetty, i shall be much obliged to you," said ingleby quietly. "mr. sewell has something to say to me." hetty swung round and swept out of the room, and, when the door closed behind her, sewell sat down at the table, and ingleby stood in front of him. his face was grim, and his lips were tightly set. "well?" he said at length. sewell made a little gesture. "i can't admit that hetty was quite correct in one respect," he said. "it was my mad impulsiveness misled me." "i want to be quite clear," said ingleby in a low, even voice. "you told miss coulthurst the way to the westerhouse gully?" "i did. if i were not sure that you knew it already, i would never have admitted it to you." a little grey patch showed in ingleby's cheek, and the pain in his face was unmistakable, while sewell clenched one hand on the table as he looked at him. "walter," he said, "what is miss coulthurst to you?" "i don't know," said ingleby, with a very bitter laugh. "i am not sure that she is anything whatever to me. i, however, asked her to marry me not so very long ago, and she led me to believe that when circumstances were more propitious she might do so." sewell seemed to gasp, and his hand closed more tightly on the table; but he said nothing, and ingleby spoke again. "i would," he said, "have believed in you, in spite of everything--but there is nothing to be gained by reproaching you. hetty was right, as usual, and you never belonged to us, you know. there is, however, something to be done, since it seems to me that it would be better to keep out of the affair the girl who was apparently willing to look with favour on both of us. you must be out of the valley before daylight to-morrow." sewell stood up slowly and took a carefully folded packet from his pocket. "i will be gone in half an hour," he said. "take care of these. they are the leaves that were under the bandage on probyn's body, and may go a little way towards clearing tomlinson. i will not offer to shake hands with you, walter; but i would like you to believe that i was sincere enough when i came into the valley. if it is any consolation to you, my punishment will be heavy. my name will be a byword after what i have done, and the work i once believed in must be left to clean-handed men." ingleby took the packet. "i could have forgiven you for stealing miss coulthurst's favour from me--since i scarcely think it was ever mine--but, just now, at least, i can't forgive the rest," he said. sewell made no answer, and when he went out ingleby sat down limply at the table and, with his chin in his hand, gazed at the fire. for the time even his physical strength seemed to have gone out of him. all his faith had been given one man and one woman, and now it was clear that both had betrayed him, and through him the miners who had placed their confidence in him. he did not know how long he sat there, but he started suddenly as he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder and saw hetty standing beside him. "i am so sorry, walter. is it very hard?" she said. ingleby took her hand and held it. "i believe you are sorry," he said. "after all, old friends are best. i have been a colossal idiot, hetty, and it does hurt a little to have the recognition of a fact of that kind suddenly forced on one. still, i must go back to the boys now. there are several little points that must be decided before to-morrow." xxxii his appointed station a faint light was creeping across the snow when ingleby rose from his bed of cedar twigs, behind the log, and stood up shivering. it was very cold, and most of his companions were still sleeping, though there were more of them than there had been the night before. during the darkness a handful of strangers had come limping in, and one of them had told him a somewhat astonishing story about trooper probyn. he could grasp the significance of it, but that was all, for though the rapid was partly ice-bound now, one white sluice of water still frothed about the tree, and the sound it made seemed to keep his thoughts from crystallizing. he was, however, glad of the distraction. a man who flung down an armful of fuel stopped and shook two or three of his comrades, who got up and stretched themselves before they set about preparing their morning meal. the pines had grown sharper in outline by the time it was finished, and the snow beneath them had changed in hue and was now a flat, lifeless white; and, though most of the men had risen, the stillness was more impressive than ever. ingleby had grown accustomed to the roar of the river and could have heard the slightest sound through its pulsations; but there was nothing for him to hear beyond the sharp crackle of the fire and the restless movements of one or two of his companions. the rest were expectantly watching the man upon the log; but he stood motionless, with his face turned steadfastly down the valley. ingleby, however, felt the tension less than he might have done under different circumstances. the game was up, and he had no doubt that the law he had defied would crush him for his contumacy; but that, after all, seemed of no great moment then. his faith was shattered, his hopes were gone, and it only remained for him to exculpate his comrades as far as he could and face his downfall befittingly. he took out his pipe and lighted it, but the tobacco seemed tasteless, and he let it go out again, and sat listening until the man upon the log raised a warning hand, and a faint tramp of feet came out of the silence. there was a rhythm in it, and he knew that slavin had come in with the troopers from westerhouse. the men also heard it, and ingleby stood up as they glanced at him. "i'm afraid you have gained very little by listening to sewell or me, boys, but it might save confusion if you still leave me to do what i can for you," he said. "the police will be here in two or three minutes, and somebody must speak to them." there was a little murmur from the men, which suggested sympathy with and confidence in him. then one of them, who was an american, waved his hand. "mr. ingleby will go right ahead, and he'll find us behind him whatever he does," he said. "it isn't his fault this thing didn't quite pan out as we had figured. he's here just where he's wanted, to see it out with us, and, anyway, it's a big, cold bluff he and the rest of us--a handful of placer miners of no account--have put up on the british empire. we're beat, but the man who wants anything has got to show he means to have it, and they'll listen to the others because we shut our fist." again there was a murmur, harsh but expressive, and the man upon the log looked down. "they're taking front among the firs," he said. "there's a stranger, who must be slavin, with them. i guess they'll be wanting you." he sprang down, and ingleby climbed up on the log. there was a suggestive jingle and clatter among the trees, where dusty shapes flitted in the shadows; but two men were moving forward across the open strip of snow where the light was clearer, and ingleby recognized one of them as coulthurst. the other was a stranger who wore a somewhat ragged fur-coat over his uniform. they stopped near the barricade, and coulthurst looked at ingleby. the latter stood erect and very still, with the smoke of the fire rising in a pale blue column behind him. "i presume you are there to speak for your comrades?" said the major. "your surmise is quite correct," said ingleby. coulthurst turned towards his companion. "this is captain slavin, in charge of the police detachment at westerhouse. he has come in with enough of his men to make any attempt to oppose him likely to result in disaster to yourselves. captain esmond being quite incapable of duty, this affair is in his hands." ingleby raised his shapeless hat, and wondered if this had been intended as a hint that he had no longer esmond's rancour to fear; but the police officer, who looked at him sharply, made no sign of noticing the salute. "well," he said, "what does captain slavin want?" "in the first place, the unconditional surrender of sewell, leger, and yourself." "that can be counted on, so far as leger and i are concerned. sewell is no longer in the valley. what comes next?" "the dispersing of the men you have with you." "which implies the arrest of tomlinson?" asked ingleby. "it does, naturally." "well," said ingleby, "we have heard your demands, and now we would like to know what you have to offer." "that," said coulthurst, "is simply answered. nothing whatever. i may, however, say that, as usual in an affair of the kind, proceedings will only be taken against the recognized leaders--yourself, sewell, and leger--and that captain slavin intends to hold an inquiry on the spot into the death of trooper probyn." slavin, at whom he glanced, made a little gesture of concurrence. "major coulthurst is correct," he said. "you have, however, to understand that the inquiry is in no way a concession. i have, as it happens, some information bearing on the case which has not come into captain esmond's possession. that is all. now, what are you going to do?" ingleby spent little time in consideration. the attitude of the two officers was just what he had expected it would be. they could make no concession; but coulthurst had nevertheless conveyed the impression that they would by no means proceed to extremities. "in ten minutes leger and i will give ourselves up, and you will not find a man behind the tree," he said. "that is, on condition that you wait with your men among the firs yonder until the time is up." slavin made a sign of comprehension, and when he moved back with coulthurst, ingleby turned to the miners. "it's all fixed now, boys," he said. "leger and i decided last night to give ourselves up. you couldn't have prevented us, and all we wanted for tomlinson was a straight inquiry on the spot. now, i want you to slip away quietly, and hang your rifles up where you keep them. you have to remember that the police don't know who held up the outpost, and have nothing definite against anybody but myself and leger." the men went reluctantly, and when the ten minutes had expired ingleby and leger climbed down from the log. two troopers accompanied them to the outpost, where, when ingleby had spoken a few words to slavin, they were left to their reflections for several hours. then there was a tramp of feet outside, and a trooper led them into the adjoining room where coulthurst and slavin sat. the door was open, and the corporal and a cluster of miners stood just outside. a carbine lay upon the table in front of slavin, who turned to the miners as ingleby came in. "i want you to understand that this is not a trial, boys," he said. "it's an inquiry into the death of trooper probyn, and i expect the truth from you. i have seen prospector tomlinson, and i'll now ask the corporal to give us his account of what happened the night probyn disappeared." there was a little movement among the miners, and one or two of them glanced significantly at ingleby. slavin, it seemed, had already gained their confidence, and they felt that if tomlinson was sent down for trial it would be because he was guilty. then the corporal told his story briefly, and admitted that ingleby had differed from him concerning the locality in which one of the shots had apparently been fired. after that several of the miners narrated how they had assisted to draw probyn from the river, and the discovery of the bullet-wound in him. slavin, who listened to them quietly, nodded and signed to ingleby. "you didn't agree with the corporal that the shots were fired in the same place?" "no, sir," said ingleby. "one of them, i feel certain, came from quite an opposite direction. the corporal was busy at the time, or he would have recognized it." "the men who have just spoken were correct in their account of what sewell did when trooper probyn had been taken out of the water?" "yes, sir." "did sewell remove anything from the body?" "he did," and ingleby took a little packet from his pocket and opened it. "these leaves. they had evidently been placed upon the wound. he said probyn could not have placed them there himself, and they were what the indians often used to stanch a flow of blood." slavin glanced at the desiccated fragments, and turned to the miners. "have any of you heard of the indians using a plant for that purpose?" "i guess i have," said one. "one of them tried to fix up a partner of mine, who'd cut himself chopping, with the thing. it didn't seem to work on a white man." slavin nodded. "i believe there is such a plant," he said. "now, so far as we have gone, circumstances seem to point to probyn having been shot by a man who afterwards tried to save him. he used a plant that only the indians seem to believe in. come right in, corporal. do you recognize this carbine?" a trace of astonishment crept into the corporal's face as he took up the weapon. "yes, sir," he said. "it's probyn's. am i quite sure? i know the number, and that dint under the barrel. he fell and struck it on a rock one day when i was with him." "well," said slavin, who took out a little book, "that's all i want from you. now, boys, this inquiry is in my hands; but i don't know of any reason i shouldn't read you a little statement that was made on oath to me by a prospector who brought this carbine into westerhouse gully. "'i was working on a bench-claim back under the range when an indian came along,' he said. 'he had a carbine with him. offered to sell it me for tea and flour, as he was lighting out of the country. this is just what he told me. he was hired to take two troopers from green river across the range, and was waiting for them just after sundown. he'd heard a black bear moving round--a black bear doesn't worry much about the noise he makes--and when something came smashing through a thicket he loosed off at it. it was getting kind of dark, and when he clawed into the thicket he found he'd got the trooper, who, as the trail was steep there, had left his horse. did what he could to save him, but the man died, and the indian got scared that the folks he pitched the tale to wouldn't believe him. that was why he dragged the trooper under a big rock by the river and put some stones and branches on him. somehow the horse got away from him, though he fired at it. he didn't want that horse walking round making trouble. i gave him the flour and tea, and kept the trooper's carbine.'" slavin closed the book, and looked at the men. "now," he said, "who would you say killed that trooper?" "the indian, sure!" said somebody, and there was a murmur of concurrence from the rest. "well," said slavin drily, "i believe he did. anyway, no proceedings will be taken against anybody in this valley. tell the boys to light out, corporal." the miners went away contented. they understood, and appreciated, men of slavin's kind. then the latter turned, and looked reflectively at leger and ingleby. "it's quite a good thing you had sense enough to keep the boys off their rifles," he said. "if there had been any shooting, you would have found yourselves unpleasantly fixed." his face was quietly grave, but there was the faintest suggestion of a twinkle in coulthurst's eyes. "i, at least, saw no weapons among them," he said. "well," said slavin, "that simplifies the thing. still, you see, you can't go holding up police outposts and heaving troopers about with impunity. where's the man who set you up to it?" "i almost think it was the drift of circumstances rather than mr. sewell that was to blame," said leger. "anyway, i expect he is a considerable distance from the valley by this time. in fact, it's scarcely likely that you could overtake him, and there's nothing to show which trail he has taken." it occurred to ingleby that it was somewhat astonishing that such a capable officer as slavin appeared to be had allowed so much time to pass before he asked the question. that, however, was slavin's business. "well," said the latter, "if i had a little more to go upon, i might make quite a serious thing out of this. as it is, all i'm very sure about is that you and your partner conspired to prevent the troopers getting at tomlinson; but as tomlinson didn't kill probyn, that doesn't count for so much, after all. still, we have no use for you up here just now, and you have two days in which to clear out of the valley. tomlinson will get his ticket, too, when he's able to take the trail." "that would mean the sequestration of our claims," said ingleby. "exactly. you're not compelled to go. stay right here if you'd sooner, and take your chances of any charge i may be able to work up against you." ingleby looked at leger, who made a little sign. "i think we'd better go," he said. "still, while i have no regret for anything i have done, i should like to thank major coulthurst for what is, from his point of view, a clemency we scarcely expected." slavin smiled somewhat drily. "you don't want to make any mistake. the major has done what he considers most advisable--just that, and nothing else. now, before you light out take a hint from me. canada's quite a big country, but the law of the empire it belongs to is even a bigger thing. you have come off pretty well this time--but don't try it again." ingleby made coulthurst a little grave inclination. "in spite of captain slavin's explanation, i feel we owe you a good deal, sir," he said. "still, i think he's right in one respect. we attempted too big a thing. henceforward we'll go to work, little by little, in a different way. we have taken the wrong one, but the hope that led us into it is just as strong as ever." coulthurst smiled a little. "long before it's realized you and i will be dead. if i ever come across you again under different circumstances it will be a pleasure," he said. ingleby turned and went out, taking leger with him, but he left the latter among the pines and swung into the trail that led past the gold commissioner's dwelling. he did not know whether he wished to see grace or not, but, as it happened, she came out on the veranda as he passed and stopped him with a little sign. "you are going away, walter?" she asked. "yes," said ingleby. "in all probability i shall never come back." the girl's cheeks were flushed, and there was a curious strained look in her eyes. "you seem," she said, "quite willing to go." ingleby looked at her gravely. "it hurts me less than i expected it would have done. still, even if i had been permitted, why should i wish to stay? i am poor again, and it is very likely shall always be so. there are barriers between you and me which can never be got over." "you didn't believe that once." "no," said ingleby. "still, i am wiser now, and what i may have to suffer is no more than my desert for believing that any man is warranted in trying to thrust himself above the station he was meant to occupy. that, however, isn't, after all, very much to the purpose." "i suppose," and there was a tremor in the girl's voice, "you blame me for all that has happened?" ingleby's eyes were still fixed upon her with disconcerting steadiness. "it is not my part to reproach you, but i know what you did. you have wrecked the life of my best friend, and turned into a traitor a man whose work and words brought hope to thousands. sewell will never lift his head again." he spoke slowly, and a trifle hoarsely, but there was a hardness and resolution in his voice which struck a chill through the girl. "what did he tell you, walter?" she said. "very little. in fact, only that he had told you the way to westerhouse; but that was quite enough. i do not know whether you told him that you loved him or not; but it is quite plain to me that you made him think so. men of his kind do not betray those who believe in them without a reason." "walter," said the girl, very softly, "i wonder if--you--ever really loved me?" ingleby winced, but there was still no wavering in his eyes. "i do not know," he said. "you are the most beautiful woman i ever met, and i believed i did. most likely your beauty and all that you stood for dazzled me, and i lost my head. it may have been that--i do not know--for if i had really loved you i should, perhaps, have forgiven you everything." "and that is too much for you?" ingleby stood silent a moment. "if you had loved me, you would never have betrayed me. i am afraid it is." grace looked at him steadily, with the colour in her cheeks, and her voice was a little tremulous. "perhaps i wouldn't--like you, i do not know." then she held out her hand. "don't think too hardly of me. good-bye, walter." ingleby touched her fingers, for he dared not trust himself further, and swinging his shapeless hat off abruptly turned away, while grace stood very still until the shadows of the pines closed about him. that was the last she ever saw of him. it was half an hour later when he walked quietly into the bakery, and came upon hetty getting her few belongings together. "i have come back--to the people and the place i belong to. you will not turn me out?" he said. hetty's eyes shone softly. "we have been waiting for you, walter--we knew you would come. still, i'm not sure you can ever get quite back to where you were before." ingleby saw her meaning, for he remembered the locket; and it seemed that hetty knew what he was thinking, for a little colour crept into her face. "well," he said, "i will be patient, and try very hard." then he heard footsteps, and, going out, met leger at the door. the latter turned and came down the trail with him. "we are taking the trail to-morrow. are you coming with us?" he said. "of course!" said ingleby, looking at him in blank astonishment. "in that case there is something to be said--and it is difficult, but hetty is my sister, after all. do you know who gave her that locket?" "i did," said ingleby, "a long while ago, but i never fancied that she had kept it. tom, i do not know what your sister thinks of me, but she can't think more hardly of me than i do. still, there may be one or two other colossal idiots of my description." "it's quite likely," said leger drily. "that, however, isn't very much to the point, is it?" ingleby stood silent a moment. "tom," he said, "as you found out, it's difficult--and i don't understand the thing myself. perhaps miss coulthurst dazzled me, and i've been off my balance ever since i came into this valley, but i know now that if i ever marry anybody it will be hetty. that's a very indifferent compliment to your sister. she will probably be a very long while forgiving me, but i may, perhaps, at last persuade her to believe in me again. now, are you going to turn me away?" "no," said leger. "after that i fancy we can face together what comes." it was early next morning when they left the valley with an escort of twenty miners to help them across the divide, and hetty stood by ingleby's side when they turned for a moment to look back from among the climbing pines. then, as they turned again, ingleby met the girl's clear eyes. "it may be a long while, hetty, but i think i shall get quite back, after all," he said. "it was in ever wanting to go away that i was horribly wrong." the end transcriber's note: the following typographical errors present in the original edition have been corrected. in chapter vii, "he realized his responsbility" was changed to "he realized his responsibility". in chapter xiv, a missing quotation mark was added after "you must come no farther." in chapter xvi, "the botttom of everything" was changed to "the bottom of everything". in chapter xvii, "the corporal; who dropped his bridle" was changed to "the corporal, who dropped his bridle". in chapter xxxii, a quotation mark was deleted after "came down the trail with him." distributed proofreading canada team (http://www.pgdpcanada.net) the great gold rush a tale of the klondike [illustration: cover] * * * * * first edition april, reprinted november, * * * * * the great gold rush a tale of the klondike by w. h. p. jarvis author of "letters of a remittance man" toronto the macmillan co. of canada, limited to colonel samuel benfield steele c.b., m.v.o., a.d.c. one time officer commanding the north-west mounted police in the yukon territory this book is dedicated as a token of affectionate regard preface there is a freemasonry among klondikers which rules that no tales shall be told out of school. if, therefore, this were an historical novel, if i were telling tales and seeking to escape censure by the subterfuge of changing names, i could hardly succeed. let me take the case of poo-bah, for instance. the reader with a knowledge of the early days of dawson accepting the story as historical, would fix as the original any one of half a dozen men indecently caricatured. but if he is told the character is a composite one, that it is the personification of dawson graft, or, in other words, that it is the sum of a merger, he will understand and, i think, make no complaint. otherwise the story may be accepted as the author's best effort to convey a true account of the different phases of the world's most remarkable stampede. the stories of corruption among the officials in dawson are those which a visitor would have heard on every hand, and at the present time there are many old-timers in the yukon who will tell tales similar to the incidents i have introduced in my story. when one of my characters speaks of the dawson officials as petty larceny thieves and highway robbers, it is to be understood to be a sample of the phraseology in vogue at the time. the different types of prospector i have attempted to portray are those i have met, lived with, and mixed with. should it appear i have given too much space to the humble economies of the miner's life, i shall advance as my excuse the lack of our literature in this particular. i have also made a humble attempt to establish the respectability of the miner. so much has been written to compromise him, and so many imaginations have drawn lurid pictures of his morals, i feel it his due. in a general way the reader may accept anything in my story which has none other than an historical interest as being accurate. i am indebted to the rev. archdeacon macdonald, now of winnipeg, for the story of his first discovery of gold. for the story of the discovery of franklin gulch i am indebted to mr. william hartz, who also furnished the accounts of the finding of gold in the stewart river. these accounts have never before been written. w. h. p. j. toronto, canada. _january_ . contents chapter page i. the fortune-seekers. ii. john berwick iii. the beginning of yukon iv. society in alaska v. soapy's little game vi. hitting the trail vii. hugh's philosophy viii. over the summit ix. storm and stress x. an empire's outpost xi. another pass xii. a new partner xiii. the dance xiv. a long shot xv. revelation xvi. a stream of history xvii. dawson xviii. poo-bah! xix. graft xx. a lottery xxi. the peels' hospital xxii. the last straw xxiii. revolution xxiv. within the barracks xxv. recruiting xxvi. located xxvii. the wood-pile xxviii. a council of war xxix. stony ground xxx. on the scent xxxi. an odious dilemma xxxii. a derelict xxxiii. tribute xxxiv. no surrender xxxv. the man with the pouch xxxvi. after the crisis xxxvii. oil on troubled waters xxxviii. reunion xxxix. retrospection xl. the happy ending the great gold rush chapter i the fortune-seekers those who join the stampede to a new goldfield may generally be divided into two classes, the tenderfoot and the old-timer; otherwise, the novice and the experienced prospector. the novice joins the stampede because he catches the "fever"--dreams dreams. the old-timer goes because the diggings he had last worked in proved of little good. were the sea-dogs of old--drake, raleigh, or frobisher--born into the world to-day, their spirit would surely have impelled them to the mining camp, to seek fortune in the mountain fastnesses, and to wager years of effort on the chance of wresting from nature her treasure stores. on the steamship _aleutian_, as she lay in the dock at vancouver, british columbia, one day in the march of , there were many tenderfeet and a few old-timers. amongst the experienced was john berwick. about him surged the steamship's host of passengers, waving their arms, and yelling answers to the cheer that went up from the great crowd upon the dock-side. he and his fellows were bound for the klondike goldfields. before them lay adventures, toil, and danger; the adventurous will ever draw the tributes of goodwill from the multitude staying at home. the air was chill and damp; and the increased speed of the steamer as she passed from the harbour accentuated the effect of the breeze that blew against her, so that berwick felt cold. he shivered, and half turned towards the door across the promenade; but the wavelets, flying by in their half-blue, half-grey ripples, fascinated him, and he lingered. suddenly he was aroused--a hand was on his shoulder, and he heard a familiar voice say, "hullo, old chum!" john swung round. he looked into the smiling face of his old-time mining-mate, george bruce. "george, by all the gods!" he cried. "are you bound for the diggings, too?" "yes, and mighty glad to find an old mate. i told you, when you left coolgardie, that you wouldn't stand civilization long, but had no idea of running across you in this rush." the two turned and entered the saloon together. neither mentioned it, but each knew that in the adventures before them their efforts and their fortunes would be joined. in the language of the australian, they were mates, or, in the vernacular of their new surroundings, "partners." george bruce was tall and athletic, with golden hair. he was a jovial soul, blessed with a body of activity. he would go for the hardest work in a cheery way, and during the social hours of evening was the best of company. he was as liberal with his money and means as he was of good-nature. the saloon was crowded with men, drifting about, staring at all they met, or talking in groups. on the lower deck dogs could be heard barking. the ship was tense with an atmosphere of excitement. berwick and his "pardner" went by a companion-way to the lower deck, where they found a passage-way to the fore-part of the ship, and so came to the presence of the canine choir. big dogs and little dogs, of every breed and colour, were there. all grades of canine society were represented, from the big and well-fed st. bernard to the mongrel snared in the slums. dogs were a safe investment in the towns on the pacific coast of north america, and unscrupulous humanity was actively at work capturing them and getting them there. the portion of the deck to which the dogs were relegated was also set apart for the baggage, which was piled in heaps in the middle. a dozen men were diving into kit-bags, extracting necessary articles or packing them away. the inspiration of the last few minutes in vancouver had prompted many to purchase odds and ends which had been forgotten in the general outfitting. a tall, angular man was attending to three dogs of an uncommon breed. two of them were practically of the same size, which was that of an ordinary collie; the third was not so large. all had the same markings, black with tan about the face and neck, and a show of tan about the legs, but the hair on the two larger was longer than on the third. this couple also had bushy tails which curled over their backs, while the tail of the smaller dog was only a stump. john recognized them from their wolfish look as belonging to a northern breed. george and he became interested. after watching the dogs for a minute, john approached one of them and patted him, remarking to his owner, "your dogs don't seem over-affectionate." "no." "they don't make much noise." "these dogs never bark." "why is that?" "don't know; suppose it is because they have wolf in them; but they howl when the spirit moves them." "often?" "only when they are alone, and then generally at night." the conversation was lapsing when the stranger turned and gazed at the mountains showing through the mist along the coast. "those mountains look kind o' cold," said he. "you fellows going inside?" "yes," answered john. "come from australia?" the stranger had evidently been sizing them up. "there are a whole lot going inside from australia, i hear." "the only man i know on board is george bruce here, my mate; but there is such a crowd about--there may be others!" "the passes are already crowded--a whole lot of these fellows don't know what they are up against." the man shook his head with an aspect of melancholy. "been in the klondike before?" berwick asked him. "yes, five years ago. i came down from the river in ' , just before the news of carmack's discovery reached forty mile, or else i would have been in on the best of it. the fellows sent me out word right after, but i didn't think the pay streak would hold, so didn't go in last year. but this spring i got so dead sick of civilization i just had to get away, although i don't think there's much chance of my striking it rich." "your dogs are yukon dogs?" "yes, malamoots. i brought them out with me just to kind of keep me from getting homesick, but they worked the other way. i took them back on the home ranch, and every time they set up a howl on winter nights i began to see the old northern lights sky-shooting overhead, and smell the bean-pot boiling, and i'd feel like getting down a hole to bed-rock somewhere and trying a pan of dirt. besides, the folks outside, i don't like their ways; they ask a man so many fool questions. they all want to know why i ain't a millionaire. you see i've been up to bonanza creek where carmack made his discovery, and where the rich claims have been discovered, a dozen times. we used to call it rabbit creek, and there were always a half-dozen moose or so mooching round, and we used to go shooting then." "didn't you ever try a dish of gravel?" asked george, for the first time entering the conversation. the stranger looked at him, and evidently did not understand. john cleared the situation by saying, "i think what you call a pan we call a dish in australia." "oh, yes, i've panned it often enough; but could not get more than a few colours to the pan of dirt. fellows writing me say they go down through twenty feet of black muck before they strike the gravel and bed-rock. i was not looking for any proposition like that. how carmack found out the gold was underneath i don't know." the two friends bade their new acquaintance good evening, and returned to the saloon. all the seats were occupied, and there were yet groups of men standing about, but the excitement was less. they passed on to the smoking-room, at the fore-part of the ship. this was crowded, and the air thick. a large man in a white sweater was holding forth. he was stout almost to corpulency, and extended his fist excitedly in the ardour of his argument. "i tell you, gentlemen," he was saying, "i come from the state of i-dee-ho. we have big mountains in i-dee-ho, with lots of snow on them in winter. i've lived among these mountains for twenty years, and i know what snow is; and you bet your life if there is one man who will get into the yukon it is john muggsley! big jack they called me back home. it's a big man who is needed on a trip like this, a fellow who can put a couple of hundred pounds on his back and walk off with it as if it were nothing. i tell you this is not a proposition for any tenderfoot to tackle!" "well," said another man, "i don't want any packing so far as i am concerned. i have two cows with me, both good milkers, and i will load my stuff on their backs and drive them over the pass. i can have their milk to drink, and when i get to lake bennett i'll kill them and sell their meat." john and george had seen those cows. poor cows! poor man! so it was with a large portion of the passengers. with the excitement and the thirst for gold the most quixotic ideas had been developed. what the cows were to live upon en route had not yet been considered! such is the haste with which an idea is acted upon when the gold-fever has seized its victim. others there were who had machine-propelled devices designed to travel over ice and snow, or on dry land. these machines were manufactured and sold by keen-witted salesmen to the inexperienced and confiding. after dinner, that first evening out of port, john and george fell into conversation with the owner of the malamoots. they had seized two of the cots erected in the saloon; and their new friend, seeing them, had taken one next to them. his greeting was friendly. "well, gentlemen, getting located?" "yes." "good act!" the three were soon in deep conversation, discussing gold-mining as prosecuted in australia and in the yukon. after an hour or two they strolled forward between the cots, stepping over sacks and bags and articles of clothing spread upon the floor. they passed several tables at which games of cards were being played. "the tin-horns are getting down to business," remarked the stranger. "what are they playing?" asked george. "black jack, the great game for the tenderfoot. it is so easily learned, so easy to cheat at, too; and these greenhorns will get robbed-blind." "their eyesight will be improved by the loss of their money," remarked john. "a fool never learns," said the stranger. they entered the smoking-room, and found muggsley still holding forth, "gentlemen, you just watch me and see how soon i get over these here mountains. it's experience that counts in this kind of work." the man who had the cows, and he who was the proud possessor of the klondike ice-locomotive were listening with some disdain; but the dozen other listeners were open-mouthed in envy and astonishment at wonderful muggsley. the three passed out on deck. the wind was chill, a frizzle was in the air, and the waves, breaking in dull phosphorescence against the bow of the ship, looked sickly and uncanny through the blackness. "a dangerous coast--the insurance rate for ships travelling this route is fifteen per cent.," remarked the stranger. john muggsley was still shaking his fist vociferously in the faces of his listeners as the party returned from deck to seek their beds. "good-night, you fellows. glad i met you. my name's hugh spencer," the stranger said, as he settled in his cot. "the same to you!" answered the others. the freemasonry of the gold-seeker holds throughout the world, and its handshake is honest. three gold-seekers have been introduced to the reader in this chapter; and these pages will tell something of what befell them in what was probably the most spectacular gold-rush in the history of the world. john berwick, who is by way of being our hero, shall have a chapter to himself. chapter ii john berwick like most men whose success in life is largely the whim of fortune, john berwick had for years accepted her rulings without protest, and regarded passing little incidents as signs of her influence. one night in the december preceding his setting out for the klondike, he was lying in his bunk on judas creek--one of the innumerable streams in british columbia in which colours of gold, otherwise "prospects" could be found--reading a month old newspaper that a trapper, who had passed the previous night with him, had brought from the settlement, and in its columns had found an item of news telling of the recent rich discoveries in the yukon. he read the paragraph carefully again and again, striving to separate exaggeration from truth, and to satisfy himself that there was truth in it. by the camp stove sat joe, the french-canadian whom he employed, smoking and gazing at the glow of the fire with stolid and witless eyes. he would sit thus for hours; to a man of berwick's temperament he was a satisfactory companion. on the claim things had gone none too well. true, by great effort they had reached bed-rock at thirty feet, and were beginning to cross-cut in search of a pay-streak. there was certainly little gold in the gravel on the bed-rock already uncovered, and the flow of water into the working was very great: indeed, as much time was taken in keeping the shaft free of water as in all their other works combined. and up to three days previously rain had been incessant, though relief was apparently at hand, owing to the frost that had succeeded. the earth had hardened; judas creek was already flowing in less volume, and the boulders in the stream were becoming massed with ice. berwick had been but a few months on judas creek, having essayed to try his fortune in canada's most western province. fortune meant much to him--for lack of it hindered his marriage with the one necessary girl, alice peel, the only daughter of surgeon-major peel. this was one cause of his presence on the frontier: another was that he and his religion had "fallen out" years ago. his father had intended him for the church, and here he was.... "the creek is falling rapidly, we can hardly hear it now," remarked john. "dat's so," was joe's reply. he was laconic. john's thoughts went back to his prospects. much of his small capital had gone into the works. joe was not in love--he had no capital save his strength of body, and his religion was negligible. when first this french-canadian had arrived in british columbia, and started work in a saw-mill, he had refused to work on sunday, until the foreman told him that the devil never crossed the rocky mountains--which silenced his scruples. for sure, the rocky mountains were very high! "i think we should empty the shaft to-morrow with seventy or seventy-five buckets." "i guess dat's so." again berwick relapsed into silence, and kept his mind on his many problems: had he or had he not better throw up his judas creek claim, and strike out for the scene whence came these wonderful tales? the volume of the creek was diminishing with abnormal rapidity. for three days now frost had been upon the canyon, and the flying spray had frozen upon the boulders. the rushing, gurgling stream, falling over rocks and sunken logs, had during that time been sucking down bubbles of cold air, which sealed the fine ice particles to the river bed. for miles judas creek was lined with anchor ice, encasing the rocks with a coating, sickly, white, insidious. in the darkness the opaque ice seemed to shine out in phosphorescence; in fact, it threw back the light of the stars overhead, which seemed to have lowered themselves in the heavens--so bright and grand were they. at a point a mile below the little pool where the nucleus of the mass now filling the river-bed had formed, a tree was stretched across the torrent. it had fallen into the stream above, and floated down until it jammed, holding back the current. the avalanche--as the thickening stream had now become--found this tree, and swept against it but a second, when it snapped. now the flow of the river became a seething mass of ice and sticks--four feet high--travelling at the rate of several miles an hour, picking up all that came in its way. it passed the mouth of several tributaries, which lent it increase of force: still its speed quickened: the grinding noise increased--logs, sticks, masses of ice and great roots of trees appeared for an instant on its surface and sank again. now the wave was five feet--now six feet high--broadening out, gaining yet in speed, still more effectually holding back the river's flow. the gradual silencing of the river's roar was getting on the nerves of john berwick, who was miles down-stream, far below the ice-flow. the river had tapered into a little rill. when a certain noise has been a companion for days and days, and is suddenly stilled, a sense of uneasiness results, as when on a steamer the throb of the engine ceasing will rouse sleepers from their slumber. the slowing down of the torrent in judas creek made berwick restless. he did not at first recognize what it was that worried him. joe also seemed as if he were not altogether proof against the spell; at last, he took his stare from the stove and looked around the cabin. "i t'ink something pretty soon happen, by gosh!" john stared at him; for joe to volunteer a remark was unusual: it increased his employer's apprehension. berwick returned to his newspaper, fascinated by its news. a party of miners had arrived in san francisco bringing much gold from some unknown region of the north. they called it the klondike. would his judas creek claim ever pay him for his efforts? what were his chances of fortune? masses of gold or mountains of dust? he was in search of fortune--with a big "f." his thoughts naturally drifted to the girl he wanted to marry. she was the daughter of luxury and wealth. he was just a prospector, no more in the eyes of dame fortune than the sturdy natural by the stove: in fact, experience had led him to believe that in the mining enterprise fortune had a partiality for such men as joe. berwick had been five years at the mining game. he had drifted from one camp to another: over america, to australia, back to america. he had possibly become something of a cynic; certainly his mind had hardened with his muscles. he dreamed dreams. what would his lady say if she received a letter, saying he was again pulling stakes, and had left judas creek in order to avoid being defeated? he whistled, and shrugged his strong shoulders. he did not know! he put some practical thoughts together. the klondike was evidently in the north, far inland, in canada. could he withstand great cold? yes, he could; he could endure and do anything as any other normal strong man could; and could go anywhere that was practicable to humanity. this was not vanity, not conceit, but just healthy self-confidence. should he pull up stakes and leave his judas creek claim to the coyotes? as this question once more came to his mind, he was aware of the complete silence now outside, and letting his paper fall, bent his head to listen. joe was listening also. judas creek was absolutely still. joe arose and opened the cabin door. his employer joined him there. there was no sound from the creek; there was no creek. "by gosh! dat's funnee t'ing," joe exclaimed. "i certainly do not know how to account for it," said berwick. he felt apprehensive. they returned from the cabin door: joe going to his seat by the stove, berwick putting his bed in order for the night, when joe jumped up and ran to the door again. a dull distant roar was heard. "by gosh! by gosh! i got it! he's a river snow-slide what's coming. quick, boss--quick! get for hell out of dis! pretty soon no more cabin--no windlass--no, no bucket, only water! no not'ing--all gone!" the man began hurriedly putting on his boots, and instinctively his master followed his example, inquiring as he did so, "what's that?" "he's a river snow-slide, dat's all i know for to call him. a havalanche on wheels, all turn over--over--over! him carry away everything, bridge, tree, dam--all sort of thing--everything go." and as the sullen roar coming from the valley continued to increase, the appreciation of approaching danger spread from the one to the other. berwick made haste and scrambled into his winter garb. joe bundled together his personal effects, and some of the more valuable of the supplies in the cabin. berwick did the same; out of the door they sprang into the night, and up the hillside, under which their cabin was built. joe gave a sign when he considered they were out of danger. at once they threw down their loads and rushed back to the cabin. grabbing another load they again sought the higher ground. meanwhile, the flood had broken from the canyon at the head of their little valley. the timber there had been largely cut, and over the rugged stumps the rolling mass spread, grinding, tearing up the weaker roots. berwick and his companion sat and watched their home going to destruction. deliberately, it seemed, the mass of ice and water fell upon their workings. there was a loud crack as the windlass went down; and then the fury of water poured into their shaft. it was but for an instant. the flood tore against their cabin. would the cabin endure the shock? the answer soon came. there was a rending of timber; the cabin was pushed before the ice; and then it seemed to melt away, swallowed up by the flood. the lights went out. lower and lower it sank, till the roof was touched by the surging ice. then that, too, went under, and nothing but a fractured log or pole was left of the little home. john shivered. the flood fell almost as quickly as it had risen, now that its work was proved effectual. berwick turned to look at his man. joe was already hard at work with an axe on a fallen tree, from which the chips flew. there was no doubt about it now. the judas creek venture was a failure: he could write it down as such. he had known many miners on whom fortune had smiled; drunken swine, many of them, to whom money appealed only as a means to dissipation. and he, to whom money--the price of his future home-happiness--meant so much! joe struck a match, applied it to a handful of birch-bark, and the flame sprang up. by all the canons of his life, berwick should have jumped into the fray and helped joe make their camp; but, after all, it was only a little past nine o'clock. yes. now he must throw up judas creek! joe laid twigs on top of the birch-bark and soon had a fire, to which he added larger sticks and logs. then he cut down a fir-tree and made a bed, over which he spread the canvas of a tent and blankets. the night was perfectly clear, they would be warm and snug enough beside the fire. joe cut several more logs of wood and piled them near, after which he sat down upon the blankets, took off his boots and coat, rolled this into a pillow, and soon was asleep. berwick, sitting by the fire, watched far into the night. his fancy played about the flames, calling up scenes of his youth, and conceiving all manner of pictures of the miner's life in the sub-arctic klondike that was to be. chapter iii the beginning of yukon no more wonderful system of navigation probably exists on the globe than that of the inland passage between puget sound and the lynn canal, at the head of which are the towns of skagway and dyea, the respective ports of the white and the chilkoot passes. for ten hundred miles the steamers plying along this route run behind the great barrier of islands, beginning with that of vancouver and ending at point deception. in summer the trip is grand beyond compare; in winter it is full of gloom and awe. as the ship travels northward the mountains grow greater, the narrow passages narrower, till they develop as canyons, cut only by other canyon-like passages to the sea, or by glacier-ridden valleys from the mainland, whose mighty burdens shimmer in the sunlight as they yield in torrents tributes to the parent ocean. in summer continuous light reigns in the latitude of skagway, and the traveller entering this weird zone is moved by its uncanny beauty. winter was still on the land as the _aleutian_ ploughed her way northward, and the passengers saw the great walls of rock uplifting to the clammy mantle of low-lying clouds. here and there indian villages were passed and indian graveyards, with flags flying from the stagings, raised six or eight feet from the ground, on which reposed the deceased. the ship called at wrangle and unloaded freight and passengers. "this town had a boom during the excitement of the cassiar twenty years back," remarked hugh spencer to berwick and bruce, as the three stood on the deck and watched the bustle between the steamer and the wharf. "let's stretch our legs up the quay," said george. they went ashore. squaws were sitting with baskets of their handiwork before them, doing a lively trade with the disembarked passengers. the sales made were mostly of moccasins in beads, and bark canoes adorned with porcupine quills of brightest colours. hugh stopped before an old squaw and picked up a pair of large mittens with gauntlet attachments. they were made of canvas and lined with red flannel. "how much?" he inquired. "dollar two bits." "give you six bits." "all right." "better take a couple of pair each, fellows; there's nothing like them for the trail: look how big the thumbs are." so hugh and his two companions bought the whole of the squaw's store. "there's nobody knows how to make mitts for real cold weather like the siwash. they make the thumbs good and big, so as not to stop circulation; and we'll have some cold weather yet before we get over the summit. but you have to beat the beggars down, as they always ask twice as much as they expect to get. here we paid only seventy-five cents a pair for these mitts, and the squaw said she wanted a dollar and a quarter for them." "are these siwash[ ] indians?" inquired john. [ ] corruption of the french _sauvage_. "well, we call them siwashes; but they don't like it. the real siwash lives farther south, and the name, i believe, is one of contempt." "they are different indians from any i have seen on the plains," said john. "oh, yes, very different. i guess their only resemblance is that they are both good only when they are dead." "you're pretty hard on them," was the remark of the good-natured john. "perhaps i am. you see, a tough outfit has been trading up here for years from down the coast; and before that the russians were here--and they didn't put in most of their time building churches. they found a dollar's worth of hootch would get more from the savages than a dollar's worth of anything else; so they used whisky. the savage, when you find him without the cussedness taught by the white man, makes a pretty good citizen. he may be lazy, but he is honest; and perhaps his laziness is only due to the fact that he has always had a klootch[ ] to do chores around, and has never been trained to the white man's ways of working; but let any fellow try following an indian on snow-shoes for a couple of days, and his ideas soon change. he is not much good with a pick and shovel for sure; but he is a on the trail. another thing about the indian is that when one has grub they all have grub. this is the way of the stick indians inside, and you can cache your grub in their country or leave the things lying around, and they won't touch them." [ ] squaw. during the rest of the day john and his mates were in the company of hugh spencer, listening to his tales of yukon life: the glories of the summer there, and the great cold of the winter, with the resources of the miners to keep from despair. he told them the traditions of the camps, and how the discoveries of ' in california had been followed by others in oregon, british columbia, the fort steele district (wild horse creek), kettle river, caribou, and, finally, in the yukon. "it wasn't a miner who was the first finder of gold in the yukon; it was a missionary. but the missionary did not follow up this discovery, which makes a difference. however, i'll tell you the story, and it will let you see a little of siwash nature in the telling of it. "the rev. robert macdonald, doctor of divinity and archdeacon of mackenzie river, was the first white man to find gold in the yukon. say! i ain't got much use for missionaries as a general proposition, but archdeacon macdonald is as white a man as ever lived, though he is east of the rocky mountains now. i guess the reason i don't like missionaries is that you can never do anything with the siwashes, once a missionary gets hold of them. "well, the archdeacon--he wasn't archdeacon then though--drifted down the porcupine, and took up his residence with the hudson bay company people at fort yukon in the year , which was a few years before i was born. you see the hudson bay people established themselves at fort yukon in . in mr. j. bell, in charge of the hudson bay post on the peel river, which runs into the mackenzie, from beyond the divide from the head waters of the porcupine, crossed over and went down the porcupine a way. in he followed it to its mouth, and saw the yukon. in the following year mr. a. h. murray built fort yukon, and set up business. well, it was here that the archdeacon started to tell the savages of the great spirit--and they were mighty interested. "the savages had some sort of a tradition that a certain canyon, which opened into the yukon a short distance up stream from the fort, was the home of bad spirits; they could hear them groaning, and they asked the missionary to 'put them wise.'[ ] so when a bunch[ ] arrived, one day in july , he trotted the whole outfit off to the canyon. [ ] inform them. [ ] bunch--party. "of course the missionary found the noises were caused by the wind or nothing, but, as the siwashes said there were noises up the creek, he said it was the wind. "walking along the shore, the archdeacon saw a bit of something shining in the gravel and picked it up. it was a flake of gold sticking to a piece of mica, of which there's lots in the klondike country--mica schist the scientists call it. so this was the first find of gold by a white man; but the company was not looking for gold-hunters in their country, so the discovery was never followed up. "the siwash is a at asking questions--just about as bad as a six-year-old kid; and if a medicine man comes among them it is surprising what sort of conundrums they will bring him." in this way john berwick and his old-time mining-mate pleasantly passed the hours listening to the conversation of spencer, by whom they were attracted. on the third evening, at dinner--the three being seated together--they noticed some movement beginning amongst those of the company who were seated near the companion-way. several were seen to rise and hurry away. quickly the excitement spread, the saloon was soon empty of most of its feasters. "keep your seats, fellows; it's only some chechacho got the toothache," said hugh. shouts were heard, with a trampling and rush of feet on the upper deck. "the only thing that could happen--outside of fire--would be to run ashore or hit an iceberg. we are hardly far enough north for the icebergs yet--besides, if we had hit one, or run ashore, we should know it. if we caught fire, it would not be far to the shore anywhere along this route; and it is always well not to get stampeded in any case." after dinner the friends entered the main saloon, and found groups of men talking excitedly, with others returning from the upper deck where the life-boats were stored. to the upper deck they went, and there they found mr. muggsley. "i tell you, gentlemen, no officer or anybody else is going to keep me from the life-boats when a ship is sinking. i don't care for anybody! you stand by and let the officers and sailors run things--and they will fill the boats with women and their own friends--and look out for themselves. but i look out for john muggsley! big john muggsley the boys call me! and it's a case like this that makes me glad i'm big and strong." an excitable coal-heaver had found a stream of water entering by a sea-cock, which had been left open through carelessness; and, running up through the saloon to the boats, had started the excitement. such trivial circumstances often cause most disastrous panics; and likewise tell tales of how certain men are made! the ship eventually--after blinding snowstorms--entered gastineau channel. to the left was the great line of stamp mills pounding out the wealth of the mighty treadwell quartz deposits on douglas island; to the right was the pioneer town of juneau, with its gambling-halls and saloons enjoying the licence of the alaska mining-camp. the next stop for the ship was skagway, where the sea journey would end on the morrow. the passengers were alert and astir. from then on it was to be a struggle. chapter iv society in alaska the weather had changed during the night; and as the two friends stepped on deck the following morning a chill and cutting wind met them from the north. away above them towered the mountains, their peaks dazzling white against the sky. behind them, to the south, was the lynn canal, walled with mountains. before them were mountains, and yet more mountains. the cluster of tents and hastily constructed buildings, resting on a few square miles of gravel flats--comprising the town of skagway--were robbed of any importance by the great uplifting walls of rock. as they stood a voice hailed them. "is this skagway?" it was mr. muggsley who spoke. "i fancy so," said john; "better ask the purser--here he comes." "do we have to climb those mountains to get to the klondike?" "yes." "but where is the white pass?" "there." the purser pointed to the mouth of a valley, which soon appeared blocked by a mighty mountain. "and that is the white pass?" "it is." "say, purser, is that berth i had taken for the trip down again? if not, save it for me. i guess i'm wanted back in i-dee-ho." mr. muggsley, the big man, the strong man, "big jack," as his friends called him, was suddenly possessed of "cold feet." the great uplifting mountains with their glittering peaks flung to heaven had quickened the cowardice of his craven soul. berwick and his comrade struggled ashore through the rushing freight-handlers and piled-up supplies. the freight which came from the canadian port, vancouver, had to be passed by the united states customs, and the officers seemed few. there was a method of overcoming the customs--by employing a "convoy," an official of the united states customs, to escort the goods across the narrow strip into canadian territory again. john made inquiries, and addressed a fellow in a wild garb, bespeaking a resident. "pay the duty, partner! these escort fellows are a bunch of grafters! they ain't no credit to the united states, i can tell you. yes, pay duty, and hand an officer a ten-dollar bill on the side, or they'll keep you here a week, you bet!" john decided to pay the duty. the convoy would cost $ . per day and expenses. he made an effort to get his goods passed, but without success--till he paid the ten-dollar bribe. george did the same. john did not like bribery; but--what else could he do? it was afternoon ere they got through; and as they gained the town, a rough board-building with a great white cloth sign painted on it--"restaurant, meals cents"--met their gaze from the head of the wharf. other buildings of similar character composed generally this section of the town, so they walked into the first. it was a box of a place, as unfinished internally as externally. a dozen or so men, perched on high stools, were leaning against a board counter covered with white oilcloth. behind the counter stood a woman and a girl; a range, where the chef was operating, at their back. a board partition divided off a sleeping apartment. the curtain that gave the room privacy was but half drawn. articles of clothing, trunks, and boxes were strewn in disorder on the floor. "soup?" queried the lady as they took their seats. the cook filled two flat tin plates with a watery solution of tomatoes and rice. this they attacked. when the soup was finished two other tin plates were handed them, laden with cubical chunks of beef and gravy. dishes of potatoes and boiled beans, with bread and butter in tin bowls, were lined upon the counter for each man to help himself from. at the end of the second course a plate, bearing a quarter section of sickly-looking apple-pie, was slid over to each. the old lady presiding wore the smile of prosperity, and looked communicative, so john opened conversation. "been in skagway long?" "just a month." "doing well?" "sure thing! feed about three hundred people a day. don't care if the rush never lets up." "you've got a gold-mine here without the trouble of going to dawson." "sure!--that is if soapy don't put the whole town out of business. he makes the saloons and gambling-halls pay him royalty now, besides running shows himself; and i guess he'll be after us soon to make us anti-up too." "i thought alaska was a prohibition territory, no whisky sold here." "yes, that's what they say back east; but when you get up town you'll find every second place a saloon with all the hootch you want to drink, or have money to pay for." "but how do they get the whisky?" "oh, that's easy enough. the hootch is consigned through to the canadian side in bond; but when it is landed here they drill a hole in the barrel and take out the whisky. they refill the barrel with water, and it is packed over the summit." "but it costs thirty cents a pound to put the water over the summit!" "that don't matter--with whisky fifty cents a glass over the bar." "don't the officers know this is going on?" "sure thing they do; but they 'stand in. there is no graft like a whisky graft." "stand in" and "graft"!--the two australians felt they knew the meaning of the terms, but they had yet to grasp how deep the meaning of "standing in" and "grafting," as understood by officialdom in alaska and the yukon, could be. berwick and his friend ate their pie, and departed to see the sights. the main street of the town ran due north and south, and was lined with tents and buildings, finished and under construction. the street was devoid of snow, except in patches here and there; the ever-persistent wind from the north having generally swept the gravel clean. sleighs, drawn by dogs or horses, passed smoothly over the ice, but shrieked in protest against the stone. dogs and horses seemed everywhere in that rush of fifty thousand men. no man could enter the yukon without a year's provisions, which meant that he must transport at least a thousand pounds in every case. along the streets vehicles were waiting to transport vast stores of supplies to white pass city, twelve miles distant; after which dog-teams alone, or pack-animals, or the labour of the human animal, were necessary. some pack-horses, mules, and burroes were passing down the streets to their stables, after having carried up their loads. men in outlandish garb were walking about; many wore what appeared to be night-shirts coming down to their knees, with hoods attached, and rings of fur around the wrists and the face of the hood. some of the peculiar garments were made of blue drill, others even of bed-ticking, showing its dingy stripes. this garment was the parka. berwick and bruce entered the pack-train saloon and gambling-hall, and met there the leaders of alaska society: men and women of diverse morals and immoralities. in the great grab-bag system of the goldfields every man has an equal chance; and on the frontier custom affords but one field of diversion, which each may enjoy to the full extent of his purse and inclination. as muscle and endurance alone give eminence on the trail, so only money and extravagance command attention in the bar-room and at the gaming-table; and it is there that the illiterate squander their money over the bars and tables, finding pleasure in the open-mouthed admiration of the yokel as well as in the stimulation of the liquor or the excitement of the play. at the bar of the pack-train stood a row of men, in widest diversity of costume, talking together and to women numbered among the fallen. behind the bar were the roulette-wheel, the faro, the black jack tables, and the crap game. a large percentage of these men were actively engaged in putting supplies over the passes, and were now squandering at the tables the money received in payment of that work. the thought struck john that probably not a man of them, wasting his money there, but had some one dependent to whom that money would be as a gift from heaven. alas, for the recklessness of frontier life, where it so often happens that men regard a show of contempt for money as tantamount to personal eminence! such scenes were not new to him. on the plains in his apprenticeship he had seen a cowboy shoot his revolver through a bar mirror--and cheerfully pay the exorbitant recompense demanded by the proprietor: and in sydney he had watched a drunken sailor place a five-pound note between two slices of bread--and eat it! such scenes as this in the mushroom alaska town may be ever-interesting to the students of human nature; they are also intensely pitiable, as berwick found. what sight is sadder than that which shows man degraded, or woman fallen? man, the noblest being in all creation; upbuilt, evolved through the ages; practically perfect in his parts: his body complex yet true; delicate and confident, enriched with a mind capable of holding dominion; and conscious of the inspiration of his creator. to see him, mind and body, lost to dissipation, drawn from hope, truth, and love, fallen into the mire, is truly sadder than death. from the pack-train saloon the two friends visited several shops, and, notwithstanding the crowds therein, succeeded in adding to their supplies such necessities as were recommended by hugh spencer. their purchases completed, they turned before the wind and went back to the restaurant. the air had taken on a greater chill; the mountain peaks shone with sunset gold. chapter v soapy's little game "soapy" smith was a criminal, with a long record of robbery and murder. in early life he had been a common "faker" and sold soap, hence his sobriquet. his process consisted of wrapping small bits of laundry soap in paper, and including--or appearing to include--with several of the pieces a bank bill of varying value. then he would mix all the pieces together, and picking a handful out of the mass, auction them. needless to say every successful purchaser was a confederate! in the mining camps of the western states he later took more radical methods, making many enemies and some friends. when he and his gang wished to exterminate an enemy they would hunt him out in some saloon, gather about him, and play at fighting among themselves. revolvers would be drawn and shots fired--the man "wanted" would be killed. it would be somewhat hard to find the actual man who fired the fatal shot, and, in any case, a subservient jury would bring in a verdict of "accidental" death. the community that grew at the head of the lynn canal in the spring of was a complete hotbed for crime. there soapy smith established himself, and law and justice ceased to exist. gold-seekers were enticed into games, and fleeced or openly robbed in the streets. every saloon was owned by the desperado, or paid him tribute, and he drew revenue from every gambling-table. soapy smith was the boss of these evil conditions. he was styled "colonel," and spoken of as a candidate for congress. a body of united states regulars were stationed at skagway, but did nothing. the deputy united states marshal would make promises, but take no action. the second evening after the arrival of our party in skagway the sky was overcast, and through the night a storm arose. so they stayed within doors all the next day; but towards night inaction told on them, likewise lack of fresh air. they became restless after their evening meal, and george finally said: "let us go out"--and they went. george did not say where--nor did john ask. there was only one place to go to, and that was a saloon and gambling-hall: one was much the same as the other. every saloon was a gambling-hall: every gambling-hall a saloon. on the next night, in the vicinity of skagway's sixth avenue, they wandered into a saloon which had no sign: the question of what its name was did not cross their minds! the air was foul, and floor space not too plentiful. women stared at them, and "passed them up." not so the men. they moved on to the gaming-tables. john threw a coin on to the black jack table. to his surprise he won. he speculated again: again he won. then he remembered the old dodge of letting the novice win a bit at first, so he decided he would keep on until he found himself losing. when he had won twenty dollars he put the money into his pocket, and went on with george to watch a man playing for heavy stakes at roulette. at this table there was never a word spoken, and the gold pieces passed from banker to player, from player to banker, without comment. while the two were looking on they noticed a man come and stand by the banker, watch the game for a little while, glance shrewdly at them, and go away. shortly afterwards another man did the same. john and george realised this attention, but said nothing. a third man came along, and bluntly asked them, "ever play roulette?" "no; at least not often," said john. "good game." "yes." "ever shoot craps?" "no." "there's a table down at the end of the hall. care to see it?" they followed their entertainer to the dimly-lighted rear, where several men were leaning over a table throwing dice. they watched the game a bit, and found it uninteresting. they turned to go, when their new acquaintance made a move to follow--and asked in a hesitating way, "have a drink?" george declined. the fellow pondered a bit, and then said in an ingratiating way, "would you fellows like to see a big mountain goat i bought from the siwashes to-day?" john and george followed the man through a doorway into a cold room where a few candles were burning on a rough table. on the floor lay an immense mountain goat. "my word!" said george, "what a beauty!" they stood for some minutes surveying the dead monarch of the mountain crests, their entertainer taking one of the candles and holding it at the animal's head. suddenly they heard groans, which appeared to come through the doorway at the opposite end of the room. "what's that?" the man took a candle and walked to the door, bending his head, as if listening intently. the groans were continued. john and george went over to him. he held the candle in his left hand, and appeared to haul at the door with his right. "oh! oh!" came from the room in tones of deepest distress. the fellow handed the candle to john, and then, catching the door with both hands, gave it a mighty wrench. the heavy plank door opened and showed a dark cavity, which drank up the slender light of the candle so effectually that they could distinguish nothing. cautiously john entered, followed by george. the door was slammed; they were trapped. "we're caught! soapy has us," exclaimed george. john turned, shaded the candle with his hand, and explored the room. it was not large, and it took him but a minute to make a circuit of the four walls. "we're caught!" was said again. "but there is no one here: where did the groans come from?" asked john. "don't know, if they weren't ventriloquism," replied george. that seemed likely. john ran and gave the door a kick: it was solid as a wall. "what will they do with us?" he asked. "freeze us to death; we'll freeze quick enough in this atmosphere." the place was cold, clammy, benumbing. the walls were log; the floor of earth, sparkling with frost crystals; the roof was built of poles. there was no window. here and there, where the crevices of the logs had not been thoroughly filled, and the air came in, there were patches of frost. they searched for some implement. the room was thoroughly bare--there was not even a billet of wood, let alone an axe, or saw. things were at a pass. they were both to perish in horrible death. the cold was seizing them. they stamped up and down the room, and shouted. there was, there could be, no answer. frenzy came over them. trapped! to perish of bitter cold! horrible!... horrible! to famish as caged animals. they saw their little destiny--to walk, and walk, and walk, and then to lie down and sleep till death, the reality, came. their impotency galled them. how weak were their arms and strength against these walls of logs! they marched about for an hour or more, encouraging each other as brave men will. then cries were heard faintly from the outside, and new noises, which grew, and continued to grow. a great blow shook the wall, and then another. john shouted; george shouted; the blows were repeated; then they heard voices and shouted again. the door was burst open and in rushed a number of men. "come, fellows, out of this, or you'll be cooked!" it was the voice of hugh. they eagerly followed him through the room where the goat was, and out through a side door into the open, where a great glare met them. an outhouse was on fire. men were rushing about and shouting; but hugh kept on through the crowd, and the rescued followed him till they reached the safety of the street. "now we'd better duck for home," said spencer. "i go with you"; and through the storm they struggled till they reached the frau's restaurant. she had not yet retired, so they called for supper--tea, bacon, and beans. after they had settled down hugh told his story. "you see, fellows, after i landed i went over to the chilkoot to have a look at things there; but after talking to the fellows i reckoned that the white pass was best for me, so back i comes. i was in the hall to-night with you fellows, but you did not see me; and i thought i would just lay back and see if you would hit the games. then i kind of got a notion soapy's men were watching you; so i thought i would watch the whole outfit. i see you go back to the crap-game, and then i see you go into the room with your bunco man--and then i don't see you come out; so i said to myself, you are there for keeps! now there was with me one fellow i could rely on, so i asked him to keep an eye on that door, and i got out on the street to size up the building. i see towards the rear the wing you went into, so i walks down there, sizing things up. round on the back side i see a door and a window, but the door had the snow piled up against it--besides, i knew they would not lock you in a room with a window in it, as you could easily kick that out. "then i looks at the walls, and i see by the end of the logs sticking out that there was a room which had neither window nor door to the outside, and i said, 'that's the cage!' so i ran back to the saloon and asked my friend there if anybody had come out, and he said 'no.' i came to the conclusion that i would make a bluff of going in at the door you came out of. it was no good; a fellow stopped me and said, 'this room is private.' this made me sure you were still there, so i commenced figuring out how i could get you free, and i thought hard. the thing was to get a crowd together; and as a dog fight is no good in skagway in the middle of the night--especially in a snowstorm--i said to myself, 'fire!' i remembered a building i took for a wood-shed lying near your skookum house,[ ] so i just hunted it up, and after finding there was a lot of wood in it, with some hay, i set a match to it, and got out, taking an axe with me. in five minutes it was going fine, and i yelled 'fire! fire! fire!' then it was all easy. i struck the logs with the axe, and yelled there was somebody in there who would get burned; i busted in the door to the outer room, and then the one into where you were locked up--the other fellows following. i don't know what the other fellows around the fire will think you were doing in there; but i guess they won't ask any questions. fellows don't ask questions in soapy's town; it doesn't do them much good if they do." [ ] "skookum house": chinook indian term for prison--literally "strong" house. john and george expressed their gratitude very simply. "i am going in over the white pass," he continued, "and i figure, as us fellows can't keep clear of each other, that we'd better join forces." "done!" cried george. "a good idea!" said john. so it was agreed. in the morning details were talked over, and business was arranged. additional purchases were made, including two more dogs, thereupon named tom and jerry. hugh induced his friends to part with much of their bedding, saying he had a large lynx-skin robe that was warmer than a dozen pairs of blankets, under which the three might sleep. a waterproof, a large tanned moose-skin, and a couple of pairs of blankets would be sufficient to lie upon. then the commissariat was considered. sugar, tea, evaporated potatoes, dried fruit, etc., to be used in the preparation of every meal, were put into small canvas bags, and those into a large sack. the general stores were put away in waterproof canvas sacks, which were marked to indicate contents. the axes of the party were ground and sharpened. at last all was ready for the advance. chapter vi hitting the trail to be early on the trail was an essential to hugh spencer. he was up at four on the morning of the start, harnessed the dogs, carried the outfit to the sleigh, and lashed it on. then he aroused his friends, who, when dressed, found that an early breakfast had been arranged for them of bacon, eggs, and beans. "better put lots next your ribs, for there isn't room to cook a meal on the trail between here and white pass city," was the advice they received. they left the restaurant, after a kindly good-bye from the old lady. john and george tied their hand-bags, containing underclothing, towel, soap, etc., and socks to the load. the main portion of their extra clothing was left in the general supplies. of the five dogs he of the stub tail--dude the leader--was the only one that appeared to take an interest in the proceedings, for he was standing watching his master. the others were mere balls of fur lying in the snow. hugh went ahead and harnessed himself in the cord that was tied to the front of the sleigh, and grasped the "gee-pole," lashed as a single shaft on the right side of the sleigh. "mush," he ordered. dude gave a tug at the traces, and the other dogs stood up. "mush," was ordered again. the whole five dogs strained at the traces, in a half-hearted sort of way, not sufficient to move the load. hugh then let go his hold of the pole, threw off his harness, and picked up a whip that was tucked under the lashings of the load. behind dude was two bits; then came four bits, tom and jerry. beginning with two bits, he gave each a cut with the whip, causing heart-rending howls; but dude stood throughout the ordeal, evidently oblivious to the sufferings of his companions; his tongue protruding. he was a picture of conscious virtue. dude knew these signs of the trail, the stern, hard life, the cut of the whip, the cry of the dog. hugh then cracked the whip, re-harnessed himself in the cord, and grasped the gee-pole. "mush," he ordered. the five dogs strained at the traces, taking quick, furtive glances over their shoulders at the man with the whip. the load moved; the march towards the great and golden klondike had started. early as they were they saw, as they reached the main street, others on the trail; and up the long avenue heading north between the great mountains horse-teams, dog-teams, and men unaided were drawing their loads. the wind was roaring down the pass, cutting their faces like a knife. they now appreciated the special virtues of the parka, for with hood drawn over their head, as they bent before the gale, their faces largely escaped the cutting blasts; and the light material of which the garment was made was wonderfully effective in keeping the wind from their bodies. although the recent storm had improved the travelling, it was not long before the sleigh grated on gravel and stopped, the dogs appearing instinctively to realize that the noise meant further effort was useless. hugh said nothing, but disengaged himself from his harness, went to the rear of the load, and undid a coil of rope from either side, to which berwick and bruce were harnessed also. he then resumed his position. "mush!" the three men and five dogs threw themselves against the load. there was a shriek from the gravel, and the sleigh glided again over the soft snow. the difficulty being over, hugh told his friends to disengage themselves and throw the cords back on the load, which they did, after protesting that they had better remain in harness and help to pull. "no, you fellows can each take a turn at the gee-pole when i get tired," hugh said. the dogs would stop for any excuse; it was only necessary for hugh to pass the time of day with a south-bound traveller, when the train would stand, their tongues lolling out, their eyes vacantly staring. 'tis the nature of the beast. the native dogs of the north never give the impression that they work because they feel it their duty. they work because they know there is a stronger will than theirs behind them, a will with a whip. the party moved steadily along for a mile or two, when the road left the flats and took to the side hill at the right hand of the canyon. a considerable amount of work had been done, and the trail was in good shape; but they had not gone far before they were met by a toll-gate. "twenty-five cents each, and two dollars and a half for the dog-team," was demanded of them, which they paid. the keeper of the toll-gate seemed happy; he was prospering, and those who employed him were making money. john and george thought the charge excessive, but hugh was exercising his wits, calculating how much the proprietors made out of what he called their "graft." not far beyond the toll-gate they met an old man sitting by a fire under the lee of a wall of rock. he was off the trail in a sort of little cove, and on the much-betramped snow around was a sleigh, and by it five goats in harness. the old man merely looked up as the three friends approached, and went on poking the fire. "well, partner, enjoying the scenery?" asked hugh, in his good-natured manner. "no--i wish i was dead." "how's that?" "these ornery goats here, i can't do nothing with them, an' if it wasn't for poor little bess, back home, i'd shoot them and meself too." "what's the trouble?" "well, the ornery critters won't pull a pound, and the fellow who sold them to me down in seattle said they was just the thing for the pass--better'n dogs, for i could feed them on birch browse; but i lit out from skagtown[ ] four days ago and could get no further than this. i pretty near had to pull sleigh and goats too to get this far; and i pitched camp here, where i've stayed ever since. you see it's this way--the old woman died last fall, and after she died the poor old farm went plumb to pieces, hard times, and mortgage falling due; so i got a sickening of the old place without the old woman, and i let the farm go and put little bess to school for a year, and lit out for the klondike. bess ain't bess by rights; she was christianized matilda jane, and we called her bess for short. well, the old woman was always building on bringing up bess a real lady, and afore she died i promised i'd give bess a good schooling and help all i could, and i took to the klondike, hearing all a fellow had to do was to get there, and he'd be rich. here i am now, and i ain't got no more money. i'm just trying to make up my mind to shoot the blamed goats and pull my stuff back to skagtown and sell it. then i guess i'll go packing on the chilkoot along with the siwashes." [ ] skagway the old man seemed to forget the presence of the strangers, and muttered, "poor little bess! poor little bess! i was hoping to make her a real lady with silks, an' satins, an' diamonds, an' kid gloves, an' fancy eye-glasses." hugh cracked the whip, john tightened on the cord, the dogs threw themselves into the traces; and the trio was on its way up the pass. no one spoke for some time; each was thinking of the old man's tale, and of such as that old man there were hundreds in the passes. the trail, as they struggled along, proved to be more and more built against the side hill, and frequently the sleigh showed a disposition to slide into the canyon, so that all were compelled to give attention to it. but the three men taking turn at the gee-pole, they had soon crossed kill-a-man creek, and were at the foot of porcupine hill. the time had passed quickly, and the air, though cold, was highly stimulating. george and john voted the parka a wonderful garment. arriving at the base of the hill, hugh quickly undid the fastenings, piled half the load on the side of the trail, and relashed the balance to the sleigh; then he and john set about the task of taking the first load to the top of the hill, while george mounted guard at the base. hugh took the gee-pole, john harnessed himself in the cord that was attached to the left-hand rear of the sleigh; so they set out. the hill made a rise of several hundred feet in the first quarter of a mile, and in some places seemed almost standing on end; but straining, pulling, tugging, men and dogs both, they eventually reached the top. they soon had the sleigh unloaded, and hugh was off down again for the remainder of the load. in three-quarters of an hour they were all together again. then began the descent, which was almost as acute as the rise had been. they adjusted the necessary brakes by tying a piece of rope around each runner. before leaving the summit of porcupine hill they had a good look at the view. across the valley in front, set in a basin of the mountains, was a collection of buildings and tents, constituting white pass city. two long lines of men and teams marked the white pass, one on the left side of the canyon, the other on the canyon bottom. the hillside trail was used by horses, mules, and oxen, while in the wedge-like canyon bottom men and dogs toiled. the reason for the hillside trail was that its ascent was more gradual, the lower trail having many abrupt rises up which horses and oxen could not clamber. the scene of toil and labour, backed by the sublimity of the surroundings, impressed the beholders; but the party came to life again with hugh's order, "mush!" the dogs struggled with the load over the brink of the decline down which the sleigh quickly passed, and the party was not long in reaching white pass city. this was the first depot out from skagway, and was distant there-from twelve miles. from white pass city to lake bennett the distance was twenty-four miles, so they were now one-third of the way. but the twelve miles they had passed was the easiest part of the journey. saloons and restaurants in wide array, and numerous stables in the shape of tents tied down and guyed against the ever-recurring blasts, comprised white pass city. and how the wind did blow from the funnel-shaped canyon across the basin in which the town was built! notwithstanding the cold, beasts of burden were standing in all directions, tied to posts and rails, while the dogs seemed without number. it being now late in the day, there were more teams returning from the summit and bennett than were setting out. amongst those returning they met a man with a dozen pack-mules. long icicles hung from his moustache, powdery snow was driven into the folds of his parka, his cheeks were alternate patches of blue and crimson. his manner was blustering, because he was glad at having returned, and proud that he had done so without losing any horses. "hello," said hugh, "what's it like on the summit?" "what's it like! look here, stranger, if i owned hell and that summit, i'd sell the summit and live in hell, so help me! what's the matter with the summit? why, if that cursed wind ain't blowing from the north cold enough to freeze hell, then it's blowing from the south and snowing as if all the feather beds in the new jerusalem were being split open and shaken loose. i'll be hanged if the mounted police ain't got a stable and store-house scooped out under the snow, and the roof standing up like as if it was a rock. about sixty feet of snow has fallen up there this winter; and how them poor devils of policemen hold things down in tents is more than i know. a fellow can tackle it for a day or two, but these fellows have been up there since early in february!" "it's a way they have in the army," suggested george, always an ardent briton. "those fellows are different from any army fellows i ever seed," was the stranger's reply. the pack-train was called to a halt. the communicative stranger and his assistants were taking the saddles off the mules; but for once the dogs were impatient and restless: instinct told them they were near the end of their day's work and the prospect of food. so hugh let them have their way, and they drew up in front of a restaurant which bore the legend, "meals, seventy-five cents." "better go in and eat, fellows, and i'll look after the dogs," said hugh. his friends demurred, but he insisted; so they entered the restaurant. there was the same motley crowd feeding in the same savage manner as at skagway. everybody smoked on the trail--in all places and under any condition--save where the pipe froze and refused its duty. the hour was between two and three. berwick and his comrade thought they had never been so hungry. how they relished the hot soup, and the meat, potatoes, and beans! and when they drank ...! george finished his dinner first, and scrambled off to relieve hugh, whom he found cutting up pieces of raw meat for the dogs. "raw meat ain't any too good for dogs, but after they get over the summit they will get down to boiled rice and tallow--and that ain't far off." hugh was certainly the favourite of the dogs just then, but soon after george's arrival he put the piece of meat he had been dividing into a sack and threw it on the sleigh, and hurried to the restaurant, saying that he would boil the rest of the meat for the dogs after he himself had something to eat. "look out for soapy's gang" was his final warning to george. after hugh had his dinner (dinner is the mid-day, supper the evening, meal on the trail) he remarked that he would take a mooch round. when he returned he greeted his friends with: "say, i found a fellow i know here running one of these stables, and he has a tent with a lot of hay in it, and says we can sleep in that, which will save us making camp. we can put the dogs inside and run less chances of having them stolen; also the grub." so dude was aroused from his sleep; four other doggy noses were withdrawn from under four bushy tails, and to the accompaniment of howls the load was removed to the hay-tent, the dogs unharnessed, the load unpacked. hugh undid the bedding and spread it on a pile of straw. "this will be the last bed we'll strike for some time after we leave here," was his remark. he grabbed the sack with the meat, and went off to see if he could find space on a stove to boil it. he soon returned with the meat, as well as a bucket in which were canine dainties--kitchen scraps. "chuck it into you," was hugh's remark to the dogs as he threw them the food; "you'll have to work to-morrow." as there was nothing to do now till that morrow, the three again strolled out to look at the trail, up which the full flow of traffic was now toiling. profanity filled the air. the travellers cursed the trail; they cursed their horses, cursed their dogs, the wind, the country generally. they wandered into a saloon, which, as ever, was reeking with tobacco, and vibrating to the notes of "home, sweet home," reeled off on a gramophone. hugh looked cautiously at the company. "soapy's men!" he whispered; so he and his companions went. john noticed that a good deal of money was being won at the tables; but hugh told him that the men who were winning were soapy's staff. "they seem to run a wonderful system," said john. "yes; soapy pretty nearly owns the whole shop from the lynn canal to the summit." "but why does he stop at the summit?" "police." "but they have police on this side." "not the same." "how do you account for that?" "don't know: discipline! the canadian police are not grafting. fellows i've met from the inside tell me that cap constantine gave records for all the rich claims in bonanza, and neither he nor any of the rest of the mounted police grafted any. that's what i call honest; but now, since the records have been taken away from the police, there's nothing but grafting going on. fellows have to give up half interest in claims to the officials before they can get record; and even the government is grafting officially with this ten per cent. royalty. if some of those members of parliament back in canada were here, with this proposition, getting over these passes, they'd think they had a right to all they'd found in this country. and now they are taking part of it away--it's a shame, i call it." they had walked up the lower trail leading to the summit. whatever men and horses were to be seen were making down the pass, for the trail that clung to the side of the mountain was so narrow that two horses, going in opposite directions, could not pass each other; so in the morning the horses passed up the trail, and in the afternoon down. that was the unwritten law. they returned to the sleeping quarters. every dog, except dude, had his nose under his tail, and was apparently oblivious to all outside concerns. dude's tail was not long enough to cover his nose, and hugh noticed his eyes quiver and open slightly. on the floor was the empty meat sack. the five dogs had demolished the large piece of dead horse. "that's dude," said hugh. "which?" asked john. "why, stealing that meat. before we get to dawson you'll know what a high-class article in the stealing line he is. however, there'll be lots more dead horses: they kill about a dozen a day between here and bennett." "how do they manage that?" "wait till to-morrow, and you'll see." chapter vii hugh's philosophy the stars were still shining when the friends tore themselves, stiff and sore, from under their lynx-skin robe on the morrow to dress in the chill atmosphere of the tent; but the sounds of movement were everywhere. commands, embellished with profanity, were being shouted. when the three adventurers, after a hurried breakfast, eagerly went out a sickly light was spreading over the mountains, which seemed spectral and immense. "we'll take the flour, sugar, and hardware in the first two loads," remarked hugh, as he began selecting these supplies; "and it won't do any harm to hang our bacon sack from a rafter while we are away, as a stray malamoot might get in here. these blamed dogs will chew a tin can open to get at the meat inside." the plan of campaign suggested by hugh and endorsed by the others was to divide the supplies in three loads; to take two, comprising the reserve stores, to the summit and cache them; then, on the following day, to carry the remainder of the stuff right through to log cabin, or to bennett if they could manage it, and establish a camp there. this depended on the condition of the trail. early as they were, there were scores of outfits setting out, and many were ahead of them. they had not gone far when they met two men and a dog-team; one of the men was belabouring the dogs with a whip, making them howl dreadfully. dude and the rest of the team halted, and, with their masters, watched the proceedings. the dogs belaboured were soon tangled among the traces in fine confusion. each animal, as he saw a stroke coming his way, jumped sideways with a howl and buried his nose and feet in the snow. the cruelty aroused the anger of john and george, who made a move towards the brute with the whip. hugh caught him by the arm and pulled him back. "better not make yourself a humane society in this country; you'll only get into trouble--besides, he ain't hurting the dogs: wait!" when the man rested from the belabouring, hugh asked to be allowed to "try the dogs." the fellow glared angrily at him; but then, with a surly nod, gave the permission. hugh started with the leaders, and worked down the whole line, placing the dogs in order once again, hauling them about, but saying nothing. then he took the gee-pole, and ordered "mush." the leader looked back over his shoulder, as did the dog next him. "mush!" again cried hugh. the dogs drew steadily at their collars, glancing furtively at their new master. hugh once more encouraged them, and when the load began to move passed on his charge to the owner, who had the grace to look sheepish. "to handle dogs," said hugh, when he had rejoined his party and had resumed the trail, "you've got to get them frightened of you; and moving round them, silent-like, puts fear in their souls. you see, that fellow wasn't really hurting them; they could hardly feel that light whip through their fur, and their feet and noses, where they are tender, they stuck in the snow. as for howling--it comes natural to malamoots. no--you've got to treat them just as you do women." the trail often became precipitous, but as the combined strength of the three men and the dogs was sufficient to lift the load bodily, their difficulties were well overcome. they had not been out of the white pass city an hour when george shouted "look!" and pointed to the mountain-side to the left. the trail away above them was lined with horses, moving slowly forward; but down the mountain-side eight burroes were plunging--head tied to tail as is the custom. every dog team on the lower trail had stopped to watch the sight, for there was a great rattling of rock and a general shout calling attention to the catastrophe. the unfortunate creatures soon reached the base of the slide and were lost in the soft snow. they struggled, and they disappeared. one more sacrifice to that dreadful trail, which, during the klondike rush, had claimed the lives of thirty-five hundred animals! in that canyon, between white pass city and the summit, during the spring of , it was possible to walk long distances on the bodies of dead horses, and to this day the line of march is marked by protruding bones, indicating the graves of the patient and faithful creatures, sacrificed to man's insatiable greed for gold. "now you see where the dog-food comes from," remarked hugh. the accident had occurred a little in front of them, and shortly afterwards two men were seen floundering through the soft snow down the side hill to the beaten trail, along which the dog-teams were pressing. "you had hard luck," hugh called to them. "yes, i couldn't keep that blame bell burro from experimenting how near he could go to the side without falling off, till at last he got his needings," replied one of the drivers. "whose outfit were they?" "rivers; and the canadian government owns the supplies--police stuff. they can stand it." the two drivers went on down the trail to white pass city. the canadian government was evidently not popular. the iniquities of the royalty on gold, and the grafting current in the gold commissioner's office in dawson were resented. as the party progressed up the pass, they found its walls coming closer together, making the canyon so narrow that the horse trail on the mountain-side appeared directly overhead. numbers of dead cattle appeared by the side of the path, telling of the calamities of the trail. veterans of the trail will tell weird tales of horses, goaded by whip and burden, deliberately throwing themselves into the canyon below--seeking surcease from suffering in death. as the canyon became narrower, so did the trail become more congested. it also grew steeper as they neared the summit, and men and dogs had frequently to pause for rest. it appeared to john a curious struggling mass that surrounded him, strange oaths in all accents came to his ears. the multitude were striving in a race in which brute force alone could conquer. they came to a party in trouble, and overheard an argument. "i tell you the territory clear through to lake bennett belongs to the united states, and i'm convoy for the united states customs. i ain't going to let you get over the summit until you pay my wages for four days more, that is, two days from the summit to lake bennett loaded, and two days back again from bennett to skagway, travelling light, and that's going some too. it amounts to thirty-two dollars, at eight dollars per day--so all you've got to do is pay up." "no, you don't own the land beyond the summit. don't you see the english flag up there--that red thing flying from the tent pole? all you've got to do is show me over the summit, and we're quits. i've paid you forty dollars already: three days doing nothing at white pass city during the storm; and you lost the money playing black jack. i ain't got any more money to pay you, anyway. i can't pay you when i ain't got the money." "well, dig for it; sell part of your outfit. you can't bluff me. i'm an officer of the united states customs, and i'm on to my job." "more grafting," muttered hugh. so it was that these convoys, armed with authority more or less real, harassed and blackmailed the victims. they were now near the summit, in the midst of the last struggle which would put them over the most difficult portion of the trail, and the excitement was general. there was a deal of shouting, and a great renewal of effort. the horse trail and the lower trail merged into one. at last they were through. the narrow defile curved to the right; an open basin appeared, with strewn tents and an endless promise of supplies; and--most conspicuous of all!--side by side the flags of britain and the united states were flying. a dozen members of the canadian mounted police, wearing the uniform of england's queen, were examining freight, with their backs to the wind, or passing in and out of a tent, half buried in snow, which served as an office. this was the second great depot out from skagway, and piled about everywhere were loads of freight. outfits stood about in disorder, awaiting the returning tide of men, while constantly teams were arriving from, or setting out to, bennett. the outfit of hugh and his companions was finally passed by eleven o'clock. goods of canadian manufacture were allowed to pass free, and the charges against the few american goods were of no great amount. hugh selected a projecting rock on which to make his cache, and the policeman who examined his baggage, and whose good offices the party had won, promised to keep an eye on their goods. "soapy doesn't operate on this side," said the man in uniform significantly. "we could coast back in half an hour if the trail was clear," hugh remarked, as they started on the return. as it was, they sat on the sleigh most of the way to white pass city, which they reached at noon--as a man was pounding a great triangle of steel with an iron rod, announcing dinner. the three were very well pleased with their morning's work. there were not quite so many teams on the trail in the afternoon, and they reached the summit by half-past three. the sun had been shining all day, so that the atmosphere seemed mellower; and the wind did not blow so strongly. after passing the goods they had time to climb the ridge on which the police tents were erected. from thence they gazed down the valley, which they knew was the uppermost watershed of the mighty yukon, whose course makes a great curve of twenty-four hundred miles ere it flows into the behring sea. far in the distance they could see a stunted growth of timber, but their immediate surroundings were mountains, hardly less overpowering than in white pass city. the view impressed them--the scene was weird in its desolation; they felt that stirring incidents were to take place in that great valley before them. "looks as if we would have a touch of spring to-morrow, and i guess we had better have our snow-glasses ready before we set out," said hugh. chapter viii over the summit hugh's prediction came true, for, on the morning following, a gentle breeze was blowing from the south, soft with the touch of spring. the first light that came over the mountains was a softening blue. "roll out and get the kinks out of you, fellows, we've got to be first on the trail to-day." they had breakfast, the dogs were harnessed, and the party on the march by half-past four. though the light was uncertain it was not hard to keep the trail. by six they were at the summit, greeting the police sentinel who had been on guard there through the night, and marvelling at the wealth of colours that lit the eastern sky. "mush!" the dogs were off. the sleigh slid down upon the frozen plain of summit lake. the lightness with which it glided along seemed to assure the party that their troubles were over. as the dogs trotted along it required a pace faster than a walk to keep up with them; so hugh induced his two companions to sit on the load, saying that he would take a ride after a while. at nine they reached log cabin--passed without a halt, it being merely a police depot used for cutting firewood, though it had been the customs post before the canadian government had asserted proprietary rights to the summit. almost invariably, when greetings were exchanged with those met on the trail, the humour played about soapy. "say, you're hustling. i guess you ain't chechachoes. how's soapy? going to run for president next trip?" "i guess so, if he ain't hung in the meantime. looks like that he was the whole thing in the passes." as the party at one o'clock drew into bennett, they saw one party eating dinner in the open, with sleigh loaded and dogs harnessed beside them. a pile of spruce boughs denoted where these strangers had slept, and where their tent, now drawn up on their sleigh, had been erected. "moving camp?" asked hugh. "yes." "i don't suppose you're going to take your location away with you?" "i guess not." "then it will just suit us, and we can use your fire. this is what i call lucky," said hugh, as he began unlashing the load and throwing the bundles of supplies on the spruce bed. george was busying himself undoing the supplies while john replenished the fire. george cooked bacon; hugh mixed flour, baking-powder, and water for slap-jacks--the large pancakes of the frontier. as they worked hugh re-opened conversation with the strangers. "where's your new location?" "down the lake, five miles. got wind of a good bunch of timber there, and hauled a load down this morning. one of our fellows stayed down making camp while us two came back for the rest of the stuff." "how long have you been coming from skagway?" "three weeks--a week here, and two weeks getting over the pass. contracted with a fellow to put through our stuff at thirty cents a pound, but finally had to buy dogs and haul it ourselves. and then the storms have been something fearful up to the last few days: sort of dakota blizzard every day almost, after which trails was mighty bad hauling. this sort of weather comes hard on a fellow who was reared in california." "i guess it would come hard on a fellow reared at the north pole! you fellows will have your boat built in lots of time." "yes, if we don't take to quarrelling like the rest of the blame fools around here." "what are those fellows doing here?" hugh nodded to the great array of tents spread over the sand hills that lie between lake bennett and lake lindeman. "most of them don't know what they are doing; but i guess they put in their time quarrelling. old moss-backs from the east, who have lived neighbours all their lives, and been best of friends, have come up here partners, and before they got through the passes were calling each other the names they heard used by the old-timers to their dogs! it takes the police all their time settling disputes. the habit seems to have took all round, now that they are through their troubles and have only straight hard work, whip-sawing lumber, ahead of them. why, say! i saw two fellows the other day dividing their outfit. they took a two-faced axe and drove it into a log, and with the face sticking up and a hammer they cut a whip-saw in two, making it no good for either, and swearing at each other all the time till you could smell sulphur. they cut stoves in two, and boats, after working hard to build them. it seems a new kind of bughouse that has got hold of them." the strangers were now washing up their dishes and packing them away. "here, take this, hand me a plate," and one of them poured some stewed prunes out of a pot, and from another emptied into a second plate beans and bacon. "but you fellows could take these along!" protested hugh. "no, we couldn't; they'd get spilled; besides, we have some beef-steak for supper. some fellows down near the lake killed an ox this morning, and you can get steak for six bits per pound--if it ain't all gone. good-bye!" the strangers went off down the hill to the lake. pipes were lit, and the three lay in the sun smoking. the day was glorious and the party had removed their snow-glasses, so that they were able to view their surroundings to the full. mountains gleamed and glistened everywhere in the distance, but did not appear so overpowering or inspiring as in the pass, though more beautiful. how pure the air seemed, and spotless the snow! though the sun was warm and the party comfortable, there were duties to be performed; so, not without groans, hugh and his friends started to erect camp. after the tent was up, hugh put pots of beans, prunes, and rice on to boil--the rice being for the dogs, as there was small prospect of getting dead horse in bennett. after the bed had been made and the supplies stored in the tent, and more wood cut, there was nothing to be done; so hugh went off among the tents on a "mooch round"--with an eye for beef-steak! george, acting as cook, stayed at home. john also went sight-seeing. he took a different trail from his friend, crossed to the west side of the stream that led from lake lindeman to lake bennett, and walked in the direction of a smoke stack, the local saw-mill, half a mile distant. as he strolled through the array of tents, he heard angry voices proceeding from one of them. "i tell you he's no good," one was shouting. "i had to pull most all the way up the chilkoot--him saying he had rheumatism, backache, toothache, heartburn--everything but the mumps, for them i could see. an' then, when we did get over the summit, it's me who had to do all the pulling." "it's a lie--you're a low dog; and didn't i have to take whisky along before you'd travel at all? i tell you, mr. policeman, he's no good, he's a skunk, and i wouldn't take a skunk into dawson with me, not if i never got there, nor never saw the million dollar claim i guess i'm going to get--if ever i get there." john, passing beside the tent, could see the two disputants each seated on a log of wood, with a red-coated policeman standing in front of them. "well," said the policeman, "if you fellows can't get on together, the only thing to do is split up the outfit and each take what belongs to him." "i own the whole outfit," said the man with the many diseases. "no, you don't; i own the tent, the stove, the sleigh, and a whole lot of the grub," shouted the other. john passed on. another petty problem for the mounted police! they are great men, great workers, those yellow-legs! there were some industrious 'prentices at lake bennett, for down along the shore were numerous groups of men, building boats. "like beef-steak?" asked hugh, as john returned. "yes--rather." a big frying-pan, with sizzling meat, was busy on the little tin camp stove. "keep an eye on the meat, john, while i get some water." hugh took a pail and went off to the river. george bruce was away with an axe getting wood, so john was left in charge. shortly afterwards george came along, hauling a log of firewood by an axe driven into it. john ran to assist him, and when the two had returned with the wood hugh was arriving with the water. john again turned his attention to the frying-pan: the largest piece of steak was gone! "what has happened to the steak?" john asked. hugh looked. a grim smile came over his face. "dude!" "dude could not steal steak out of a frying-pan?" "not dude? you bet your life that's where the steak has gone to. and there is no use licking him; the only way to cure dude of stealing is to cut his tail off behind his ears. i told you dude would rather steal than eat: and this shows how careful you must be." dude was lying a picture of innocence on the snow. how he could maintain an appearance of unconcern with a broiling hot beef-steak inside him was a marvel! john looked at him amazed: the smallest slit of a black eye was watching him. "i was only away about three minutes." "half a minute is enough for dude. he likes beef-steak!" hugh refilled the pan and then--civilization knows no artifice to better the enjoyment of such a meal! they were partakers, too, of another repast--their souls were fed by the glories of nature: the sun was setting; its splendour spread from high in the heavens to the rugged range that yesterday had resisted them. on that vast canvas were painted salmon-coloured clouds with long ribbons of yellow, bearing the lustre of burnished gold. it was the extreme of grandeur, awe-inspiring and ennobling. the evening was very still. chapter ix storm and stress it was five o'clock on the morrow before the party was up, and six o'clock before, breakfast cooked and eaten, john and hugh were on the road to the summit. they were to travel the twenty miles there, and return with one thousand pounds of supplies. the glow of the sun was already upon the mountains when they set out. "say! it's going to be a hot day, and it's going to thaw some. it'll make hauling easy, but our feet will be pretty wet; good thing we've got some dry socks and rubbers in our outfit at the summit. another thing is, we're going to meet a whole lot of fellows on the trail the way we're going to-day; and, what's worse, we'll get more of them coming back." sure enough, after they left log cabin, they could see the toilers coming, winding in a snake-like procession among the hills. hugh had prophesied correctly. by eleven o'clock they were in their shirt-sleeves. the dazzling whiteness of the snow, reflected from all sides, made the use of smoke-glasses necessary; but the perspiration, dimming the glass, troubled their sight. the end of john's nose became painful; his cheeks burned. it reminded him of the after-effects of his first sunny spring day on the water in england. they met and passed scores of teams, and still more were pouring over the summit when they arrived there at one o'clock. it was half-past two before they had their feet encased in german socks and rubber shoes, and their load ready again for the trail. "we can't make home before dark, but we should be able to make log cabin by seven, after which the trail will be clear, and we should arrive by ten. this trail will be mighty good going after it starts to freeze, which it will do, soon as the sun goes down." at four o'clock they were three miles on the trail. there was already frost in the air. ere another half-hour had passed hugh felt his cheek smitten by a gust of wind, laden with particles of ice. "i thought so!" he exclaimed; "these last few days have shown too large a pay streak of spring to last. we're in for trouble. it will be down on us in half an hour. all we can do is to keep on as we are going, steadily. i guess we shall make log cabin, but not with this load. the soft snow makes a thousand pounds too much for the dogs. look!" he pointed to a miniature cyclone coming along the trail, drinking up the ice particles as it whirled. it struck them sharply as a gust of wind. the first contact of the storm was cold and cutting; then the wind veered, and down came the snow. the sleigh was soon too heavy. "the only thing is to cache the sleigh and turn the dogs loose; the chances are we won't be able to keep the trail in this storm; and if we do come out alive, we won't be able to find the sleigh if we abandon it far from the trail." "do you think the storm will be very bad?" "it's bad now, ain't it? how long will it be before there is eighteen inches of snow on this trail? for a time we can keep it by feeling it hard under us; but we are liable to get off it--and once lost, there is no finding it again. mind, the wind is blowing from the right, half to the rear. here's a tree; i've noticed this lone spruce before, and we can find it again. let us stand the sleigh up against it, and turn the dogs loose." so to the tree dogs and men struggled; the dogs were unhitched, harness was piled on top of the load. then, with a great effort, the men managed to up-end the load against the tree. hugh called dude to him, and pulled an old envelope out of his pocket, on which he scratched: "cached sleigh on north side of trail by spruce tree, five miles from the summit.--hugh spencer." this he tied to a handkerchief, and that to dude's collar. "it's no harm letting george know where the grub is, for if we don't find camp again, dude will." the dogs went, dude leading, and were soon lost to sight. down the trail the two men strode. the snow was six inches deep already, the wind piling it upon the trail. the weather did not feel cold; in fact, both were comfortably warm. for an hour they plodded along. occasionally one would plunge into the soft snow and scramble back on to the beaten trail. conversation was not much indulged in. the light began to fail, yet they stumbled along. there was nothing they could recognize in the boulders and cliffs that loomed around them in a deathly monotony. for half an hour darkness was upon them, when hugh remarked that log cabin could not be far away. immediately following his remark they plunged into soft snow. the trail seemed to have come to an end; but this could not be so. they retraced their steps and regained firm footing. they felt cautiously around with their feet, but could find the underlying snow hard only in the direction whence they came. "i guess we're off the trail, and have walked along a bank where the wind has packed the old snow good and hard. looks to me as if we was lost." "don't give up," said john. "give up! i ain't giving up; but we're lost. i won't give up as long as i can wiggle." "what had we better do?" "keep moving! if you don't, you freeze!" spencer's voice was low and serious as he said, "keep the wind on your right side; and if you've got any last will and testament to make, scratch it on a piece of paper and leave it in your pocket before your hands get numb, or your mind weak. we're up against it hard! we will stay together, of course; but should we get separated, don't move too fast, or you will tire yourself out and go to sleep in the snow. don't let sleep take hold of you, or you're dead! just keep moving fast enough to keep warm, or, at least, from freezing; go down hill rather than up; and don't fall over a cliff. have you ever been up against a life-and-death proposition? if not, you are pretty near one now." they proceeded on their uncertain journey, but were soon floundering in soft snow. they kept on. it was easy enough to say "keep going down-hill," but, so far as john was concerned, he seemed to be walking up-hill all the time. they frequently exchanged shouts, and so remained together. for hours they plodded on, the snowfall growing less, but the cold greater. john began to act, to call, mechanically. his mind in that desolate trampling was transported to happier places. he thought of his alice peel. she was probably, he mused, thinking of him also. did her mind ever picture such experiences as he was now realizing? she would possibly read in the newspapers of the great rush of gold-seekers over those terrible mountains and through the stormy passes. if he should die in that storm, and months afterwards she heard of his demise?... the thought drifted along to several loose ends. he must not sleep, or he would die; and it was his duty to live; but--oh! to sleep!... his father, and the old school, the church services! how much he would like to hear the old organ and the choir!... it had been the family wish that he should take holy orders, and he had refused the vocation, feeling it not his. had he done right? he believed yes.... he might be about to meet his creator. what might his record be?... his mind went back to an occasion in australia, when he had been lost in the bush, and had wandered for days without water, till some blacks found him. he remembered, before going into unconsciousness with his back against a rock, that a vulture was watching him. he had taken a piece of stone, and, pretending it was a pistol, had pointed it at the bird.... john berwick's mind was picturing sand and heat, while above him roared the arctic storm. how cold it was getting, and the wind was beginning to blow! the parka did not sufficiently protect his face. hugh shouted out that they were crossing a lake, and there might be a camp along its edge. they came in due course to the other side of the lake, with the cliff so steep they could not climb it. they followed the shore to the right, facing the storm. they crossed another lake, and still another. the air had grown intensely cold; the wind was higher, and ever there came that terrible inclination to lie down and sleep. after they had passed over the last little lake hugh shouted to john that they were surely now far from the proper trail, as he could recollect no such water near bennett. lake lindeman was four miles long. the wind was rising, and the increasing cold told that it came from the north. hugh began now really to doubt whether they would live through the storm. soon afterwards fine ice crystals impinged against their faces. great swirls of wind fell upon them. this new severe onslaught of nature aroused john, who called to his comrade. he had suddenly realized how very, very close they were to death. "the snow is going--it's easier walking," he said suddenly. they closed together, and struggled along abreast. they were too nearly dead to notice that the going was good. suddenly john fell into the soft snow, and hugh, exerting his worn powers, dragged him back. "the trail, the trail," gasped john, with his face close to hugh's. "trail! we ain't been on any trail for hours." "feel with your feet!" hugh stopped to feel with his feet two runner tracks of horse sled. hope came to them, made a great call to their resources. meanwhile their tired hearts and very weary bodies endured the bombardment of the snow-laden wind, which seemed to penetrate them, taking the heat of life from their vitals! they came to another lake. how the wind cut! the snow, driven over the surface of the ice, gave a hard, grinding noise. would ever they come to the end of that pitiless journey! bang! they stumbled against a sleigh standing in the middle of the road. hugh kicked at it; the singletree rattled; he recognized the sound. he gave a desperate shout; another and another. then, at last, the promise of relief and of life came to them. they smelt smoke. just for a second!--that creosotic odour was to them as sweetest perfume. it meant life, warmth, comfort, human companionship. the figure of a man with a lantern loomed up before them, and a deep voice asked, "what's the matter?" "we're lost," said john. "no, you're not; you're right here on crater lake, just over the summit of the chilkoot." "thank god!" said hugh. "we're the police; come inside." they staggered into a tent warmed by a tin stove, on which was a pot of coffee. the man quickly produced cups, and gave them to drink. john berwick just fell on a pile of wood, stacked near the stove, and fell asleep. now that the great struggle against the elements, which force of personality rather than strength of limbs had carried him through, was over, he collapsed. when the policeman returned with bread and meat for them, he found hugh removing his friend's shoes, and brushing the snow from his legs. "let him sleep," said hugh. * * * * * in far-away london at that very hour--in england high noon--alice peel was walking down regent street. her spirits were restless. the bustling traffic, the interest of the shops, the passing of the people, could not keep her thought from a far wanderer. she was weary of this ordered civilization; and remembering john in his adventures heard the call of the wilds. there was now a possibility for this yearning to be satisfied. her father, surgeon-major peel, had lost his money through a sudden misfortune, and had been prompted by the news from the klondike also to make a bid for fortune there, not as a gold-seeker, but in his own profession. he was convinced that a hospital in that desperate region would be in all ways a good venture. alice had determined to accompany him. to her that spring morning, even with all the fever of restlessness in her blood, was full of hope. the soft air and the sunshine were conditions--how different from those endured by berwick and his comrade in their life-and-death march! chapter x an empire's outpost after two hours of solid sleep, the blanket was lifted from the exhausted gold-seekers, and they were shaken back into life. "get up and eat, you need it." still aching in every bone the two poor fellows staggered to their feet. a dim light was penetrating the canvas, as they looked about them. underneath was ice--the frozen surface of crater lake--on which were spread piles of blankets, the beds of the police. notwithstanding the fire, the air of the tent was chill and frosty, and the canvas flapped in the wind. the walls of the tent were dark, showing the level of the snow around them. the presence of this snow, no doubt, explained how the tent had withstood the fury of the gale. the policeman led the way to the cook tent, where they were given bacon and slap-jacks. "can't make bread here, and don't get it very often from dyea, and we're just out now," apologized the policeman who acted as cook. while they were eating ravenously, the officer in command of the post called to see them and inquired if they were any the worse for their experiences. "hardly salubrious, the climate, eh?" he said, after they had answered his particular questions. "on several occasions we have had the tents blown down, and frequently the men had to sit up all night holding the poles to prevent a catastrophe. i must say our fellows have shown great grit under most trying circumstances. you see we are on a civil campaign here, and there is not the excitement of fighting to keep the men up." with that the officer left the tent. a policeman glanced after him and muttered, "civil campaign! hear the old man talk! we're holding down the blooming passes for the queen! that's what we're doing. we could live in comfort at lindeman, with all the wood we want for cabins and to burn." "where do you get your wood?" "down the trail--when we get any at all. they send a horse up from lindeman. the last few days the trail has been pretty good, and some teams have been hauling from there to here: but we got only one load--which won't last us through the storm, if it holds much longer." "do you collect much duty here?" "well--rather! the old man just dumps the money he takes in a leather sack, and the other day he had thirty-five thousand dollars in it; but he hasn't got that much now. he sent one of the fellows down to skagway with it. it was rather risky, for all the hard cases travelling the passes got to know the sack; and there was a good deal of risk of the fellow getting shot; but he went through the whole gang and got on the boat at dyea, and crossed to skagway." "the man had pluck!" "yes; but human nature in many ways is alike in both red-skin and white men, and the police have learned to do these sort of things. down on the plains in the old days, when the savages were mean, it was often the case that one or two policemen would ride into a reservation, arrest a red-skin, and take him away with hundreds of armed indians yelling around them. the indians thought the police were crazy, and it is against their religion to kill a crazy man. i guess if soapy recognized the sack he thought it was a job of some kind." "do as many men come over this pass as over the white pass?" "more! the chilkoot is the poor man's pass. most of the fellows who come over here haul their own stuff, and pack it over the summit, or hire the siwashes to put it to the summit, and haul from here themselves. they get it up here, and then, when they get a fine day, run it through to lindeman or bennett, where they build their boats. an outfit is putting in an aerial tram: that is, a cable from the foot of the big hill to the top." "this summit is too steep for horses?" "oh, yes. it's as much as an ordinary man wants to climb it light, and it's much worse with a pack on your back, though a siwash staggered up the other day with a cask of tar weighing three hundred and fifty pounds. the sad part of it was that then he could not get his five cents, a pound for his work!--at least he came to one of our fellows, who told him to hide the barrel in the snow and not show the owner where it was, till he got his money. wait till you see the hill! it is one of the most remarkable sights, i fancy, ever seen in the world's history: thousands of men toiling in line up nine hundred feet of almost perpendicular ascent--for what?--to be given a chance of drowning themselves in the yukon, or of dying of disease in the dawson country!" the time came for the evening meal; but the storm still raged outside and the weather remained cold. it would be hard to conceive more miserable surroundings! the heat given out by the stove was scarcely felt six feet away, and the icy floor, snow walls, and flimsy roof sapped the body's heat. darkness came, and bed-time. two policemen offered to share their bed with the guests, so that the strangers had somewhere to lay their heads. it appeared to john that he had just fallen to sleep when he was awakened by the sentry calling to all hands to dress, as water was overflowing the ice and coming into the tent. so up all hands got, hastily dressing in the frosty atmosphere. by the uncertain light of a few flickering candles water was to be seen entering the tent; and what was the best move was a matter of discussion, till one policeman suggested that sleighs be hauled into the tent, and the beds built on them. this was done, but not before a good portion of the bedding had become wet. let any one who desires a picture of the hardships which policemen and civilians went through in those dreadful passes imagine the poor fellows living in tents, with water six inches deep within, a storm surging without--and the thermometer many degrees below freezing-point! it was three more days ere the wind ceased to blow, and for those three days the police and their guests existed under distressing conditions. at the end of the three days milder weather came; but the water still remained on the ice, so that it was plain the camp must be moved. preparations were being made to do this when john and hugh bade their kindly hosts good-bye. chapter xi another pass john and hugh could not resist the temptation of looking at the far-famed chilkoot pass ere they turned for the last time from the great divide. so they mounted the steep ascent from crater lake to the summit. reaching this, they found a great array of caches, or drifts of snow, the formation of which suggested a cache beneath them. a half-dozen policemen were levelling the new site for their tents. "a desperate situation for an encampment!" said john; but there was no other. looking down the pass it presented a picture like nothing so much as a great funnel, with the side towards the sea broken out. through this passage from the sea a long line of ant-like figures, human beings, each laden with his load, was pouring towards them. the town of lindeman was reached at three o'clock; at five they arrived at bennett. dude rose up from his bed on the snow and looked at them; but the four other dogs were bundles of fur before the camp, refusing to give even a silent welcome. "hurrah!" cried bruce, "here you are at last; i knew you would turn up safe and sound, so stayed home to have something hot ready." the two were ready for another meal; and as george had set up the camp stove in the tent they were comfortable. as soon as his partners had started on the morning of the storm, george had set to work and put up the stove in the tent, and for the balance of the day, till the storm came, had been cutting firewood--with no other idea than to keep busy. and great was his reward! for he had enough to do and to think of to keep him supplied during the storm and the severe weather that followed. then, at seven or eight o'clock, after the snow had been falling several hours, a low wail came from outside the tent door. dude! "you got the note on dude's collar?" inquired hugh. "yes; but i didn't go after the grub, being too anxious about you." "that was right. the chechachoes will have the trail beaten for us to-morrow. i only sent it in case we did not turn up, which we came pretty near not doing! how have your neighbours been getting on: doing much quarrelling?" "no; they have had too much trouble keeping warm, and have limited their disputes as to who should go out into the storm and cut wood. they weren't as lucky as i in having a good supply at hand." how the wanderers appreciated their warm bed under the lynx-skin robe that night! for in their late abode the chill of the ice and water had seemed to penetrate to their bones! the next day hugh took a piece of canvas, and with a needle fashioned a sail, after which he fixed a mast in the front of the sleigh and set the sail. "you see," he explained, "when spring sets in the wind generally blows from the south, and we might as well make it work for us." as it did when they started on the morning following. a breeze from the south filled the sail and helped the sleigh over the frozen surface of lake bennett. it was three o'clock, and as they were close upon the end of march the days were lengthening wonderfully, so that they had not been an hour on the trail when daylight came. as the light increased so did the wind, which relieved the dogs of almost all the weight of the load. the trail was good, and by eleven o'clock they had travelled the twenty miles to caribou crossing, the site of the present town of car-cross. here hugh called a halt, declaring they had done a good day's work, and that the recently-abandoned camping-ground at which they then were was too good to pass. so the dogs were unhitched, and their evening meal put to boil. while this was in process the tent was erected and the bed made. the second day out from lake bennett was much like the first; and so it was until the fourth day, when they reached miles canyon and the white horse rapids. from lake bennett they passed windy arm to tagish lake; and on marsh lake, which followed, they got more away from the mountains, when their range of vision became greater. when they arrived at the foot of marsh lake, which merged into miles canyon, they found a number of men putting in a tramway, over which horses would haul freight when navigation opened, thus covering the five miles and avoiding the danger of the canyon and the rapids. they hauled their load along the route of the tramway to below the rapids, where the waters of the yukon are known as the fifty mile river. here they found a number of men building boats, but they kept steadily on. below white horse rapids fewer men were on the trail. some they met were travelling south, gaunt and haggard, unshaven, uncouth, loud of voice and wild of eye. these men had travelled the long trail from dawson--five hundred miles it was; and the heavy toil and hard food had told on their minds and natures. the party covered the fifteen miles from white horse to where the fifty mile enters lake le berge, when the crust had become so soft that they could not travel, so they camped. recently the trail had taken on new conditions, that of standing higher than the snow on either hand, like the back of a great serpent. the fact was that the general level of snow was settling under the warmth of the sun, while the trail, being packed hard, remained as it was. the tent was up and the bed made by noon. hugh planned that the party should go to bed at three, and "hit the trail" again at midnight. there would be no wind to aid them further, for, as they left the coast range, the diurnal breeze had failed. their own efforts, and those of the dogs, must haul the load the final stage of thirty miles to the foot of lake le berge, where they were to build their boat. they ate their dinner and spread spruce boughs, over which they placed their blankets, and enjoyed a rest in the glorious sunlight. the view from the tent was beautiful. to the north lay the stretch of the lake, on either hand of which were great rounded hills--all dazzling white. to the south, far distant, were heavy ranges of mountains. the air was that of peace and hope, and seemed full of promise of the glorious summer soon to burst over this vastness of solitude, melting the snows, and flooding the hillsides with floral beauty. presently they saw two black specks crossing the frozen lake far beneath, which eventually proved to be two human figures approaching--one some distance behind the other. the first was hauling a sled, slowly, and evidently with difficulty. hugh at once acted. he put the kettle to boil, and filled a frying-pan with beans and bacon. "i guess those fellows coming up the lake will need a little grub when they get here," he explained; "at least they can drink tea, if they are too plumb played out to eat." the actions of the leading man were very erratic. frequently he would stop, place his hand before his eyes, and when again he endeavoured to start would stagger, plunging into the softened snow, which broke under him, bringing him to the knees. "snow-blind," was hugh's comment. the stranger seemed to smell the smoke from the camp fire, and gave a wild "hullo!" the three answered the call. he turned towards the sound, and when he saw the camp he shook himself free of the harness and plunged through the soft snow towards it. when he saw the blankets stretched before the tent he threw himself on them at full length, and with his fingers at his eye-sockets groaned. sympathy being often better expressed by doing nothing, the man was left in his misery for some ten minutes. hugh then poured him out a cup of tea, to which was added much sugar and condensed milk. the man raised his head at a word, and showed his blackened face, made horrible by the streaks of tears and perspiration. he drank the refreshment greedily. hugh explained the man's curious appearance. "this fellow has been taking a leaf out of the siwash's book in blackening his face. the black saves the eyes a whole lot from the glare of the sun." the campers turned their attention to the second traveller, now plainly in sight, and noticed that the pack on his back jolted him horribly, as he broke through the trail at every third or fourth step. as he wore glasses, he was evidently not in distress from his eyes. he saw the camp, staggered to it, and threw himself down, pack and all, sitting with his back against the load. he stared at the man in agony on the blankets. "hello! there's bill! ha! i told the blame fool not to travel without glasses. wake up, bill, and tell us your dreams. how's that wife you're so struck on outside, and you in such a hurry to give your dust to! ho! bill, wake up!" as the prostrate man gave no sign of hearing, his hilarious companion turned to the others, and in more moderate tones continued, "bill and me have come from dawson together, and he has near killed himself--me, too--trying to get out and see his wife and kids; and this morning nothing would do him but he must go and tramp on his glasses, and bust them. i told him to lay up to-day and travel to-night, but he wouldn't. must keep moving to get to his wife. ha! wife be damned! i ain't got no wife." hugh interrupted the tirade. "have some beans?" "sure thing! beans--yes; nothing like beans on the trail; besides, i don't mind eating your beans, seeing my own grub pile is most petered out. just a little flour and baking-powder left; not much good to travel on." the man fell to eating. his manner turned from hilarity to morosity. he bolted his food. soon his companion on the blankets moved, and gasped, "don't let that hog eat all the beans; i want some." "ha! i thought bill wasn't dead: you're just a bluffer, ain't you, bill? say! bill, let's turn round and go back to dawson. we can travel along with these fellows: they have lots of grub, and we can buy off them." it was evident to john and his friends that--if the first stranger was the worse affected in physical condition--the second was mentally the more upset. the snow-blinded sufferer raised himself and took from hugh the plate of beans and a second cup of tea. this man ate slowly, while his partner continued to talk. "you see, me and bill came from dawson together; and when we got to thirty mile we found it open, and the blame sleigh was always sliding into the open water. i wanted bill to chuck the sleigh and pack our grub and blankets; but bill wouldn't. so i says, 'i'll pack my half, and you can haul your half,' and that's the way we've been coming. bill had a hell of a time with his sleigh sliding into the river; and then, coming up the lake, he never could keep it on the trail. no wonder he's bughouse!"[ ] [ ] crazy. when the first arrival had finished his meal hugh led him into the tent and bathed his eyes with fresh-made tea. in the tent the sufferer was free from the glare of the sun. hugh hung a dark grey blanket from the ridge pole, so that if the sufferer opened his eyes he could fix his gaze upon it. then he went out. "how's bill?" asked the erratic one. "better, i hope." "not bughouse yet?" "i don't think so." "well, if he ain't bughouse, he is sure locoed on that wife of his." hugh made no reply, and the other continued, "ha! that's bill stanbridge; owns in on eldorado with slim mulligan, who's in charge now, and will look after the clean-up. my name is frank miller; just blew in about the time carmack made discovery, but went and used my rights on boulder creek. boulder showed up better on surface than bonanza or eldorado, but there's nothing on bed-rock in boulder." as the man got his mind away from his partner, his conversation indicated less disorder of intellect. hugh, quickly noticing the change, and with a view to further the good process, asked, "how's dawson?" "dawson! she's fine. lots of grub. old healey gave the boys a speel last fall that they'd all starve if they stayed in the country, and then the speculators corralled all the grub and run up prices; but they're loosening now. you can get a pretty good meal of beans now for two dollars and a half--even at miss mulrooney's. say! that girl is making money." "how's bonanza?" "good; but eldorado is better. bill's go ground, some of it going five hundred dollars to the pan for picked dirt. but this high grade pay! the government is going to send their yellow-legs round to relieve the boys of ten per cent., and fellows with poor ground will have to pay as well as the fellows on eldorado. that ain't fair!" "it's fair to charge for the administration of the country and keeping law and order," said george. "to hell with law and order! you're a chechacho, or you wouldn't talk like that. miners' meetings make pretty good law-courts; and now they have law and order, fellows begin to lock their doors. the country was a whole lot better before ever it saw an official." "yes; but the gang going in now will make things different," said hugh. "you're an old-timer?... thought so when i first swallowed your beans. chechachoes don't know how to boil beans like that. you'll find a big change round rabbit creek when you blow in there. it's gamblers and saloon men most have the good claims. of course carmack had to put his wife's relations in next to him on discovery; and when the crowd got up from forty mile they staked on boulder gulch and adams gulch. neither any good--but say! they've got dawson a hot town." he laughed. "games running night and day; all the fun you want, but no gun-play; the yellow-legs will put you on the wood-pile right away quick, if ever you make a break; and it ain't no fun to be sawing wood at forty below, with a yellow-legs and a winchester standing over you--for the glory of the queen of england!" frank miller's mind was lapsing. chapter xii a new partner frank corte stood at the door of his kitchen and, with a large smile, eyed the coming of the party. the new-comers were evidently going to build their boat at the foot of le berge; and already he had favourably sized them up. there were many tents pitched around the cabin where frank distributed the necessities of human sustenance; but dude's instincts drew him to the kitchen, and down he and his canine followers flopped before the door. "well! well! fine dogs, nice day, strangers. going to build boat here? yes, thought so. thirty mile is open to the hootalink, and the lewis is getting holes in it. early spring, sure!" frank's heart was hospitable; but the cost of grub was high: moreover, the grub he cooked was not his. he was debating how far his hospitality could go. frank corte was a hungarian by birth, and a citizen of the united states of america, which he proudly announced as opportunity offered. he was over six feet tall, with long arms, stooping shoulders, and an angular form. his physical strength was enormous: there was a wealth of native kindness in his heart. his chief diversion was argument, in which--thanks to his study of the bible, and a small, besmeared pocket-edition of webster's dictionary--he was rather effective. he could argue with any one; or even on necessity address his convictions to the little red-haired female dog that was ever at his heels. frank thought the world of fanny. "say! fellows, it's against orders to feed pilgrims, though i guess you ain't altogether tenderfeet; but if you wants to boil your tea and cook grub on my stove, you're welcome. come right in and cook up." "no, thanks," said hugh, "though i guess i will leave the team here and mooch round and get a good camping-place. i guess we'll be here three weeks, and might as well set up our tent in a good place. we're not hungry." "that's right; and you can't have a better camping-ground than right over against that bunch of spruce." frank was interested in these strangers, and his desire for news stimulated his hospitality; so he continued, "come right in and feed up, and look for your camping-ground after. days are getting long now." hugh hesitated, and then accepted. frank put on more wood, to which the tin stove quickly responded. "how's soapy?" he inquired. "fine," replied hugh, "hold-ups galore. the people of skagway have a murder nearly every morning for breakfast!" "say! what a time soapy would have if they only let him operate around dawson--wouldn't he make a killing! but them police! they don't have any more excitement beyond the games and dance-halls in dawson than they do outside. that's no mining-camp for a country like this, and the crowd what's inside there now. i don't like to see too much killing, but a hold-up now and again is interesting!--besides, these rich claim-owners can stand it. a fellow was telling me that it was nothing to see the 'big moose'[ ] coming into dawson, last summer, with ten or twenty thousand dollars tied to his saddle, and him without a guard! say! we're going to have a squaw-dance friday night in the dining-room here, will you come? one of our fellows has an accordion, and we'll have fine music. only four bits a dance. i'm going to try and get some hootch. there's nothing like hootch to get the squaws on the move--if the yellow-legs don't get on to it. they soak you like the devil if they catch you at it, though. say! how's uncle sam getting on licking them there spaniards?--he'll do them up in about three weeks. i'd like to be outside to go to the philippines. after he gets through with the spaniards he's going to come in and take canada,"--and here frank stole side-glances at hugh's companions; but his instincts of hospitality stayed him from this, his favourite joke. [ ] indian name for the late alexander mcdonald. "say! where did you get those dogs? fine team!" "three i got inside; the others in skagway." "i thought you was no chechacho. you come from uncle sam's country, don't you?" "i come from all over: what's this outfit you're with?" "jack haskins is building two scows to take down some freight he hauled in over the ice. he has me cooking for him, though i could get $ . in dawson for the same job. he only pays me $ . per month; but i'll soon be in with the best of them. say! if you fellows is going to build a boat, i'll ask jack if you can't use one of his pits. he has two, and i guess you fellows can get the chance to use one of his pits for all the lumber you want--and that will save you building one. i'm glad you fellows have showed up--it will make more company--and i hope you'll come to our dance. you'll see the squaw-camp down the river a bit. they're out from dalton house, came out to tagish, visiting some siwashes there, and drifted down here, just to take in the sights! are a bit shy, though some have picked up a little english." "here is another human study," thought john, as he and his friends moved over to the point suggested for their encampment. they found it satisfactory, so went back for the dogs. "say! if you fellows want anything in the way of dishes, or if you're real short of any grub, maybe i can let you have it on the sly," said frank to the party as they returned, his hospitality getting ahead of his morals. but hugh assured him the party was fixed up all right. frank's generosity was of the aggressive kind, for as john berwick's party sat in their tent that evening he stuck his head in at the door and said they could have the use of one of haskins' saw-pits on the morrow, and probably right along. "don't work too hard, for i want you to be lively on friday night! two fellows have just blown in from dawson, and they say the river is full of holes; so it is just as well you fellows don't have to build a pit; it looks like an early opening, maybe about the first of may." "the river won't open by the first of may, but it will before the tenth, most likely," commented hugh. next morning the party visited the yard where the scows were building, and introduced themselves to mr. haskins, who again informed them that the saw-pits were at their disposal when he did not require them. "ever do any whip-sawing?" asked haskins. "some," said hugh. "it's no picnic." "i never found it so. how's timber? that looks pretty good up the hill there," and hugh pointed to a clump of spruce. "yes, it's all right; but you'll find bigger and clearer stuff higher up, and you can mush it down the hill easy. i suppose you have your own saw?" with this the three friends stormed the hill. they were to cut the trees and slide them to the bottom, after which the dogs would aid in hauling them to the pit. the trees hugh selected were the larger ones, clean and free from knots. by the close of the day sufficient logs were at the pit. a saw "pit" is a scantling of poles eight feet high, on which the logs are placed to be sawn. the _modus operandi_ is that one man stands below the log and another on the top: the upper man pulls the saw towards him, the lower man co-operates. the work is simplicity itself, but very hard. the three companions would want from two to three hundred feet of lumber, which meant perspiration and backache. as hugh expressed it, "the upper man is up against about the hardest proposition a white man puts himself at, these days." about three o'clock on the first afternoon of whip-sawing frank corte appeared with fanny at his heels. george was the upper man, and even his elastic muscles were aching at the work. hugh was having a spell off, but keeping an eye on his friends. "ha! how do you fellows like hard work? this will teach you to go hunting after gold! what have you done with your last summer's wages? say! we're going to have a great time at the dance--a regular potlatch: one of the sticks has just come in saying he's killed a caribou back on the hills, and is going to potlatch it. now if i can only get some hootch! i'd give ten dollars a bottle for some." "better cut the hootch out," said hugh. "the police may catch you and send you down to dawson; and put you sawing wood for queen victoria. and it won't be uncle sam's men who will be chasing you with a winchester." "yes, yes. a damned pity uncle sam would not come over and take canada: then we should have a camp at dawson." george was very hot and sore; and this sort of bantering was new to him. he was in that humour which causes a man to go into a fight on little provocation; but john, he noticed, was smiling amicably, so he held his peace. "if this was uncle sam's country, soapy would have been here taking away your wages before this," laughed hugh. "i wouldn't kick if he could do the trick. say! can you dance? this is going to be a swell dance all right! wish i had enough lumber to cover the floor, so we could dance proper. poles is mighty hard to dance on. well, i must be going--i have some beans boiling. don't you fellows tire yourselves too much sawing lumber, so you can't dance to-morrow night." chapter xiii the dance "are you all set? then dance! damn you, dance! come on, gentlemen, get partners for the next." frank corte's great dance was on. hugh and his companions stood by the door of the dining-hall. on went the dance; and through the atmosphere--thick with tobacco-smoke--the native women were guided, their bronzed faces speaking excitement. "come on in, gentlemen!" the walls of the room were lined with men. squaws, who had not yet learned the dance, sat on boxes. the three friends crowded into the room and stood with their backs against the wall. frank corte was beating time with his foot and clapping his hands, while he sang the calls in a weird drawl. "honours to the right." each man bowed most gravely to his partner, who most respectfully returned it. "honours to the left." each man bowed to the lady at his left in the quadrille: and when "swing your right-hand lady; dance around the room" came, the men grabbed their partners and whirled around--quarters were too close to permit of any great range of movement, and the squaws were so excited, they seemed to occupy more room than really they did. "a la main left." all stood to attention. "first gent swing the left-hand lady, with the left hand round." every gentleman turned towards the lady on his left. the ladies turned to the right. they grasped left hands at the height of their shoulders, and pranced round to the left. "the left hand round.--turn your partners, with the right hand, round.--the right hand round.--all chassez!--first couple lead to the right.--four hand round.--dos à balnette.--right hand to partner, and grand dos à balnette." every man took his partner's right hand and wheeled to the right; and then her left hand. this movement brought them opposite, and so they were in a circle, at which they balanced, the men facing outwards, the women inwards. "on to the next!" the men wheeled, and with their ladies pivoted to the left; then the men took the hand of the ladies next on their right as they swung round. the ladies holding the men by the left gave their right hand, and at the words "dos à balnette," all again balanced--the men this time facing inwards, the ladies outwards. "on the next!"--again brought the men facing outwards, the ladies inwards--and so on. the quadrille was concluded with, "promenade all around the hall, and seat your ladies at the ball." the faces of the crowd were wild with excitement. the music was weird and discordant. yet john found it all very stimulating. dance after dance was gone through, while he stayed and watched, till there came to his mind pictures of the old home--his father's house in london, and alice peel! was she thinking of him? "say! why don't you fellows get in and dance?" dreams and fancies were reft away as reality, in the person of haskins of the saw-pits, stood before john berwick. then he noticed george laughing at a clumsy mystified squaw, a beginner in the dance. his hilarity provoked the squaw, and, as the dance paused for a second, between her gasps and through her perspiration she hissed with a look of contempt, "che--chac. ka!" "say! you fellows will have to get in and dance in this next set. i saw a squaw looking at you and saying 'heap dam dood,' so if you want to keep your station in society you've got to dance." haskins was again worrying them. "all right. who will i ask to dance?" george was ready. "go and ask that squaw sitting in the corner," said haskins, pointing across the room. she it was who had said "heap dam dood." george went and invited her to be his partner. "ni--ka halo introdux" (you have not been introduced), she answered. this was more than george could withstand in gravity. he roared with laughter and returned to haskins. he only guessed the meaning of the words, so he repeated them to haskins. "who the devil has taught these savages up here chinook! it's a special lingo manufactured by the hudson bay company to suit the savages, and when white men first came into british columbia they found the savages with a lingo which was called white man's wa-wa, and which no person could understand; it is easy enough to learn, you can pick it up in a week; it has only about six hundred words. all the old-timers in british columbia talk it. dagoes, chinese, mexicans, swedes, all talked it in the old days in caribou. the siwash calls an englishman 'king george man' and an american 'boston man.'" the squaw in the corner was keeping her eye on george with evident dislike. as john noticed this he recommended their departure; so george and he went back to bed. hugh arrived home hours later in great glee. "you fellows will laugh at the siwashes, eh? well--you'll get the worst of it. george, i hear you were not sufficiently formal with one of the klootches (squaws), and got called down--ha, ha!" on the sunday morning following john left hugh and george repairing their wardrobe in the tent, and was strolling past frank corte's kitchen to where the scows were being built. "hullo! how's the 'heap dam dood'? come in, i want to argue with you." john looked up and saw the smiling face of frank at his kitchen door. he had no great wish to argue; but he loved the study of humanity, and realized that frank was something of a conundrum. corte, who was kneading bread, took a seat on a box by the kitchen door. "say! don't you think it would be a good thing for this country if uncle sam was really to come over and take it?" "i hope not. what's the matter with it as it is?" "too much police--too much law and order; you can never have a real live mining-camp in canada." "that was a pretty good dance you had friday night." "yes, it was all right; but what a time we would have had if we had had lots of hootch! but say! that was a good one when the squaw told the other 'king george man' he had not been introduced to her!" frank chuckled; and then, as the prospect of an international argument did not seem good, went on another tack. "do you believe there is a god?" a flood of memories surged through berwick's brain. he glanced at the dark sinister features of the man awaiting his reply and then looked at the sunlight. should he give such an answer in such a tone as would discourage further argument? no--the question was too serious. he might not have felt called upon at one time to divulge his belief, which in the past had been a burden of much questioning; but here it was asked, perhaps in levity, by one who evidently could not fully believe. he felt called upon to answer, "yes, i do." corte's face had taken on a strained look. realizing the seriousness with which berwick regarded the question, he feared lest he had hurt the feelings of his guest. the answer he received reassured him. removing his big arms from the dough, and gesticulating, he answered, "well, partner, i don't. now here's the proposition: those who say there is a god say what he set out to do. the first thing god done was to build the world; and after he done this he built a mighty fine ranch and fixed it up a ; and then he puts adam and eve into it, after having made them. he tells them not to eat apples--and then he goes and has a snake which tells them to eat apples. and because they do eat apples he pulls up the ranch and kicks them out. now there would be no kick coming if he simply turned them loose and made them rustle--having to rustle never hurt any man--but he brings all sorts of diseases and pains on earth. that's what keeps me from believing in god. "now look here; if god was able to make the earth, and the stars, and everything, why should he not make man and let him enjoy all this--seeing that he is doing it all more or less for amusement--without putting him in the middle of a lot of good things and then putting up a job on him? i've talked to parsons on this thing, and some of them says that after he bust up the home ranch he kind of got sorry, and says he would send his son on earth to die--to fix up the big mistake adam and eve made in eating one apple. now, say! if you was doing all this, would you, after you made man, and put him on the earth and he did wrong, would you send your son to fix things up so that the crowd would go and nail him to a big wooden cross by driving big stakes through his hands and feet--and then stick him up for the crows to peck at? if god was not able to make a man the first go off who would stand a mill-test, why did he not kill him off, body and soul, and try again without trying to fix things up by making his son suffer? the whole proposition ain't natural. and what would you think of a man who, if he fell down on any proposition, would make his son go and suffer to fix up his mistakes? why did he not come on earth and die on the cross himself, and suffer, and turn the earth and all the stars and the rest of it over to his son to run while he was gone?" john berwick was not by nature argumentative, having seldom in his life allowed himself to be drawn into any but political controversy. he had, it is true, discussed doctrine at college with his class-mates. he had read much philosophy, and had pondered deeply on the mystery of human suffering--the deepest of all mysteries. he had weighed the arguments of great minds which wanted belief in god, and in his own mind had done much to surmount the difficulty, to justify the ways of god to man; but the crude intellect before him had launched forth a proposition he could not confute. his training in rhetoric and in the drawing of parallels was of use only against the cultured mind. the legend of the saxon king drawing the simile of life from the little bird which flew within the hall firelight and was gone again came to his mind, but he put it aside as impotent. he did not know what to say; he said nothing. frank corte was working at his bread again, his face twitching with a smile. "and then there's miskities, and black flies, and moose flies, and bull-dogs. say! wait a month or two till the miskities get busy, and then try and figure out how any great and good god would put such things on earth! these devils ain't in cities where men is, but in the country where the beasts is. have you ever seen a big bull-moose going hell-bent for election through the bush chased by flies? have you ever shot a bear, with his eyes and ears and nose full of flies, and the flies sticking all round his eyes, enough to drive even a bear plumb crazy? why should god, because man went and eat an apple, make animals suffer in trying to get even?" frank corte returned to the kneading, while john berwick thoughtfully watched the sun-flooded landscape. "frank," he said, after a pause, "'the proof of the pudding is the eating.' i have never heard any argument quite like yours, but man's coming to the world, how he came to the world, and whether he has a soul have been the greatest subjects of study through the ages. we know the christian religion was taught back to within a few years of the time christ came on earth; and from that time on has got bigger in power and influence over the minds of men, so that the majority of civilized people give justice to their fellows because this religion tells them to do so. "the bible tells a story of the origin of man, which we may or may not believe. the bible says there is a god; and god sees best not to explain his schemes and why he makes man and animals suffer. i believe there is a god, and that god is just, and that there is a reason for everything. why not try to believe there is a god, rather than argue with yourself and others that there is no god? if the christian belief has made the world so much better as a whole, it will make you and me better as single men; and i know you would give a man a meal if he wanted it; or if a fellow were sick you would help him out all you could, and you'd expect me to do the same. if you saw a fellow drowning in the river you'd help him out; but the chinaman, who is not a christian, would let him drown. you're a christian all right; but you don't know it." john paused, and would have added something; but frank, his face half flushed in confusion, his voice less rasping than usual, broke in, "say! stranger, when i first saw you i sized you up along with the siwashes as a 'heap dam dood,' though i didn't like to say it serious-like; but that's a pretty good talk of yours, and, sure, sounds natural. say! is that other 'king george man' with you as good a fellow as you are? say! you've set me thinking!" frank had set berwick thinking too. chapter xiv a long shot hugh spencer was working as upper man on the whip-saw, and an indian was trying to extract a cartridge from an old and rusty rifle at his camp down the river. suddenly there was a report, and hugh tumbled headlong from his position. his friends sprang to his side, and found blood spurting from a hole in his neck. the flow was not great, so that their first feeling of horror was changed to hopefulness. john shouted and waved to haskins, whom he saw standing near his scows. haskins came running up, was told what had happened, and with the single word, "wait!" bolted to his tent. he was back again in little more than a minute, with a camp-bed, blankets and all. few words were spoken, and those in whispers. the injured man was lifted on to the bed, and carried to the tent, his temporary home. "george, hot water." george was off to the cook-tent at the word, while haskins got hugh on his side, the wound uppermost, and frank arrived hurriedly. "boracic acid out of the medicine bag; frank, you light the fire, and then take off hugh's boots." "it don't look as if it was bad," said haskins, when the wound was washed. "no," replied john, "i don't think the bullet is far in, it is the shock that has knocked him out; but i have no instruments with which to get the bullet out, and even if i were able to draw it, it might be followed by a rush of blood i should not know how to stop; and then there is the danger of blood poisoning." "a doctor with his partner is building a boat at white horse," said haskins. "good! i'll get him! george, you know what to do. keep a good watch, and when he comes round keep him quiet." john left the tent, and saw four of the dogs before frank's kitchen. "see anything of dude?" he called to frank. "yes, he was in front of my kitchen all the afternoon." frank looked out of the tent door. "say! i've left my door open. i bet he's stole something!" they ran to look. "yes, a side of bacon's gone. damn that 'dood'--'heap dam dood,' he!" frank's sense of humour could not be suppressed by any calamity; but its expression did not stay his activities. he was out of his kitchen and peering into the bushes on the hillside. "yes, i thought so; there he is, been up to his cache i located the other day; he's done quick work and is coming back. don't call him, he'll come quicker without, and he may think we want to lick him for thieving. come inside." it seemed an age before the reprobate reappeared before the cabin. "don't let on you see him, but walk by and grab him," whispered frank. john followed the instructions and was successful. "where's the harness?" asked frank. "with the sleigh at the tent. i'll get it." "here, two bits; here, four bits; here, tom, jerry," and frank had the team in harness. "dude!" dude went to his place in the lead. "hold on a minute." frank went into the kitchen, and returned with half a loaf of bread and some fried bacon, in a piece of birch bark. "throw this into you as you go." "how about the dogs?" "damn the dogs; i've been feeding them all day." "mush!" dude looked back and did not move. "mush!" he moved ahead at a slow walk. "mush, damn you!" john felt surprised to hear himself swear; but the dogs were in the condition styled "ornery." dude turned in by the side of the building, the others followed; the sleigh bumped against the corner. frank had dude by the collar in a moment, and was belabouring him over the flank with a stout stick. the hills reverberated with howls. he hauled the animals back into line, and with a kick for good measure, said in a cold slow tone, "mush." dude trotted off. frank ran by the side of the team till they were on the lake. "they'll go all right if you once get them away from camp, but lick 'em good and plenty if they turn mean," was his counsel on quitting. john berwick was alone with the team on the great expanse of lake le berge. before him, to the south, lay the thirty-mile stretch of ice, flanked by rolling hills, flooded with opalescent tints and peace. for an instant the exceeding beauty of the scene gladdened his mind. he was anxious about hugh. there were forty-five miles to traverse before he would come to white horse. the dogs were travelling at five miles an hour: nine hours before he could reach white horse; and then, if the river were open, what then? the thought of the delay necessitated by a journey overland staggered him. it were easier to travel thirty miles on the ice than fifteen through the bush. he jumped off the sleigh and ran; but the dogs moved no faster; and the labour in running would soon exhaust him, for while there was no snow on the ice, the surface of the lake was a coarse ice-sand, which constituted a poor foothold. the sun was setting; already a chill was in the air. a crust would form within the hour; perhaps the dogs would move faster then. these thoughts ran through his mind, till his fear developed into a lingering dread. he realized that to go through that intolerable process of analyzing the details of his anxiety could only result in futility. the surface of the lake became harder; he picked up pieces of ice, threw them at dude, and shouted. every missile, with its accompanying shout, brought a merely temporary increase of speed. all attempts to get the dogs to gallop proved futile. it was three o'clock on the following morning when berwick pounded on the door of the police cabin at white horse, and was greeted sleepily. he entered. the flicker of a match showed a man in the act of lighting a candle by the head of a bed built against the wall. "man shot at the foot of le berge; bullet in his neck; wants doctor." the policeman jumped from bed, slipped to the door, and pointed to a tent by the river-side. "the doctor with his partner live in that tent. what is it--accident?" "yes; indian trying to extract a cartridge from an old rifle." "damn the siwashes! same old story. well, i have no doubt the doctor will go. i guess you'll need some sleep, so if those fellows can't put you up, return here, and you can climb into bed with me." john had intended returning to his friend with the doctor, but bolted without comment, save a mere "thank you." there is no process of knocking at a tent door, so john used his voice to rouse the occupants. "what do you want?" was the gruff response. john gave the necessary information. "doc," then said the man to his unseen companion, "there's a chance of doing the good samaritan act the preachers talk about." there was silence for a while as the doctor and his comrade were dressing and preparing; then john asked, "can i build a fire outside and cook some dog feed? if you will let me have some feed i'll return it, or pay for it." "i thought you was a chechacho!" said the gruff voice. "you want the doc to travel quick?" "certainly." "and the doc's taking them dogs home?" "yes." "well, don't feed them." john berwick's nature revolted against this theory; but he made no protest, as the life of his mate was in jeopardy. the doctor packed his hand-bag, and was ready. "you stay here," he said; "you can do no good down there. roll in and have a sleep." dude was alert, but the other dogs were in repose when they were jerked into life again. the train moved down the river. fatigued in body and mind, berwick gladly rested and slept. chapter xv revelation john awoke at five in the afternoon. at the first opportunity his new acquaintance began to talk. "my name's jim godson. 'shorty' the boys call me; sometimes 'long-shorty.' that's what you call a blooming paradox, ain't it, parson?" "i'm not a parson." "well, if you ain't, you look as if you ought to be. what's your name?... oh, is it?... ain't you got no appellation yet?" "not as yet." "well, i'll call you parson jack, though i guess you look too good a man for a parson. parsons is mostly parsons because they're too lazy to work; and you don't act lazy. no, you ain't lazy; not if you are in tow with an old-timer." godson's light chatter kept away the sense of apprehension which was ever tending to creep into berwick's mind. "say! i knew a parson once that was worth having. yes, sir; father pat was his name, and his run was down in the kootenays. a whiter parson never lived than father pat." "father pat? was he a roman catholic? the roman clergy are not called 'parsons.'" "no, sir; he weren't no catholic; he was an angle (anglican)--and a pretty acute one, too. he was moseying along a trail down below one day, and was just turning off on a side-trail leading to a mining proposition up there, when three fellows met him, who were just naturally full of cussedness. 'how do?' says father pat. 'where are you going?' says the fellows. 'i'm going up to the mine,' says father pat. 'no, you ain't,' says the fellows. 'but i am,' says father pat. 'we don't want no damned parsons around here,' says the fellows. 'i can't help that,' says father pat, 'i'm going up the hill; and if you fellows want to quarrel over it, i'll take you one at a time and lick you.' and he did so. now that's what i call a parson worth having." "and which of the three were you?" asked john. "me! i was the second fellow that got licked; yes, since then i've always thought parsons worth looking into." the time for departure came. "go easy for the first two or three miles, parson; forty-five miles is a pretty good walk for any fellow who ain't an old-timer. you're making a mistake not waiting, for the dogs will be back here with the doctor, even if he has to stay a day or two with your partner; but if you're stuck on going, i guess i ain't got any string on you." "good-bye," said john, and clambered down the river-bank to the ice. the day had been more than usually warm, the air unusually clear; the evening frost had come early. as berwick left white horse it was seven, and already the crust had formed. he had food in his pockets, and the air brought him stimulation. anxiety steeled his muscles. away he strode. he passed from the curving river, and came again to the frozen stretch of lake le berge. the light of day was gone; the stars gleamed and danced, and shed their glamour over the hills. and what dignity they held! greece had risen and gone to decay: cæsar had striven after his great ambition: pharaoh had succeeded pharaoh: while those hills had slept as they now were sleeping. the influence of his environment closed upon john berwick. the psychic force of the weird northland was upon him. through his mind passed the orthodox story of creation; and, again and again, as he walked, he weighed the various arguments of the agnostic. he looked upon the limestone masses to the east, and mused upon the ways of nature, which caused the destruction of myriads of shell-fish to upbuild the marble of the palace. he pictured the diamond in the atomic theory of matter--a mass of pulsating atoms oscillating within magnetic bonds--even as the stars swing through space, guided by the influence which is called gravitation. was not this known movement of the heavenly bodies similar to the theoretic movement of the atom? a feeling of apprehension grew in john berwick; faster and faster he walked. life's greatest problems had for years occupied his mind. he looked about him and into the heavens. before his fevered eyes the stars shimmered and grew in shape: the earth beneath him dwindled and melted, till it was but a star and he felt its rush through space. he realized the centrifugal force that would throw the world out of its orbit; he felt the counteracting restraint; system joined to system, swinging, circling, driving; the universe grew about him; suns and stars were but atoms in a component whole; the whole formed into presence--love! god! it came to him as a mighty magnificent discovery. he must hurry to tell frank corte! chapter xvi a stream of history "good-bye, fellows, wish you all kinds of luck! i won't be long behind you." "good-bye," answered the four from the boat that glided out on the swift waters of thirty-mile river. in the bow stood hugh spencer, bandaged; at the oars were bruce and frank corte; in the stern john berwick, pale and weak from his late fever, was resting. a new light shone in his eyes; the lines of his face were softened. anxieties which had been as a weight on his soul had been removed by that revealing walk, which had ended in catastrophe. he had been found by the side of the trail some few hours after he had fallen in delirium. the legs of his trousers were worn at the knees; his flesh was cut through his struggling after he had fallen. his finger-tips were worn to the quick; his blood had stained the ice. the doctor, returning, had been john's rescuer, and had placed him on the sleigh. truly a good samaritan, he had returned with the invalid to the foot of le berge. berwick's delirium was the climax of half-a-dozen years of mental strain. his old struggle as to whether he should make his vocation in the church, as well as his almost hopeless passion for alice peel, had, though even george bruce barely suspected it, wrought upon him. now the climax had come; and was passed. george, seeing this catastrophe, had guessed much; the doctor, trained in the study of humanity, had also guessed something. hugh, frank corte, and haskins only knew that john had played-out on the trail. spencer had told his companions there was nothing much in the first six miles of the river, but that afterwards "she is swift and crooked." sunken boulders were the chief danger, so he took his post in the bow to "read" the water ahead, and to direct the course, saying "frank" or "george"--as he wished the one or the other to pull the harder. after an hour the boat came to a point where the river takes a turn to the right, on rounding which the boat's pace increased. looking over its side into the clear water, john saw the stones at the bottom flash by, and noted the scurrying greyling affrighted. the boat swept by sunken boulders, or grazed the curving shores, but held its swift course without pause or incident. for four hours their rapid progress continued; then the current died away, and the boat floated upon the dead water that marks the junction of the hootalinquia river with the thirty mile, henceforth to be called the lewis, till lewis is joined by the pelly to become the yukon. now that the necessity for vigilance was past, hugh entertained his friends with reminiscences of his first trip there, and the story of the entrance of the gold-seekers to the upper yukon. they would soon be at cassiar bar, and the mouth of the big salmon river. in miners had crossed the passes, and descended the lakes and rivers, to the mouth of the big salmon, which they ascended, and obtained gold by washing the bars. cassiar bar was not discovered till , five years after the big salmon party had done their mining. the men who mined cassiar bar had wintered here, and their cabin came in useful for others who "mushed out" over the ice to give word about howard franklin's discovery of coarse gold on the forty mile, and to order more grub to be sent "up river" by the alaska commercial company's steamer. in some fellows from sitka had gone over, and prospected up the hootalinquia; but they did not strike much; while the first white man over the passes looking for gold was george holt, who found a few "colours" around lake bennett. in arthur harper and a british columbia outfit came up the liard and over the divide; but though they found "prospects" almost everywhere in the yukon, they did not make a real strike, so they floated to the mouth of the yukon and went to work for the alaska commercial company. hugh thus told the history of yukon--so far as the white man knows it. although the ice still clung along the river banks, the land was free of snow, and vegetable life was asserting itself. the mosquito was very little behind the grass-shoot in realizing that summer was at hand, and that it had but a few short months in which to play its part! it was because sleep on shore would be difficult, through the mosquitoes, that hugh suggested their continuing the journey through the night. one watched and steered while the others slept. so hugh, george, and frank divided the night between them. john asserted that the rest and change of scene had done him a world of good and that he was able to steer; but the others squashed his proposals. "heap dam dood! heap sick all same baby, he! he!" sniggered frank corte. they had now dropped away from the great mountains, not a snow-topped peak was in sight; but the hills stretched majestically on either side of the river. the routine of watches having been decided, the party settled down to silence at nine o'clock. towards midnight john awoke. it was now merging upon the season of perpetual light, and the hills and the great river were weirdly visible. george was on watch, sitting on the thwart ahead of him, his back towards him. the boat quietly, swiftly glided on. no effort was needed from the man at the look-out, save an occasional stroke to keep the head straight. john glanced at his watch and saw the hour. the fact startled him, though he had schooled himself. in the lands where his previous existence had been passed the haunts of men were always at this hour illuminated by artificial light and filled with--artificiality! here was the opening of the months-long day; and reality--reality, the eternal verities. in that wonderful silence he needs must think, and overhaul his spiritual condition. he could--and he would--take holy orders. he would first fight the issue in the goldfields, for, if he made money, that power would be useful. so he came to his decision; and at last he slept. when he awoke the boat was hauled half-way up one of the yukon's many islands, and breakfast was being cooked. the party had travelled one hundred miles in twenty-four hours; three days more would carry them to dawson. they re-embarked, and, as the same glorious weather prevailed, their expedition was very like a delightful picnic. in the regions of tantalus buttes the river took a number of great horseshoe bends, which induced hugh to remark, "we do a lot of travelling here, without much progress." then came five finger rapids, where four great pillars of conglomerate rock stood ranged across the river. the yukon's waters were low; the season of freshets was not due until the snow in the mountains was melted and the sun had attacked the glaciers; so hugh said the main or right-hand channel might be run. "run her right on the top of the crest," he ordered. they approached the rapid, and the current slackened almost to dead water. they rowed the boat under the cliff to the right of the channel, and then shot out into the middle, directly on the crest. the current caught the little craft--there was a swish and swirl of water--she heaved, and was over the cataract into the dancing waters beyond. the current remained swifter than it had been above the rapids, and the party was soon at rink rapids, four miles beyond five fingers. this rapid was more dangerous than that of the five fingers had been, owing to its being spread over a wide range of bottom and to the presence of numerous boulders: however, they shot the boat under the right bank and glided through in safety. there now remained uninterrupted, smooth water to dawson. they breakfasted at fort selkirk, situate on the left bank of the river, opposite the mouth of the large tributary, the pelly. frank protested that a day's rest would do the party good, particularly a dance that night, for there was a squaws' camp near. "you will get all the dancing you have money to pay for in dawson," said hugh. as the party were again afloat, hugh pointed across the river, and remarked, "back at that bunch of bush are the ruins of old fort selkirk, which robert campbell built for the hudson bay company in the year . in the chilkats burned it down, because it was cutting off their trade with the savages hereabouts. you see, before the hudson bay fellows got in here, the chilkats, who held the passes to the sea, used to give inside indians most nothing for their furs, and sell them at a big profit to the white traders on the coast. the chilkats would not let the inside indians out to the coast to trade for themselves. well, when the hudson bay company showed up, it broke up the cinch the chilkats thought their own, and they came after the company. the indians then hereabouts, the wood indians, got hold of the plans of the chilkats and kept watch; but they let up for a few days, and the chilkats came into the fort and told the officers they had to get. it was a ground-hog case, so they just naturally got! campbell found the local indians and came back; but the chilkats had cleaned out. the tea, tobacco, and sugar they took away with them, and what they couldn't take they cached. the chilkats didn't offer to do murder, though they are up to most anything. one thing they took away with them was the company's flag, which the chilkats keep at kluckwan, their village on the chilkat river which lies in the valley just over the mountains west of skagway. the chilkats are very proud of their 'king george man' flag! "it was on august the fort was seized, so campbell had to do something right away quick, before the winter set in: so, after going down the yukon to white river, where he met the remainder of his men, who had been to fort yukon and were coming back, he told them to go back down the river and winter at fort yukon, and he lit out up the pelly and over the divide to the liard, and down the liard to fort simpson. when he got there the liard was running bank full of ice." the next place that drew reminiscences from hugh was the mouth of stewart river. here was a police-post with a few cabins. "in , thirty miles up the stewart, the first considerable bar diggings was struck. dick popham was up there in , but he did not find anything--water was too high. frank densmore and johnnie hughes brought to juneau, in the fall of , the news of good gold on the stewart; and in the gang went in, about three hundred. along with the gang went george carmack, but he took up with the siwashes on the chilkoot. you see, when the fellows started in first, the siwashes packed from what is now dyea to lindeman for nine cents a pound; but as the boys were in a hurry prices rose to thirty cents--and this was too much for carmack, who was a missourian; besides, he got stuck on a squaw. i guess he must have stayed with the siwashes ever since, travelling among them and living their life till he made the big strike on bonanza, which started this here stampede. "when the boys got to the stewart diggings, in , they found them good all right, but not enough to go round; so a lot of them lit out down the river, away below fort yukon, to try some prospects reported from there. among the bunch was bill hartz--'web-foot' the boys called him, because he came from oregon. well, those boys tried the lower diggings, and found them no good; so web-foot started back up the river on jack mcquestion's steamer called the _new racket_. jack mcquestion was trading in the country then, with arthur harper and al mayo as partners. he was in the country before harper, and used to work for the hudson bay company on the mackenzie. at this time they had four posts--one at fort selkirk, one at stewart river, one just below dawson, and one about where eagle city now is. there was a big mountain there called by harper teetotalim. "at teetotalim there was a queer sort of fellow from back east in canada, a frenchman, who was always fooling round with bits of rock, and talking about how the mountains were made. one day a siwash blew in with a piece of woolly rock which the frenchman said was 'asiebestos,' and, if there was much of it, it would be worth money; so mcquestion sent out web-foot with a grub-stake to find the place. web-foot did not find the 'asiebestos,' but he found gold on the forty mile, as also did howard franklin, who was sent up the forty mile from its mouth by mcquestion. they came back out, and on up the yukon to winter at stewart. next year the fellows left stewart for the forty mile, and george matlock, billy leak, oscar ashley, and percy walker found matlock bar, with coarse gold, which washed down out of franklin gulch. franklin gulch was found in august, . this was the first really coarse gold found in the yukon, and the best discovery up to that time. "while the boys were wintering at stewart grub got short, and harper passed it round, fair and square--not raising the price any. but one day some stuff was stole, and harper told the boys, who called a miners' meeting right off. the boys appointed a committee to go round and search the cabins, for every fellow was glad enough to clear himself by showing everything he had. nothing was found. and then the boys thought of two fellows, missouri bill and arkansaw frank, who lived down the river a bit. and when they struck a fresh trail leading to and from their cabin, they became mighty interested; and when they saw where they had made a fire, and found half-burnt-up staves of a butter firkin, they got real hot. when they got up to the cabin the door opened and the two fellows came out; one of them, missouri bill, with a winchester in his hands, swearing he would shoot the first man who came a step further. this stopped the boys for a bit; but frank morphet got a rope off a sleigh and slipped round back of the cabin. the first thing missouri bill knew he had a rope round his neck--and the game was up! well, the boys didn't want to hang them, so each of the fellows gave them a handful of beans, or a little rice, and told them to get, thinking that mushing out five hundred miles, and breaking trail all the way, was pretty nearly as bad as hanging. they made the trip all right, but it was only because they met some siwashes." chapter xvii dawson being in the vanguard of the multitude, whose rush to the diggings in the following year was the outstanding feature of the history of the klondike, the dawson that john berwick and his companions found was that of the winter of ' , very different from the city of five thousand tents it was to become two months after their arrival! an hour before midnight, when they arrived, hugh had pointed out a high hill, dawson's dome, placed beyond the mouth of the klondike river, or, as it was called before usage corrupted its name, the thron duik. little did he or his companions dream of the part this dome was to play in the events yet to be! the dome was to become historic. the main portion of dawson was built on the north side of the klondike. it was a scene of much movement and business. pack-trains were passing up and down the streets, and innumerable dogs seemed everywhere. few boats had yet arrived, and a group of loafers gathered to watch them land. one fellow shouted, "i'll give you a dollar apiece for any late papers you have!" now that they were at the klondike capital, the natural impulse of the party was to enjoy whatever amusements were available; so, in spite of their being tired, and the hour late, they drew the boat upon the gravel shore. passing between tents, they came to the mire of the main thoroughfare. the atmosphere and circumstance of the goldfields were all about them. there were pack-horses and pack-mules waiting before the shops. men were hurrying in and out with pack-straps on their backs. even the dogs wore saddle-bags--a good dog being able to pack forty pounds of supplies. other dogs passed drawing a cart, on which were half-a-dozen cans, oil-tins filled with water, dispensed at twenty-five cents the tin. the festive side of life was more marked than the commercial. men in wild attire, women in gorgeous raiment, were ever passing in and out of the saloons and gambling-halls. the four adventurers floundered across the mud and entered the hospitable doors of the borealis. this was a saloon and dance-hall combined; but a roulette-wheel and faro lay-out invited to play. it was the interval between the dances when they entered, and a loud voice was calling: "come along, gentlemen, pretty ladies here!--just in over the ice. the next dance will be a waltz." frank corte--ever the squire of dames--made a dive for the rear of the hall, and was soon leading one of the gorgeous creatures into the dizzy whirl. the partners from the last dance were crowding the bar, ordering drinks. as each man paid his two dollars his "lady" was handed a check. this check was redeemable for one dollar--the girls' source of revenue! the orchestra was good, but the male section of the dancers was certainly grotesque; many of the men, with sombreros on their head and cigars between their teeth, were floundering through the dance in a half-intoxicated condition, their great hob-nailed boots almost drowning the music with their noise. the three others soon left frank to his diversions, and passed out to the street. they saw a policeman, with whom, in the way of such a free-and-easy community, they fell into talk. "what's the chance of getting a claim?" they asked. "don't know. they are having stampedes right along, and any time you may hear of good pay being located on a creek. when news like this gets out there is a big rush by all classes, and you're lucky if you get anywhere near discovery. if you want work, they are paying ten dollars per day and board on the creeks for shovelling in--so i guess you need not starve!" hugh, with his mind on the immediate necessities of the party, asked, "where is a good place to locate?" "up on the bench on the north side of the klondike over there." the policeman pointed south-east. "you can get wood handy, and the water is good." "what's the matter with pitching our tent where we landed?" "among the outfit along the water-front? no, they are the sore heads and general kickers. you don't want to tie to them. most of them have lived in these tents all winter, and had nothing to do but dream of what some other fellow has done them out of, and how much better things would be if they had struck it rich instead of mcdonald or carmack! no, you fellows pole up-stream to-morrow to the klondike, and then up that stream half a mile. pack your grub to the top of the hill there, where you can live like white men." "that sounds reasonable, but we want to sleep now." "well, go to flanagan's bunk-house up the street," and the man pointed up a turning running at right angles to the main street. "he will give you beds at a dollar each." "our boat and things will be all right? good-night--and thanks." when the three visited the boat next morning they found a man standing on the bank, his legs--encased in rubber boots coming up to his hips--far apart, hands in the pockets of his overalls, a sombrero on the back of his head. hugh noticed the smile of good-natured cynicism on his face as he regarded the boat, and said, "queer, ain't it? and they say there are thousands more coming." "yes, fifty thousand more coming in--and me waiting for a chance to get out!" "i wonder what makes them do it?" "same thing as made me do it." "didn't you git a chance to stake anything?" "stake anything!--how long have you been in the country? say! is that your boat?" "yes." "well, take my tip and just get in it, and keep right on going till you strike st. michael's." "for what reason would we do that?" "don't you know they have a government in this country? well, that's the reason: officials and graft! stake a claim, and they rob you of it! no, sir, no more british mining-camps for me. i'm for the good old state of washington. if this camp was in alaska a fellow could hold down what was his with a shot-gun; but here you daren't make a break. law and order!--hell! grafters appointed by the law, and the law to see no fellow interfere with the grafters! we'd shoot the whole bunch if we had them on the other side." "we intend to stake claims, and we intend to hold them." "you do, eh?--well, i bet you won't. you fellows should have brought your nurse-girls with you to teach you the a b c." the party was then joined by frank, the habitual smile on his face; but his eyes were heavy. "cost me fifty dollars!" he said. "you got off easy--better get in and cook breakfast to wake you up. we haven't eaten yet, and meals up town cost two dollars and a half!" "say! if you fellows want to you can use my tent and things, but i have no grub to give away." this invitation from the new-found pessimist was accepted, and frank went to work cooking while their host let loose his opinions upon life. he told them how the manager of a great trading company had the autumn before addressed the crowd, prophesying famine through the winter and exhorting all to leave the place by the only avenue of escape--the river, then filling with ice. it was a dismal picture enough, but happily worse than the reality. he spoke well of the police, and praised the way they had rushed the mail in and out with dog-teams. "and it ain't their fault there is so much grafting; they don't graft themselves." he told of the fabulous wealth of eldorado, bonanza, and hunker creeks, and of alec mcdonald, the "big moose," estimated to be worth $ , , . he expatiated at length upon the irregularities of the gold commissioner's office; the iniquitous orders-in-council from ottawa, such as the imposition of ten per cent. royalty on the production of the creeks, and the reserving to the crown of every alternate claim on dominion creek, of all other creeks on which new discoveries might have been made, and of the hillside claims. frank, with his yankee predilections, was ready to believe anything bad of canada, and chuckled at the account. john and george, though they had had experience of official corruption in australia, thought the accounts fantastic, and could not believe such things possible in british dominions. "the gold commissioner is not in the graft; he's honest--but he's like a baby, and the gang play with him as they like." breakfast over, the party set out, and in an hour had poled and tracked the boat half a mile up the klondike. they passed under a crude suspension bridge and saw two ferries and innumerable boats plying across the river. hugh noticed a break or "draw" in the cliff, marked by a trail that led to the bench on which the party was to locate, and stopped the boat. "get out the axes, fellows; and, frank, you pack the tent up the hill. it will make you think of what you have done with your last winter's wages. john, you're the honoured guest--you're going to boss the job." berwick, without any load, found the climb to the top of the hill sufficiently exhausting, as he was not yet fully recovered. after frank had thrown down the tent hugh unlashed it, and spread it in the sun, folded one end to make a pillow, and told john to lie upon it. and then he addressed his partners, "look here, fellows--one thing is certain. whatever we do as regards prospecting and taking up claims, we want a home-camp as a sort of headquarters; and we might as well make it here and now. we need not bother building a cabin, but we can put up a wall of logs the size of the tent and put the tent on top. this will do till the fall, by which time we will all be millionaires--except frank here, unless he quits dancing! now we'll pack up the rest of the outfit. come on, boys!" by four o'clock their new habitation was completed: two beds were built and the little stove erected inside the tent. frank had an early supper and went to bed. the others built a camp-fire outside to keep away the flies, and discussed mining far into the night. chapter xviii poo-bah! during the days of his convalescence john berwick spent many hours roaming about the bluff, indulging his passion for the sights of nature, and thinking--quite without panic now--of the infinite problems associated with human existence in an universe governed by an inscrutable providence. much of his thought, too, naturally turned to the girl he had left behind him. his illness and these after-thoughts had taught him lessons, and given him hopes. in the steep ascent, one day, of the bench on the south side of the klondike, john came up with a tottering figure bent under a heavy load. the man was old, and the temptation came to john--invalid as he was--to offer to relieve him of the burden for a bit; when the man sat down to rest, and wiped away the perspiration with a much-soiled red handkerchief. john sat down near him; but for a time he paid no attention to him, or to any of the passers-by. "it's a nice day," john began. "it's only chechachoes that talk about the weather," was the blunt reply. "i'm a chechacho." "don't have to tell me that: what in hell are you fellows coming here for?" "to stake a claim and get rich." "poo-bah will get it!" "poo-bah--poo-bah of the _mikado_?" "this ain't the mikie-do's poo-bah--this is the octopus' poo-bah! he's got the mikie-do and the czar of russia skinned to death. poo-bah comes pretty near running things in dawson. if you stake a claim, and go to poo-bah and give him half interest, you may get a grant for it--that is, if poo-bah can't find any person to run it for him! then, again, he may think he wants it all himself--in which case you can go to hell! if you wants to start manufacturing hootch, just go to poo-bah, and he will fix things so as you won't be touched." "but are you sure? this is british territory." "british!--nothing: this is the octopus' country; and him and poo-bah is old friends! fellows tell me poo-bah helped elect the octopus back east to parliament--or whatever you britishers call your government lay-out. look at this royalty they are putting on our gold!--how much of this here royalty ever gets to queen victoria? no, sir; i bet sir wilfrid laurier never gets his hands on one-half of what's robbed from us poor devils." "but the expenses of government must be raised, and you must admit that you have good law and order, and that you never get held up." "held up! law and order! hell! what's the difference between being held up by fellows like the soapy smith gang, or being held up by the blooming yellow-legs? you have some chance of getting clear of soapy smith--and it's only a matter of time till some fellow takes a shot at him; but you can't get past the yellow-legs: they won't stand for no bluffs." "the government will build roads." "roads! then why ain't they building them? no; the government says poo-bah will build them, and has given poo-bah a franchise to charge fellows going up bonanza creek trail twenty-five cents apiece, and for each pack-animal two dollars and a half. poo-bah started to build the road all right; but he quit just as soon as he got the toll-gate up! what do you think i'm climbing this two thousand feet for?--mountain scenery, same as you're doing? no, it's a mighty sight easier to climb this blooming hill than to wade through poo-bah's bog-holes. the bonanza trail makes 'the slough of despond' look like the rocky road to dublin! but say! i must be getting. you're away from the land of dooks and earls, and kings and queens, and all that brand of cattle; and you'd better turn white man with a new set of notions in your head." "let me carry your load a little way." "go on! i ain't dead yet! it serves me right for getting caught in a country ruled by a government my fathers bled to get rid of, about the time of the boston tea-party." the old man struggled into his harness again. "god! i wished i was back again under old glory." john shrank under the insult. tears came to his eyes. what soul cherishing the honour of british institutions would not have protested at such a state of things as his eyes were daily being opened to? sadness came over him. here was a great injustice, and sordid, festering corruption, inspired by greed. he gritted his teeth--and a resolve came to him. if he found these stories true he would strive, somehow, anyhow, to overthrow poo-bah and his _clique_ of corruption. after a while john again came up to the old man resting by the side of the trail, who blurted out, "i thought i had given you enough to send you out of the country!" "then you didn't. tell me this, are you aware of any case of a miner being cheated out of his claim?" "yes, lots. there's my own, for one." "where and how was that?" the old man was not disinclined to talk. "well, stranger, it was this way. me and my partner staked a claim on french hill, and we was sure first on the ground. we went to dawson and gave a lawyer a hundred dollars to apply for the claim for us. they told him that we must have a survey before they would give the grant. well, we gave a surveyor two hundred dollars to survey the claim for us, and we went out there with him. when we got there with the surveyor we found a dozen fellows with rockers taking the rich pay off the rim rock. it was three weeks before we got our grant. the gold commissioner's gang took $ , out of it, and now we have the leavings, not worth much! if we hadn't thought of getting the lawyer, we wouldn't have even got the leavings!" that was enough for john. he arose and pushed through the bushes on the opposite side of the trail, walking in the general direction of the hill-top. he desired solitude that he might think. he felt fiercely angry at these wrongs. they were intolerable; they struck at the simplest principles of human liberty. here were men enduring privations which sometimes caused permanent bodily harm--john remembered the snow-blinded traveller of cape le berge--only to have the fruits of their strenuous endeavour mercilessly taken from them! before he could control his indignation he had wandered miles from dawson, and gained the summit of the hill, where he sat to eat his luncheon. to the eastward was the valley of the great gold-bearing creek, bonanza. he noted the great rounded ridges, which, with their intervening valleys, ran along the slopes to its bottom. he marvelled at the softness and beauty of their lines, each of which ended in a gracefully-rounded head, standing sentinel over the creek. and well they might appear to guard its riches, for those heads contained immense deposits of bench gravels that were to cause extraordinary sensation in the days to come. finishing his lunch, he was idly working at the moss with his heels when he noticed that the rock beneath was white as milk. he examined it closely; yes, it was quartz, the parent rock of gold. immediately the instinct of the miner was aroused. he took a piece of loose rock and easily broke off several pieces. these he put into his pockets, and set out eagerly for home. his mind was free of politics now! a tinge of palest green was on the hills; this one day's sun had burst a myriad of buds upon a million poplars. yes, it was summer! george and hugh, coming in soon after john's return, were shown the find, and all was enthusiasm. "pretty hungry-looking stuff," was hugh's comment on close inspection. "how will you get water up there for your stamp-mill?" john found an answer, as he remembered the long, gently-reclining ridge to bonanza creek with its flanking valleys on either side. "i'll take my ore to bonanza creek." "but they won't let you take the water out of bonanza creek." "perhaps not; but they will let me have the water out of the tributaries if i can turn it back before it reaches bonanza creek." on the morrow george and he visited the famous--or infamous--seat of the head over the mining industry. they found the gold commissioner's office a log building of no great dimensions near the police-barracks. a waiting crowd was lined before the door. a policeman standing near the office entrance directed john, who wished merely to get a copy of the regulations governing the taking up of quartz claims, to ask at the wicket inside. he entered. as he stood waiting his turn he overheard a miner, evidently a scandinavian, applying for a claim. "this claim is already applied for," said the official. "but, mister, there vos not a stake on it ven i staked it." "i don't care! it is applied for. next!" "can't i see the commissioner?" "no; he's busy. next!" "say! mister, this is my claim." "next!" poor ole was shoved aside by the crowd. he had waited through the weary night to gain a hearing, and now ethereal castles came toppling down! as soon as john had obtained a copy of the regulations he and george bruce set off to the hill of promise, each to take up a quartz claim. they staked their claims, and then followed the ridge down to bonanza creek. they found that the rounded end of the ridge overlooking the creek was admirably suited as the site of a quartz mill. "george," said his companion, "i don't think my right will be of any other use to me. i shall take up a claim here under the placer laws, and i think you had better do the same." so each of them staked a placer claim. instead of returning by the way they had come, the inclination to return by the creek trail was too strong to be resisted. they would be forced to wade through numerous bog-holes; but what of that? down the hill they scrambled, and came to a sudden halt amid the full activity of some mining operations. a gang of men were working over a line of sluice-boxes, with a big fellow, standing on a pile of rocks, superintending. the water was shut off from running through the sluices. the men had lifted the riffles out of the dump-box, and the gleam of nuggets and dust was plainly visible. "it looks good." "it ought to be, after three days' shovelling in on discovery," answered the superintendent, who flashed a keen glance at the new-comers. "is this discovery?" "that's what i endeavoured to enunciate." "do you object to our watching the clean-up?" "not that i knows of. i s'pose the gold ain't going to evaporate 'cause you look at it. but where do you come from? are you miners?" "we are." "do you want a job? give you ten dollars and board." "no, we have just staked claims--quartz claims on the ridge up there--and intend working them." "quartz! this country is full of quartz. there ain't nothing in it; see all the quartz in the wash here?" and the foreman pointed to the white pebbles among the rocks on which he was standing. "you can crack these all day and never find a colour." "where does the gold come from if it does not come from the quartz?" "where does it come from?--just grows, i guess. gold is like potatoes in this country. it was over there, just under the bluff, that carmack made discovery. he found a bunch of high-grade pay in the creek bottom and worked it out; and then he had to go twenty feet through the muck to bed-rock before he got the real thing. now, how did the gold get on top of the muck where carmack first found it? there has not been a good-sized colour found above bed-rock on any other claim on the creek. i tell you if you try to figure where gold in this country comes from, you'll go bughouse before you find out. gold is where you find it. it's a blooming conundrum. take me; i came up here and could have staked in on eldorado. well, i couldn't find a colour in the creek; but what i could see was a sign stuck up readin', 'this creek is reserved for swedes and moose.' now, i weren't a swede, and i sure weren't a moose! so i passes her up. what happens? why, a lot of fools take her up and she's the richest ground in the country. nice, ain't it!--and me working for wages?" "well, how do you know i won't strike it rich on my quartz claim?" "you may, stranger, you may; i've given up calling people fools for having different notions from me. hope you will!" they found the trail as bad as it had been described to them. it did indeed make the "slough of despond" look like the rocky road to dublin. few men they met but had some humorous remark to make; and there is probably no toil greater than wading, with pack on back, from stump to stone, from stone to stump, in the course of that desperate journey. humour was the saving grace; it was an effective barrier against despair. occasionally men were met, blaspheming, cursing the land, the gold, the government, but generally it was humour which made the path passable. a led horse waded into a bog-hole. he stopped, and seemed to hesitate. "throw a stick at him," shouted the man leading him to another who walked behind. a stick was thrown. the horse plunged, and the bog being deeper than the men had imagined, was more in the mire. "keep him going, it's the only way to save him," was shouted. stick after stick was hurled at the struggling animal, which became more and more bemired. it gave up the struggle. the report of a rifle soon after told that the horse was dead. chapter xix graft john and his fellow prospector were working with hammer and drill on their quartz claims, three weeks after they had staked them, when hugh spencer and corte paid them a first visit. hugh scrutinized the quartz his friends had mined. "well, this is poverty rock, for sure; why don't you quit it?" "that's what we've been thinking lately," george confessed; "but what shall we do--go to work for wages?" "better earn ten dollars a day than get nothing here after blowing in your money buying grub and powder; but why not take a chance in the new stampede to australia creek, that runs into dominion creek on the indian river side of the divide? that's what we hunted you up for." john and george gazed at one another. not a word was said. john walked to the tent and began taking it down. four packs were made of the camp and the equipment, and the party, well-loaded, returned to dawson. so john passed from a place of many dreams. hugh had already made his plans. "australia creek is already taken up," he said, "and, besides, it is too far away. it's two days' trip out there, about sixty miles. my idea is to hunt up a creek for ourselves. i hear the grafters in the gold commissioner's office already refuse applications on the grounds that the creek is all applied for. there was some sort of a row in the office when the discoverers came in to record. things is getting pretty bad when even a discoverer is refused a record!" "he, he! it's about time for uncle sam to come along," chaffed frank, exploiting once more his set theory. the party reached the home-camp, deposited their loads, and passed on into the town to make purchases for their projected trip. as they passed up the main street they saw a crowd collected, yelling itself hoarse. revolvers were being fired in the air, and a frenzy of passion seemed to govern a number of individuals. a man, wild of eye, and with a disordered beard, came running down the street. " ... man dooey (dewey) has knocked hell out of the spaniards at manilla!" he shouted. frank gave a cock-crow, and was off at a dive into the crowd, where a man, standing on a pile of lumber, was reading a newspaper. he would read a line, then yell and wave the paper over his head. he would again and again return to the headlines and shout them out. "biggest sea battle since trafalgar!"--yells--cheers--revolver shots!--"dooey ranks with nelson!"--more uproar!--"rebels cut the cables, but the _eye-opener_ gets account by special dispatch boat!" when exhaustion had overtaken the first reader another took his place, till the owner of the newspaper was inspired to claim it and cry, "to the pioneer hall, boys, and hear the full account of the biggest sea fight that was ever pulled off!--admission only one dollar." it is said that the celebration of admiral dewey's victory at manilla caused the dogs in dawson, numbering many thousands, to leave for the hills and stay there for the space of three days! having bought the supplies, the next problem before the companions was to find frank. they entered the borealis: he was not there. hugh suggested that his two companions should wait in the saloon while he sought the truant in other places of revelry. they remained, glad to sit, watch, and smoke, in the shaded comfort of a curtained recess. presently a man of giant heavy figure, with face coarse and brutal in every line, stalked into the motley crowd. his massive forehead suggested a power of brain; while his lower face showed the lines of a masterful spirit. a part of his left ear was missing; and, from the size and shape of the cut, one could readily believe the popular legend that this disfigurement had been gained in a camp brawl, and was caused by another man's teeth! to complete this awesome personality, there was a cast in one eye. a whisper went through the crowd--"poo-bah!" this, then, was the prince of grafters, the all-powerful of that region. as poo-bah walked towards the dancers every eye was on him; and if any face denoted anything save disgust and loathing, it was fear. a girl slid up to him and said, in a tone of confident familiarity, "hullo! poo-bah. how's my baby to-night?" "i told you not to call me that!" he answered fiercely. "what--baby?" "no, poo-bah!" "that's what they call you," she said with a strange affectation of simplicity. "well, they won't make friends with me by doing so," he boomed, "and i'm a pretty good friend to have." "ain't you going to buy the wine?" "i suppose so; but ain't you got that thirst of yours wet up yet?" "i've got to live." just then poo-bah and the girl, popularly known as "round-eyes," were joined by two men. one was a strong big fellow with a bronzed face, who had been a master-mariner. the other was hardman, the record clerk of the gold commissioner's office, evil-looking and a weakling. his small black eyes were watery. "hullo, fellows! the lady has suggested wine. will you help us clean up a bottle or two?" "sure thing!" replied the "cap." hardman was glad to agree. his eyes were watching the face of his lord, with the same expression as shines in the eyes of a hungry cur watching his master feast. both the cap and he had tales of woe to tell: their troubles lay sore upon them. the party entered the booth against which john and george were sitting. as they entered and seated themselves, the two friends could hear their voices through the hangings. at first there was nothing in the words they spoke that their brazen natures would not have willingly advanced to all the world--at least, to all dawson's world; but later the wine made them forget. they had not realized that the wall of their compartment was only a blanket. "two bottles of wine!" poo-bah demanded. the waiter brought the bottles and glasses, and poo-bah signed the "tab." "now you pay that tab, or i don't get no percentage," said the girl. "suppose i don't pay," answered he: "you know these damn fools from the creeks will buy all kinds of wine just to have the honour of drinking with my girl--ain't that right?" "i guess it is," she answered, with a cold unpleasant laugh. "because men are fools makes life easy for you and me--ain't that right?" "look here, i've got a kick coming," said the mariner, thumping his knee with a fist like mahogany. "what's the matter, cap?" "i wrote the doctor to get me appointed as collector of royalty." "you did, sure; and i backed you up: but i heard you got your appointment in the mail that got in to-day." "sure thing, i did." "well--what are you growling about? you don't want to be told how to make a dollar or two on a job like that!" "it's going all wrong." "what's the trouble?" "i went down to see smoothbore" (smoothbore was the nickname of the head of the police), "and told him i had orders for him to put me on collecting. i guess i may have looked a little bit as if i thought i owned the earth; but i sure reckoned myself on easy street as soon as i got collecting! well, smoothbore, he sizes me up a bit. i guess he kind of felt i knew how to take a few ounces out of a poke and make up the weight in black sand--and then he says: 'i guess i'll send you to thistle creek'--thistle creek!--hell! they won't clean up a hundred dollars in that creek this summer; and if you'll show me how i can work a graft there, i'll be obliged." "anyhow, two hundred and fifty dollars a month will keep you going till something better turns up." "two hundred and fifty dollars a month ain't even a flea-bite, seeing what it costs to live like a gentleman in dawson. you can't eat under ten dollars a day!" his voice faded in a growl. poo-bah took up the running. "the thing is, we've got to get smoothbore relieved from command here. he puts backbone even into hi-u bill" (hi-u bill was the district commissioner). "we've got to get a putty man." the others agreed cordially. john and his companion, who had before felt like going, looked at each other, and silently decided to stay. "what kick have you got, hardie?" they heard poo-bah ask. "kick!" whined the little man. "i've got lots of kick. we had a row in the office to-day." "i heard something of that. what was the row?" "some australians came in." john and george looked at each other and grimly smiled. "i sized it up that they had staked something rich. i tried to tell them that the creek they wanted to record on was all taken up--intending, of course, to put you in on discovery." "yes, yes." "well--the cockneys just pulled five guns and said, 'record those claims.' i made a break as if to get the books, intending to get out the back door; but the old man comes out of his office and catches on. he turns white around the gills, and says, 'record those claims.' of course, i just had to give record!" "but where does smoothbore come in?" "he comes in all right. i'm just from him now. i went down after supper to see him to find out if an example could not be made of the cockneys--thinking if we got them on the wood-pile[ ] we would have a chance at their claims after all. he was alone, walking up and down the mess. 'sit down,' he says, and i sits. 'what is it?' i had to tell him the story straight. you see, he is a hard man to lie to, and i knew he already had the story. after i got down to telling him of the old man ordering me to record the claims, he says, 'and you recorded them?' 'yes,' says i. 'the men did not ask you for any money?' 'no.' 'in fact, they only desired to assist your memory to the point that you had never before recorded the claims they asked for?' 'i guess so,' says i. 'this is what you must say if you give evidence against them.' and then i thinks a bit, and i says, 'you couldn't give them twenty-four hours to get out of the country, could you?' 'no,' says he; 'if i do anything i arrest them and bring them to trial, which i will do as soon as you swear out information.' 'i guess i won't do that,' i says. now, look here, poo-b----, oh, all right, smoothbore ain't with us, he's against us, and it's up to you to get him fired." hardman had ended his long speech. [ ] in jail. "it might not be easy," said the heavy man thoughtfully. "yes, it will; laurier will do anything our boss says these days: you fix it!" "that's right," the cap put in. "hardie's right again!" "you'd be a long time in nova scotia before you'd earn two hundred and fifty dollars a month! eh, cap?" sneered the girl. "earn! how much do you earn here? you graft same as the rest of us." "quit fighting," poo-bah broke in, and their querulous voices ceased. "cap, i think i see how you can make a dollar or two: and you'll be near our friend, hardie, here; besides being in a position to pick up information for the benefit of yours truly. i'll see the gold commissioner, and get you put on as special door-keeper instead of a policeman. guess your dignity will stand up under this! you will have the right to let fellows into the office on special appointment--see?--which will cost a ten or a twenty!" "not so bad!" slowly muttered the cap, while the girl gurgled her appreciation. "the thing looks to have possibilities, and i guess my dignity will stand it." just then hugh, with frank at his heels, came in. "wait till i have just one dance," cried frank, and was off to the room where music was to be heard. john motioned to hugh to be still. they listened eagerly. "now, i've got some news--blamed noise those people make!--came in the mail to-day," went on poo-bah. "orders have come from ottawa throwing open the hillside claims of dominion. i won't mind you fellows getting a claim or two; but i want to get a bunch." "you'll get hold of yours before the news is made public," suggested the cap. "no, that won't hardly do," drawled poo-bah; "you see there'll be hell enough raised when it is found i get a bunch of claims; and while ottawa is ready enough to take our explanation of things, there is such a thing as being too coarse, even here--besides, it ain't necessary. no, in a few days the news will be made public: till then keep your heads shut, see?" "we'll trust you to work the graft," said the girl. "you can certainly rely on me! now, people, i've got to pull my freight." hugh gripped john's arm, but he released it as he saw the party were leaving the box. the friends shrank back further into the shadows. when they were gone he whispered, "did you hear that? dominion hillsides to be thrown open! some of the richest ground in the country." "i heard them talking about grafts, and i heard complaints about smoothbore--who ever that may be." "the colonel at the barracks." "they appear to find him in the way." john hurriedly gave some account of what they had overheard. hugh's eyes glistened. "sure thing! smoothbore is in the way. he's straight; but this last about dominion is the news. we'll get in on the hillsides of dominion, and do our best to hold them." it was late enough for rest, especially for weary workers such as they: so they passed through the streets directly for the home-camp. dawson was now the home of twenty thousand people, ninety-nine per cent. adult males. its streets were a wide range of strange sights and wild scenes. its outskirts were of tents, and yet more tents. they went to bed with the waking dreams of wealth very close to them. john berwick, who had some qualms at taking advantage of what he had overheard, felt it was an unsatisfactory condition of things in which such a malefactor as poo-bah could swagger and flourish. chapter xx a lottery on the second day after leaving dawson, john berwick and his partners camped on dominion creek, worn out and weary. their commissariat was equal to a three weeks' stay, and their tools and their bedding were added to the load. hugh remained their leader. while john and george had been prospecting their quartz find, he had visited dominion creek, and found many miners looking with avidity towards the claims on the left limit of the creek, several miles below the confluence of caribou. it was to this locality that he directed the party. the laws governing the taking up of placer-claims in the yukon demanded that the applicant should swear to the finding of gold. no quantity was mentioned. john and george had met this difficulty when they applied for the placer-claims on the bonanza hillsides; but this technicality had been smilingly dispensed with by the record clerk on the consideration that nobody wanted the ground for placer. in the case of the dominion creek hillsides, however, they determined to make discoveries, if possible. they pitched their tent upon the hillside, which rose in a gentle incline from the creek. if any former channel ran underneath the ground they had chosen it could not be very far to bed-rock. they picked their four claims, and numbered them , , , . they drew lots for them. john had , hugh , frank , and george the th. as their tent was small they determined that two of them should work at night-time and two by day. this also meant that a continuous watch could be kept. miners from the creek claims visited them, curious to learn their motive. when they were told that the party expected the claims to be some day thrown open, they smiled in superior wisdom. each of the four began to sink a shaft to the bed-rock of his claim. a single man can sink a hole ten, even twelve, feet: but after that a windlass is necessary to hoist the dirt. it was arranged that the first day they all should work, george and frank continuing the watch through the night. they began early in the morning of the first day, each on his claim. each made a little clearing around the spot he had chosen as the locality of his first shaft. the growth was not heavy, and was quickly disposed of. by noon each had made a hole about three feet deep. no frost was met as yet. it was george who first reached bed-rock at five-foot depth! he went to the other workers and announced the fact. hugh had expected it to be thirty, or twenty-five, feet at least. their first feeling was of disappointment. the party gathered about the pit, and hugh jumped into it. there was about a foot of gravel above the bed-rock. hugh picked out a pebble lying directly on bed-rock, and smoothed over its muddy surface with his fingers. his eyes brightened. it gleamed with half-a-dozen specks of gold. he passed it up to the others, who gazed on it gladly. they gave him a pan. hugh scooped it full of gravel and scrambled out of the hole. the others turned towards the creek. "no, fellows, i've got a pool located up in the bushes here," and he looked away from the creek. "what those fellows on the creek don't know won't do them no harm." he led the way through the bushes. arriving at the pool, he dipped the pan into the water and shook it. he then placed it on the ground, grabbed a handful of the pebbles, washed them in the water of the pan, and threw them away. he continued this process till he had removed the larger stones. then again he whirled the pan in the water, this time more vigorously. he picked out the smaller pebbles, and replaced the pan in the water, whirled and shook it again, frequently lifting it out on an incline, allowing the off-rushing water to carry away the small pebbles and sand. this process he kept up till but a handful of stuff remained at the bottom. he kept the pan on an incline, which caused the stuff to remain at one side. he moved the pan gently to and fro, with occasional quick shakings; very gently he drew the pan in and out of the water, the ebb to draw off the lighter sand. the residue in the pan became but a spoonful or two, and now occasionally a golden speck shone and gleamed. the sand in the pan became less, and some of it was black--the black sand of the miners, magnetic from the iron which so largely composes it. as the process proceeded the sideward motion occasionally carried the body of black sand away, leaving a trail of gleaming yellow dust. the black sand had at last all been washed over the side of the pan. hugh, with his fingers, massed the gold into a little pile, and muttered, "seventy-five cents." "three bob," george repeated after him. the pan was passed from hand to hand for scrutiny and comment. "not bad!" said john. "you bet it ain't!" agreed hugh, "even if it don't rank with eldorado. this ground ain't deep, and the surface can be ground-sluiced off. let us try another pan off of bed-rock." the pan was again filled and the process of washing resumed. "if we get two cents in this gravel a foot off of bed-rock i'll be satisfied," was hugh's comment. he got this time what he estimated to be five cents. "perhaps this is above average," he muttered. your old-time miner is ever a sceptic. so while he was washing this second pan hugh's mind was at work. "george, i guess you had better go and chuck back all the gravel and wash into the hole and get a fire built on it quick. the ashes will hide the wash, and any person looking down the hole will simply think that you have struck frost and are using fire. the rest of us will keep going till we strike wash." frank reached gravel at about seven feet, and reported the same to hugh, who suggested that he should work a small hole to bed-rock to get a pan of gravel from that point. hugh cautioned frank against throwing any gravel out of the shaft to attract the notice of passers-by. frank secured a pan of dirt immediately on bed-rock, and hugh panned it for him. frank was the only one of the four not a miner. the pan yielded a little better than that of george had done. hugh suggested, significantly, that frank had found frost at the bottom of his shaft, which induced the latter to mutter: "ground heap frozen all same rock, no ketchum gold without fire, he! he!" this was supposed to be a humorous imitation of the siwash. "never mind your siwash sweethearts, but get the fire in quick. i suppose if you do strike it rich, or ever get this claim, which is sure worth something, it will be heap klootch, heap dance, all the time! get a move on, or some rubber-neck will be mooching round here!" hugh went back to his pit, and both he and john had struck real frost before frank roared, "supper!" during the meal, and afterwards, the conversation was about the claims and the prospect of their getting them. it was two weeks yet before they could be judiciously staked. in the meantime, frank and george could put down other shafts prospecting the width and extent of the pay streak, while john and hugh were getting their shaft down to bed-rock. it would be slow work for these two, now that they had struck frost, which necessitated thawing by wood-fires. "i guess we need a cabin on these claims," said hugh. "it's more a sign we're holding them down, and if we start building it we can kill time so as not to look conspicuous, as we would if we was just to sit and do nothing. it would have the rubber-necks guessing." so the work continued upon the four hillside claims on dominion creek, john and hugh working at day, george and frank at night. these two, holding the vigil of the second night, again found bed-rock and gold, twenty feet further up the hillside than their first shafts. on the day following john and hugh quickly cleared the bottom of their shafts of the earth which the fires, burning through the night, had thawed. they then set new fires, and sat in the shade of a tree while they burned. the bed-rock on each of their claims was deeper than that on the claims of their two associates, and both felt that their claims would prove the richer, though neither of them uttered this thought. the minds of all were planning how best to gain possession of their discoveries. "i guess," said hugh, as he lit his pipe, and slapped divers mosquitoes to death, "that it ain't altogether judicious for george and frank to perforate this here landscape with any more shafts. there is sure to be some fellows rubber-necking here soon. i see some water has seeped into the two holes they sunk first, and the other two will probably fill soon. this will keep others from investigating. i guess they had better get to work on a cabin, which we will help them with as soon as we get bed-rock ourselves. these claims is mighty well worth holding on to, and we don't want to run no chances of not getting them--which we, sure, won't do if poo-bah's gang gets on to the fact that they are any good." when the four were seated round the evening meal the matter was talked over, and frank and george agreed to start building a cabin. the work was begun that very night. days came and went; yet neither john nor hugh found bed-rock, although each shaft was now fifteen feet deep. at twelve-foot depth a windlass had been constructed on each claim, and the earth hoisted from the shaft. at eighteen feet hugh struck gravel. as john, who worked the windlass, dumped a bucket of gravel, he would hide it by shovelling over it earth from the dump. finding gravel there at that depth suggested gold; in fact, the depth to which the shaft was sunk without striking bed-rock was sufficiently compromising. at last bed-rock was reached, and a pan of dirt extracted. the pan was washed, and a nugget worth fully a dollar and a half, besides about two dollars in fine gold, was its product. here was wealth and no mistake! "hi-u chickaman stuff, he! he!" laughed frank. they all looked into each other's eyes. hugh gritted his teeth as he thought of poo-bah. if there was any extent of this gravel it constituted a fortune--yes, very little of this ground meant wealth. how much of it would there be? was this gold of dominion creek pay-streak? he did not know: the great thing about mining is, you never know. john's shaft found bed-rock at twenty-two feet, where he got a good five dollars to the pan. frank jabbered; the others said but little. it was late in the afternoon when the pan of dirt from john's shaft was tried. after supper hugh took a stroll. he walked far up the hillside, and gazed at the tributary valley that ran into dominion creek, just up-stream from john's claim. this "pup"--as the miners term these small tributaries--hugh noticed had been staked and prospected, but had not yielded pay. he had already planned to use its water for the washing of the gravel should he gain possession of his claim. he then walked down to the adjacent claim being worked on dominion creek, and began asking questions of the man at the windlass. he was always ready to receive information, though he seldom gave any. the ground on dominion was rich--enormously rich--ten, twenty, and sometimes fifty dollar pans. up-stream the second claim was not nearly so rich. the man at the windlass did not know the value of the intervening claim; it was held by the government. "how far are you to bed-rock?" "about twenty-five feet." "much gravel?" "about three feet--hardly three feet." hugh was tempted to ask how deep the miners, who had prospected the pup, had gone before they had struck pay; but did not, because he gave the man credit for intelligence. "black muck above gravel?" he asked. "yes, or we would not be working with wood-fires now. black muck takes a lot to thaw; but, as it is, i guess we shall have to quit till winter--but we have proved our ground rich." until the advent of steam-thawing machines, the klondike miners thawed their ground by wood-fires, which process can only be carried on extensively in winter. hugh left the miner and walked to the mouth of the pup. with a pole he sounded the depth of an abandoned shaft. it was fifteen feet. he walked to the camp and found john, the others being at work on the cabin. "john, the bed-rock at the bottom of your shaft dips towards my claim, and the bed-rock in my shaft dips towards your claim." "yes." "the fellow at the windlass on the creek claim tells me that he is in the biggest kind of pay outside of eldorado, but that the second claim up-stream is not up to much. he has muck." "yes." "we have earth and broken rock down to the gravel." "yes." "his shaft is twenty-five feet to bed-rock, and if we sank a shaft half-way between yours and mine we would find it deeper than either." "in all probability, yes." "don't you see what i am driving at?" "no," john answered bluntly. "you've caught on to that pup up-stream there." "i have!" "well, it's only fifteen feet to bed-rock there. the old channel of that pup runs underneath your claim and mine and is mighty rich. the gold found on the creek claim looks exactly like ours: i saw some of it lying in a pan." john was watching the face of his friend intently. "these hillside claims are two hundred and fifty feet long, and stretch one thousand feet back, which means the chances are that the claims you and i are prospecting cover one thousand feet of mighty rich ground." "we are wealthy men," said john. and his thought passed in a flash to alice peel. "hold on!--we ain't got them yet," counselled hugh. his mind reverted to poo-bah. chapter xxi the peels' hospital alice peel and her father, the surgeon-major, arrived in dawson by one of the first steamers from st. michael's. it was late in the evening when they docked, so they arranged to stay on board all night. this made it possible for them to see some of the sights ere they retired. they landed and mingled with the crowds preparatory to finding lodgings. alice suggested they should ascertain the whereabouts of the rector. her father did so; and when he thanked the man of whom he inquired, added, "i'll look him up to-morrow." "might as well do so right away, quick; he's always hangin' round there." "but it's eleven o'clock." "don't make no difference in dawson." alice and her father, thereupon, picked their way towards the police barracks, where, on the banks of the "slough," rested the little log church. it was shut off from the street by a rustic fence--a peaceful sight. alice and her father were standing regarding it, and had almost made up their minds to enter, to see if any one was about, when their attention was attracted by a man in a boat mooring his craft beside the church grounds. he landed his bundle of blankets, and was spreading them under the church window, when a slight figure with bared head stepped out of the door and stood looking at the intruder. the man folded up his coat that it might serve as a pillow, and was placing it in the prescribed position, when the rector spoke. "you'll have to get out of this." the man looked up and stared. "say! parson, are you any relation to the good samaritan?" this was rather a poser; a suitable reply was evidently not ready on the moment. "no, i'm not, i'm sorry to say--but what's the matter with you?" "just broke! besides, if i wasn't, i don't see why i need pay a dollar for a bed when i have my own blanket. what are you--high church or low church?" "i'm anything you like; but you'll have to get out of this. if you sleep there you'll roll over and crush my flowers. but what are you?" "everything you don't like, i guess." "no, that you're not. but the thing is, if i let one of you fellows camp here, i'll have a hundred in no time." "all right! i don't mind sleeping inside the church, if you don't want the other fellows to see me!" what could be done with such a man? "but i'm going to have service at twelve o'clock for any of the boys coming in from the creeks." "i don't mind the services: singing won't keep me awake; and as for sermons!..." "it looks as if i can't get rid of you. i suppose i'll have to stand for it! roll up your blankets; you can sleep inside after service." as the clergyman turned to re-enter the building he noticed alice and her father regarding him and his guest with some amusement. he advanced to them, and held out his hand. "we arrived this evening, and thought we should like to look you up and gain some knowledge of dawson, and the manners and customs of its people," said alice. "you have evidently been enjoying an exhibition of them. come in and see our church." they entered the yard and walked towards the door, watching the intruder wrestle with his bedding. they passed into the church, and to alice it seemed fitting that this should be the first log building she had ever entered, the first roof to cover her in the new world. being a thorough churchwoman it was to her a matter of satisfaction and sentiment. as they stood before the altar others entered, whereupon their host looked at his watch. "it is almost time," he said. "may we stay?" asked alice. "assuredly." the night was cloudy outside, and the church too dark for reading, so the clergyman brought out and placed two candles upon the altar. the father and daughter each noted the candlesticks were bottles. "how incongruous!" thought the surgeon-major. the one had evidently held gin, the other whisky. the service was short, just a lesson and a hymn. only half-a-dozen were present. when it came to the hymn the clergyman beckoned to alice and her father. each accepted from the clerk's hand a bottle and a candle, and he motioned them to stand on either side of him. this they did, he holding the hymn-book. they sang, "i need thee every hour." after the service the new-comers waited for the clergyman, and the three passed down towards the door. the intruder was already making his bed. "say! parson, that wasn't bad," he said. "what wasn't bad?" "that there tune; but i never thought you'd confess it." "confess what?" "that you needed it every hour. isn't that what you meant by having the chechachoes hold the bottles?" "no, it wasn't!" the parson was annoyed. "you get out of here in the morning, or i'll throw you into the slough." "all right, pard." "your friend seems somewhat facetious," remarked surgeon-major peel. "yes, they are all friends of mine. they all know me: if they don't, their friends do. this man is a type of what i have to deal with." then they settled down to the business on which the peels had called. "if you have the necessary supplies," said the parson, "a private hospital is the thing. there is a great deal of sickness now. the typhoid is getting bad; too many living in the manner of our friend at the church. food poor and badly-cooked, general uncleanness; hard trails and stampedes." the parson conducted the new-comers to their boat, and left them satisfied and almost contented. alice asked him, as he was taking his leave, if he knew john berwick; but had for answer, no. she wanted to inquire at the post-office; but could not get near enough on account of the long lines of men standing before the wickets, postal affairs being in a state of chaos. it was evidently more than possible that john had not received her letters, or, at any rate, the communication which told of her coming. on the morrow the peels, giving fulfilment to their intentions, secured a building in dawson; and so st. george's private hospital came into being. it was a matter of much detail. help and assistance of every kind was enormously dear. they had changed their money into gold dust, and each carried a "poke." alice was astounded when she reckoned the equivalent of the charge made by the man who brought their heavy luggage. half an ounce of dust meant thirty shillings. there were no idle hands in dawson; it was the hum of industry, except with the loungers at the water front. alice worked hard, and her work brought distraction. now she was near john berwick--at least, she ought to be, but had heard of so many cases of drowning, deaths by fever and scurvy in that terrible country, that she could only fear possibilities, and eagerly scan every face she met. she stared into the faces of men of uncouth beards and matted greasy hair; and, as was the custom of the country, her gaze was returned. all seeing her, wondered what had brought this fragrant, gentle english girl to dawson. she was so different from the women of the underworld, hitherto the only representatives with one or two exceptions of womanhood in that place. her fresh complexion contrasted with their painted cheeks; her simple grace with their brazenness and vulgarity. "oh, it was pitiful!" in the shops--wherever she went--she asked about john berwick. only once was she in some measure successful. "i think there was a fellow by that name bought a bill of goods and said he would be back for them later, one day, not long ago. he must be living near dawson," said the man. "why do you say that?" eagerly asked alice. "because the grub he bought weren't the kind of grub men takes with them on long trips; besides, he didn't buy enough to last him long." she thanked him; and left her name and address in dawson. alice was possessed of the faith that only death can kill, and that faith gave her patience. she buckled to her work, and was content. had she been less industrious she might have found the trails up the dome--and to john; but no sooner had the hospital opened than patients came pouring in. nurses of experience were impossible to obtain. she and her father had to struggle with the help of only one woman and three men. all were untrained and inexperienced. chapter xxii the last straw one night george ran into the tent, and shook life into john and hugh. "they're here!" "who?" "poo-bah's gang." at once the two were wide awake. hugh stuck his head out of the tent, and saw a number of men walking down the creek carrying stakes over their shoulders. he darted back, and clambered into his clothes. john followed his example. "where's frank?" asked hugh. george went to the tent door, and gave a low whistle. frank made his appearance. each man armed himself with his two stakes, and made towards the down-hill limit of his claim, and drove them in at their proper places. one stake bore the legend, "i claim feet down-stream and , feet up-hill for placer-mining purposes. john berwick, miner's license no. t. ." the other was similar, except that it claimed up-stream. the claims were staked in the small hours of july in the year --the day of the great dominion creek stampede. the party then ate a hasty meal, and took food for luncheon. at about four o'clock they set out for dawson, a distance of forty miles. they hoped to reach the city by p.m. they passed the minions of the great grafter. "travelling early, gentlemen!" said one of them. "not so many flies," answered hugh. occasionally wild-eyed men passed them, with a stride that seemed as if it could never tire. this was an hour or two after john and his friends had set out. these men had evidently been given "the tip" the night before, and had begun to travel at once. news spreads in a mining-camp with amazing rapidity, and the crowd of hurrying men grew greater as the party progressed. it was also noted that the fever was most marked in those who felt themselves at the rear of the stampede. those in the lead carried nothing save a little axe--their body's sustenance was in their pockets, often consisting only of a few pots of beef extract. when time for resting came the little axe would serve to make a spruce bed. covering was not needed in the summer, as rest was taken in daytime--often in the full glare of the sun--a form of repose generally limited to negroes and savages. the th of july, , was one of the hottest days of the hottest season dawson had ever known. the thermometer was nearly ninety in the shade. the land was parched for water, and the smoke of forest-fires filled the air, which seemed to burn the throats of those mad men. they coughed as they hurried by. the party passed the bonanza dome and commenced the decline into the bonanza valley. the trail followed the hog's-back which ends in carmacks forks, the confluence of two branches of the upper bonanza. the descent to them was rapid, and the steep ascent of a thousand feet seemed terrible to the stampeders. yet up it they stormed and struggled till they fell exhausted. even in the glaring sun men lay dead beat, panting. they were twenty miles from dawson; twenty hard miles yet rested between them and their goal! it seemed as if this stampede were born of frenzy in a last final effort of the desperate gold-seekers of that year. they were close to the end of the rainbow, where lay prizes for a few. there was no more of the old affected humour of the road. drawn faces and staring eyes were telling of soul-strain. it was the last scene of the last act of a real tragedy! at the spring beneath a group of stunted spruce-trees--at which, more or less, every man who has sought the glittering dust of the klondike has gained refreshment--the party of four halted for lunch. a dozen men were already about it in all postures of fatigue. as soon as one got up and staggered on his place was occupied by a new-comer, who would gulp his fill of the blessed water and lie for a time inert. they came and they went. not a word was said. "where are you stampeding to?" john at last asked one, who seemed less exhausted than the others. "i don't know; just following the crowd. something doing on dominion, they say, the hillsides. some say the creek claims held by the government are being thrown open, but i guess not." just following the crowd! it is ever the way in gold rushes. no wonder the man who had advised them to "keep on going till they struck st. michael's" had said it was a disease! they passed on down the bonanza trail; soon the majority of the people met were other than the stampeders. the stampeders were in the crowd, but the bulk were those engaged in the ordinary economic development of bonanza. they passed from the valley of bonanza, after each had contributed the usual twenty-five cents to the coffers of poo-bah. here they were but a mile or two from dawson, and the flood of stampeders had passed. as they approached the ferry they noticed a group of men standing before a cabin, evidently examining something. they joined the crowd and saw a little woman with an infant in her arms. "my! look at the baby," said an individual bearing the superior dignity of an old-timer; "it's the first white baby i've seen in six year; kind of makes me think of home. you say it was born inside here?" "yes, right here in this cabin, where my husband and i have wintered. he is off on the stampede." "i've only been in the country two months, yet the sight of that baby makes me think of a land where there ain't no bonanza creek trail," sighed a chechacho. "ain't you frightened to live here alone?" "no. nobody will harm a respectable woman in dawson." the speaker's face shone with pride, which was not all that of motherhood. the old-timer threw a nugget of gold on the baby's breast as he walked away, desiring that the mother should buy the child something. the contribution was becoming general, when the mother protested. she knew there were many in the crowd who could not afford such a gift, and that any miner would part with his last cent rather than appear before his fellows as lacking in generosity or holding anything but a contempt for money. to cross poo-bah's ferry cost each person an additional twenty-five cents. there was none other than poo-bah's ferry, for his franchise was exclusive. many impoverished prospectors had attempted to retrieve their fortunes by plying at the river, but were stopped. after eating their evening meal at the home-camp the party passed down into the city to take their places in the line before the gold commissioner's office. none of the dominion creek stampeders had yet arrived, and the line was its usual length. they knew that ere the morning arrived the line would be much increased and hundreds would have arrived within twenty-four hours. so, as nine o'clock came, they all lay down at full length on the earth and slept, indifferent to the current of life about them. this was the life of the goldfields--absolute lack of conventionality and indifference to social distinction. just before john fell asleep he noticed some men slipping into the gold commissioner's office by a side door, among whom were hardman and the "cap." mentioning this on the day following, hugh remarked that they had stayed in the office till late. in the morning a policeman was consulted, and frank was commissioned to leave his place in the line, visit a shop, and buy tinned meat and biscuit. the policeman would recognize frank when he returned and see that he got his place. so the friends secured their morning meal. as was expected, the morning saw the arrival of the first of the dominion creek stampeders; they had staked their claims and returned to add to the length of the waiting line. their faces and appearance told something of the terrors of their experience. bodies limp and eyes glazed, faces wan and expressionless, these were the result of thirty-six hours of intense muscular and nervous strain. the gold frenzy is the hardest, harshest, of tax-masters, drawing its victims into such self-inflicted labour as, if imposed by an employer, would rouse the protests of civilized humanity. such toil breeds the determination to have and to hold what is justly won, develops sympathy for the rights of others, and will push aside the laws of custom and society if they stand in the way of justice. the office doors were opened and the slow procession began. it was an hour past noon when john and his three companions stood before the wicket where the whiskered hardman was at work. hugh came first, john next, then george, lastly frank. "we want to record hillsides on dominion," said hugh. "what numbers?" "i have lower half, fifty below centre discovery, left limit, and my friend here has upper half." hardman grabbed a book and turned over the leaves to the space allotted these claims. "these claims are already recorded," which answer was not unexpected. "when were they staked?" fatigued though he was, hugh's face was livid with anger. "at one minute past midnight of the th of july, ." "no, they wasn't." "well, that is what the affidavit says which i entered late yesterday afternoon." john now interposed. "we have been camped on this ground for three weeks, and have been on continuous watch. we staked these claims at a.m. yesterday. no stakes were in the ground when we staked." "i can't help that; joseph trudean swears he staked one, and ole anderson swears he staked the other." "say! have these claims been transferred?" asked hugh. "yes, each has been sold to james c. beecher, barrister, of dawson." "and the consideration?" "one dollar." "which would not buy a meal in dawson!" sick and beaten, john and hugh stepped aside; george and frank passed to the slaughter. their friends waited for them. the time to wait was not long--the second two being even more quickly disposed of than the first. they went home, and ate a meal. even frank was reduced to seriousness, his only possible return to cheerfulness being when he said, "he! he! i told you it was time uncle sam came and took canada!" john berwick felt himself prompted to say "amen." they early sought repose, but about nine in the evening john arose and dressed himself. he had slept but four hours when he suddenly awakened. something called him to action. hugh awakened too, and asked the time. he, then, also arose, as did the others. no one explained why he was dressing, or what he intended to do. without words each knew they were going to the city--the call was on them to enter the haunts of men--to speak of their wrongs and to be heard! they had tea, and set out over the trail called after the great alaska commercial company, who built it to the city. the flowers that bloomed by the wayside drew the eyes of john, who, even in this hour of disappointment and anger, was alive to the beauties of nature. the dog-roses, great in size and delicate in colour, greeted him as old friends, and carried his mind to england and to alice. the atmosphere of dawson was latent with strong emotion. there was no noise. a malamoot howled, and those hearing him shuddered. men stood in groups and talked; their tones were low, their eyes alert. but in the borealis saloon joseph andrews jumped upon the bar and addressed the house. that he suspended the dance, which brought the proprietor many hundreds of dollars daily, was overlooked in the face of national disaster; for these men of dawson had become as a nation--united and distinctive. john berwick and his friends were drawn by the voice that came through the door of dawson's most popular rendezvous. straining to look over the heads and shoulders in front of them, they saw a man, red in face, through the strain of his oratory, standing on the bar and gesticulating. a crowd of eager men listened to him intently. "i tell you fellows from south africa that the government of this here country has got that of paul kruger done to a finish. oom paul is a genius at grafting; but where does he figure, with his coarse schemes of dynamite monopolies, in comparison with the liquor-law handed out by the gang of thugs and highway robbers who run this country? i tell you the octopus and his liquor-permit system has got paul kruger beaten to death. permit system! permit system! permit system! nothing! graft, graft, graft! that's what it is, graft! the octopus tells the good ladies down east that he doesn't approve of the liquor traffic; that he won't allow any liquor to go into this country unless by special permit from him! but what are these permits? they're handed out in ten thousand gallon blocks, and there's enough whisky in dawson city, and on the way here, to float a battleship. and who gets the permits? his own pals and the jews. jews, gentlemen, jews! and the _quid pro quo_ is a contribution to this same octopus's electioneering fund. here, gentlemen, under a surface-showing of morality and pink-tea temperance, are true fissure veins of graft, assaying high in craft and subtlety. men of the yukon, are we going to stand for it? have we got to stand for it? there are fifty thousand of us, gentlemen! are we yelping coyotes or are we men?" the speaker paused, that his words might sink in. his audience answered with a yell; and then were hushed again. "but after all, this liquor business is only a marker on the rest, only a token. dominion creek hillsides--dominion creek hillsides--is where poo-bah, our own octopus's own 'man-friday,' has got in his fine work! orders came from ottawa that these claims were to be thrown open, and posters were printed and stuck up saying the time was july th. then, when the twelfth came round, somebody finds a mistake was made, and the proper date is the twelfth. we rush the creek, gentlemen, and stake--what? nothing!--we get nothing! there are fifty thousand of us, gentlemen, and every man has two rifles and a shot-gun. are we going to stand for it?" "no," was the general shout. "we've all been over the passes and we've run chances--big chances; most of us have had a handshake with death, cold grimy death! can't we shake hands once again? are we men, or only mangy malamoots?" he paused; but there was no cheer at this moment. they were all too eager for him to continue. "what is our situation, gentlemen? look at our situation! we're two thousand miles from nowhere, and those two thousand miles are mountains--snow and glaciers! talk about napoleon's retreat from moscow! that was just a game of ping-pong compared to marching an army across country from back east to the yukon! just a little lally-gag. the white pass, and the chilkoot pass, and the mouth of the yukon, belong to uncle sam...." at the mention of "uncle sam" a great cheer went up--a mighty shout. "uncle sam! hurrah for uncle sam! he won't tax our gold!" "no, no, gentlemen--the republic of the north!--a republic of the north!--we can work out the mines before trouble can come to us," said the speaker. "the klondike free state! the klondike free state!" shouted a man. the crowd took up the cry. chaos reigned. john berwick, who had pushed his way through the crowd, sprang upon the bar beside joseph andrews the orator. he raised his hand for silence. chapter xxiii revolution "is a man's life to be mere existence--breathing, and the eating of food with hours of repose; or is it to be striving after some ideal, whether of ambition or duty? strife, surely! man spends his life in toil; the results of his labour represent his life. imagine for one moment that we are standing upon dawson's dome." the audience began to cough and shuffle. this exordium was unusual. the men seemed restless, and then, as if with an unanimous impulse, they appeared to settle to attention. john went on, "we turn our faces to the north and view a mass of gorgeous colouring--the shield of the day that is past and the herald of the day that is to come. to the south and east and west this beauty is reflected in blended tints, sinking into valleys purple and silent. whence came these valleys? they mark the erosion of ages: as a day is to a thousand years, so is the life of man on earth to the time the hand of god has been at work carving the original plain. and what are the fruits of his labour? one of them is gold: gold that you and i may win. during the ages when the land where most of us were born was under ice the work went on: the rains fell and flowed to the sea; and out of all those ages of preparation and waiting one result appears to us, and that is gold." there was an interruption or two; but the bulk of the audience clamoured for silence, and got it. "god is just. he who robs a man of the results of his labour is a murderer to this extent that he takes a portion of his realized life. i need not remind you, my friends, of our labours in reaching this land, and the sacrifices we have made. some of us have mortgaged our homes, even sold our all, to make this effort. many of us have spent the best years of our adult life in this quest of nature's treasure, and in the hour of consummation have been robbed--robbed of our efforts. the result of those years has been torn from us, callously, brutally. such corruption can only be remedied in one way. 'thou shalt not kill,' is the divine decree." "but we have to get justice." there came from the audience words of earnest agreement. the harangue of joseph andrews had awakened the frenzy of the crowd. the tones and the serious presence of john berwick appealed to their minds, while his argument wakened the thought of moral right, and, far better than rhetoric could do, steeled their resolves. john told simply, briefly, the history of gold-mining in australia, and of the many times corruption had wrecked individual fortunes. justice, primarily, had to do with the rights of the individual. countless lives had been lost in the past ages to establish that principle. the conditions in the klondike were now worse than any that had troubled australia; but there--as in the klondike--the distance between the mining-fields and the seat of government had been too great, and modes of communication too slow, to bring effective remedies. the agents of betterment found the diggings depleted, and the wrongs complained of now irreparable. but there need not be any shedding of blood, that fact he emphasized. what they must do was organize, and so win thousands to their cause against the hundreds under the orders of the established--and ineffective--authorities. "but we need a head, a strong heart, to rule," john was saying. "you're the man!" a voice shouted. "you're the man!" a hundred echoed. "parson jack, parson jack! i knew he had something in him." through the uncertain light john could distinguish long shorty. so it happened that berwick became the head of the revolutionists. as he sprang down from the bar the excited men crushed round him. he whispered a rendezvous to a dozen of the most eager, "dawson's dome, to-morrow, noon." * * * * * that night smoothbore paced his room. the scandal of the dominion creek hillsides was known to him, and he speculated on its being the last straw on the back of that patient camel, the honest prospector. there was a knock on the door. he told the new-comer to enter. it was sergeant galbraith in civilian clothes. "there was a meeting in the borealis, to-night, sir. joseph andrews was talking." "did he say much?" "a little more than usual, sir." "did he stir them up?" "they did a lot of yelling." "they always do when he talks. anything else?" "there was another speaker, sir." "who?" "don't know, sir." "but you have charge of the secret service. you placed a man on his trail?" "yes, sir; constable hope." "what did the stranger say?" "he talked philosophy." "philosophy!" "yes; he's an australian." "did he rouse them?" "they did not say much; he held them quiet." "any sedition?" "yes, sir. he says the man who steals another man's work is a murderer, in that he takes a portion of his life; and he quoted the bible." the sergeant saluted and retired. smoothbore paced his room. a man who could silence a dawson crowd--one who quoted the bible--was a man to be watched! smoothbore knew his duty; it was to his sovereign, and his sovereign's authority; it was in his province to maintain the integrity of his sovereign's empire. he knew that many of his men sympathized with the miners, and that the miners were conscious of this sympathy. he knew, also, that many of the miners believed, in the case of an uprising of the people, that the opposition of the police would be merely nominal. the question, what action he should take, had been facetiously asked him many times; but he had allowed no man to read his mind. the iniquities of the liquor-permit system were known to him, for in his official capacity he had to enforce the law. the rascality in the gold commissioner's office, and the graft of the toll-bridge and the bonanza creek trail, all--all were known to him, and were bad, bad--thoroughly bad. villainy, barefaced or subtle, permeated officialdom, but officialdom he must protect. there was no real hesitancy, although he recognized both sides of the question. he was going to do his duty, and he knew that his men would follow him. twenty men were present on the dome at the time appointed. no one had marked their coming, and it would not have mattered if they had. men often climbed the dome to spy out the land or to locate the timber that grew upon its sides, for it would soon be winter, and logs were already being cut and hauled. from the dome all who were approaching could be seen; there were no walls with ears at that place. john moved a resolution that a council be formed, representative of the four nationalities--australian, english, canadian, and the united states. he and george would canvass the australians and english. hugh said he and joseph andrews would work among the canadians. long shorty thought he could round up a host of americans, and frank corte said he would back him up. these were men who would form the council. the first thing to do was to canvass the town and find out how many could be won to the cause, after which another meeting would be held and progress reported. following this, the creeks were to be gone over. to prevent bloodshed the force must be overwhelming. bonanza, hunker, and eldorado would probably not yield many helpers. these creeks had been staked before the advent of poo-bah, and the police had given records. the owners had no complaint. nothing more than moral support could be counted from these. but on the new creeks--dominion, sulphur, indian river, australia eureka, too-much-gold, all-gold, and the rest--there was little doubt that the support of thousands could be obtained. on the hillsides of bonanza and hunker startling discoveries had recently been made. gold hill was proved enormously rich, adams hill, magnet hill, and monte cristo hill were all of great potential wealth. the white channel was being discovered, and the rights of location were hard to establish, if not impossible. in the gambling and dance-halls clerks of the gold commissioner's office were nightly to be seen squandering money on gambling and women. their wage was two dollars per day and food, yet many of them rather lived in the hotels at a cost of fifteen dollars per diem! all this explained the difficulty of obtaining record. the rightful owners of the newly-discovered property were mostly residents of dawson, employing lawyers in their attempt to obtain just rights. these men were the most desperate. then there were the forty mile, glacier, and twelve mile creeks. there was a large number on glacier and forty mile creeks. the nature of the discussion was necessarily wide. john insisted that they all should devote attention to the town for the first few days. each man gained as an adherent should be questioned as to his arms and ammunition, the capacity of his rifle, and the quantity of his ammunition. notes were to be taken of these details. only by such means could they estimate what might be expected from the men on the creeks. the need of caution was expressed by all on all. no word of what was doing should be allowed to reach the police, and every possible adherent must be carefully sounded ere he was taken into confidence. john tarried on the dome after the meeting. he requested george, frank, and hugh to post to the home-camp and prepare a meal. a tremendous responsibility had come to him in the last few hours; and now that action had been taken he wished to meditate upon it. he had taken a great step, and could only contemplate a result far-reaching. when the last man had disappeared among the timber below, he arose from his seat and wandered towards the wooded gulch to the north of the dome, which he had partly explored in the days of his convalescence. he thought he remembered something. he found it again--a cleft in the rock. by the aid of a few poles and brush and a little moss it would become a fair habitation, his den!--"david therefore departed thence and escaped to the cave adullam ... and every one that was in distress, and every one that was in debt, and every one that was discontented, gathered themselves unto him." was he to be another david? he sought the home-trail; and as he ate his meal told his companions that he would camp alone; no one else had better be with him in the cave of adullam. that afternoon he placed an outfit on his back and walked to his new lonely abode. time was precious, so he would not allow any of his companions to assist him, but rather requested that they should turn immediately to their work of organization. besides, it was his humour to be alone. as he chopped the trees necessary to complete his den, his mind conceived many things. fond recollections came, and they led to a contemplation of the purposes of his life. was he ever to be useful, creative? instinctively his mind avoided the immediate issue of events. after all, the time for thought had given place to the time for action. chapter xxiv within the barracks when constable hope had made his report upon berwick's abiding-place, and added to it particulars as to his visitors, and the council held on the dome, smoothbore recognized that he had to do with a man of more than ordinary character and intelligence. in the first place, a council held upon the dome's summit in broad daylight was not susceptible to eavesdropping. as a base of assault upon the town, a modern rifle might drop a bullet into the barrack yard. there were possibly fifty thousand men against less than two hundred! as a matter of fact, six hundred officers and men were on their way to the yukon, via the stikeen route: that is, if they had not got "cold feet" and turned back. in any case, such military outfits were of little good. being a staunch believer in the police, smoothbore had little faith in the militia! the report of the meeting on the dome was to the effect that council had been held and that the different parties attending it had immediately left town. berwick's former residence had been abandoned, and its other occupants (who had been at the meeting) were not to be seen in any of the dance-halls or gambling-saloons. crossing the quadrangle of the barracks from the orderly-room towards his own private office, immediately after reading the report of constable hope, smoothbore met inspector herbert, the officer of the day. smoothbore returned the other's salute and stopped, which brought herbert to a standstill also, and then, glancing over his shoulder at the dome towering behind the town, inquired, "herbert, how would you like leading a squad of men against a trenched position on the top of the dome?" "the only way a man could storm that position would be by flying machine--and they're not invented yet. but you might cut off the enemy's supplies--that is, if you had enough men--or their water--there is no water except in the draw at the back. were you thinking of having some manoeuvres, sir?" "manoeuvres may be made necessary by the dread realities of war." herbert opened his eyes wide, and looked at his chief. smoothbore did not return his gaze; he was still looking intently at the top of the hill, where he could see a flag-staff and the figure of a man. herbert followed his gaze, noted the human figure, and made to take his military glasses from their case. but his superior checked him. "don't look up there with your glasses; some one may have his on us." "you don't mean that you seriously fear an insurrection," herbert then exclaimed; "that these dirty prospectors will show fight?" herbert had a contempt for the populace similar to that of louis xv. smoothbore turned to him. "there are as many known murderers in dawson as there are mounted police in the whole of the yukon. on that hill there is a man who quotes scripture; can probably string out his pedigree to the conquest; and propounds the doctrine that the man who steals another's substance steals that portion of his life which went to the acquiring of that substance. this is a dangerous doctrine--because it makes our grafters murderers! the great majority of his followers will absorb this doctrine without question. every one of the discontented is ready to lay the responsibility of his non-success on the shoulders of the officials. god knows we have real grafting and grafters enough; but if you would hear each separate tale of woe, or the different tales of woe that each malcontent will unburden himself of at the least excuse, and add the whole together, the sum would involve twice the number of claims at present made in the yukon valley. it does not matter that these injuries are many of them fancied: the effect upon the possessor of the delusion is the same. these men have endured countless hardships on the trail: they have--many of them--staked their all in the venture. the hopes they encouraged within themselves as they struggled to the goal have given place to dejection. now they find themselves at the end of their resources, and their ways are blocked by corruption! can you not understand how little organized agitation will ferment rebellion?" "and they have abundant ammunition," commented herbert, ever-practical. "they brought a great supply with them, thinking to kill game on the way. they met little or none, and consequently have their ammunition unspent. look in at any of the second-hand shops, and you will find numbers of the highest class of modern rifles, with stacks of ammunition, on sale at half their original cost." "then you really fear rebellion?" "not fear, but i think rebellion is not improbable. officers of the mounted police don't fear anything this side of the great divide," and the speaker smiled. "would it not be well to arrest the ringleaders, and nip the thing in the bud?" asked the inspector. "we have no charge to lay against them, except the voicing of sedition; and there was only one man who did so. and if we did arrest him--no! it would not do! besides: sedition!--there are enough people voicing sedition within earshot of whitehall to keep the prisons of england filled were they all arrested. it would be a hard thing to get a jury to convict on a charge of sedition." with this the commandant continued his way to his office. smoothbore sat at his desk, and filled his pipe. his conversation with his inspector had not dispelled his apprehensions--far from it. he must do something. he turned to the constable who was busy with papers at a neighbouring desk, and sent him for sergeant galbraith. in the meantime he sat and thought. there were few canadians in the total population of the yukon, while the english and australians were the most bitter against the existing wrongs, and foremost in their utterances of protest. in due time sergeant galbraith entered and saluted. smoothbore turned to him, "constable hope has not been able to find any trace of the associates of berwick at their tent, nor in the dance-halls?" "he has not, sir." "they appear to have left town. it is clear that they are organizing, which means trouble. what is hope doing?" "detailed to watch the dome, sir." "you had better put another man on that job, and send hope to the forks, and on through to dominion, if needs be, to see if he can pick up any trace of these men, and if so to ascertain what they are doing. he might travel in plain clothes. it is possible he may give the appearance of being a likely recruit for the klondike free state." "very good, sir." "do you see any signs of organization?" "nothing further, sir." "well, have a look in at these second-hand shops that have the most rifles and ammunition in stock, and size up what they have. then you can see later if much is being sold. you might ask the proprietors to find out where the purchasers say they are going. the explanation for your questions will be that you understand there has been a new find made somewhere, and that you wish to ascertain where it is." "very good, sir." there could be no doubt that, if a number of rebels entrenched themselves on the summit of the dome, there would be no dislodging them, while they could drop bullets into any part of the town, including the police barracks! smoothbore had small hopes of securing any number of recruits from the civilian population. no, the civilian population would take little hand in suppressing a rising. there was no end to be served by the police making the first move; they could only wait and watch, hoping for something to turn up. the humour of the malcontents might change; some new distraction might spring up. the british empire had been on the verge of collapse a score of times, but always something had happened to floor the prophets. he was quite ready to believe that the man at the head of the new movement--this john berwick--was steadfast in his affection for the british crown; quite possibly his action in the matter grew out of his loyalty. and being right in this reflection goes to show how worldly-wise the police commandant really was. that in a crisis, such as was being developed, he proved strong enough to lie low, illustrates the moral and physical courage of the man. chapter xxv recruiting that frank, hugh, and george had not returned to their tent the night after the council of war on the dome was due to nothing more than the fact that they had gone to town with long shorty, and had stayed the night in his cabin. they did not appear in the saloons and dance-halls because they had decided upon baxter's free library as down-town headquarters. hence it was that two astute policemen had made wrong deductions; and while constable hope was haunting the resorts on the creeks for them, they were actually in the heart of the metropolis. the selection of baxter's free library was the result of the astuteness of long shorty. he knew the place. only in dawson would it have been worthy of the name of library, as the number of volumes was limited to a score or so. there were also several newspapers there, which, though thumbed and scrawled upon and tattered, were the latest the camp contained. access to these newspapers and books was free, the revenue of the establishment being derived from a lunch counter. as the building was located one street back from that which ran along the water front, the rent paid was comparatively small; and the proprietor was able to serve a roll and a cup of coffee for fifty cents, and a plate of stew, made of bully beef, or pork and beans, for a dollar and a half, which was about per cent. cheaper than fashionable prices! the combination of comparatively cheap food and free reading drew to baxter's many of those who had ample time upon their hands, with little or no money in their pockets, and who were unwilling, or unable, to perform the heavy labour of mining operations on the creeks. they were of the educated and semi-educated classes; and among their motley members long shorty guessed that many desperate characters might be found. a winter--the most severe in which white people lived--would be upon them in a few short months. the plan of campaign decided upon was that each of the four conspirators should enter the reading-room, engage in reading, and gradually draw possible recruits into conversation--which in free-and-easy dawson would not be difficult to do. long shorty was not long in picking out his man. he seemed the ordinary type of prospector, well-set-up and muscular; his dress was of good quality, by which it was to be inferred that his outfit would be large, and in all probability would include a rifle or two with ammunition. he was reading a copy of shakespeare. long shorty sat beside him, and picked up a copy of the bible. bibles and the works of william shakespeare were the most common volumes in dawson in the summer of ' . long shorty turned over the pages, read a verse, then put down the book, and sighed. "well, stranger," he said, "what do you think of things?" "damned bad." "they sure are; but what are you going to do about it?" "just about the same as the rest; get out of the country as soon as i can. isn't that what you're going to do?" "i guess so--after i've made my pile!" "well, if you get away with a pile, i reckon you'll have to make two: one for yourself and one for the grafters." "there may be a change." "you must have been listening to the fellow down at the borealis the other night." "perhaps i was," said long shorty significantly. "and you think those fellows will ever do more than talk?" "well, you know how many police there are, and how many there are of the others. the police are armed with old winchesters, twenty years behind the times! looks like the insurrectoes might have a chance if they got together and had ammunition and rifles." "there are lots of both among the crowd, i guess. i have a and a thousand cartridges; that is, five shots for every policeman in the country." he spoke with some bitterness. long shorty rightly concluded that here was a spirit who only wanted a leader. to make doubly sure he thought he would draw him a little and see how much real mutiny was in his heart; so he said, "but there are the claim-owners, grafters, and other civilians who might aid the police." "not much! the claim-owners wouldn't, except possibly those who got their holdings through poo-bah. the fellows who got their claims straight would know a new government would do them more good than harm." the speaker then, as if tired of politics, pointedly went on with his reading; his mind was absorbing the philosophy of the melancholy jacques. long shorty's sensibilities were not of the finest, and he refused to consider the conversation closed; so he asked the direct question, "what would you do if the boys got up?" "nothing!--i'd do nothing. it's no use considering it: i'm off down the river on a steamer leaving to-morrow. i'm going to work my way as a wood-passer to st. michael's, after which i'll trust to luck for getting to 'frisco. but if the boys are really going to rise, they have my good wishes. i tried to sell my rifle to-day, and the best offer i could get was five dollars--and i told the fellow i'd chuck it into the yukon first. if you are going to stay i'll make you a present of it, to be given to the boys if they want it." the man was going home. long shorty felt there was no use in attempting to hold him; so he answered in such a manner as to accept the offer, and yet not compromise himself. he said, "i don't mind taking the rifle and the cartridges and holding them in case things do happen--though i may be away on the creeks at the time." "all right, i leave them with baxter here; you can call for them to-morrow." again he returned to the forest of arden, and long shorty permitted the conversation to close. in the meantime, the other three had been hard at work. george met one australian whose sentiments were so pronounced that he quickly closed with him; and as the recruit knew several others in the library, the agitation made good progress. it was agreed by the reformers and the new recruits that they should all meet later in the day at lookout point, which was the angle of the klondike bluffs, where the valley of the klondike met that of the yukon. in later years a seat and a flag-staff were erected there, and it became a favourite trysting-place for young men and maidens engaged in another quest than that of gold. this arrangement settled, george set off to report to berwick, while the others, still looking for more of the rightly disaffected, drifted into the different saloons. berwick was delighted at their present success, and was eager to meet the party at lookout point. he felt that if so many adherents could be gained by such a small canvass, three or four thousand devoted armed men, at least, could be recruited from dawson and its environs. the outlook was hopeful. chapter xxvi located in due course, that is three or four days afterwards, constable hope returned from the creeks with the report that there was no trace to be found of the allies of john berwick. to smoothbore this was not evidence of any abandonment of the conspiracy. he was convinced that berwick meant business. there was, besides, a strange quietude reigning over dawson. so mercurial a population could not have let its excitement subside and disappear in that short time. on the other hand, inspector herbert was confident enough to be facetious at the expense of the enemies of officialdom. when smoothbore told him that hope's expedition had no result, he said, "i thought as much; you'll find the reputed leader has some fool theory of the origin of gold, and is camped on the dome to receive inspiration, while his followers have slipped off down the river for the good of their healths." "perhaps," replied smoothbore as he glanced at the dome. "perhaps!" and they parted. "the old man is a bit locoed on this rebellion theory," mused herbert as he went along. "it's strange in a man who has seen so much service, and with him it is not 'nerves.'" just then herbert happened to glance up at the dome. "by jove! what a position for a couple of maxims. one hundred men could stand off ten thousand. i wonder! there are thousands of men starving, with many too proud to beg, and little to spare even for them. what would a successful revolution mean? for one thing, it would establish a multitude of openings in the new civil service--with chances of graft. it would mean a new police force, or militia, perhaps both, the members of which would, at least, be fed. it is not a case so much of righting wrong, as of getting for these fellows a piece of the pumpkin. taking that view of it, it looks serious. what if the old man were right!" such were the thoughts that flashed through herbert's mind. almost within a minute after smoothbore had left him he was wavering in his opinions; now he was striding in pursuit of him. "well--what do you think we had better do about it," asked the commandant, after he had heard the changed opinions of his inspector. "arrest the leaders!" the conversation was interrupted by a knock at the office-door, which was followed by the entrance of constable hope, quite in a fluster. "i have located berwick's friends, sir," he reported, "in fact he was with them when i spotted them. they were all in baxter's free library, and they are up to something. berwick sits reading the bible, and every now and then one of his aides-de-camp comes up and whispers in his ear, and then goes away to begin opening conversation with some pilgrim. i sat down, thinking one of them might come to me with his talk, but no results, sir." "well, now you have them located, take two good men in plain clothes and point the gang out to them; in fact, you might take four, so that henceforth they can be easily traced. detail one man to berwick and two to the others." "good man, that," remarked herbert, when hope had left their presence. "yes, it would be a pity to have him in the army." "my guess seems to have been wrong as to the movements of the gang." smoothbore made no comment on this, but asked, "would you arrest them now?" "yes." "i am afraid i must still disagree with you," was the chief's answer, and herbert shortly after went away. constable hope collected together four of his comrades, told them to dress in civilian clothes and follow him. they did so and joined the crowd in baxter's. in due time the four policemen had registered in their memory the features of john berwick and his followers. constable hope then told off three men according to instructions, and with the remaining policeman left the place. "who are those fellows?" asked the constable who accompanied hope. "berwick is the prospective liberator of the oppressed and down-trodden miner. he can talk on occasions; in fact i heard him and nearly determined to jump my uniform." "what do they propose to do?" "send the police down the river, and set up for themselves!" "cheerful for us! do you think they will make the effort?" "smoothbore seems to take them seriously, and i think herbert is coming to think the same way." "what will smoothbore do?" "stand pat! what else would he do? what would you or i do?" and constable hope looked at his companion in a manner not complimentary. "the outfit would surely get licked in the end." "to be sure they would!--but in the meantime, two years: how much could you graft in two years?" this query admitted of no reply, and lacking a further word from his companion, constable hope continued, "fifty miles, ten hours on the river--and you are in the land of uncle sam! see?" "yes, i see." "if you think over it a bit you will see more." "yes, i guess my vision would enlarge; and you say smoothbore is only standing pat?" "i do." "funny!" "it's not funny: it's the only thing to do; they have not begun to mass their forces yet. when they do we might have some evidence." shortly after hope and inspector herbert had left smoothbore, sergeant galbraith knocked at the office door, and reported. "i've looked into the second-hand shops, and sized up their ammunition. rosenbaum on second street reports considerable buying lately, and so does hobson on third avenue. in fact, sir, they appeared to be somewhat excited. the jew thought there was a strike up the klondike and the cockney thought there must be a stampede up the stewart." "perhaps these stories may be right!" "no, sir, i think not. the town patrol reported to-day two fellows in from wind city, sir, on the edmonton trail, and i looked them up. they had not met any fellows going up the stewart; that is, any number worth mentioning." "then this looks like corroborative evidence: at least the trouble is reaching such a stage as to make it advisable to get on the defensive; also, we must let the men know what seems likely to happen. have the town patrol keep their eyes on all men carrying rifles." "very good, sir." "report direct to me anything that appears of interest." "yes, sir." "and, sergeant--what about those fellows who arrived from edmonton?" "they were in a very bad state, sir. of their party of fourteen they were the only survivors. they wintered at wind city, got scurvy, and all died but four, and of the four these two only remain. the other two were drowned in a rapid." "poor fellows! that will do, sergeant." smoothbore was left to his recollections and general musings. "gold, gold--the price that is paid for it! fifty thousand men in this stampede; two hundred and fifty thousand people affected; homes devastated; affections torn asunder! hundreds dead by scurvy or drowning; thousands with constitutions wrecked! the gold is not worth the candle, with the trusts betrayed and morals twisted! it is not worth it. look at this little yukon district, remote from the world. our genesis was of gold; it would seem our dissolution will be through the same agent! the love of gold, that it may command luxury, is a source of overwhelming evil: it feeds our vices--that is pretty well all that can be said of this insensate greediness. but this is not practical!" he continued, moving. "i must give orders that the men pay special attention to their rifles and side-arms;" and he went off at once to the orderly office. the time had come for every preparation to be made. the commandant considered the position. there was no scope for fortifying the barracks. the buildings were of logs, loopholes could be made by the simple process of pushing a rifle barrel through the mortar. the main thing was that the police should appear to be unconscious of the movement on foot. one action he determined upon, and that was the purchase of the best rifles and ammunition in the shops: this to be accomplished by secret agents. this was not entirely intended to keep arms from berwick's men, for the enemy would still have enough ammunition to exterminate the police force. but the arms of the police were not "modern"! chapter xxvii the wood-pile the wood-pile was an institution almost as famous with the underworld as dawson itself. from st. michael's to frisco, and up and down the yukon river, its reputation held. at the mention of its name the pale and sickly faces of the vicious became still paler and more sickly, when they did not flush with angry hatred. the wood-pile was the prison, called so because the inmates, given hard labour, worked out their debt to society by sawing wood. in cold winter-weather--the winter of the sub-arctic, with the thermometer forty degrees below zero!--the process was no joke. the great majority of the prisoners were united states citizens, in the souls of whom many fourths of july had engendered a contempt for the british uniform. to be herded by a yellow-leg with a rifle, and made to saw wood to keep the oppressor warm, was a circumstance that rankled. five ace dan--called, for brevity's sake, five ace--was on the wood-pile. one day five ace was taking a hand in a poker game, and by some mischance one of the other players detected him extracting a card from his sleeve, and charged him with the offence. there was, of course, a row, whereupon five ace drew a revolver, and pointed it at his adversary, with the words--adorned with some special expletives, "if i had you across the line i'd fill you full of holes." whereat the man addressed came back with the words, uttered with a leer and a hiss, "but we ain't: see!" five ace was surely in hard luck, for a policeman heard the noise of the row, and quickly gathered him in. smoothbore gave him three months on the wood-pile, with a blue ticket at the end of that term. a blue ticket meant that the authorities requested the recipient to leave the country--an invitation rarely not taken advantage of! but five ace was serving his term in the summer months, when fuel was not a pressing necessity, and the number of prisoners was large. the stock employment of the gang was drawing gravel from the banks of the yukon and carrying it in barrows to the quadrangle of the barracks, or the road-bed of the main street. while climatic conditions were infinitely better during the summer months than they were in winter, this was not an unmixed blessing to five ace; for while the winter months were dark and drear and cold, the coldness, darkness, and dreariness, together with the abundance of clothing it was necessary for the prisoners to wear, made it hard for their persons to be recognized by passers-by. on the other hand, during the bright summer days, the situation was very embarrassing; and it is easy to believe that any one holding strong ideas on the rights of man, a true citizen, that is to say, of the united states, so imprisoned, was ready for any desperate venture. if it came to the killing of a yellow-leg or two--what matter? there were no greater or more glorious people on god's green earth than the citizens of the united states! five ace was quite ready to pose as a hero and martyr, when opportunity served. long shorty happened to be a friend of five ace dan; not that he consorted with tin-horns, but dan hadn't always been what he was now, and, anyway, there wasn't much harm in pulling off a trick once in a while! the officials in this country were always robbing people, so why should not he put in a hand? one day, as long shorty was prospecting for recruits, he recognized five ace among the gang employed in the gravel pit, and, quick as a flash, the idea came that it would be well to have an ally among the prisoners. how to get into communication with five ace was a matter demanding consideration; it would not do to make a mess of things through any little mistake at the beginning. so he walked away, pondering, and sat down and reviewed the situation from afar; in other words, he watched the prisoners and noted their movements. there were about eight in this particular band, over whom stood a policeman. the process was for the prisoners to file down to the shore of the river, fill their barrows, and march back again. each man returned to the spot he had left and picked up the tools he had been working with. the best means to get a word with five ace was by means of a note, provided the note did not fall into the hands of the police! long shorty soon came to his decision. the note must not be compromising. this is what long shorty wrote, "the marmot has generally two entrances to his burrow, the yellow-leg has only one. some day soon something is going to happen, but in the meantime the hunters with rifles would like to know if the yellow-legs are wise to the game. where the seed is sown there will the flower grow, and i expect response to this where i sow it; at dinner-hour i will look for it." after setting down this on a piece of paper, long shorty, not a little proud of his achievement, rumpled it up with another piece of blank paper and enclosed a small piece of lead pencil. this was because prisoners were not always allowed paper and pencil. after the little parcel was ready long shorty walked down-stream to where there was a canoe belonging to a man he knew. he borrowed the craft and began poling up-stream towards the mouth of the klondike. he had noted that the site of five ace's labour was very near the river, so that when he passed the spot he could have stepped on the tools with which the convict worked. a labourer toiling with pick and shovel first loosens the soil with the pick and then uses the shovel. the astute mind of long shorty conceived that if he dropped the paper close to where the hand of the toiler, as he grasped the shovel, would be, events would work out--as they did. five ace, on returning with the empty barrow, took up his pick and began to work, and while he was scratching the ground in the leisurely manner of the convict his eye saw the paper. he judged that its appearance was possibly connected with long shorty, who was hanging about watching. so, with the slyness proper to his fraternity, he took up the shovel and managed to smuggle and hide away the parcel by slipping it down his neck. when five ace had an opportunity he read the missive, and his breast swelled. here was evidently an invitation for him to join a rising against the oppressors! if successful it would mean that an honest fellow could shoot down a black-leg and get away. judge lynch would sit in the yukon. by all means things must be kept quiet. five ace felt sure he could get the other prisoners to turn against their guard when the proper time came. one man might get shot; but if he were careful it need not be himself. long shorty had the idea that five ace dan and his fellow prisoners might, in the case of a rising outside, carry out some portion of a general move by striking a blow within. on the other hand, while five ace believed he was the child of a race of patriots and felt himself a champion of liberty with a possibility of shining before posterity, his first and foremost idea was always his own liberty! he wrote a note and left it as directed, where long shorty secured it, and this is what it said, "the beaver is working with no thought of danger. if his dam is broken in spots he will fix it. to drive him out you must make a clean job. you have friends who will help, but you must keep them posted." five ace had evidently the same ideas as the leader of the insurrection, that a sudden display of force, thousands strong, would make the position at the barracks untenable and force a surrender. the following day long shorty replied, "many years ago the south face slid off the dome and many ingins went to the happy hunting-grounds. some day something may slide off the dome and keep on going till it hits the barracks and bumps it into the klondike. i will look out for things that are to happen, so that those in the barracks will know what to prepare for. in case they can help, i will let them know." all of which duly fell into the hands of five ace dan, and conveyed to him the true situation of affairs. had it fallen into those of the police it would have appeared as mere nonsense--the scribbling of some prospector whose hardships had affected his reason. that is what long shorty thought. chapter xxviii a council of war within a few days fifteen hundred men in dawson had signified their readiness to act for a new government. another thousand could readily be counted upon from the creeks. twenty-five hundred well-armed and determined men, entrenched at the top of the dome, could withstand an army. to attack them, armed as they were with long-range sporting rifles, would be, on the part of the police, madness. it was noon on a saturday when long shorty left his last note to five ace dan on the yukon gravel bar. having satisfied himself that the missive had fallen into the proper hands, he set out for the dome to report. he found berwick, hugh spencer, bruce, corte, and several others holding a council of war. berwick was giving instructions. "behind the dome, you will notice, is a valley where the timber is comparatively heavy. our men can camp there with two weeks' provisions. every man--or two men--will be their own commissariat. their instructions will be to hold themselves in readiness while recruits are being gathered from the creeks." "recruits! we don't want no recruits from the creeks," roared long shorty. "fifteen hundred men will fix the thing." hugh agreed with this. "fifteen hundred men should be able to scare less than two hundred into surrender, especially when we can show them that we can shoot and be out of range of their rifles." berwick put the matter to the vote, and it was agreed that the fifteen hundred to be recruited from dawson would be sufficient. berwick sighed. "very good; fifteen hundred let it be; but we must try to avoid bloodshed. this affair will be serious enough without anybody being killed. pass the word for a muster right away; camps to be made in the woods as if a base for prospecting. at the camps rifles may be cached to be quickly available. it is possible the police may not notice the migration; but we must chance that. until it is time to act the men will go into town every day as usual." "don't you think we had better have a preliminary muster?" asked george. "yes. it would serve a double purpose: give an opportunity to our men to learn the plans; and the massing of so many upon the dome would doubtless lead to inquiries by the police, and probably impress them with our display of force. it is hardly possible they will make arrests, and they can hardly shoot unarmed men." "it won't do 'em any harm to show we look like meaning business. why not have the boys bring their arms?" asked long shorty. "i'd say nothing about arms," hugh counselled. "let each man suit himself; there'll be enough guns in the crowd to guard against accidents." "and what are we to do after our display of force?" asked long shorty. "send a letter to the barracks, calling on the officer commanding to surrender," answered john berwick. "if he does not surrender? suppose he tells you to go to the devil?" "we'll give him till saturday to consider it." "and then, if he says no?" "he won't say no: he is a humane man, and must know we are in the right. he must also be aware that we can annihilate him." berwick did not quite possess the assurance he showed in this reply. there might be such a thing as smoothbore being willing to die at his post. of late this idea had been more and more gaining hold on his mind; his sleep had become more restless as the time for action approached. in all probability some irresponsible person would make a slip, which would precipitate matters. dark thoughts and doubts came upon him, as they must at times to every leader who holds under his control many lives; but resolutely he put them from him, and comforted his heart, strengthened his determination, by remembering the wrongs they had suffered and the righteousness of their cause. he hoped earnestly that smoothbore would recognize that his force was outnumbered by at least ten to one. but long shorty was tenacious; possibly he thought he detected some wavering in his leader. and so he persisted, "but if he does call the bluff?" "in that case we must hold a council of war, and determine what to do. our display of force on wednesday should make him apprehensive. by friday our intentions and strength must have impressed him. then we shall forward him a summons to surrender! if by saturday noon he has not complied...." "we'll drop a few bullets round the flag-pole," cried long shorty; "and it would not do much harm if we peppered a yellow-leg or two." "i'd rather they got one of the grafters!" said a recruit, to which remark others chorused, "hear! hear!" "we'll see--we'll see! what we need first is to get our forces camped in the woods. so pass the word among our adherents that they are expected to gain their encampment during monday and tuesday. let sunday be a day of rest; it is possible the sunday after may be far from peaceful!" "all right, boss," spoke up frank. frank was far more loyal to "parson jack," much less inclined to question him, than long shorty. "that ends this present business," said john. "those of you who don't wish to go into town may as well stay and go over the ground in survey of a line of entrenchment." thereupon, with his friends about him, john went to his den and secured a pick and shovel hidden there, and with them traced a furrow, to be enlarged later. the riflemen would lie there and fire upon the barracks. to this day that furrow is to be found across the top of the dome. dawson was now at the zenith of its prosperity. not only had the creeks produced many millions, but vast sums of outside capital were being paid for speculative claims, as well as for properties of proven worth. for those who were prosperous it was a heyday of delight; to those whose fortunes had stuck it was no heyday. it was for these that berwick and his comrades were working: to give honest workers something of a fair chance; though there was a long span between the idealism of john and the motives of long shorty, which were not a little selfish and sordid. there have been many popular outbursts in the world's history; but never had a leader entered his fortunes against an established government with the chances of success held by berwick! in numbers, in arms and equipment, he had the advantage. his hesitation was, therefore, not due to any shirking of the issue. he was the reverse of a moral coward; and yet he felt keenly the responsibility and unpleasantness of the part he had to play in leading a force against the authority of britain's queen. it was duty which drove him against his patriotic instincts. he loathed the necessity; but there was no alternative if wrongs were to be righted. the five colleagues had been thoughtfully watching dawson, that hive of human bees. the first to break the silence was long shorty, when he told of his acquaintanceship with five ace dan on the wood-pile, and added the suggestion that he might prove useful. this roused hugh, who said sharply, "we don't want any jail-birds!" "he's a bit of a tin-horn," protested shorty, "but he ain't a jail-bird." "there ain't much difference," was hugh's retort. long shorty held his peace. chapter xxix stony ground constable hope had no doubts. professional instinct told him there was an important conspiracy hatching. he was ambitious, and he loved his work, so that every impulse prompted him to find and follow the threads of the plot. smoothbore's action in keeping "tab"[ ] on the number of men carrying rifles suggested to him that his commandant regarded the situation as serious. [ ] watch. therefore, beyond his orders--which were sufficient in themselves to work off an ordinary policeman's superfluous energy--hope worked overtime. he discovered that george, hugh, and frank occupied the home-ranch once more, and were extremely busy. he reasoned that if a man's business be legitimate, it is easy to learn its nature. as the business of these men was not quite evident, he determined to find out what it was. so that on the morning of the meeting at the dome hope had made his way there also, by a detour to the east. his route was the longer, and the sun was hot. also the trail he took led through some patches of swamp, which meant mosquitoes. when he reached the nearest point to the dome, where he could remain under cover of the bush, he was still out of earshot. he watched those who came in view, but because the council had been seated in a circle about the summit, after the manner of the indian pow-wow, and he was below the level of that summit, he could see only some of those who had attended. after the meeting had dissolved, and those remaining had plotted out their entrenchments and started to return to dawson, hope made bold to follow them. he drew back in time to avoid discovery from the five who still were gazing thoughtfully upon the town; but he happened to hear the reference to five ace dan and the wood-pile. "they're camped on our trail. five ace would hardly be in demand for a prayer meeting," thought the guardian of the peace, as eventually he returned to the police barracks. he at once reported to sergeant galbraith. "the big tyee[ ] held a council of war on the summit at noon to-day. these fellows are sure up to something." [ ] chinook for chief. "hear anything?" "no; could not get near enough, except at the last, when the big yankee said something about five ace dan." "who's he?" asked galbraith. "the tin-horn on the wood-pile for pulling a gun. well, the yankee said something about his helping their cause or something; and the one they call hugh said he had no use for tin-horns. it looks as if the yankee might be in communication inside the barracks." "well, he wouldn't learn much." "he might tell them how poor are our arms." "they know that already," galbraith snorted. "and how weak our guard is." "they know that, too. that's the reason of this insurrection, or one of the reasons. but what has a reference to five ace dan got to do with this plot that is supposed to be going on?" "nothing, i guess. probably nothing!" "well, the only thing you have to report is, that there was a pow-wow on the dome this morning." "i guess so." "but whether they were planning to put us all out of business, or organizing an expedition to the north pole--you don't know." "that's right." "well, keep your eye on them, but don't report again until your report is calculated to make a noise." constable hope, not a little discouraged by the way his report was received, sauntered out and drifted towards the borealis. the seeds of his efforts had fallen on stony ground. but after he was gone sergeant galbraith expanded his chest, drew up to the full extent of his six feet, and gazed through the door of his office at the muskeg, which did duty for a street. "another council at the top of the dome," he said to himself. he stood a minute, stroked his moustache; then, his mind made up, strode out of the office, and in due course was in the presence of his commanding officer. "another council at the dome, sir," he reported. "yes." "seems serious, sir, when men climb , feet, this hot weather, that they may talk in private." "any other signs, sergeant?" "it's the other signs that make it look serious. the number of men carrying rifles is increasing rapidly. yesterday no less than three hundred rifles were seen in the streets." "did you question any of those carrying them?" "no, sir. had no orders, sir." "just so: it would not have done any good, and it might have done harm. and you have had all supplies bought up, arms and ammunition?" "all that were better than our own, sir." "well, have them secretly brought to the men's quarters, and let each man have his pick. then some of the best shots can have a day off to practise a bit." "very good, sir." "something is going to happen soon," said smoothbore to herbert, who during the interview had come in. "rather suggestive of micawber that, if you will pardon my saying so," herbert ventured to assert. he had been a sudden and complete convert to the theory that trouble was brewing. the inaction of his chief had been getting on his nerves. "micawber had the great virtue of patience," answered smoothbore with a smile. "i would arrest the leaders, sir, on a trumped-up charge, and get the evidence out of them that way." "that would be a mistake, my dear herbert." "perhaps so, sir; but here they can shoot us down like rats. if we have to die, we had better die like men." "if something does not turn up--as, you remind me, micawber might have said--you will have sufficient opportunity to die." "i should wish to sell my life pretty dearly sir!" "perhaps you won't have to sell it at all--if the something happens that i expect." "what do you expect, sir, may i ask?" "just something," and smoothbore smiled again. after a pause he continued, "by all the laws of military and political science the british empire should have been wrecked ages ago. but something always has happened. to arrest the leaders of this conspiracy would, i am sure, be an error. it would precipitate matters, and undoubtedly cause bloodshed. you must remember it is not with redskins we are dealing. many of these fellows who are arraying themselves against us are excellent shots, accustomed to rough life, and in every way calculated to make good fighters in such a country as this. if they really take up arms against us, there is nothing to do but fight--fight to the death, sell our lives as dearly as possible, as you say. if they have no intention of taking up arms--and it is not yet certain that they will--we can suffer no harm by inaction." "we might buy the leaders." "a man who would sell himself and his friends would not stay bought; and, somehow, i do not feel that the integrity of the british empire should be maintained by purchasing her enemies." "but then there are our lives!" "our lives don't figure in this proposition," and once again smoothbore smiled. herbert felt his chief was trifling with him and with the situation, so he rose from his chair, walked to the window, and looked out upon the quadrangle. this movement hid the flush of annoyance that had come over his face. he made an excuse, and found his way out of the office. "if only i were in command here," he thought, "i'd clap these fellows on the wood-pile, and then----" after that point no well-defined line of action suggested itself to him. meanwhile, smoothbore continued writing his report to ottawa, telling of his suspicions, and explaining his action, or want of action. he intended to hold back the communication until the last moment--until he was satisfied that "something would not turn up," which would certainly be close to the crisis. then he would confide it to a trusty scout and send to the "outside." while he was writing his mind constantly played with the facts of his own position. it pleased him to compare it with that of gordon in khartoum; with these differences, that, for him, assistance was out of the question, and his enemies were not fanatical and were christian. his would be a soldier's death, if "something did not turn up." chapter xxx on the scent after being snubbed by his sergeant constable hope lost heart--for a little while; but on the sunday he was again working assiduously, with little luck. accident and caution caused berwick to keep out of the way of the determined policeman. suddenly the idea of looking further into the possible connection of five ace dan with the conspirators occurred to hope. so on the day following his sunday of ill-success he posted himself near the prisoners. he could distinguish the person of five ace dan, and watched closely for any sign made to a possible confederate, but without result. this was disappointing, for brooding during the night on what long shorty had said, he brought himself to believe he was close to an important clue. as his inspection of five ace dan brought no help to him he felt again discouraged, and became sullen and brooding. then his interest awoke again, for long shorty had appeared upon the scene. the constable was about to rise to his feet and abandon the enterprise when he saw the new-comer. he hid himself again immediately. he watched long shorty take a piece of paper out of his pocket and write. the man laboured hard over the missive; he was evidently no fluent scribe. the paper, after being finished and carefully read through, was rolled into a ball. at last, at stroke of noon, the prisoners filed back to the barracks. long shorty at once strolled over, with careful casualness, to the scene of their labours, and, as before, dropped the paper beside the handle of the five ace's shovel. at once he went eager as a bird to dawson. when the coast was quite clear hope came from his cover and annexed the letter. the policeman's spirits were very cock-a-whoop. "the eagle is very fond of yellow-legs," he read in the awful scrawl, "and in two days' time a great many eagles will gather together about the summit of the big mountain, where they may watch the yellow-legs; and if the yellow-legs don't come and make peace within two days, then at the end of one more day the eagles will descend upon the yellow-legs and make a meal of them. any little dicky-birds found among the yellow-legs may go the same way, unless they make a move for liberty. the eagle loves liberty." constable hope pondered over these words, and after copying them into his notebook replaced the original where he had found it. he then made his way to his sergeant and the mid-day meal. no sooner, however, had he come to galbraith than he changed his mind. he would carry his news to the commandant himself, and not waste it on this discouraging minor light. "you're somewhat glum. seen a ghost?" asked the sergeant. "no, sergeant, no!" "been drinking the wrong kind of hootch, i guess!" "no, sergeant, no!" the first thing hope did after lunch was to search the cell occupied by five ace dan. there he found, stuffed between the logs which comprised one wall of the cell, the first missive written by long shorty. he searched but could discover nothing else, but that would do. off he went to the commandant. "i have discovered something, sir, which i have thought sufficiently important to bring direct to you." "what is it?" "one of the men i am watching is communicating with a prisoner--five ace dan. i heard him mention the name on the dome, on saturday. to-day i followed up the clue and intercepted a note." constable hope took out his notebook. he was a bit nervous and excited. he knew he was running a risk by not reporting, according to regulations, by way of the sergeant. smoothbore was eyeing him intently. constable hope handed the letter found in the cell, and his notebook containing the copy of the missive left that morning, to the commandant, who read them with stern eyes. "you think these are not the idle words of some partially demented prospector?" "i do not, sir. the big yankee has nothing about him to indicate he has lost his wits." "so you think this is right, that there will be a massing of forces about the dome on wednesday?" "i do, sir." "and if there is a display of force on wednesday, an attack will be made on friday?" "on saturday, sir." "on saturday; then if we see a massing of forces on wednesday we may expect trouble by saturday?" "that is my idea, sir." "what have you done with the original of the note you found to-day?" "put it where i found it, sir." "and what do you intend doing with the one you found in the prisoner's cell?" "i had thought to replace it, sir." "very good; we can see if to-day's note is hidden in the same place to-morrow." constable hope was a proud man as he strode along the bank of the yukon to the town. he had ventured much, and won. visions of himself holding a commission passed through his mind. the possibility seemed more tangible now. whom should he meet but the sergeant? "well, young fellow, been hunting for more noiseless reports?" "i've been keeping my eyes open." "seen anything?" "nothing much to trouble you with, sergeant." "well, i've seen something i couldn't help but see. a stampede seems to have set in to the top of the dome. scores of fellows have been climbing up there, packs on their backs. you had better join the crowd." "not a bad idea." in fifteen minutes constable hope had reached the town station, and made a roll of some blankets, in which he stowed several tins of bully beef and some biscuits. he was just setting out when his sergeant arrived. "are not you going to take a rifle?" "i hadn't thought of doing so." "you'd better: all the others have rifles." "you didn't tell me." "then i tell you now. no--not the police rifle," as hope picked up a carbine. "take this sporting rifle. don't let 'em see you are a policeman, and use your wits!" hope strapped on his bundle--it weighed full sixty pounds--and with a "good-bye, kid," from his sergeant was off. he made a detour far up the klondike to gain a more gradual ascent, and on the way did a powerful lot of thinking. the fact that many men were climbing the dome was some foundation for the idea that a gathering was to take place there on wednesday. he sat down to rest on the flat, or, as it was called in the diggings, bench, half-way up the klondike bluffs. there was ample time, for it was still the season of perpetual light; and if he awaited some other pilgrim would certainly come along, from whom he might find out something. sure enough a recruit to the forces of the rebellion came into sight before five minutes had passed. the man was heavily laden and struggling up the steep ascent. he clawed at the brush in his efforts to pull himself up; and when finally he succeeded flung himself down by the side of the policeman, his face streaming with perspiration. "a fellow will need a fat job when things get righted to pay for this!" "he sure will," said hope. "i'm looking for a job collecting gold-dust." "but there won't be any royalty then." "that's right; that's right," and a thoughtful look came into the man's eye. "i was promised a job--i wonder what kind of a job i can get? i really had made up my mind to hold out for a job collecting. it must be an all-fired good job if a fellow reckons on the dust these fellows who hold it now blow in on the girls and wine. one year would be enough for me: i'd save, and quit the country." "are you quite sure you'd save?" "sure thing, i'm sure--at least i think i'm sure." "now don't you think if you were given the job of collecting royalty, that you might feel tempted to go to a restaurant, order a steak with chechacho potatoes,[ ] and buy a bottle of wine to round things off?" [ ] fresh potatoes as distinguished from evaporated potatoes. the man gazed into vacancy a bit, and then looked hope in the eye, and slapped his knee, as he said, "do you know, partner, i think i might--if i get any boodle out of this thing that's coming off, i think i will. beefsteak! beefsteak and onions!--and chechacho potatoes! gosh! what a lay-out of them i could eat right now. beans--beans--bacon and beans--and then beans and bacon! what a hell of a lot a fellow misses in this here country!" "yes, but i'm afraid we will not be able to take our appetites with us." "say! i wonder what john d. rockefeller would give for my appetite and my stomach! say! i bet he'd give a million cold cash. i bet he'd give a million and a half--enough to buy the best claim on eldorado." "perhaps--perhaps; but never mind, there's a good time coming for us." constable hope did not wish the conversation to merge too much upon the abstract. "yes--in one week more--then we will have a chance to do some grafting. and i tell you i can do with some; yes, sir!" "you mean it will be all over in two weeks? as i understand it, there is to be something doing on wednesday." "only a line up, as i understand it; then on friday the boss sends them word to quit, giving them twenty-four hours to make up their minds whether they will go to heaven or down the river." "yes, i guess that's the programme," said the policeman, successfully hiding the satisfaction that made his pulses throb. he felt this was the official plan, as it coincided so well with the terms of the letter now again folded in its place in the cell of five ace dan. had hope been without orders, he would have made an excuse, and posted back to town right away. but his sergeant had told him to masquerade among the rebels; and he must obey orders. so he resumed the upward march with the remark, "well, pard, i guess we had better hit the trail," whereupon the pard, with the accompaniment of numerous oaths and grunts and sighs, struggled to his feet and onward up the hill. chapter xxxi an odious dilemma smoothbore was in possession of the facts constable hope had been able to gather, which were, indeed, very little less than the complete plot. fifteen hundred men were camped in the bushes at the back of the dome, with enough bullets to kill the standing army of the british empire; and he had available a few more than one hundred men! true, they were good men; but so were most of those on the other side. the trouble was that both parties were right. it was for him and his men to subdue this rebellion because it threatened the integrity and honour of the empire. at the same time the "insurrectoes" were demanding simple justice. it was an odious dilemma. in his mind's eye he pictured the vast spaces that stretched between the klondike and the "outside." they could hardly seem farther away from help if the klondike were on the planet mars. well, he would not surrender; it would be better to die. the yukon was sweeping along but a stone's throw from the gate of the barracks; in eight or ten hours its rapid course would carry them into the united states. that might be a resource of security to his men, if they were beaten, but for himself he would fill a grave in that region of eternal frost. it was tuesday evening, the sun was sinking in the north, heaven's vault was finely painted in pink. the abrupt cliff on the west of the yukon threw a deep shadow across the mighty river, whose stately flood had long held sovereignty in that weird land of dreams. the light from the clouds above struggled against the shadows in the river, and was blended with them. it was certainly majestic, magnificent! the commandant, as he walked up and down his office, often paused to gaze upon the familiar scene. a knock on the door caused him to start round. it was herbert. "i came to inquire, sir, for any fresh news on the situation." "the news is, herbert, that we may as well prepare to die a soldier's death. there is to be a display of force to-morrow, and mobilization on friday, when a request to surrender will be sent in. hostilities will open on saturday." "what will be their demands?" "that the police and all government officials quit the country; in other words, 'go down the river.'" "and you will not comply?" "i will not comply." "can nothing be done, sir?" "nothing but to fight to the last drop of blood." "and the ultimate result?" "anyhow, we shall have upheld the prestige of the british uniform." there was a pause. both men were very thoughtful. the commandant then asked, "you remember child?" "yes." "he followed orders. he rode to death, because his orders were to arrest, not to shoot: he did not flinch before the levelled rifle. what he did as an individual the hundred and fifty of us can do." "but we shall shoot!" "we shall! while a cartridge remains and a finger has strength to pull a trigger!" herbert looked glum: he was not a coward, but he thought his chief's policy was all wrong, and he was to give up his life--or die in ignominy. it made him bitter--and then his mind travelled across the great stretch of glacier, mountain, and plain, to his little cottage on the prairie: it was not cowardice that brought the moisture to his eyes! "damn it all, sir, it's hard to die here like a rat in a trap," herbert cried. he did not share his chief's idealism. "promise to force the commissioner to bring some sort of order out of chaos and clear out the gold commissioner's office." smoothbore knew of the cottage and the little girl with golden curls who was all the world to the inspector; so he understood the emotion of the other and felt sympathy. "reform!--a promise of reform at this stage of the game would be no good. the leader of this movement is an idealist, a fanatic, and three-quarters of his followers--luck having been against them--hope to restore their fortunes by the experiment of a new government. the situation is not dissimilar to that in the thirteen colonies at the revolution: a leader of parts, of education, imbued with theories on the rights of man, at the head of a mob thirsting for the lands and jobs of the loyalists! why has alaska a population? because the sheriff back east could not shoot straight.[ ] why had america a population before the revolution? because there were not prisons enough in europe. in fact, the situation in the klondike to-day is much the same as it was in america before the revolution--only perhaps there is more justice on the side of these, our enemies, than there was on the side of the yankees. the government of george iii taxed tea--which was then much more of a luxury than it is to-day: our government taxes the one product of our people." [ ] a common saying in the north. it was a long speech for the commandant, but he knew what he was talking about. herbert sighed. "any special orders, sir?" he asked. "no. the men have been given their new arms, and the situation is pretty well understood among them." "they are in fine fettle, sir, and spirit?" "good! if, as i expect, hostilities open, and things look hopeless, i shall give every man the opportunity of passing out and down the river, and this will include officers--but as for surrender, i won't." herbert, about to make his adieu, turned towards the door, when the chief remarked, "it appears a prisoner, known as five ace dan, has been receiving communications from one of the leaders of the rising. i have given orders that a double guard be put on these men, and special sentries, to see that no word passes among them. you will see that those orders are carried out." "yes, sir; good-night, sir." "good-night, herbert." smoothbore gazed at the river once again. it swung on its majestic course, but the rose tints were gone; only the dark shadows of the hill remained. the hour seemed ominous. chapter xxxii a derelict surgeon-major peel was strongly imbued with the instincts of humanity, but, like many professional men, his business acumen was small. while one or two of his patients were prosperous claim-owners who could afford to pay an ounce and a half of gold-dust per day, there were many who passed into his care who could not pay, and these, the poorly nourished and mentally depressed, were the more susceptible to attacks by the deadly typhoid-bacillus. not that the patients were dishonest--they simply had not the money. what could be done under the circumstances? the delirious victim who was bundled up to the doors of st. george's could not be turned away! obviously it was the duty of the government, reaping enormous revenues from the whisky traffic and the gold royalty, to pay. one day--it was the tuesday before the meeting on the dome--a big hulk of a man joined the patients of the st. george's private hospital. his temperature was ½, and he was delirious. a neighbour had brought him; his name was unknown, his residence was given as the north end. it was long shorty! "poor fellow," remarked the surgeon-major sympathetically, when he had taken his pulse, had slipped the thermometer under his arm, and was watching the gasping figure. "typhoid attacks even the strongest. what a handsome animal he would be if his face showed less dissipation!" "he does not look likely to prove a profitable guest," alice commented. she was the housekeeper of the establishment and found the domestic problems more difficult than her father imagined. "who knows, who knows! he may have property which will turn out a bonanza; think of gold hill--ten english pounds to each shovelful of dirt dug from the bed-rock, and the claim-owners round about were coming to the two swedes who owned the claim to ask them to work for wages!" "yes, father," said alice, "but there's another side to these stories. think of the thousands in and around dawson living on one meal a day; it is always the same in every mining excitement. it is either too much wealth, or nothing at all!" she was evidently thinking of john, remembering his talk of experiences. her father, who, though blind to many of the aspects of life, was a keen observer of his daughter, guessed at the truth. "it is strange we can learn nothing of john," he said. "he must be away on the creeks," she answered wistfully. "i have sent several letters to him through the post; and it can't be that they all would go astray." the girl sighed, and her father busied himself anew with the work of the hospital. "fred is to give this man a cold bath and put him in ward 'c.' i really must see the commissioner--hi-u bill, they call him--and come to some understanding as to indigent patients." for some reason, not apparent on the surface, long shorty made a great impression upon alice. she interested herself in his case, and often sat by his bed. his fever remained high and persistent; he was still delirious. wild things he said. what most interested alice was his continuous references to "parson jack." "parson jack, i knew he was no tenderfoot; a fellow what would mush forty-five miles for a sick pal--parson jack--and then want to mush back again. parson jack, parson jack--he gave poo-bah hell--hell on toast!--parson jack!" and the great muscles would stand out upon his neck and arms as he waved his clenched fists in the air. "parson jack" might mean any one, thought alice. the fever had run about a week of its course when long shorty entered the hospital, so that the disease had another two weeks to run before the crisis would be reached. there was nothing to do but wait patiently for the return of consciousness. in the meantime, her imagination pictured much. she tried, by suggestion, to shape the course of his ravings, but found they were as fleeting and volatile as the changing winds of the heavens. the special services rendered by alice to long shorty did not escape her father's notice. he remarked to her one day, "alice, no one could accuse you of worldliness; you certainly are giving the delirious patient in ward 'c' a full measure of attention!" "do you know, father," she then said frankly, "in some ways he reminds me of john. i don't know how it is; i suppose they have something in common, something may link them together. he is perpetually calling on parson jack." "ha!" snorted her father. "our patient is far from being of the type of berwick!" both of them hurried away to their work. that same evening, hours after the day-staff had ceased their labours, alice was watching beside long shorty, and, notwithstanding its many disagreeable passages, listened to his wild flow of language. he was ever living over again his struggles with the forces of nature, with his fellows, and his own tempestuous passions! "the blue water, the blue water, keep her to the blue!"--her patient was again living a dash through a rapid in a canoe.--"white water means rocks and death--death--death, i say! to the right!"--and he would shout. in those anxious weary hours the girl grew to realize something of the wild, rough life of the frontiersmen. on the morning of the friday when the ultimatum was to be sent to smoothbore, peel returned to the hospital from the town. he was in a condition of excitement, as was every one else in dawson. "alice, that typhoid fellow was talking about parson jack?" "he was," replied alice, opening her eyes with expectancy. "why do you say that?" "because that's the chap who is trying to overthrow the government. our patient may be one of the conspirators." "possibly," said alice, and hastened away. she knew "parson jack" was berwick. intuition told her so. she was absolutely certain of the fact. the news that a plot was brewing had, of course, penetrated the walls of the hospital. now that alice knew john berwick was concerned in it her interest quickened and her anxieties awoke. chapter xxxiii tribute the demonstration of force, as organized by berwick, had taken place according to schedule. the display was plainly seen from the barracks, and its intent generally known throughout the town, wherein it became the one topic of conversation. the dance-halls were but half patronized, the gambling-tables seemed to have lost their popularity on that wednesday night. not that any fear was felt. the men of dawson were generally not of the fearing type. they were thirsty for news; their interest was so stirred that they must let off steam by talking. in the borealis the woman nicknamed roundeyes stood apart. of all the faces present hers alone showed apprehension, for she had a real regard for poo-bah, the prince of grafters, whose domination at last was threatened. suddenly her eyes lit up. a big hulk of a man came stumbling into the place. poo-bah! her face grew white as she ran up and caught his arm. "what--what will they do with you?" she asked. "nothing, i guess." he laughed in a rambling manner. "what do they want me for?" "some fellow you have done up will take a shot at you now there is no danger of the yellow-legs!" until the present crisis the prestige of the police had been so great that the possibility of any one seeking and gratifying personal revenge had never crossed poo-bah's mind. what would happen now? with all his confidence the question asked by the girl would repeat itself. he knew he was not popular. many a man owed the wreck of his fortune to him, and would enjoy a chance of shooting him. his hands clenched for a minute, but he put the thought away. it was the spirit of the voyageur, the custom of the country, to brush aside the disagreeable. the thought of death and of what may come after death was resolutely set aside. "oh, hell! come and have a drink." so he endeavoured to disperse his own and the woman's fears. she was not so easily satisfied. she caught him again by the arm, bowed her head against his shoulder, and sobbed, "oh, my baby! my baby! somebody will blow daylight through you!" poo-bah drew his arm roughly from her with the single word "quit!" and strode towards a curtained recess, roundeyes meekly following. in a minute or two a champagne bottle popped, and there was laughter, expressing the wild spirits of the underworld. meanwhile, on the dome, john berwick paced up and down, a prey to conflicting motives. he was now full in the vortex of civil strife; a few short days and hostilities in all probability would open. he had no doubts now as to the spirit to be shown by the police commandant. on point lookout sat constable hope, with his face towards the upper yukon. to the left he could see the klondike valley; to the right were the police barracks, with dawson beyond them. his back was to the dome. he sat still; a project was in his mind; he was thinking hard. at the same time smoothbore was in his office with hi-u bill, the commissioner, and inspector herbert. sergeant galbraith stood at attention before them. "you have ordered your men to be in readiness to fall back upon the barracks. the orders for additional commissariat are placed with the different companies? the men, i suppose, pretty well understand what is in the wind?" "yes, sir," galbraith answered to every question. "and the men are in good spirits?" "i have told them, sir, you intend to fight." "and how do they seem to take it?" "one of the fellows said he'd go to hell for you, sir." "well, that would seem satisfactory." the commandant smiled grimly. "our best hope is dissension among the rebels, and i have no idea how that may be brought about. that will do, sergeant." after the policeman had left there was silence for some time, which was at last broken by hi-u bill. "i don't fancy they will do anything to me, and as i'm not called upon to fight i'm out of it. i am--and i suppose i may say it in modesty--a bit of a shot; but one has others to consider as well as himself." the commissioner was in the habit of spending his afternoons at target practice, which was not altogether appreciated by those whose business with him was pressing. "i'm afraid you are altogether too modest; you know you're a famous shot." under usual circumstances hi-u bill was quite ready to receive compliments on his shooting, but the present circumstances were extraordinary, and he was undoubtedly perturbed. but the commandant was merciless, for he continued, "of course, i am letting it be understood that i shall welcome all volunteers who desire to lend their aid at the present crisis." "yes, yes; no doubt there will be many who will avail themselves of the opportunity." hi-u bill was not over enthusiastic as he said this. "indeed, i think i could make my friends fairly comfortable under the circumstances." "certainly, quite so. my cabin at the north end is quite comfortable, and so close under the dome that they could not shoot at me unless they came half-way down, in which case they would expose themselves to your fire. capital idea that of yours, securing the long range sporting rifles. i almost feel sorry that i could not be with you here, as well as at my cabin, just to try a shot or two; but you see i think i had better stay outside. i have many friends among the old-timers, and nobody has ever accused me of doing anything serious. i certainly am not rich on ill-gotten gains." hi-u bill rubbed his hands nervously and cast a look at the dome. "of course if you feel"--smoothbore was choosing his words--"there is fear of any of the unsuccessful attributing their failure to you and wreaking vengeance on you i shall be quite happy to give you our protection." "oh, no, no. i prefer to run my chances outside; really i do." herbert, who was distressed equally at the irony of his chief and the determined density of the commissioner, diverted the conversation to another channel. "in case of a siege, sir, there will be the question of water supply." "yes, i have thought of that. we shall have a supply from the river before hostilities break out, and after that a well may be sunk in twenty-four hours; the earth is not frozen here. but then if something turns up----" "something turns up!" ejaculated hi-u bill, almost rising from his seat. "what could turn up? it would take an army eighteen months to get here across country, even by the stikeen route; it will be close upon winter by the time news of this reaches ottawa, and by the earliest time a force could be fitted out the passes would be oceans deep in snow." "i know--there's the luck of the british empire!" there was a quiet smile on smoothbore's lips. "something always has turned up to save the british--except, except in the case of gordon. that was the exception to the rule." there was a sharp knock at the door, and the "come in" was answered by constable hope--his face flushed. he was evidently very excited. the idea--on which for long he had been brooding--had come to maturity! "i have a plan, sir, which will save us, i think. to carry it out i shall require gold, within limits, but the more the better." gold! the commandant should have large quantities, the proceeds of royalty collections. hi-u bill pricked up his ears, bethought him of the fact, and asked directly, "what have you done with all your gold?" "i've had it buried. the plan of the exact spot will reach the authorities if we go under. but forty mile royalty came in to-day and has not yet been buried. how much do you want?" he asked. constable hope's heart gave a great leap as he realized he was going to be trusted. "at least twenty thousand dollars, sir. down river gold will do." "your plan will take that much?" "i shall need that much, sir, but shall return it all, or nearly all." "very good, here it is." with the words the commandant took a bag of gold out of a rough chest and handed it to the policeman. "thank you, sir, i----" "that will do, hope." "very good, sir." with the best salute he was master of the youth left the office. hi-u bill had both eyes wide open, staring at smoothbore. "what the devil----" "that is just a tribute to the gods; i may not bribe our enemies, but the fates----" "a bag of gold you can hardly lift! why, your man will go down the river and stay down. you know the yanks would afford him every protection, seeing that he stole from our government." "he won't steal the gold," replied smoothbore. "he won't! how do you know he won't?" "i know my men!" an unusual thing had happened. for a private to ask his commanding officer for the loan of twenty thousand dollars in gold, for that commanding officer to entrust it to him for some unexpressed purpose was strange--but many strange things happen on the frontier, and this was a time of crisis. chapter xxxiv no surrender berwick's muster had been fifteen hundred strong on the friday at noon. of discipline there was little or none, and berwick knew better than to attempt to enforce any. they had chosen him as their leader, and up to the present had not disputed his authority. his directions were that the men should hold the dome, retire to their camps in the forest to cook their food, but be ever-ready promptly to regain their position. at noon he stood upon a boulder, and read to his followers the summons to surrender he had dispatched to smoothbore. to the present--nine o'clock in the evening--no answer had been received, the summons to surrender was being received with contempt. he felt the responsibility upon him greater than ever; its weight increased as the time for the use of force approached. the twenty-four hours' notice before striking had nearly expired. he loathed the prospect of taking life, and prayed that the police would submit! if only they would see the hopelessness of resistance and send a pacific answer! would that answer never come? as he sat in meditation berwick observed a restlessness among some men who were grouped, talking, gazing down the river. he looked in the same direction, and noticed a column of smoke. then the hulk of a river steamer hove in sight. this visibly affected the men, who began to leave their posts and scramble down the hill to the town. the arrival of a steamer in dawson in the summer of was a matter of moment. an idea came to berwick at the sight of her and the procession of people hurrying to meet her. he would go to the town. everybody there would be keen to attend the docking of the steamer, making it practically certain that his visit to the barracks would not be noticed. so to the barracks he went. "i wish to see the officer commanding," he said to the sentry. "name?" "john berwick." the man gulped, and stared at the visitor. he knocked at the door, and announced, "a man to see you, sir, by name of john berwick." hi-u bill was again in the office, had just read the ultimatum, the discussion of which had been interrupted by the entrance of the man. he opened his eyes wide at the mention of the rebel's name. "show him in!" had the usual happy accident come to pass? flashed through smoothbore's mind as he gazed with eyes of curiosity at the pseudo-president of the klondike free state that was to be. berwick entered, and stood facing the two chief executive officers of the government. he at once picked out the police commandant, and returned his gaze without flinching. "what can i do for you?" he was asked. "i've come in the hopes of saving life. i have come to plead with you to comply with our request and surrender to our forces." smoothbore was struck by the transparent candour of the man and his quixotism. "british garrisons are not in the habit of surrendering at the call of rebels," he answered stiffly. the word "rebel" roused berwick. it stung. "i do not come to you from any cowardice, or through fear of death, or defeat. i come in the spirit of humanity." "a very worthy mission! then why not disband your forces?" berwick brushed the suggestion aside. "i have ten men for every one of yours, and my position commands these buildings. my men are in earnest, and there is justice in our cause, even to warrant the shedding of blood. this you must recognize." "i recognize nothing but that i am here to uphold the law of the land." "you must know--you must recognize--that great dishonesty exists within the civil service, and that we have met to protest and put an end to it!" "officially, i know nothing of that. it is my duty to maintain the union jack flying in the land." "we can fire your buildings----" "you may be able to fire our buildings; you may be able to kill us all; and then you may lower the flag. i tell you i intend to sink with my ship. when you have burned us out, those men of mine--who wish to--may take to the river. that is all. you have my answer." berwick's eyes filled; a lump was in his throat. he gulped, and with a husky "good-evening!" staggered into the open. he bent his head that the sentry might not see his emotion, and so gained the street by the yukon's bank. "he does not look much like a traitor," remarked hi-u bill. "he is a man of evident ability. i fancy in england, in other days, he would have been a whig. he has too little philosophy, or too much. well, commissioner," he said to hi-u bill, "are you going to stay with me, or run your chances in the town?" "me! i really think i'd better stay in my cabin. you see i am really not in this, and there are a lot of papers and records i had better bury somewhere." on leaving the barracks berwick had been in somewhat of a daze. he was still in that condition when he found himself at the dock. the steamer _susan_ was tying to the wharf; the swift current had made docking difficult, so that he was in time to witness the landing of the passengers. the crowd on the steamer was much as he had expected; but there was one man coming down the gang-plank who attracted his attention, and that of the onlookers generally; his hair fell to his shoulders; he had a great beard; his clothes were covered with grease, and he was very dirty. he had a small pack strapped to his back; it was a very small pack--not much larger than a turnip; yet the figure that carried it bent under the load. chapter xxxv the man with the pouch there were no signs of hesitancy in the movements of the man with the small round burden. he entered the borealis, advanced to the bar, upon which he threw down the sack. "pass along your poison," said he to the bartender. "what will it be?" "what will it be! why wine, what else would it be? pass along a bottle." "large or small?" "large or small! why large, of course! say, son, what do you take me for?" the bottle of wine was opened, and the new-comer quenched a willing thirst. he then turned to the crowd that had by this time clustered round him. "come on and have a drink, boys," he said, waving the bottle. "belly-up to this good american timber." he jumped upon the bar and drank again. "wine, wine! give them wine, feed the nectar of the gods to the swine! make 'em happy for once." notwithstanding the manner of the invitation, the crowd responded, and soon the two bartenders were busy. "stack the empties there so i can see and count 'em; thirty dollars per," and the host pointed to a shelf against the wall. "where did you get it?" shouted one of his guests. he made no reply, but continued his tirade. "oh, you malamoots, you coyotes! you swine, descended of jackals! drink, damn you, drink--you who live in this neck of the woods, and lie down and are robbed! no self-respecting jackal would own you for his sons. you who call yourselves citizens of the great and glorious united states! you're here rottin' in your cabins, the manhood squashed out of you by the yellow-legs. say! throw the booze into you, and then tell me what i can call you to let you know how low down i think you." "say! partner," called another, "cut out all that and tell us where you got the swag." "you sundowners and larrikins! do you not remember hanson's reward? why don't you get in and dig?" "blow that, and tell us what's what--straight wire." kalgoorlie charlie also was feeling the effect of the liquor. the man on the bar began to dance a hornpipe, while the crowd surged excitedly around. the news had spread like wildfire through the dance halls. "some fellow from new diggings was blowing himself!" the borealis soon became crowded. "oh, you lily-livered gelatinous-vertibraed apologies for men!" cried he. "what do you take me for? me to go off into the bush for months and rustle new diggings, and then tell a lot of perambulating carrion like you where i struck it! drink, and be damned to you! i don't care for a little gold. i wouldn't mind letting you have a claim next to mine; the claim i have will produce enough gold to make the bank of england look like the baby's savings-account! do you think i would show a bunch of weary willies like you where a month's work would make you all millionaires? come, have another drink, and get wise." the speaker again put the mouth of his bottle to his lips; but a keen observer would have noticed that his throat gave no movement to indicate that the wine was passing to his stomach. this was noticed by berwick alone, who had followed the man with the big poke, but had stood just inside the doorway. berwick guessed he was acting a part, and wondered why. he watched. there was a confused buzz of conversation. "he must have struck the real stuff," remarked one. "he sure has the goods," agreed another. "this will make a hole in his poke," said a third. "if what he says is anything near right, this ain't a pinch of snuff," was the comment of a fourth. the man dancing on the bar stood waving his bottle, looking at the crowd with a stupid stare, evidently awaiting inspiration, when a voice cried, "say! old cock, won't you let us have the news? we'll protect you in discovery." "oh, you north american chinamen, called canadians, do you know what i think of you? you english, you ain't no better than the others; do you all know what i think of you?" "you've told us straight enough--there's lot's of colour in your bouquets; now tell us which way the new diggings is." "there ain't no yellow-legs there." some one shouted, "there won't be any yellow-legs here after to-morrow," but the remark was lost in the general noise. "it's in alaskie--god's country," came a voice from the tumult. "i did not say so." "but it is, it is!" "i don't say it ain't." "it's in god's country--whereabouts?" "that's what i ain't tellin'." there was a clamour of inquiries. the new-comer, still holding his bottle prominently, was the target of eager gaze. "up the porcupine--the tanana, or the koyukuck?" "you must think i'm easy!" he spoke with a leer. "you've made your stake, why not tell us where to make ours? it's a law of the frontier." "so it is among pards. you ain't no pards of mine; i'm just standing you a few drinks out of pity, finding my reward in tellin' you what i think of you." "you've told us what you think of us. now tell us what we want to hear." "quite sure i've expressed myself strong enough?" "quite! oh, quite!"--came from a dozen voices. "well, then, i'll tell you." but he from the newly-found eldorado stopped at the promise, and paused, regarding his audience. a strange silence came over the erstwhile struggling and swaying mass. the building was full, and the crowd extended into the street, where there were hundreds more; and to this great number additions were continually being made. "well, where is it?" "it's on the south fork." the speaker put the bottle to his mouth once more. groans and hisses broke from the crowd. "if you don't tell us after keeping us here we'll string you up on a telegraph-pole." "i did not keep you here: it was the free booze; besides, there ain't no telegraph-poles in dawson." "well--we'll chuck you into the river." "i'll swim out: i'm strong on baths--though perhaps i don't look it! have another drink?" "what we want now is a straight tip--and you had better give it." "it's on the south fork of the north branch." "the north branch of what?" "i ain't tellin'." "by god, you'd better! we ain't going to stand for more foolin'." "you are all what i say you are--the scum of the earth." "all right! we're anything you like: but let us have the news." "it's the south fork of the north branch of the south fork----" "what are you quitting for? why don't you spit it out of you?" "ain't i getting rid of it?" "not fast enough; quick, out with it!" "don't be impatient, sons, patience is a great virtue. it's taken me nigh to fifty years' hard prospecting to make a strike--and you fellows want me to tell you all about it in fifty minutes! how many minutes are there in fifty years?" "you old fool, you'd better quit playing with us." "who wants to play with you?" "you're teasing us; now quit! what river is this where you found the gold?" "well, it's the south fork of the north branch of the south fork of the south branch----" "oh, hell!" interrupted one of the impatient ones. "there now, just when i get going you fellows spoil it all. remember, it took fifty years almost----" "and it will take you fifty years to tell us where you did find it." "no, it won't; it's on the fifty-seven mile river." "the fifty-seven mile river! the south fork of the north branch of the south fork of the north branch of the fifty-seven mile river!" a great shout went up. the fifty-seven mile river emptied into the yukon on the canadian side, but it "headed" in alaska, where the diggings probably were. within two minutes the borealis was practically empty. of the few remaining john berwick was one. he stood with his back to the wall, staring at the man who still stood on the bar, who returned the stare. meanwhile the host had turned to the row of bottles and begun the counting. the number was sixty. "sixty! eighteen hundred dollars, cheap at double the money," said the man, who proceeded to weigh out the cost. that done he stalked out of the saloon and rapidly went his way. there was so much activity and excitement about that his progress to the barracks was uninterrupted. no sooner was he within the gate than he tore off his beard and wig. it was constable hope. berwick had followed him from the saloon and watched him enter the barracks. he now realized all that it meant. a blow had been struck at his organization. he realized that it was too late for any counter-effort. greed of gold had taken possession of the men. a new rush was beginning. what call could reason, loyalty, righteousness make against that? he wandered to the water-front and watched the activity, for within half an hour of the news of the supposed new strike being received boats had begun to shoot out from the river bank, bearing adventurers to the new diggings. chapter xxxvi after the crisis mankind in dawson having muddled its affairs, the gods took a hand in the game. john berwick, as he turned his face homewards early on the following day, happened to take the route that would carry him by the barracks, notwithstanding that it would add a mile to the journey. as he climbed the hog's-back to lookout point he saw the tall military figure of smoothbore in front of him. the commandant, seeing him coming, awaited him. "good-morning. the air is very good." "it is, indeed." after this there was a pause. evidently smoothbore desired to make no reference to the interview of the preceding day. possibly he judged the cause of the reformers to be already lost. if so berwick would give him every opportunity of keeping the conversation from politics: so he continued, "how pure the klondike is and clear, and how beautiful are the shades across the yukon!" "'and only man is vile,'" quoted the commandant. berwick realized that the head of the police was poking fun at him; and not knowing smoothbore very well, concluded that he must know of the new stampede; in fact, he seemed to be watching the dark specks of moving men streaming over the summit of the dome. "do you often walk abroad so early?" john asked. "yes, it is becoming a habit. one requires but little sleep in this climate; i shall soon return, and go to work." "are your labours heavy?" "oh, heavy enough; there are many details." "you have a splendid force, sir." "i have, and they are loyal to me and their country." "loyalty is among the chief of human virtues. but is loyalty in all cases a virtue?" "i consider it so." "your men must find many duties distasteful to them." "duty is often distasteful, but it is never to be mistaken. with me it is very well defined. are you also taking a morning constitutional?" "i am going up to the dome." it would not do for john to let the other know the whereabouts of his abode or to divulge the fact that it was his custom to sleep at night. it was a custom with many in that city of perpetual light to sleep in the normal daytime and work at night. "i'm going the same way. we'll walk together. i wish to spy out the land a bit. we may decide to build a trail to moosehide." the two continued on the winding trail, which was now lined with human habitations, set down without any idea of system. some were cabins, others tents, others still a combination of the two--such, indeed, as was john's "home-ranch." before many of them camp-fires were crackling and burning, and meals were being prepared. the two who were or had been the leaders of the opposing parties passed without attention being paid to them. "ah! there's the danger signal, the result of the first frost, and a sign that summer will soon pass away." john pointed to a willow whose leaves had turned crimson and scarlet. "yes, we shall have winter soon; this weather won't last. but you are in error in supposing that the bright tints in our foliage are due to frost; the mistake is very common. the redness is mere ripeness." they found many topics in common, and mutual interest made the stiff effort less trying as they climbed and climbed. as they approached a point on the trail, half way to the summit, a man was seen coming down, dragging a log by a rope. they stepped aside from the path, which here was on the side hill. berwick, who was outside, happened to place his foot on a loose lump of moss lying on a stone. it moved; his foot slipped; he lost his balance. he struggled on the shelving ground, grabbed at some grass, was tangled in some brush, tore his hands, went down with a crash, being stopped by a sharpened stump of a severed tree-trunk. the point grazed his arm and pierced the body under the shoulder-blade. at once the commandant and the woodman went to his help, but the jar of attempting to raise him brought a cry of pain. it was necessary to cut the tree-stump before he could be assisted to his feet. they had to carry him down the hill, his mind in a half-swoon punctuated with throbs and stabs of pain, until he awoke to consciousness in the st. george's hospital. it seemed more as the remembrance of a dream than of actual occurrence. he was in england. even the voice of alice ... a pungent odour was about him. he heard a buzzing rising rapidly in key, higher--higher--yet higher; higher--higher still; then there was a "click." as john berwick's senses were stolen away by the blessed influence of an anæsthetic his lips framed the word "alice." she heard the name, and was glad. the first words john uttered as the drug left him were incoherent; but gradually they took form. "who's afraid to die? i'm not afraid to die. what's the good of a man's religion if he's afraid to die?" "i know you're not afraid to die," said alice. the only reply she got was, "oh, my head! my head!" "what's the matter with your head?" "oh, my head! it's bursting." "water! water!" continued to be his cry; but alice would feed him with only a drop or two at a time. gradually his ravings grew less pronounced, less frequent. "who are you?" he asked, after gazing for some time with dazed eyes at alice. "you look very like alice peel. alice is in england, and i am--where am i?" "i'm glad i look like alice peel," she said in reply. "she's the only girl--in all the world," he murmured, before his mind again wandered, and he muttered straggling fragments of verses. "alice, alice!" he cried suddenly. "yes," said alice, soothing his head with her cool hand. he recognized her. "alice!" he cried again. she bent over and kissed him. "go to sleep," she said. john did as he was commanded. when he woke two hours later he called for water, and alice gave him some from a cup. "alice, i've been wounded; yes, i remember that--but how did you get here?" "i will tell you to-morrow when you are stronger. you must not excite yourself now." but at six o'clock that evening surgeon-major peel, taking his temperature and finding it normal, gave the necessary permission. so alice told their story. chapter xxxvii oil on troubled waters john berwick's accident was the last touch which caused the uprising to crumble. one more great effort after the ideal of justice had fallen and parted. frank corte was sitting in front of the dominion creek cabin, by the side of a pool of water that had formed since the claims--which rightfully belonged to himself and his three associates--had been taken over by the agents of poo-bah. the policy of the land was to reap to-day and spend to-morrow, so a dam had been put in on the "pup" or tributary of dominion creek that entered above the claims; and already a harvest was in sight. frank had some possessions in the cabin, which he had come to fetch before joining the new stampede. above the cabin was a line of sluice-boxes, into which half-a-dozen lusty scandinavians were shovelling the precious dirt. it was frank's own claim they were working--and he gritted his teeth. for an instant his face lost its habitual grin. "if this was only god's country," he muttered, as he glanced through the open door of the cabin at the rifle hanging on the wall therein. he continued to whirl the gold-pan which he held in his hands. in the pan was a handful of dirt he was idly concentrating. "the boss won't stand for it--and he's a white man." frank smiled again. from the mining operations at the sluice-boxes, voices came to where corte sat. neither the foreman nor his men had realized that their voices were carrying beyond the sound of rushing water. they were shouting that they might hear each other above the roar in the sluices, and were laughing cheerily--for poo-bah was a good paymaster to his men. "one dollar, two dollar, one and six bits"--would float to frank's ears, as the foreman estimated the contents of a pan; and he would inwardly groan as he calculated the wealth that was passing from him into the great grafter's pocket. "i guess we'd better clean up; we can get her down to the black sand by half-past ten and finished an hour later." something rose in frank's throat and almost choked him. the attitude of these intruders galled him. he half jumped up to seize his rifle, when "no," he muttered: "them yellow-legs!" his attention was attracted to the gold-pan. specks of gold were floating upon the water; at the bottom of the pan he noticed an unmistakable grease spot, and, true to its nature, it had secured to its surface several of the tiny yellow grains. grease was alike fatal to the gold-pan and the stamp battery. suddenly his eyes took on a new light: they were full of energy. he glanced towards the working miners, and followed the line of sluices to the artificial pond in the "pup" whence they got their water. "yes, yes!" he muttered, and sprang to his feet. he hurried to the quarters of one of his friends, jerry, the engineer on a neighbouring claim where a steam-plant had been installed. "jerry," said frank, "i want two bottles of lubricating oil." "pretty near all i got." "don't care--must have it." "all right, what do you want it for?" "frying slap-jacks." frank went with his evil-smelling petroleum. "what the devil is he up to!" asked jerry, as the drooping figure hulked out of sight. the weasel that peeped at him through the poles of his cabin floor could not tell him, nor did he know. frank put the oil on the table of his cabin, and then went outside and began chopping wood. it was now the orthodox bed-time, so he must show a good reason for being about. the sun had just set in the north, the quarter it sets in the northland. "shut her off," he heard the foreman cry, and he knew the cleaning was to be commenced. down came the axe on a four-inch stick of spruce with a force that burst it asunder and threw the pieces far apart. no experienced woodman in the ordinary course of events would have used so much force, and frank corte had chopped much wood. the roar of the water diminished, the voices of the clean-up men fell away. he could hear no more, but he knew every move. first, the riffles would be lifted from the sluice-boxes and the dump-box, and the dirt in the sluice-boxes would be shovelled into the dump-box. then a strip of wood, about two inches square, would be placed across the dump-box where it joined the head of the sluices. this would prevent the gold from being washed down the boxes. when these processes were accomplished the foreman shouted "turn on half a head," and ole oleson, at the gate, allowed half the usual flow of water to rush down the flume to the dump-box. had frank watched the impact of the water on the dirt in the dump-box he would, even in the now failing light, have seen a burst of yellow shine out from what had previously appeared dross. as the water reached the dirt the dirt was forced against it by three or four stout paddles, whereby the husky workmen churned and washed the dirt thoroughly. across the dump-box where the water met the pay-dirt stretched a band of gold. first it was half an inch, and then two inches. meanwhile the pebbles and the dross worked their way over the retaining block and bumped ignominiously to the tailings. "it looks good," said the foreman in loud tones. frank heard him then shout to ole, "a quarter of a head." corte, thereupon, threw down his axe. it was time for action. he went into the cabin, and placed the two bottles of oil in a bucket, with which he set out for the dam. it was the most natural thing in the world for a man to draw a bucket of water before retiring: he might want a drink during the night. ole was almost asleep when frank came up to him. he was lounging over the gate. frank greeted him with, "good-evening, partner; you're working late to-night." "dat's so," was all ole had life enough to answer. frank slipped his bucket into the water; the bottle sank against the mud. the hues of iridescence spread across the weird and silent surface. the bottles were safely at the bottom of the pool, and the bucket full of water, as frank turned towards the cabin, saying, "good-night, ole." as he neared his cabin he heard the foreman shout, "shut her half off"; and knew that the work of taking out the black sand from the dust was at hand. he knew that already the small specks of gold were being carried to the lower end of the pool. so he made haste, and, taking a blanket, nailed it at the waste gate of the lower pond, so that the total flood from above went through it: then he turned in. he was awake at four on the next morning, and, proceeding to the lower pond, loosed the blanket, which was heavy with water and gold. then he built a fire in the open, and after it was burning well placed the blanket upon it. when the blanket was totally consumed and the fire burnt down, frank collected the ashes and panned them out. the gold was fine in form and quality, and proved worth some thousands of dollars. "hi-u chickaman stuff," laughed frank. chapter xxxviii reunion frank corte, "mushing" through to dawson from dominion creek, took his time comfortably and arrived on the second evening. he danced till five in the morning, after which, as was natural, he lay down and slept. accordingly it was not until the evening after his arrival that he gave a thought to his three companions, and began to search for them by visiting the borealis, and going the round of the dance-halls and gambling-saloons. he found george and hugh, who were together, but not john. something must surely have happened to him! george bruce had visited his den several times lately; he was not there. at last by inquiry at the police station they learnt that he had hurt himself by falling when climbing to the dome, and had been taken to st. george's private hospital. it was about nine in the evening when the three friends visited him in the ward. "hello, what's wrong now?" frank cried; "better than typhoid anyway." alice rose in indignation at the noise and clatter; but seeing john smile, reseated herself. frank was broadly grinning. "alice, this is frank corte, my good friend, george bruce and hugh spencer, my pards; now you know personally the good fellows i've told you about." alice shook hands with them, and there was a moment of some awkwardness, which frank broke by saying, "here," as he laid a large poke of gold on john's chest. "where did you get it?" asked he. frank took a sly glance at alice--in fact, he had already taken several. she was certainly attractive, and had impressed him. his usual vocabulary was insufficient in the circumstances. he gave a sniff. "i applicationed the principles of childish lore to the exigencies of existence in a land of graft and corruption; i lubricated the wheels of the flow of justice and distracted this here gold-dust from poo-bah." "who?" inquired alice, frankly laughing. "poo-bah--he's the high mucky-muck round here, sort of 'man friday' to the octopus who's got his tentacles round these here environs." "how did you get the dust?" asked john again, as with critical eyes he estimated the value of the contents of the poke. "well, i was sitting in front of our cabin on the claims with my brain working and my eyes on the 'quivi-vivi,' as them frenchers would say, and i was ebolluting hot, and then i thought of grease! so i gets some lubricating oil, and then nature does the rest; of course i was the instrument whereby the oil was placed in the sluices." john grasped frank's meaning and method. it flashed upon him at the mention of the lubricating oil. "what do you mean to do with this gold?" berwick asked. "you are going to keep it." "oh, no, i can't do that; why give it to me? why to me more than to hugh?" "oh, he can get more. he's coming with me to god's country." "where?" asked alice, more than ever bewildered. "to god's country--the new strike down in alaska; there'll be no poo-bah there, and plenty of shot-gun justice." "but there's george's interest." "george! oh, he will put his up with ours o.k., i guess." here frank again looked at alice. "i guess you'll be needing that stuff if parsons charge like other folks do!" john smiled at this, and alice blushed. leaving the friends together, for she knew they would wish to talk, she went from the room. "no, no, frank, it won't do." then, seeing that corte looked troubled, he added, "i'll take a quarter if you like; you've proved yourself a comrade. but what's this about the new strike?" "big gold excitement--richer than bonanza and eldorado, and, best of all, in god's country; you'll be coming?" "i--no, you must remember my work. are you for giving up our enterprise to get justice done here and in other goldfields?" "sure thing, me and hugh, in fact, everything that don't wear hobbles is going." "and leave all this wrong unrighted?" "sure thing; this ain't my country. i'm going where things can be made right overnight, and there ain't no yellow-legs." "and you, hugh, are you going to alaska?" "yes, i think so; you see the chances of getting in on a new strike seem good--and--well, our great show has melted right away. it was a fine effort, but it failed. i don't mind running chances--in fact, i'm used to it; and, after all, that's all poo-bah and his chums know, is grafting. let them keep their dirty money." "it's a pity, a pity." john was thoughtful for a time. they were looking at him. "i don't know what i shall do if you and frank desert me," sighed john. "get married and settle down," frank said bluntly. "you'll do all right," interposed hugh, "you and george got record for two claims on the left limit of bonanza working out your quartz proposition right against discovery. well, this is chechacho hill, now reckoned amongst the richest ground in all the klondike. you and george don't need to worry about poo-bah and dominion creek hillsides, nor your daily bread, no more. i thought i would not tell george the news till i caught you two together. frank and i will try our chances again, and george can stay here and watch you 'live happy ever afterwards.'" john frowned; his mind reverted to his "mission." he believed that his duty was to the great portion of the klondike's population whom poo-bah and the system of grafters had wronged. he refused even yet to recognize the game was up. "our people----" he began. "our people are mostly down the river striking for god's country, where there ain't no yellow-legs, and a shot-gun holds down your claim!" "frank is right," interposed hugh, "our whole big following has gone." john knew this to be only too true. alas! alas! the fickleness of man. "just like the siwash, si-ya creeks, hi-u chickaman, we're all much alike, yes--yes, except some"--and frank glanced at alice, who then entered the room with refreshment for the visitors. "frank says that far-away creeks appear to hold much gold," john translated for the benefit of alice. "well, you're all right with your gold on chechacho hill," said hugh. "i might have known it was there if i had only thought." "why?" asked bruce. "because of carmack finding gold on top of twenty feet of muck. i might have known that the gold slid down the hill. it wasn't creek gold bonanza was discovered on--no, sir, it was hillside. and that accounts for its being above the muck there and nowhere else. if a fellow could only think right before he knows!" "we'll try and know right down in god's country, boss. hugh and i must be going now. george won't be going with us; he has his claim in this yellow-leg country." in the way of the goldfields, they proceeded at once to say good-bye. corte and spencer took their shares of the gold frank had brought from dominion creek, and went, carrying all manner of wishes for good from those they were leaving behind. chapter xxxix retrospection constable hope had been attracted by john berwick, and meant to see more of him. so that when he met him one day with his arm in a sling he showed himself friendly. smoothbore's trooper was a youth of ideas--a good type of the fine force. though he was still but twenty-four years of age his life had so often been in danger that he had courage and character far beyond his years. as the incident which broke down the conspiracy had proved, he was an adventurer at heart, with more than usual brilliance and spirit. he would ride into a band of yelling drunken savages and get his man without showing a gun, and time and again had solved difficulties through sheer daring, cleverness, and shrewd knowledge of men. he played the game for love of the game. money, by way of graft, he did not deem any reward. john berwick had interested him. he felt that they held interests in common, so when they met he addressed him. he was not in uniform, and berwick had no idea he belonged to the police. he followed john into one of the gambling-halls, whither john had gone in search of any of his old-time colleagues who might not have joined the stampede. as, standing beside each other, they watched the play at a black jack table, a burly swede lounged up, and from his hip pocket drew out a bag of dust, which he laid on the table in line with the wagers of the other players. the sack held about three thousand dollars-worth of gold. the dealer dealt each man a card, slipping it under his wager, and then dealt another round. the different players, starting with the one on the dealer's left, after looking at what they had drawn, either tapped their cards if they wished another card or placed their hand beneath their wager if they were content to "stand." when it came to the scandinavian's turn he stood stupidly looking at his gold. "well--what do you intend to do?" asked the dealer. "have i got to leave that gold there?" "no, you can take it up if you want to," replied the other. the swede hesitated, then picked up his gold and walked away, while the dealer idly turned over the cards, at sight of which even the stoic dawson audience grew noisy with comments. the cards turned up were an ace and a king--black jack, a winning hand against all others. "that's what a fellow gets whose nerve fails him," remarked constable hope. "yes, but perhaps it is not always better to win." constable hope glanced shrewdly at john. he followed up the thought with a searching remark. "i wonder if it would have been better if the miners had won against the officials." "i wonder!" the remark was not encouraging. "i heard you make your speech at the finish of the dominion creek stampede," hope persisted in saying; "there does not seem to be much agitation in these days." "no, the discontented, or rather the wronged, have gone down the river, preferring the chances of a new field to securing justice here. those who have property are afraid to speak. a goldfield is not a place where principle flourishes." "you're not like the swede; you didn't lose your nerve," said hope. berwick made no reply. "did you ever see a good man lose his nerve?" the policeman asked. "no." "well, i have. once i was in the mountains down below with a buck policeman, a scotch-canadian from back east, and as good a trooper as ever sat a horse. got lost in a blizzard on the prairies later on, and they never found him till spring--the coyotes had not left much of him. well, chisholm and i went hunting one day, and, travelling along, came to a box canyon. we decided to try and cross it; it was a couple of hundred feet deep, and we started, chisholm going first. i let him down, he holding my hands with one of his, while with the other he grabbed a bush. no sooner had he put his foot on the ledge we figured on getting down to than he found it soft and yielding. for some reason he dropped my hand and grabbed at a tuft of moss and hung there. then his footing went further down, which drew his chest tight against the wall of the canyon. i threw myself on my stomach and grabbed him by the collar and said, 'jump.' his eyes glistened, and he appeared not to hear me. then i looked over the edge and saw that the ledge he had been standing on had given way entirely, and that he was suspended by his arms alone. he would not speak; he would not move. the wild light in his eyes faded a bit, but there he hung, to all appearance dead. had i not had a lariat with me i should have been powerless. as it was, i got a slip-knot around his feet, and so up under his arms, and this i made fast to a tree. then i laughed at him. it is a wonderful light, that which comes into men's eyes at the fear of death. i have only seen it once again--in the eyes of a mother travelling on a river steamer who thought her child had fallen overboard. losing your nerve is dangerous." when their drink and hope's story were finished they walked out in the street, where they met smoothbore. as they passed him john nodded, and his companion brought his hand half way to the salute and then lowered it. hope had given himself away; the other saw he was a policeman. "you know smoothbore?" hope asked. "i have spoken to him." hope did not reply for a moment, after which he continued, "there's a man who never loses his nerve." it was the highest tribute hope could pay. "did you ever hear of paper-collar johnnie?" "no," said john. "paper-collar was an officer down below, and he and smoothbore were pals. they were out to a banquet one night and returning home late--in fact dawn was breaking over the prairie, cold and misty, when they reached the ford of the river outside their post. it had been raining hard, the stream had risen, and the driver drew up before the ford and said, 'the river seems pretty bad, sir.' 'hold on,' said paper-collar, 'this won't do; mustn't try and cross that ford if the river is in flood.' 'driver, halt,' ordered smoothbore, 'my companion wishes to alight; get down, sir.' paper-collar stepped down on the prairie. 'now, driver, the ford.'" "and he took it all right?" "yes, sir; and hours afterwards a patrol from the fort picked up poor paper-collar." "what would smoothbore have done had the miners risen after the dominion creek stampede?" berwick ventured to ask. "he'd have fought, and the police would have stood by him. he'd have used his nerve." "i learn there is a 'nordenfelt' and a maxim in the passes. if the miners had got them down here and hauled them to the top of the dome they would have made things hot in the barracks." "well, maxim or no maxim, smoothbore would have fought. neither he nor any of the police do any grafting; but we should have fought." "perhaps it is as well the alaska stampede began," said berwick musingly. "it was very much better," said hope decisively. so they parted, and berwick felt the last word had been said about his bid for miners' justice. chapter xl the happy ending when, the next day, alice accompanied john and george bruce in a first visit to their claims on chechacho hill, they saw that the signal thrown out by the first red tints of the maples and the willows--which told of summer ending and the dreary months of winter beginning--was shown. the sun was shining brightly, but already it seemed robbed of some of its heat. alice had often pictured life at the diggings. she had read numbers of mining-camp stories, with scenes laid in america and australia, yet had gained little insight to the realities. she gloried in the experience, and was eager to urge them on. "hurry! hurry!" but john exhorted her to stay her speed, for the distance they had to go was twenty-four miles, and the trail--though many of the mud-holes had dried--was rough. she looked at the men she met, hunting for the type of her fancy, the type engendered by novel and tale. no one seemed armed, save occasionally with a rifle or a shot-gun; but the wild man with the brace of pistols, bandolier, huge moustache and homicidal aspect did not present himself! they crossed the klondike by poo-bah's ferry. once in bonanza valley alice felt she had left the civilized world behind her, and was entering the enchanted regions of nature. to her, in her happy illusions, it was fairy-land. few women had preceded her over the bonanza trail, so that men, "mushing," who passed their fellows with lowered head, openly stared at her; and many of these lonely wayfarers would have been glad of a word from her, to hear again the sweet soft accents of the better world outside. for to the men of the frontier the idea of home is very refined and dear, and women ever virtuous and tender, so that the appearance of alice peel, on the bonanza trail upon that glorious day, was to them as a beautiful picture and an uplifting influence. one grizzled miner hurried out, holding a gold-pan full of nuggets, dust, and black sand. "put your hand into it, lady, and see what it feels like." alice did so, and thought it felt like any other sand, only heavier. he then selected a nugget--worth quite a sovereign--from the pan and gave it to her. "why did you give me this?" "because you are a lady." alice looked perplexed. "keep it as a souvenir," said john, so she thanked the man and slipped the nugget inside her glove. but that was not to be the limit of their host's hospitality, for, as they turned to go, he said, "it's just about noon, and if you've walked from dawson the lady must be near petered. better stay and have dinner." "we thought of dining at the road-house at discovery," said george. "we have some ground on chechacho hill." "i can give you a better feed here: moose-meat, either steak or nose, whichever you fancy. you see, lady, in the old days this was a sort of a pet locality for moose, so they stray in once in a while yet, and sometimes they don't get a chance to get away again." the sound of a horn came from a tent close by. the signal was answered by a general throwing down of tools, and the half-dozen men at work made their way towards the tent. they all washed in a couple of tin basins, and dried themselves on a filthy towel. alice and her companions were ushered into the dining-tent, where, john's quick eyes noticed, extra places had been set. alice was asked to sit at the head of the table, in the owner's place: john and george were seated at her right, and the owner--wild horse bill--on the left. the men were already hard at work, consuming their food--moose-steak, pork and beans, and great pieces of bread. as they sat down the cook placed on the table a large tin platter, in which was a piece of meat of indescribable colour and shape. "this is moose nose, lady, the best part of the animal, and along with the beaver tail and wild-cat makes the finest eating in the northland." "wild-cat!" alice exclaimed. she had indeed read of the tail of canada's mascot being a frontier dainty, but moose nose, and especially wild-cat, were new, and did not sound altogether attractive articles of diet. "yes, lady, the lynx, or wild-cat, is the best eating the trapper knows in the northland. you would think you were eating chicken. as for moose nose and beaver tail, one is much like the other." the owner pushed the platter containing the strange dainty towards alice, with the words, "help yourself, lady." alice was game; and, without showing her disinclination, she took up the knife and fork and cut off a piece of the blubberous meat, and put it on her plate. after they had walked about a mile and a half beyond the claim where they had lunched they stood beneath chechacho hill at the north-east, a quarter of a mile down-stream from where carmack had made his discovery; and john pointed to where their claims were situate. men were at work, "rocking" gold on the next claim to john's. when they reached their claims alice looked across the valley, noting the great stretches of poplar and birch, golden-yellow in their autumn tints, and smiled at the beauty of it--till out of the chilled atmosphere somewhere came the whisper, "make haste and provide." "i should like to live here always," whispered alice to john, while bruce went to talk with the men working on the claim alongside. "always is a long time, and every day will not be as beautiful as this; but for a year or two----" "yes, for a year or two." and so it was decided. * * * * * they were married in the little church by the side of the slough in dawson. printed by hazell, watson and viney, ld., london and aylesbury, england. +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | transcriber's note:-- | | | | punctuation errors have been corrected. | | | | the following suspected printer's errors have been addressed.| | | | page . jaques changed to jacques. | | (of the melancholy jacques). | | | | page . or changed to of. | | (the wheels of the flow of justice). | | | | page . of changed to and. | | (the maples and the willows). | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ transcriber's note there are numerous photographs included in this text. each is indicated using captions as [illustration: description.]. italic text is shown using underscore delimiters as _italic_. there is a single instance of the 'oe' ligature, which is here given as 'oe'. spelling is generally retained, with several exceptions which appear to be printer's errors. details may be found in an end note following this text. hyphenation can be variable and is retained as found. where the sole instance of a hyphenated word occurs on a line break, modern usage is followed. there is a single footnote, a gloss on the title of the fifth letter, which has been left near the beginning of that letter. [illustration: the author and his wife upon the trail.] in to the yukon by william seymour edwards with many illustrations and maps second edition cincinnati the robert clarke company copyright, , by william seymour edwards published november, reprinted june press of the robert clarke company cincinnati, u. s. a. dedication. to the comrade whose charming companionship added so greatly to the delights of my two months' outing, this little volume is affectionately dedicated. the author. preface. these letters were not written for publication originally. they were written for the home circle and the few friends who might care to read them. they are the brief narrative of daily journeyings and experiences during a very delightful two months of travel into the far north and along the pacific slope of our continent. some of the letters were afterwards published in the daily press. they are now put into this little book and a few of the kodak snapshots taken are given in half-tone prints. we were greeted with much friendliness along the way and were the recipients of many courtesies. none showed us greater attention than the able and considerate officials of the pacific coast s. s. co., the alaska s. s. co. and the white pass and yukon railway co., including mr. kekewich, managing director of the london board, and mr. newell, vice-president of the company. at atlin and dawson we met and made many friends, and we would here reiterate to them, one and all, our warm appreciation of their hospitalities. william seymour edwards. charleston-kanawha, west virginia, august, . contents page. i. the great lakes. cleveland to detroit ii. st. paul, winnipeg and banff; the wheat lands of the far northwest iii. banff to vancouver across the rockies and selkirks iv. vancouver and skagway; fjords and forests v. skagway, caribou crossing and atlin vi. the great llewellyn or taku glacier vii. voyaging down the mighty yukon viii. dawson and the golden klondike ix. men of the klondike x. dog lore of the north xi. how the government searches for gold xii. seattle, the future mistress of the trade and commerce of the north xiii. the valley of the willamette xiv. san francisco xv. los angeles xvi. san francisco and salt lake city xvii. a broncho-busting match xviii. colorado and denver xix. across nebraska xx. along iowa and into missouri to st. louis index illustrations page. the author and his wife upon the trail _frontispiece_. the waterside, cleveland entrance st. clair canal white bear lake, st. paul down the silver bow--banff a reach of the fraser river big douglas fir--vancouver park victoria, b. c.--the harbor leaving vancouver awaiting cargo--vancouver, b. c. totem poles at ketchikan glaciers on frederick sound approaching fort wrangel the pier--fort wrangel the pier--skagway lynn canal from the summit of white pass looking down white pass the summit--white pass railway train--skagway the international boundary early september snow, caribou crossing caribou crossing a vista on lake marsh woodland along lake marsh on the trail at caribou view near caribou crossing the taku river lake atlin dogs, atlin atlin baggage express atlin city waterworks government mail crossing lake atlin miner's cabin on spruce creek, atlin gold diggings finding "color," a good strike, otter creek, b. c. sluicing for gold, otter creek, b. c. an atlin gold digger bishop and mrs. bompas great llewellyn or taku glacier fishing for grayling, white horse rapids moonlight on lake le barge lake bennett, from our car a yukon sunset the upper yukon a yukon coal mine five finger rapids on the yukon coming up the yukon the "sarah" arriving at dawson, , miles up from st. michael's the levee, dawson--our steamer dawson city, the yukon--looking down dawson and mouth of klondike river, looking up second avenue, dawson dawson--view down the yukon the cecil--the first hotel in dawson a private carriage, dawson dog corral--the fastest team in dawson a potato patch at dawson first agricultural fair held at dawson, september, daily stage on bonanza discovery claim on bonanza of the klondike looking up the klondike river the author at white horse rapids "mes enfants," malamute pups a klondike cabin on the yukon floating down the yukon approaching seattle with and without malamute team of government mail carrier, dawson breaking of the yukon--may , sun dogs winter landscape lake bennett the height of land, white pass mt. ranier or tacoma along the columbia river a big redwood italian fishing craft at santa cruz approaching san francisco the franciscan garden--santa barbara our franciscan guide the sea--santa barbara (two views) marengo avenue, pasadena street view, los angeles the sagebrush and alkali desert the mormon temple the mormon tithing house the mormon "lion house" great salt lake nuckolds putting on the hoodwink nuckolds, "the broncho busted" grimsby and the judges bunn, making rope bridle arizona moore up arizona moore the crowd at the broncho-busting match the dun-colored devil on the great kanawha our kanawha garden map of route in the united states map of upper yukon basin in to the yukon first letter. the great lakes, cleveland to detroit. steamer northwest, on lake superior, } august , . } we reached cleveland just in time to catch the big liner, which cast off her cables almost as soon as we were aboard. a vessel of , tons, a regular sea ship. the boat was packed with well-dressed people, out for a vacation trip, most of them. by and by we began to pass islands, and about p. m. turned into a broad channel between sedgy banks--the detroit river. many craft we passed and more overtook, for we were the fastest thing on the lakes as well as the biggest. toward p. m., the tall chimneys of the huge salt works and the church spires of the city of detroit began to come into view. a superb water front, several miles long, and great warehouses and substantial buildings of brick and stone, fit for a vast commerce. the sail up the detroit river, through lake st. clair, and then up the st. clair river to lake huron, was as lovely a water trip as any i have made. the superb park "belle isle," the pride of detroit; the many, very many, villas and cottages all along the water-side, hundreds of them; everywhere boats, skiffs, launches, naphtha and steam, all filled with sunday pleasure excursionists, the many great pleasure excursion steamers loaded down with passengers, gave a life and liveliness to the water views that astonished and pleased us. the lake st. clair is about twenty miles across, apparently broader than it is, for the reason that its sedgy margins are so wide that the trees and higher land further back seem the real border of the lake. what is called the "st. clair flats" are the wide, low-lying lands on each side of the long reaches of the st. clair river. twenty miles of cottages, hotels, club-houses, are strung along the water-side, each with its little pier and its boats. towards dark--eight o'clock--we came to sarnia and port huron, and pointed out into the great lake, second in depth to superior--larger than any but superior--a bit of geography i had quite forgotten. at dawn on monday, we were skirting the high-wooded southern shore, and by a. m. sighted the fir-clad heights of mackinac where lake michigan comes in. here is a beautiful protected bay, where is a big hotel, and the good people of chicago come to forget the summer heats. after half an hour, we turned again and toward the north, in a half circle, and by p. m. were amidst islands and in a narrow channel, the st. mary's river. [illustration: the waterside, cleveland.] [illustration: entrance st. clair canal.] huron is a deep blue like superior, and unlike the green of shallow erie. the channel toward the soo is very tortuous--many windings and sharp turns, marked by buoys and multitudinous beacon lights. all along we had passed great numbers of steamships and barges--ore carriers, but nowhere saw a large sailing craft, only a sail boat here and there. this entire extensive traffic is a steam traffic, and though we see many boats, they are black and sombre, and burdened with coal and ore. it was late, nearly seven o'clock, when we steamed slowly into the lock basin at the soo. high fir-clad hills on either hand; a multitude of channels among wooded islands. a new and vigorous manufacturing community growing up on either shore where the electric power is being harnessed. many buildings, many new residences, some of them large and imposing, covering the sloping hillsides. the rapids are a mile or more in length and half a mile wide. the american canal with its locks is on the south side. one, the old lock, small; the other, large and deep for modern traffic. we were here delayed more than two hours by reason of the pack of boats ahead of us. it was dark when we came out of the lock--a lift of twenty-one feet. but meantime, the hills on either hand had burst out into hundreds of electric lights, betokening a much greater population than i had conceived. as we entered the american lock, a big black ship, almost as large as ours, crept in behind us to the canadian lock on the river's further side--one of the canadian pacific line going to fort william. it was a full moon as we came out of the upper river and lost ourselves in the blackness of lake superior. a keen, crisp wind, a heavier swell than on the lakes below. we were continually passing innumerable craft with their dancing night lights. the tonnage that now goes through the soo canals is greater than that of suez. how little could the world have dreamed of this a few years ago! to-day when i came on deck we were just entering the ship canal that makes the short cut by way of houghton. a cold mist and rain, fir-trees and birches, small and stunted, a cold land. a country smacking strongly of norway. no wonder the scandinavians and finns take to a land so like their own. at houghton we were in the center of the copper region. a vigorous town, many handsome residences. but it has been cold all day. mercury degrees this morning. a sharp wind from the north. the bulk of the passengers are summer tourists in thin gauze and light clothing, and all day they are shivering in the cabin under cover, while we stay warm out on deck. the food is excellent, and the famous planked white fish is our stand-by. this whole trip is a great surprise to me. the splendid great ship, the conveniences and luxury equalling any trans-atlantic liner. the variety and beauty of the scenery, the differences in the lakes, their magnitude, the islands, the tributary rivers with their great flow of clear water, the vast traffic of multitudinous big boats. the life and vigor and stir of this north country! many of the passengers are going to the yellowstone. we will reach duluth about p. m., and leave by the : great northern train for st. paul. second letter. st. paul, winnipeg and banff; the wheat lands of the far northwest. st. paul, minnesota, august , . we have spent two delightful days in st. paul, great city of the northwest that it is. we came over from west superior by the "great northern" route, very comfortably in a new and fresh-kept sleeper--a night's ride. i was early awake and sat for an hour watching the wide flat farming country of minnesota. not much timber, never a cornfield, much wheat and oats and hay land. a black, rich soil. still a good deal of roll to the landscape, and, at the same time, a certain premonition of the greater, more boundless flatness of the land yet further west. and a land, as well, of many picturesque little lakes and pools. i now the more perfectly comprehend why the indian word "minne," water, comes in so often among the names and titles of minne-sota. the farm houses and farm buildings we pass are large and well built, and here and there i see a building which might be along the baegna valley or the telemarken fjords of norway, it is so evidently norse. there are, as yet, but few people at the way-stations. we are a through flyer, and the earlier commuters are not yet astir. about the houses and barns, also, i notice a certain snugness, indicative of winters that are cold. now, we are nearing the city, there are more men at the way-stations. it is evident that the early morning local will follow us close behind. we came into the big union depot on time. the air was crisp and dry. there was much bustle and ado. these people move with an alert vigor, their cheeks are rosy, their eyes are snappy, and i like the swing of their shoulders as they step briskly along the streets. mankind migrates along earth's parallels of latitude, so 'tis said--and minnesota and the great northwest is but another new england and new york. vermont and new hampshire, massachusetts and new york have sent her their ablest sons and daughters, while ontario and quebec and the maritime provinces have contributed to her population of their force and power. upon and among this matrix of superior american and canadian stock, has also been superimposed many thousands of the more energetic and vigorous men, women and children of europe's ancient warlike breeds--the viking northmen of norway and sweden and of denmark, of all scandinavia. a still great race in their fatherlands, a splendid reinforcement to the virtues of puritan and knickerbocker; while there have also come cross currents from virginia and the south. the type you see upon the streets is american, but among it, and with it, is prominently evident the norse blue eyes and yellow hair of scandinavia. st. paul is surely a great city, great in her present, great in her future. st. paul is builded on several hills, out along which are avenues and boulevards and rows of sumptuous private residences, while down in the valleys are gathered the more part of the big, modern business blocks and store houses and manufacturing establishments, where are centered the energies which direct her industries and commerce. st. paul is a rich city, a solid city. the wild boom days of fifteen and twenty years ago are quite gone by, the bubble period has been safely weathered, she is now settled down to conservative although keen and active business and trade. she supplies all of that immense region lying west and north of her, even into the now unfolding canadian far northwest. the continent is hers, even to the pacific and the arctic seas. minnesota and the dakotas and montana have already poured their wealth of grains and of ores, of wheat and of oats, of rye and of barley, of iron and of copper, of silver and of gold, into her capacious lap, and now manitoba and alberta and assiniboia and saskatchewan and athabaska, and all the unfolding regions between the hudson bay and the rocky mountains, the fertile valleys of the saskatchewan and peace rivers, are to contribute even yet more lavishly to her future commercial predominance as unrivalled mistress of the north. she and minneapolis will have this trade. she and her twin sister city are entitled to it. and if i mistake not the spirit of the men i have talked with upon her streets, in her shops and banks and clubs, she and minneapolis will secure of it their full and certain share. here in the splendid stores of st. paul we have made the last few purchases of the things we shall need for our going into the distant yukon. h. has bought a perfectly fitting sweater--a garment that we searched for and ransacked through the town of antwerp, in belgium, two years ago, and could not find, while i have laid in some woolen garments, so fit and warm that they make one hanker for an arctic blizzard just for the joy of trying them on. and we have been feted and wined and dined as only mortals may be, who have fallen among long-time and well-tried friends. a sumptuous lunch has been given us at the merchants' club, where old chums and classmates of my cornell college days did make me almost believe that it was but yesterday that we went forth from our alma mater's halls. later in the day we have taken one of the many suburban trains and journeyed down ten miles to the summer country home of another old-time friend, along the shores of white bear lake, and all the afternoon have enjoyed a sail in the crack yacht of the fleet that parades these waters. a new design of boat. conceived and perfected in st. paul, and which has this summer carried havoc and defeat to every competing yacht club of all the wide country of the western and northern lakes, and even caused perturbation among the proud salt-water skippers of the east. i send you a snap-shot of the prize yacht as she lies floating at her little pier. and when we came back and landed from our voyage, we found assembled an even greater company than we had yet met, to again give us welcome without stint. we gathered in the commodious dining-hall of our host, a delightful company, these men who once with me were boys, and their cultivated wives! long and late we sat, and old college songs we sang, until the eastern sky was already lightening with the approach of dawn. many of us had not met for nigh twenty years, when we had parted to go forth to fight life's battles and to win or lose. then, in the second afternoon, yet other friends, of yet later knowing, have taken us in hand and have trollied and driven us to see st. paul's twin sister, minneapolis. with her monstrous flouring mills along the mississippi, she is become the wheat milling center of the world, but she has never succeeded in rivalling st. paul in the reach and volume of her jobbing trade. once bitter enemies, rivals for the supremacy of the trade and commerce of the northwest, their borders have now met, their streets have coalesced, and it will not be many years before the two will have fused and melted into one, even as canada will one day inevitably become knitted and commingled with the great republic, for there is room for but one nationality, one english-speaking nationality upon the northern continent of the western world. in the long gloaming of the waning eventide we were driven in an easy victoria behind a pair of spanking bays and threaded our way among and along the lawns and lakes and avenues of the twin cities' splendid parks. the deciduous trees do not here grow as large as with us further to the south. the conifers, the pines and firs, are here necessarily more frequently employed by the landscape artist to perfect his plans, but the flowers seemed just as big, just as fine in coloring and in wealth of leaf. the day was ended with another elaborately served dinner, with other intelligent and cultivated friends, and then, before the night quite fully fell, we were driven to the big station which first we had entered, and were bidden a hearty farewell. we have boarded the sleeper for winnipeg. a white porter now makes up our berths, and tells us we shall travel in his company some sixteen hours, so long is now the journey to canada's nearest city in the north. winnipeg, august , . we left st. paul in the winnipeg sleeper on the great northern railroad at : p. m. when we awoke this morning we were flying through the wheatfields of north dakota, passing grand forks at about a. m., and reaching neche, on the canadian border, at eleven, and arriving at winnipeg at : p. m., a longer journey to the north-- miles--than i had realized. it was my first sight of a prairie--that vast stretch of wheat country reaching , miles west of st. paul, and as far to the north of it. in the states it was wheat as far as the eye could reach in all directions--ripening wheat, waving in the keen wind like a golden sea, or cut and stacked wheat in innumerable piles, in countless shocks. a few miles north of the boundary the wheat land gradually changed to meadow and grass land, with many red cattle. huge hay stacks here and there--the country flat. winnipeg holds about , people, they tell me. wooden houses mostly, but some fine modern ones of stone and brick. hundreds of new houses built and houses a-building. fine electric tramway system, on which we have been riding all the afternoon. many paved streets, some wood-paved, but mostly the native black earth of all this northland. a vigorous, hustling town, with now a big boom on, owing to the rapid development of the far north wheat lands--"the chicago of the far northwest," they call it. we go on to-night by p. m. train, and should reach banff in two nights and a day. there we rest a day. banff springs hotel, banff, canada, } august , . } we had intended leaving winnipeg by the through train called the "imperial limited," which crosses the continent three times a week each way, but to do so we should have had to lie over in winnipeg a full day and a half longer, and we had already seen the shell of the town in our first afternoon, so we mended our plans, paid our modest dinner bill of fifty cents each at the clarendon hotel, and took the ordinary daily through pacific express which, leaving winnipeg at p. m., would yet bring us to banff, even though it would take a half day longer in doing it, earlier than the imperial limited train. a good many people seemed to be of our mind, and so the railway people attached an extra sleeper to the already crowded train. we were fixed in this. a sumptuous car, finished in curled maple and brass, longer, wider, higher than even the large cars run on the n. y. c. & h. r. r., that traverse no tunnels. these canadian pacific railway cars are built by the railway company, owned and run by it. no "pullman conductor;" the porter, be he white or black, runs the car and handles the tickets and the cash. the company were mostly canadians, going out to regina, calgary, edmonton, etc., large towns toward which winnipeg bears the same relation as does cincinnati to our country (west virginia), and many australians en route to take ship at vancouver. for a long distance the track seemed to be perfectly straight, and miles and miles west of winnipeg, the city still peeped far distant between the rails. we rose a little, too, just a little, but steadily, constantly. and on either hand and before and behind spread out the wonderful flatness of the earth. the real prairie now. not even a tree, not a bush, not a hill, just as smooth as a floor, like an even sea, as far as the eye could reach and out beyond. a good deal of wheat grows west of winnipeg, as well as south and north and east of it. we were still in wheat land when we awoke yesterday morning, though the now intervening patches of green grass grew larger and larger until the grass covered and dominated everything. and then we had miles and miles of a more rolling country. here and there began to appear pools of water, ponds, even small lakes and deep sunk streams bordered with rushes and scrub willow and stunted alders. every bit of water was alive with wild fowl. each pool we hurried by was seemingly packed with geese, brant and ducks. all the myriads of the north land water birds seemed to be here gathering and resting preparatory to their long flight to the distant south. many plover, snipe and some herons and even cranes i noted along the margins of the pools and streams. and this prolific bird life cared but little for the presence of man. our rushing train did not frighten them, none ever took to wing, too much engrossed were they in their own pursuits. through the flat wheat land the farmsteads were few and far between, and the towns only at long intervals. nor is there here the population seen among the many and thrifty towns and villages of minnesota and dakota. in the grass lands we saw no towns at all, nor made many stops, while herds of cattle began to increase in number; of horses, also, as we drew further and further west and north. toward evening, through the long twilight, we entered a hill country, where were a great many cattle and horses, and some mexican cowboys rounding up the stock ere nightfall. here, also, the wilder life of the hills came close upon us. just as we drew beyond the prairie a large grey wolf had crossed our way. he had no fear of the iron horse; he stood and watched us with evident curiosity, lifting one forepaw as he gazed upon the flying train, not fifty feet away. when we were gone by, he turned and trotted leisurely into the bush. new buildings with added frequency met our view. sometimes whole new towns. all this i afterward learned is largely owing to the present american immigration. at dusk we stopped at the bustling town of dunmore, just where the railway crosses the broad assiniboia river on a long bridge. here many of our fellow sleepers left us, and several new passengers got into our car to ride through to calgary, the largest town in the northwest territory--seven or eight thousand inhabitants--and where the edmonton branch goes off two hundred miles into the north, and will soon go three or four hundred miles further through the opening wheat country which the world is now pouring into. this morning we were following the silver bow river, past a long lake which it widens into in the journey of its waters toward hudson's bay; then we were among fir-clad foot-hills, and then, quite suddenly, as the enveloping mist lifted, there were revealed upon either side of us the gigantic, bare, rocky, snow-capped masses of the real rocky mountain chain. i have never yet seen as immense and gigantic masses of bare rock, unless it be the cordillera of michoacan, in mexico. here we are at a fine modern hotel kept by the canadian pacific railroad. it is cool, even cold, almost. as cold as on lake superior, and degrees, and as in st. paul the days we were there, but here the air is so much drier that one sits by the open window and does not feel the cold. [illustration: white bear lake--st. paul.] [illustration: down the silver bow--banff.] among the passengers on our train i fell in with several of those who now make their homes in this booming land--from winnipeg west and north, all this vast country is now on what is called a boom--a wheat-land boom, a cattle boom, a town boom! one, a vigorous six-footer from wisconsin, a drummer for an american harvesting machine, has put and is now putting all the money he can raise into the buying of these northern wheat lands. and there is no finer wheat land in all the world, he said, than the rich, warm peace river valley, four hundred or five hundred miles north of edmonton. a canadian drummer, who had won a medal fighting in south africa, also told me much of the awakening up here. the hudson bay company had for years kept secret the fatness of this north land, although they and their agents had (for more than a century) raised great wheat harvests on their own hidden-away farms along the distant peace river, where their mills made it into flour for their own use, and to feed the fur-trapping indians. but never a word had they or their close-mouthed scotch servants said about all the richness of which they so well knew. but little by little had the news of these wheat crops leaked out into the world beyond, and little by little, after the opening of the canadian pacific railway, and cession to canada of their exclusive rights, had the pioneer settlers quietly crept into the hidden country. now there were many farmers snugly living on their own lands along the peace river valley and in that neighboring region. every year there are more of them. they haul their supplies three hundred miles north from edmonton, or buy direct of the nearest hudson bay post. soon the railways will be up among them, soon the greatest export of canadian wheat will come from that now far-away country. and here is where the hustling american comes in. the canadian has been slow to "catch on." the dull farmer of ontario has scoffed at the notion of good wheat land so far north. he preferred to stay at home and raise peas and barley. the french habitan, too, did not take stock in the tales of a land so far from church and kindred. nor did the englishman do more than look blandly incredulous at whatever secret tales he might hear. he would just inquire of the office of the hudson's bay company, where he always learned that the tale was a joke out of the whole cloth. not even the bankers of now booming winnipeg would invest a dollar in buying government land beyond the already well-defined wheat limits of manitoba. it was the keen-scented yankee who caught on. a group of bright men in st. paul and minneapolis heard in some way of the possibilities of the far north. they quietly sent their own experienced minnesota and dakota farm land experts and practical wheat judges up into saskatchewan and assiniboia to look, examine and report. this they did, and then the americans began to buy direct of the canadian government at ottawa. their expert investigators also had friends and neighbors who had money, who had made money in farming, and some of them went up. all who went up staid, and sent back word of having got hold of a good thing. the first the world knew, fifty thousand american farmers went in last year, more than two hundred thousand have gone in this year, and the canadian world and the english world have awakened to the fact that the bulk of the rich wheat lands of the far north are already owned by the american land companies, american banks and american farmers. in st. paul to-day you can learn more about all this rich far north, and buy its best lands, rather than in toronto or even in winnipeg. now the railroads are also beginning to stir themselves. the canadian pacific railway is to build more north branch lines. the grand trunk pacific is to be built right through the peace river country to port simpson, and everybody is astir to get a chance at the golden future. but the americans have the cinch. and what is more, they do better and succeed when the canadians, from quebec or ontario, and, above all, the englishmen, make rank failures. the americans have been farming on the same sort of land in minnesota, in iowa and in the dakotas. they go into this new land with the same machinery and same methods. they all do well. many of the canadians fail, most of the english likewise, and the prospering american buys them out. now, also, the americans are beginning to find out that there is much good cattle range in this north land. the american cattle men are coming up with their herds, even with their mexican cowboys. no blizzards here, such as freeze and destroy in montana. no lack of water here the year round. no drouths like those of texas. nor is the still, quiet, steady cold of these plains more fatal, not as much so, as the more variable temperatures of the states. not much snow over these northern plains, rarely more than a foot. the buffalo grass may be always reached through it. the mercury rarely more than fifty below zero, and so dry is the air and so still that no one minds that temperature. so we have it, that this entire rich wheat-yielding land of the far, far north, that the bulk of these grazing lands, tempered as the winter is by the warm pacific climate, which here climbs over the rather low barrier of the rockies, are falling into alert american hands. even the storekeepers, they tell me, would rather trade with the american--he buys more freely, buys higher-priced machinery and goods; he is better pay in the end. "the englishman brings out money, but after the first year or two it is gone." "the american brings some and then keeps making more." so my canadian drummer friend tells me, and he gathers his information from the storekeepers in all these northwest towns with whom he deals. "some even tell me," he said, "that if it wouldn't make any disturbance, why they would do better if all this country was part of the states." so the american is popular here, and he is growing rich, richer than the canadian and englishman, and in course of time, i take it, he will even yet the more completely dominate the land. it is strange how the american spirit seems to have an energy and force that tells everywhere, in canada as well as in mexico. the information i give you here comes to me from the intelligent fellow-travelers i have chanced to meet, and, i take it, is probably a fair statement. we are some , feet above the sea, and the highest summits near us rise to about , or , feet. there is none of the somber blackness of the norwegian rocks, nor the greenness of the swiss slopes, while the contour of the summits and ridges is much like that of the volcanic, serrated summits of the mountains i saw in mexico. third letter. banff to vancouver across the rockies and selkirks. hotel vancouver, vancouver, b. c., } august , . } our day crossing the rockies was delightful. we left banff about p. m., following up the valley of the silver bow river to its very head. a deep valley, shut in on either hand by gigantic granite mountains, rising to , and , feet, their lower slopes covered with small fir, aspen, birch, then a sparse grass, and lichens, and then rising up into the clouds and eternal snows. snow fields everywhere, and many glaciers quite unexplored and unnamed. the rise was so easy, however, that we were surprised when we actually attained the summit of the divide, where a mountain stream forks and sends its waters, part to hudson's bay, part to the pacific. but the descent toward the west was precipitous. since leaving winnipeg, two days and nights across plains and prairie, and a night and day up the valley of the silver bow river, we had steadily risen, but so gradually that we were almost unconscious of the ascending grade, but now we were to come down the , feet from the height of land and reach the pacific in little more than a single day. not so sheer a ride as down the dal of the laera river in norway, , feet in three hours behind the ponies, but yet so steep that the iron horse crept at a snail's pace, holding back the heavy train almost painfully, and descending into gorges and cañons and shadowy valleys until one's hair nearly stood on end. how on earth they ever manage to pull and push the long passenger and short freight trains up these grades for the east-bound traffic, is a matter of amazement; that is, shove them up and make the business pay. at once, so soon as the divide was crossed, the influence of the warm, moist air of the pacific was apparent. no longer the bare, bleak, naked masses of granite, no longer the puny firs and dwarf aspen and birches, but instead, the entire vast slopes of these gigantic mountain masses were covered with a dense forest. the tall douglas firs stood almost trunk to trunk, so close together that the distant slopes looked as though covered with gigantic coverlets of green fur. the trees seemed all about of one height and size. and the slopes were green right up to the snow field's very edge. our way wound down the profound cañon of the kicking horse river, sometimes sheer precipices below and also above us, the road blasted out of the granite sides, then we swept out into the beautiful wapta valley, green as emerald, the white snow waters of the river--not white foam, but a muddy white like the snow-fed waters of the streams of switzerland--roaring and plunging, and spreading out into placid pools. at last we emerged through a gorge and came into the great wide, verdant valley of the british columbia, from which the province takes its name. a river, even there on its upper reaches, as wide as the ohio, but wild and turbulent, and muddy white from the melting snows. behind us the towering granite masses of the rocky mountains--a name whose meaning i never comprehended before--their peaks lost in clouds, their flanks and summits buried in verdure. the valley of the columbia is wide and fertile. many villages and farms and saw-mills already prospering along it. here and there were indications of a developing mine upon the mountain slopes. we followed the great river until we passed through a narrow gorge where the selkirk mountain range jams its rock masses hard against the western flanks of the rockies and the river thrusts itself between, to begin its long journey southward through washington and oregon to the pacific; and then turning up a wild creek called six mile, we began again to climb the second and last mountain chain before we should reach the sea. these grades are very heavy. too heavy, i should say, for a railroad built for business and traffic and not subsidized by a government, as in practical effect the canadian pacific is. the pass at the divide is almost as high as that at the source of the silver bow, and much more impeded in winter with snowfalls and avalanches, which require many miles of snow-sheds to save the road. [illustration: a reach of the fraser river.] we dined about p. m., in a fine large hotel owned by the railroad company at a station called "glacier," for it is right at the foot of one of the most gigantic glaciers of the selkirks, and many tourists tarry here to see it and climb upon it; swiss guides being provided by the railway company for these adventures. and then we came down again, all night and half the next day, following the valley of the fraser river until it debouched into level tidal reaches a few miles from puget sound. the fraser river is a magnificent stream; as great as the columbia, as wild as new river of west virginia. we stood upon the platform of the rear car and snapped the kodak at the flying gorges, tempestuous rapids and cascades. all along, wherever the water grew angry and spume spun, were indians fishing for salmon, sometimes standing alert, intent, spear in hand poised and ready, or, more often, watching their nets or drawing them in. and every rocky point held its poles for drying the fish, belonging to some individual indian or tribe, safe from trespass or molestation by immemorial usage. the sands of the river are said to also have been recently discovered to hide many grains of gold, and we saw in several places chinamen industriously panning by the water-side. near vancouver we passed several extensive salmon canneries, and their catch this year is said to be unusually large. as we came nearer to the sea the air grew warmer, the vegetation more luxuriant, the flowers more prolific, and the douglas fir more lofty and imposing. a single shaft, with sparse, ill-feathered limbs, down-bent and twisted, these marvelous trees lift their ungainly trunks above every other living thing about. the flowers, too, would have delighted you. zinnias as tall as dahlias, dahlias as tall as hollyhocks, nasturtiums growing like grape vines, roses as big as peonies, geraniums and heliotropes small trees. great was the delight of our trainload of australians. they had never seen such luxuriance of foliage, such wealth of flowers, except under the care of a gardener and incessant laying on of water. we came across with a car full of these our antipodean kin. most have been "home," to england, and had come across to canada to avoid the frightful heats of the voyage by suez and the red sea. and they marveled at the vigor and the activity of both canada and the states. some had lingered at the fine hotels up in the mountains now maintained by the canadian pacific railroad. all were sorry to go back to the heats of the australian continent. [illustration: big douglas fir--vancouver park.] the building and maintaining of this railway has been accomplished by the giving of millions of dollars in hard cash, and millions of acres in land grants, to the railway company by the government of the dominion. fortunes were made and pocketed by the promoters and builders, and the canadian people now hold the bag--but although as a mere investment it can never pay, yet as a national enterprise it has made a canadian dominion possible. it owns its terminals on the atlantic and on the pacific. it owns its own telegraph lines, its own cars, sleeping-cars, and rolling stock; it owns and runs ten, a dozen, a score of fine hotels; it is a vast land-owner. its stock can never be bought up and owned out of canadian hands. a morgan or a gould can never seize it, manipulate it, or wreck it. it is a good thing for canada to have it so. it is a good thing for the people of the united states that it is so. the canadian rockies are the most beautiful and picturesque of any section of the mountain chain from mexico north. the air is cooler in the far northern latitude, keener, more bracing, and the hustling american has begun to find this out. the great hotels of the canadian pacific are already best patronized by the american visitor, and this year the sun-baked californians have come up in swarms and promise another year even greater numbers. and the canadian pacific railroad welcomes them all--all who can pay. at banff, too, were the advance guard of the english colony from china, brought over from shanghai by the sumptuous steamships of the canadian pacific railway, taken to and kept at their great hotels, and carried home again, at so low a round-trip rate that these rocky mountain resorts promise to become the summering-place of the oriental englishmen as well as australian and californian! how these things bring the world together! our journey from kanawha, across ohio, from cleveland through the great lakes, across the wheatfields of minnesota and dakota and manitoba, and over the wonderful prairies and plains of the opening far northwest, has had a fit ending in the last few days climbing and plunging over and down the wildest, most picturesque, most stupendous valleys and passes of the rocky mountain and selkirk mountain ranges. how vast and varied and splendid is the continent we live on, and which one of these days the people of the united states will inevitably wholly possess! and now the wonders of these pacific slopes and waters! all the afternoon we have been wandering through vancouver's superb natural park, among its gigantic trees, and gazing westward over and across the waters of puget sound, the most mighty fjord of the pacific seas, the most capacious land-locked harbor of the world. i must not say more about this now. i have not yet seen enough. i am only beginning dimly to comprehend what is the future power of our race and people in the development of this side of the earth. victoria a sleepy english town. the driard hotel, victoria, b. c., } august , . } we came over here yesterday, leaving vancouver by a fine new , -ton steamer "princess victoria," and making the voyage in four hours,--all the way in and out among the islands and straits and inlets. the shores of the mainland high, lofty;--the mountain summits rising right up till snow-capped, six or seven thousand feet in the air, their flanks green with the dense forests of fir that here everywhere abound. the islands all fir-clad, the trees often leaning out over the deep blue waters. many fishing-boats were hovering about the points and shoals below the mouth of the fraser river, awaiting the autumnal rush of salmon into the death-traps of that stream. i hope to see one of these salmon stampedes--they often pushing each other high and dry on the shores in their mad eagerness to go on. [illustration: victoria, b. c.--the harbor.] tuesday we reached vancouver. wednesday we consumed seeing the lusty little city. yesterday we spent the morning in picking up the few extra things needed for the yukon--among others a bottle of tar and carbolic--a mixture to rub on to offend the yet active mosquito. vancouver is a city of some , people, full of solid buildings, asphalted streets, electric car lines, bustle and activity. much of the outfitting for the canadian yukon is done there, though seattle gets the bulk of even this trade. to-day we are in victoria, a town of twelve or fifteen thousand, a fine harbor, and near it the british naval and military station of esquimault, the seat of its north pacific war power. the town is sleepy, the buildings low and solid, the air of the whole place very english. the capitol building is an imposing structure of granite, surmounted by a successful dome. fourth letter. vancouver and skagway; fjords and forests. first and second day out, } august , . } we arrived in vancouver by the steamer "charmer" from victoria about ten o'clock a. m.--two hours late--a small boat, packed with passengers. we could not get a state-room to ourselves, so were glad of berths, while many people lay on mattresses in the cabin and many sat up. tourist travel surprises the slow-going canadian, and he does not catch up with it. we went to the hotel vancouver, where we had been staying, and there breakfasted. our boat, "city of seattle," is roomy and comfortable. we have a large upper state-room on the starboard side, plenty of fresh air and sunlight. it is loaded down with an immense cargo of miscellaneous freight, from piles of boxes of iowa butter and fresh eggs, to sheep and live stock, chickens and pigs, vegetables and canned goods, most of it billed to dawson and even to points below. the yukon has been so low this year--less snow than usual falling last winter--that the bulk of the freight "going in" has had to be shipped via these skagway boats and the white pass railway, despite the exorbitant freight rates they are charging for everything. [illustration: leaving vancouver.] the travellers are of two sorts. a good many making the round trip from seattle to skagway, and the yukoner "going in" for the winter. the former are not of much concern to us, but among the latter i have found a number of interesting acquaintances. one, a man who hunts for a business, and is full of forest lore and hunting tales. he is also something of a naturalist and taxidermist, and i have been showing him our volumes of the report of the harriman expedition, to his delight. he has also explored along the kamtschatka coasts of siberia, and describes it as a land stocked with salmon and fur animals. he says, too, that i have done right to bring along my gun, for there are lots of ptarmigan as well as mountain sheep and goats in the yukon valley, and caribou and moose are also plentiful. another man has spent a year or more on the yukon--our chief engineer--and thinks we will have no difficulty in getting a boat down from dawson, and the scenery he says is grand. another is a lumber-man of wrangel--from pennsylvania--and tells me they have some fine timber there, though most of that of these far northern latitudes is too small to now profitably compete with the big logs of washington. our vis-a-vis at table is going up to the porcupine placer district to try his luck with finding gold, and several men are going into atlin--whither we are bound--to find work at big pay. the atmosphere of the company is buoyant and hopeful, even the women have a dash of prosperity about them--gold chains and diamonds--of which there are not a few. from all i can pick up, an immense trade is already developed with alaska and is still growing with bounds. the united states government statisticians give thirty-seven millions as the figure for the trade of the past year. already three or four lines of steamers ply between skagway alone and puget sound ports, and several more run to st. michaels and nome. the sail from vancouver is most delightful. you come out of a narrow channel through which the tides foam and churn, and then turn north through the "gulf of georgia," twenty or thirty miles wide. vancouver island stretches for three hundred miles along the west, fir-clad, backboned by a chain of mountains rising up into the snows. on the east a coast indented with multitudinous bays and deep channels, sharp promontories and islands; the forest coming to the water's edge, the mountains rising sharply six and seven thousand feet into the snows and clouds, as lofty as the fjelde of norway, but not so bare and naked, the dense, deep green fir forests growing from water to snow line. [illustration: awaiting cargo-vancouver, b. c.] we were crossing queen charlotte sound when we awoke this morning, and all day long have been threading our way among islands, through narrow channels, across seemingly shut-in lakes, ten and twelve miles wide, and then no wider than the kanawha river or even narrower. as we come north the mountains grow higher and come closer to the water we sail upon, and there is more snow on their summits. you might imagine yourself with henrik hudson on his first voyage, when the hudson valley was covered with primeval forests. last evening we saw a number of humpbacked whales, and to-day more. this morning saw my first sea lions and also fur and hair seals. to-morrow, they say, we shall see yet more. only gulls, a few terns and ducks to-day. no larger birds as yet. monday, august , . the greyness of yesterday is vanished. the sky is cloudless, the atmosphere translucent. the mountains are more lofty, the snow patches grown into wide fields, and the air has taken on a certain added keenness, telling of distant snow and ice. to-morrow we shall see more snow and even glaciers. all day we have been going from one broad sound or channel through narrow straits into others as broad. we crossed dixon's channel at breakfast-time, through which the commerce of the orient will come to port simpson, the canadians hope, when the grand trunk pacific shall have been built. about noon we came around a wooded island and made our first port of ketchikan, where there are salmon canneries, and hard by quartz mines yielding gold, and saloons and stores. here we had our first view of near-by totem poles, and our first sight of the shoals of salmon that make alive these waters. from a foot-bridge crossing a little creek that debouched near our steamer wharf, we looked down into the clear water and saw it fairly swarming with salmon, fish from ten to fifteen pounds, "small ones," they said. but the waters were choked with them. dipping a net down, you might haul up a wagon load as easily as one. yet no one was catching them. so plentiful are the fish that no one wants to eat salmon except as a last resort--"food fit only for dogs," they say, and the distant tenderfeet whom the canneries supply. and these swarming fish below us shoved each other upon the shallow shore continually, when there would be a great splashing to get back. from ketchikan we have come out into the great clarence strait, with belim and ernest sounds stretching away into the snow-covered mountains toward the east. the strait is as wide as the hudson at the palisades, the shores fir clad, the mountains six to seven thousand feet, up into clouds and snow. the water to-day is like a mirror, and many porpoises are playing about. i have just seen three big blue herons, and awhile ago we passed a loon. last night just at dusk, we saw several flocks of snipe or plover, small, brown, swift in flight, close above the water. [illustration: totem poles at ketchikan.] [illustration: glaciers on frederick sound.] we have just looked upon the most superb panorama we have yet beheld. the last four hours the mountains both east and west of us have come closer to the shores, and risen higher, the fir mantle enveloping them has grown a darker green, larger timber than for the last few hundred miles, and then we came round a bend in our great strait--about six to ten miles wide--forty or fifty miles long--and there in front of us, bounding the horizon on the north, stretched an immense mass of jagged, serrated mountain chain, glittering like silver in the slanting sun rays. not mere snow patches, not mere fields of snow, but vast "fjellen" of snow, snow hiding all but the most ragged rock peaks, and even sometimes enveloping these. valleys all snow-filled and from which descend mighty glaciers. below the miles of snow lay the deep green forests of the lesser mountain summits and sloping flanks, and then the dark blue waters of the giant fjord, dotted with many fir-clad islands. we agree that we have seen nothing in our lives so sublimely beautiful. never yet nature on so stupendous a scale. the quiet waters of the last two days are now alive with gulls and ducks and grebes and divers, many loons. more bird life than we have yet seen. just as is told by the harriman naturalist. only at wrangel does the real bird life of the north begin. curving around another wooded promontory, we beheld the town of wrangel, at fort wrangel, on wrangel island, ten miles away, nestling at the mouth of a little valley, below the firs and snow summits behind. we are now tied up to the pier at this port, and shall lie here till a. m., when flood tide will allow us to continue the voyage, and at daylight pass through the narrowest and most hazardous strait of the trip. we mean to be waked at four o'clock so as to see the pass. in the village, which claims to be the second town in alaska, we have walked about and seen some of the totem poles which stand before many of the indian cabins. grotesque things, surely. it is now near nine o'clock and yet the lingering twilight permits one to read. at dawson, they tell me, there is in june no night, and baseball matches are played at p. m. august , . we did not leave wrangel till a. m., lying there waiting for the flood of the tide. we were to pass through the very tortuous, narrow and difficult straits and passages between wrangel bay and frederick sound, through which the tides rush with terrific fury--the tides rise twenty or thirty feet along these shores--and the ship would only venture at flood tide and after dawn. in order to see these picturesque passages, i climbed out between three and four o'clock this morning, wrapped in a blanket shawl above my overcoat, and stood in the ice-chilled air while we threaded slowly our dangerous way. along sheer mountain-sides, between low wooded islands (all fir), a channel carefully marked with many buoys and white beacons, with many sharp turns, finally entering the great frederick sound, where many whales were blowing, and we saw our first real icebergs--masses of ice, blue and green, translucent, with deep, clear coloring. [illustration: approaching fort wrangel.] [illustration: the pier--fort wrangel.] all day we have sailed up this great land-locked sheet of blue water, the icebergs and floes increasing in number as we approached taku inlet, from whose great live glaciers they are incessantly shed off. p. m.--we have landed at the treadwell mines on douglas island, where the largest stamp mill in the world crushes a low grade quartz night and day the year around, and where is gathered a mining population of several thousand. then we crossed the fjord to the bustling port of juneau, the would-be capital of alaska, the rival of sitka. a curious little town of wooden buildings, wooden streets, wooden sidewalks, nestling under a mighty snow-capped mountain, and, like those other towns, largely built on piles, on account of the tides. now we are off for skagway, a twelve hours' run with our thirteen-knot speed. to-day we have fallen in with two more fellow-travelers. one a young fellow named baldwin, attached to the u. s. fish commission, who tells me much about the fishing on these coasts, and the efforts now being made to stay the indiscriminate slaughter. another, a grave-faced, sturdy man from maine who is panning free gold near circle city, and has endured much of hardship and suffering. he hopes to win enough this winter and coming summer from his claim to go back to california and make a home for his old mother who waits for him there. skagway, alaska, wednesday, august . here we are, safe and sound after a voyage due north four days and four nights, more than , miles--i do not know just how far. we came out from juneau last night in a nasty rain, mist (snow-rain almost) and wind driving against the rushing tides. coming around douglas island in the teeth of the gale, we passed over the very spot where a year or two ago the ill-fated s. s. "islander" struck a sunken iceberg, and went down into the profound depths with all on board. as i heard the moan of the winds, the rain splash on our cabin window, and hearkened to the roar of the whirling tides against whose currents we were entering the great lynn canal--fjord we should say--ninety miles or more long--ten to fifteen miles wide--i could not help thinking of the innumerable frail and lesser boats that dared these dangerous waters in the first mad rush to the klondike but a few short years ago. in the darkness we have passed many fine glaciers, and along the bases of immense snow and ice crested mountains, which we are sorry not to have seen, but so much is now before us that our minds are already bent toward the great yukon. we are tied to an immense pier, and mechanical lifters seem to be dragging out the very entrails of the ship. across the line of the warehouses i see the trucks of the railway, the hackmen are crying out their hotels. "this way, free 'bus to the fifth avenue hotel." [illustration: the pier, skagway.] [illustration: lynn canal from the summit of white pass.] [illustration: looking down white pass.] [illustration: the summit--white pass.] fifth letter. skagway, caribou crossing[a] and atlin. atlin, british columbia, august , . here we are at the mining camp of atlin, on atlin lake. we left skagway the same morning we arrived. our boat, the "city of seattle," came in early wednesday morning, and long before we got up we heard them discharging cargo, all hands at work. the day was cloudy, cold, and icy winds swept down from the glaciers. it seemed november. the little town is built on a low sand tongue of detritus carried down from the glaciers by the snow rivers, the river skagway here pouring out a flood of muddy white water like the swiss streams. [a] caribou crossing now called carcross. the railway is a narrow, three-foot gauge, and the cars are low but roomy. our train consisted of nine freight cars, a baggage, two passenger cars and three locomotives, one in front and two in the middle. the famous ride was all that has been said of it. first, a gradual ascent up the deep valley of the skagway, then steep climbing and many doubles and winds up through the cañon to the summit, twenty miles away, and , feet above the sea. in many places the road-bed is blasted out of the granite rock, sheer precipices above and below, a most costly piece of work, and ever down below winds the difficult, dangerous trail, over which fifty to one hundred thousand men and women footed it in the winters of - , in the strange, mad world-rush to the fabulous gold fields of the interior. how they got up and through at all is the wonder; yet men tell me that men, pack-laden, footsore, determined, were so closely massed along the trail that it was one continuous line from skagway to summit and beyond, for months at a time. the various views from our car were magnificent and even appalling; sometimes we seemed to hang in mid-air as we crawled upward. as we approached the summit we came among snow fields and near many glaciers, and then passed through long snow-sheds over which the avalanches often slip and thunder into the abysses below. near the divide is the international boundary line, and the customs station for alaska and the yukon territory of canada, and where the red-coated canadian mounted police come first in evidence. here our bags were examined by the customs. then we began a gradual descent into wide, open, flat valleys, over bare granite rock masses and through a stunted fir wilderness into the basin of the yukon, , miles from the behring sea at st. michaels. flocks of ptarmigan flew up as the train rolled down, and a few eagles soared high above the snow summits. our first stop was at a railway eating-house near the head of lake bennett, a sheet of light green water, two to ten miles wide and over thirty miles long, all shut in by gigantic granite mountains whose summits were covered with glittering snow. the railway skirts the water for the entire distance until it crosses at a bridge over a swift current where lake bennett flows into lake marsh, and where is the station of caribou. [illustration: railway train--skagway.] [illustration: the international boundary.] [illustration: caribou crossing.] [illustration: early september snow, caribou crossing.] here we were put off, and here we would, two days later, take the bi-weekly steamer for atlin, on atlin lake, where we now are, and here the railway leaves the lakes and takes a short cut across a low divide to white horse rapids, where begins the steamboat navigation on the yukon river. caribou is a collection of cabins and tents, and is the first settlement where, they say, will some day be a city. it was on lake bennett that the weary pilgrims used to camp to build their boats and rafts and begin their long water journey of five hundred miles to dawson and the golden klondike. our hotel we found surprisingly neat and clean; owned and kept by a famous indian, "dawson charlie," who was one of the discoverers of the gold of bonanza creek in the klondike, and who had the sense to himself stake out several claims, the gold from which has made him now a magnate worth several hundred thousand dollars, and who lives and entertains like a white man. he housed us in a neat, comfortable room, iron bedstead, wire mattress, carpeted floor. he fed us at fifty cents a meal as well, as abundantly as in west virginia, and only his indian daughter, who waited on us, dressed neatly and fashionably, with big diamonds in her ears, made us realize that we were not in our own land. here we have spent two delightful days. the air is as wonderfully clear as on the table-lands of mexico, full of ozone, but cold in the shadow even in midday, though the sun is warm. on the ship we met a delightful naturalist, mr. baldwin, of new haven, artist of the u. s. fish commission, and who came with us to try and catch some grayling, in order to make drawings for the commission, and for two days we have been out in the woods, he with my rod, h---- with your butterfly net, and i with my gun. he caught his grayling, several of them. i shot several mallard ducks, but h---- caught no butterflies, nor saw one. it was too late in the season for that. on the way up we fell in with a very intelligent swede, whose partner in the klondike is a dane, and who, when he learned h----'s nationality, and she had talked danish with him, was all courtesy and friendliness. he had come in with the "mushers" (corruption of the french _marche_), as the early foot-farers are called, and had succeeded. when we get to dawson he will welcome us. [illustration: a vista on lake marsh.] [illustration: woodland along lake marsh.] [illustration: on the trail at caribou.] [illustration: view near caribou crossing.] at caribou we also made acquaintance with the canadian customs officer, mr. john turnure, a fine type of canadian official, big, bluff, yet courteous, who at first was going to tax all my cartridges and kodak films, notwithstanding i had passed the customs at winnipeg and had come from vancouver direct, but who, upon explanation, relented, and afterward called on us and invited h----, mr. b---- and myself to call on his wife and family at his log cabin mansion near the station, which we did, and were served cake and coffee from dainty china, and sat on a divan covered with priceless furs, near a good piano. his daughters were now at home from school on vacation, and his wife, a cultured woman, was next day going with them on a shopping visit to dawson, the new york or cincinnati of this far north. the yukon territory is governed from ottawa by appointees, and policed by the "northwest mounted police," a fine body of men--including many young englishmen of good family--in cowboy hats and red coats. while here in atlin, we are just over the line in the province of british columbia, a state with its own laws and civil magistrates. we left caribou on a little steamer with a big sternwheel--all of which, timber and machinery, had been carried from skagway over the white pass on horses' backs, and sledges, dragged by men and dogs, and put together on lake bennett, before the railway was even thought of. how in the name of heaven a ten-ton boiler, and the engines and big timbers, were got over that foot-path trail, is even yet a standing marvel--the boat is as big as the steamer "calvert" on the kanawha river--but it was done, and to-day i have talked with the man who bossed and directed the job, captain irving, now a gold hunter of atlin and a member of the british columbia parliament. we first came slowly through a well-marked track on a little lake, lake marsh, for about ten miles, then through a short river, and then out into lake taggish, a sheet of water larger than lake bennett, and one arm of which is famous for its desperate winds from the glaciers--the "hurricane" arm--another arm of which heads toward the white horse rapids, and a third arm, "the taku arm," which extends southerly toward lake atlin, a lake more than one hundred miles in length, which empties into it through a short, swift, turbulent river. this southerly portion of the lake is eight or ten miles wide and we were all night steaming on it to taku, where we landed this morning--a distance of forty or fifty miles--when, taking a little, short, two-mile railway, we were pulled over to atlin lake, a yet bigger body of water. there embarking on another steamboat, we were ferried ten miles across to atlin, a town with a courthouse, several churches, a little hospital, a newspaper, a bank, a dozen hotels, a multitude of restaurants, bicycles, numerous livery stables, and which is the center of a gold-mining region from which already several millions of dollars have been taken since the first pay dirt was found in . we dined at a restaurant where a colored french cook presides, and you may have any delicacy new york could afford. at the bars men preside with diamonds the size of hickory nuts in their shirts, drinks are twenty-five cents each and cigars the same. the hotels are full of keen-faced men; well-gowned and refined women are to be seen on the streets; the baby carriages are pulled by great big dogs, and even the water carts and delivery wagons are hauled by teams of eight and ten dogs--newfoundland or wolfish esquimaux. [illustration: the taku river.] [illustration: lake atlin.] [illustration: dogs--atlin.] "the camp," or city, is now in the midst of a boom, and this morning we were shown several buckets of gold nuggets just brought in last night from a recent "clean up." when in the midst of lake taggish, yesterday afternoon, we were hailed by a naphtha launch of the mounted police, and, on our lying to, three gentlemen climbed in. one face seemed in some way familiar to me, and when i presently heard some one call him mr. sutton i recognized one of my old port hope schoolmates, who had also been at cornell, and who had been an especial friend. he was as well pleased as i at the meeting, and is now here with me. he was a brilliant scholar, and is now british columbia's most eminent geologist and mining expert. we have been out together to-day, and to have his expert opinion here on what i see is invaluable. we have also met here a mr. and mrs. r----, of philadelphia, to whom i had a letter, a promoter of the largest hydraulic company here, and h---- has been off with mrs. r---- to-day and panned her first chunks of real, true, genuine gold, of which performance she is not a little proud. the whole country seems to be more or less full of gold; it is in the gravels and sands everywhere, and a number of very large gold-getting enterprises are under way, mostly hydraulic placer mining, but also some fine quartz veins carrying free gold are being opened up, and i have been off with sutton all the afternoon looking at one. september , . we have had three days of outing; at least, i have. saturday morning i made an early start with sutton and three other men for a visit to some hydraulic mining operations up on pine creek, and to the great dredge now being built. at one of these, an operation called "the sunrise gold co.," i found in charge a mr. ruffner, of cincinnati, a cousin to the kanawha family, grandson of one of the original ruffner brothers, who, hating slavery, had freed his slaves and removed to free soil in ohio. a bright young fellow, managing a large operation. then we went on further to gold run, where an enormous dredge is being built. an experiment in this country, about the final success of which there is yet much question. here i dined in a tent, which is warmer, they say, than any timber building, even when the temperature is degrees below zero. the valley is a broad, open one, all of glacial formation. it is very level, with pine creek cutting deeply between high gravel banks. a black top soil of a foot or two, eight or ten feet of grey gravel, then as much more yellowish sandy gravel, and often a foot or two of black sand at the bottom, lying upon a bed of serpentine rock; and it is in this lowest ten feet of yellow gravel and black sand that the free gold is found, nuggets of a pound or two down to minute gold dust, a red gold of about to carats in combination with copper or silver. through this gravel are also immense stones and boulders, and these are the gold diggers' particular bete noir. most of the digging is done by getting out this gravel, freeing it of the boulders and washing it. pine creek is the overflow of surprise lake, a sheet of water twenty miles long and one-half to one mile wide; and although a considerable stream, yet its waters are so much needed in these gold-washing operations that a constant water-war among the diggers and digging companies goes on. there is much waste also in the present methods, and it is to prevent the wars as well as to save the fine gold that now largely escapes that the dredging method is to be applied. then, too, there are only four, or at most five, months in the year when men can work, so that great energy must be expended during the open season. there is no night up here for these four months, and men work all the twenty-four hours in eight-hour shifts; thus, really, more work is done than one would at first imagine. the life of the ideally successful gold digger is to toil with unflagging vigor for the four or five months of daylight and open weather, then "come out" and blow it in leisurely luxury in some comfortable city. but not all are so able to make their summer pile. they may not strike rich pay dirt, but may find it lean, or even barren, and such must just live on through ice and snow and mighty frost, hoping for more luck another year. many are the tales of hardship and suffering and dire wreck one hears. the little graveyard out along the pine creek pike has many graves in it. one man died a natural death, they say, but all the rest went to their graves stark mad from disappointment, poverty and privation. every train passing out over the white pass railway carries its complement of the hopelessly insane, gone mad in the hunt for gold. [illustration: atlin baggage express.] [illustration: atlin city water works.] in this little town or "camp," as it is called, are very many too poor to get away, too broken in health and spirits to more than barely exist. a delicate woman, once the wife of the mayor of an illinois city, does our washing; her husband, a maimed and frozen cripple, sits penniless and helpless while she earns a pittance at the tub. our landlady lets rooms to lodgers, her husband's body lying beneath the deep waters of teslin lake. a cambridge senior wrangler passed us yesterday on the road driving two dogs hitched to a little wagon, peddling cabbages and fish. a few strike gold, and, making their piles, depart, but the many toil hopelessly on, working for a wage, or frozen or crippled, weary in spirit and out of heart, sink into penury, or die mad. [illustration: government mail crossing lake atlin.] [illustration: miner's cabin on spruce creek--atlin gold diggings.] after our dinner in the tent i joined another party, some of those interested in the building of the dredge, and drove with them twenty miles up into the interior to otter creek, where three of them have just started an operation, sluicing for gold. we passed many cabins and small tents, where live the men who are working claims and washing for gold. some were quite shut down for lack of water, others were eagerly at work. at one point a mr. s---- and i left the wagon and struck six miles across a great grassy mountain. we must have ascended , feet or more. an easy ascent over a vast expanse of moss and tufted grass; no trees, no bushes, no hardy herbs, nothing but grass and moss. only on the south and west was the horizon bounded by jagged peaks and summits of snow-topped mountains. glacial action has everywhere worn down the surface into rounded rolling domes and slopes, and for hundreds of miles the land is one wide moorland of grass and moss. here are many flocks of wild sheep and mountain goats, and here moose and caribou are said to abound. during the day, about the noon hour, a giant bull moose had stalked deliberately through the midst of the camp, neither quickening his pace, nor fearing man. so engrossed were the men in their search for gold, that none dropped pick or shovel to molest him. on these higher slopes are multitudes of ptarmigan,--the birds breeding close to the permanent snow line, remaining high up during the summer heats, and gradually descending to the valleys as the fresh falling autumnal snows little by little push them down. in atlin, the other day, a young swedish engineer, a graduate of upsala, showed me a fine pair of ibex horns from one which he had shot high up on the mountains beyond the lake. the animal, though not uncommon, is difficult to get, inhabiting the most inaccessible summits and rarely descending to even the levels where the mountain sheep and goats find pasture. a superb and seemingly boundless pasture land where great herds of cattle ought also to be feeding, and would be, except for the terror of the winter's cold. perhaps the reindeer will some day here find a congenial home. we sat by fires after nightfall, and when day came icicles a foot long hung all along the drip of the flume, and in the afternoon snow fell, covering every rounded summit with its white mantle. returning, i walked another ten miles down the winding valley of otter creek. a stretch of open, grassy moorland, where in the winter-time the moose and caribou gather in numbers seeking shelter from the winds, and finding the dried grass through the scraped-off snow. [illustration: finding "color," a good strike, otter creek, b. c.] [illustration: sluicing for gold, otter creek, b. c.] [illustration: an atlin gold-digger.] to-day h----, sutton and i have driven for hours along the valley of spruce creek, visiting another industrious gold-washing section. we picnicked for lunch in an abandoned miner's camp, and h---- saw her first real washing for gold. we took the picture of one old man, a mr. alfred sutton, in whose cabin we had sought shelter from a passing rain squall. he had hoped to return to england for the winter--he left there many years ago--but the gold had not come in as rich as he had hoped, so he must delay his going for one more year. poor old fellow, his beard was long and white, so, too, his uncombed hair. he had not yet made his yellow pile, but was as hopeful as a boy of twenty. i promised to send him a copy of the photograph and he thanked me joyfully, saying, "and i shall send it to my family at home"--in england. we are here two days longer, when we move on to dawson and i mail these lines to you. september , . this is our last day in atlin. the morning was cold like late november in virginia, the air keen and frosty. ice has formed in the pools, though the aspen and scrub willow and a sort of stunted alder are only turned yellow in spots and patches. the mountain-tops are now all whitened with the delicate early snows, extending like blankets of hoar-frost out beyond the margins of the snow fields that never melt. we dine sumptuously, and all through the gold fields it is the same. the one thing men will and must have is food, good food and no stint. the most expensive canned goods, the costliest preserves, the most high-priced fresh fruits, oranges, bananas, pears and grapes, the finest beef steaks and meats, the most ample variety of vegetables. such an average as new york gives only in her best hotels, is what the gold digger demands, will have, and freely spends his nuggets to obtain. we are astonished at such lavish eating. at the diggings where men work for wages, $ . and $ . per day, board is always included and demanded, and only this high-priced, costly food is accepted. the cooks are connoisseurs. their wages run from $ . to $ . per month and free board. at the camp high amidst the desolate moorlands of otter creek, the men eat beef steaks, thick, juicy, rare, california fresh fruit and lemon meringue pie; with lemons $ . per dozen and eggs ten cents apiece! dundee marmalade is eaten by the ton; the costliest canned cream is swallowed by the gallon--the one permitted, recognized and established extravagance of the gold fields is the sumptuous eating of every man who finds the gold. this afternoon sutton and ourselves with a few friends are going down to see the great glacier at the south end of lake atlin. sixth letter. the great llewellyn or taku glacier. caribou crossing, september , . we have just come in on the steamboat from atlin, and are waiting for the train which will take us to white horse this afternoon, where we will take a river boat to dawson. day before yesterday we took the little steamboat that plies across atlin lake, having chartered it with sutton, and having asked a mr. knight, of philadelphia, and captain irving, of victoria, making a party of five, and went to the head of the lake--forty-five miles. a lovely sail. up the narrow mountain-locked channel on the west of goat island (named from the many wild goats on it). the water a clear, deep blue and light green, according to its depth. the mountains chiefly granite, rising sheer up on either hand four and five thousand feet; the fir forest, dense and sombre, clothing their bases, then running out to ground pine and low shrubs, then the grass and mosses, then the bare rocks and jagged crags and the everlasting snows. the lake channel is everywhere narrow, sometimes widening out to five or six miles, then narrowing into a mile or two, but the air is so wonderfully translucent that ten miles look like one, and distant shores seem close at hand. the further we sailed the narrower grew the channel, until we were among islands and cañons, with sheer snow-capped heights hanging above us, at last slowly creeping through a tortuous passageway of still water out into a long, silent arm, at whose head we tied up to the forest for the night. these clear waters are filled with trout and grayling--the latter chiefly, but of birds there were almost none. only a belated and startled great blue heron flapped lazily away to the west. using our glasses, we saw two or three wild goats up on the heights above us, and probably many more saw us far down below. in the morning we breakfasted early, and started for the glacier--the great llewellen or taku glacier, said to be the largest in the british possessions of north america, sixty miles long to where it comes to taku bay, near juneau, and is there known as taku glacier. we clambered over a mile of trail, through dense, close-growing fir, then out into a wide plain of detritus, once covered by the ice, now two miles long by a mile wide. difficult walking, all glacial drift, and boulders great and small. the distance to the vast slope of dirty ice seemed only a little way; nothing but the walk would convince one that it was over two miles. the glacier projects in a great bow. on its center, like a hog-back mane, are piled masses of earth and rocks. it is there that the moving ice river is. on either side the ice is almost still and white. for five or ten miles the glacier rises toward an apparent summit and stretches toward the coast, fed by a multitude of lesser ice streams issuing from every mountain gorge and valley, while monstrous masses of rock, granite and porphyry, tower into the snows and clouds above it. we had some difficulty in climbing upon the glacier. chasms opened on either side, the front was a cracking ice cliff, crevasses yawned everywhere. though the surface was dirty and blackened, yet down in the cracks and crevasses the wonderful blue ice appeared. from the base of the glacier flows a river, and over its surface coursed a thousand rills. we walked upon the ice and lingered near it till about noon, when our boat took us back to atlin through the greater lake, along the east shores of goat island, a four hours' sail. from atlin we have returned as we went, and are now spending a few hours here. there were very few birds on atlin lake, though i saw a superb loon yesterday near the western shore. ice formed on the lake last night. snow is in the air. we may be too late to go down the yukon from dawson. seventh letter. voyaging down the mighty yukon. dawson, september , . this letter is headed dawson, for i shall mail it there, but i begin it at white horse, a thriving town of over , people, on the west bank of the fifty mile river, just below the famous rapids. the streets are wide, of hard gravel, many large buildings. we are in the "windsor" hotel, a three-storied wooden structure, iron bedsteads, wire mattresses, modern american oak furniture--very comfortable, but as all the partitions are of paper--no plaster--you can hear in one room all that is said on six sides of you--above and below, too. the city and hotel are electric-lighted. many churches, a commodious public school, public hall and reading-room supplied with all current american, canadian and english magazines. the town is up to date. it is at the head of the yukon navigation, where those "going out" take the white pass and yukon railway for skagway, and those "going in" take the boats for "dawson." just now the town is half deserted, many of its inhabitants having stampeded to the new kluhane gold strike, some one hundred and forty miles away. it is here claimed that a new eldorado as rich as the klondike has been found, and white horse now expects to yet rival dawson. extensive finds of copper ore of high grade are also reported in the neighborhood. [illustration: bishop and mrs. bompas.] [illustration: the great llewellyn glacier.] we arrived at caribou yesterday morning on the little s. s. "scotia," built on lake bennett, after a very comfortable night, and went over to dawson charlie's hotel for a good breakfast. by this time h---- and the indian housekeeper had become fast friends, and the girl accordingly brought out her store of nuggets and nugget jewelry for h---- to see. a lovely chain of little nuggets linked together, a yard or more long, earrings, breastpins, buckles, and sundry nuggets, large and small. it is dawson charlie's habit, when in a good humor, to give her one of the pocketful of nuggets he usually carries around. we crossed the bridge over the rushing outflow of lake bennett and went down to the indian village, and called on the man whom all canadian churchmen affectionately and reverently term the "apostle of the north," old bishop bompas and his quaint, white-haired wife. for over forty-five years he has wrought among the indians of the peace river, the mackenzie and yukon watersheds. he is an old man, but as erect as a cree brave. his diocese is now limited to the yukon waters, where, he says, are about , indians, and, of course, an increasing number of white men. they lived in this back, wild country long before the white men thought of gold, or the indian knew of its value. i took their pictures and promised to send them copies. this morning we have walked a few miles up the river to see the celebrated white horse rapids, and i went four miles further, and saw also the miles cañon, where the waters of lake taggish and fifty mile river begin their wild six miles before reaching here. the cañon is sharply cleft in trap rock, and the sides rise sheer and pilastered as though cut into right-angled pillars. these cliffs rise up feet or more and go down as deep below the foaming tide. the cleft does not seem more than yards wide, and through it the waters boil and roar. how the early gold hunters ever got through the furious waters alive is the wonder, and indeed very many did lose their lives here, as well as in the dashing rapids below. on the yukon, september , . we have boarded the steamer "white horse," whose captain is commodore of the yukon fleet--twenty-odd large steamers owned by the white pass & yukon ry. co. we have a stateroom at the rear of the texas, with a window looking out behind as well as at the side. i can lie in my berth and see the river behind us. we swung out into the swift blue current about a quarter to seven, yet bright day, the big boat turning easily in the rather narrow channel. the boat is about the size of those running between charleston, w. va., and cincinnati or pittsburg-- feet long, feet wide, and draws - / feet, with a big stern wheel:--the columbia river type rather than the mississippi, such as run from dawson down--sits rather high in the water and lower parts all enclosed. she has powerful machinery fit for breasting the swift waters; a large, commodious dining salon; a ladies' parlor in the rear; a smoking-room for gentlemen forward; lighted with electricity, and all modern conveniences. she was built at white horse, as were also ten of the sister boats run by the railway company. six years ago no steamboat had traversed these waters. with the current we travel fourteen to twenty miles an hour, against the current only five! the river winds among hills and flats, and mountains all fir-clad and yellowed with much golden aspen, turned by the nightly frosts. [illustration: fishing for grayling--white horse rapids.] [illustration: moonlight on lake le barge.] [illustration: lake bennett from our car.] we came down through fifty mile river, which is the name given to the waters connecting lake taggish and lake lebarge. the moon hung full and low in the south, giving a light as white as upon the table-lands of mexico, so clear is the atmosphere and free from atmospheric dust. we sat upon the upper deck until late in the night, watching the varying panorama. from the window of my stateroom, lying in my berth, i looked an hour or more while we sailed through lake lebarge--five or six miles wide, thirty miles long--hemmed in by lofty, rounded, fir-clad limestone mountains, , or , feet in altitude--the full moon illuminating the quiet waters. only the frequent mocking laugh of the loon echoed on the still night air--there seemed to be hosts of them. once i heard the melancholy howling of a timber wolf among the shadows of a deep bay. from lake lebarge we entered the swift and dangerous currents of thirty mile river. here the boats usually tie up till daylight, but with the full moon and our immense electric searchlight, the captain ventured to go down. again i sat up watching the foaming waters behind us and how deftly we backed and swung round the many sharp bends:--high mountains quite shutting us in, the foaming waters white and black in the moonlight and shadow. at last, when the mountains seemed higher, blacker, more formidable than ever, we suddenly rounded a precipitous mass of limestone and granite and floated out into an immense pool, while away to the east seemingly joined us another river as large as our own, the hootalinqua, fetching down the yet greater tides of lake teslin, and forming with the thirty mile, the true yukon--though the stream is mapped as the lewes, until joined by the pelly, many miles below. we have now been descending this great river all day long; as wide as the ohio, but swifter and deeper and always dark blue water. the valley is wide like the ohio; the bottom lands lying higher above the water and the country rising in successive benches till the horizon is bounded by rounded mountains eight or ten miles away. mountains green with fir, golden yellow with the aspen and the birch, and red and scarlet with the lutestring herb and lichens of the higher slopes. a magnificent panorama, an immense and unknown land, not yet taken possession of by man! the soil of many of these bottoms is rich, and will yield wonderful crops when tilled. some distant day, towns and villages will be here. we have seen many loons upon the river, and probably twenty or thirty golden eagles soaring high in mighty circles--more than i have seen in a single day before. we caught sight of a black fox in the twilight last evening, and surprised a red fox hunting mussel shells upon a river bar to-day. [illustration: a yukon sunset.] [illustration: the upper yukon.] [illustration: a yukon coal mine.] [illustration: five fingers rapids on the yukon.] we have passed several steamers coming up the river and stopped twice to take on firewood and a few times to put off mail at the stations of the northwest mounted police. about four o'clock p. m. we safely passed through the dangerous rocky pass of the five fingers, where five basalt rocks of gigantic size tower feet into the air and block the passage of the foaming waters. just where we passed, the cliffs seemed almost to touch our gunwales, so near are they together. the banks are high slopes of sand and gravel, now and then striped by a white band of volcanic dust. the trees are small and stunted, but growing thickly together, so as scarcely to let a man pass between. we have seen two puny coal banks where is mined a dirty bituminous coal, but worth $ . to $ . per ton in dawson. better than a mine of gold! we have just now run through the difficult passage known as hell's gates, where on one side a mass of cliff and on the other a shifting sand bar confine the waters to a swift and treacherous chute. so close to the rocks have we passed that one might have clasped hands with a man upon them, yet for a mile we never touched their jagged sides. clever steering by our norwegian pilot! now we are past the mouth of the great pelly river, itself navigable for steamboats for some three hundred miles, as far as up to white horse by the main stream, and are hove to at fort selkirk, an old hudson bay company post. here the mounted police maintain a considerable force. they are standing on the bank, many of them in their red coats, together with a group of the pelly indians, a tribe of famous fur hunters. passing safely through the treacherous lewes rapids above the mouth of the pelly, we have swung out into the true yukon, an immense river, wide as the mississippi at st. louis, many islands and sand bars. at high water the river must here be two miles across. the moon hangs round and white in the south, not much above the horizon, and we shall slowly steam ahead all night. september , . we are making a quick trip. we passed the mouth of the stewart river in the early dawn. another great stream navigable for miles. by the pelly valley or by the stewart, and their feeding lakes, will some day enter the railroads from the valley of the mackenzie, coming up from edmonton and the southeast. there is supposed to be yet much undiscovered gold on both of these streams, and fine grass land and black soil fit for root crops. [illustration: coming up the yukon.] the yukon, the mighty yukon, is surely now become a gigantic river, its deep blue waters carrying a tide as great as the st. lawrence. we are making a record trip, ogilvie by a. m., and dawson, sixty miles below, in three more hours! so the captain cheerily avers--the fuller current and deeper tide of waters carrying us the more swiftly. the mountains are lower, more rounded in outline, fir and golden aspen and now red-leaved birch forests covering them to their summits. the air is cold and keen. ice at night, grey fogs at dawn, clear blue sky by the time the sun feebly warms at nine or ten o'clock. we are reaching lands where the ground is frozen solid a few feet below the summer thaws, and the twilight still lingers till nine o'clock. they tell us the days are shortening, but it is hard to credit it, so long is yet the eventime. i shall mail this letter at dawson and send you yet another before we go down the river to the behring sea. to-day i saw the first gulls, white and brown, some ducks on wing, many ravens and but few eagles. we are having a great trip, worth all the time and effort to get here--on the brink of the arctic north, and in one of the yet but half-explored regions of the earth. eighth letter. dawson and the golden klondike. dawson, yukon territory, } thursday, september , . } we came in on tuesday afternoon, the steamer "white horse" having had an unusually good run. as we descended the river the stream grew larger, wider, with more water, and when we passed the white river the blue water there changed to a muddy white, discolored by the turgid, whitish tide of that stream. it must flow somewhere through beds of the white volcanic ash, that for so many miles marks the banks of the yukon with its threadlike white line a foot or two below the surface soil. as we passed the swift water of klondike shoals and rounded in toward the landing, our own hoarse whistle was replied to by several steamers lying at the various wharfboats. we were ahead of time;--our arrival was an event. the town lies well, upon a wide bottom, and now begins to climb the back hill to a secondary flat. it is laid off with wide streets, the chief of which are graveled and fairly kept. there are a few brick buildings, but most are of wood, here and there an old-time (six years old) log building appearing among the more modern ones built of sawed lumber--for logs are now too precious and too costly to squander. [illustration: the "sarah" arriving at dawson, , miles up from st. michaels.] [illustration: the levee, dawson. our steamer.] the town has telephones and electric lights, which latter must pay finely when you realize that for nearly seven months darkness prevails over day. there are two morning daily, and one evening daily newspapers, with all associated press telegraphic news. i send you a copy of one of them. two banks handle the gold, buying the miners' "dust" and doing a thriving business. there are half a dozen quite handsome churches, two hospitals, government buildings, the "governor's palace," and a number of residences that would do credit to any town. there are two large sawmills near the mouth of the klondike river, which is crossed by two fine bridges, one iron and one wood. of foundries and machine shops there are many. the stores and shops are many of them pretentious and filled with the most expensive high-class goods and wares--for, in the first place, the gold miner is lavish, extravagant, and will only have the very best, while it costs as much freight to bring in a cheap commodity as an expensive one. you can buy as handsome things here as in san francisco or new york, if you don't mind the price. the daily newspapers are sold by newsboys on the streets at cents a copy. fine steaks and roasts, mutton and veal, are thirty-five to sixty-five cents per pound. chickens, $ . to $ . each. a glass of beer, twenty-five cents. some elegant drags and victorias, with fine horses, as well as many superb draft horses, are seen on the streets. it only pays to have the best horses; a scrub costs as much to bring in and to keep as a good one, and hay is $ . to $ . per ton, and oats are sold by the pound, sometimes $ . per pound. cows' milk is an expensive luxury at the restaurants, and various canned goods form the staple of life. many large steamboats ply on the yukon, and those running down to st. michael, , miles below, are of the finest mississippi type, and are run by mississippi captains and pilots. we shall go down on one of these, the "sarah," belonging to the "northern commercial company," one of the two great american trading companies. also large towboats push huge freight barges up and down the river. several six-horse stage lines run many times a day to the various mining camps up and adjacent to the klondike valley, which is itself now settled and worked for one hundred and fifty miles from dawson. probably thirty to thirty-five thousand people are at work in these various diggings, and trade and spend in dawson. hence dawson takes on metropolitan airs, and considers herself the new metropolis of the far north and yukon valley. two things strike the eye on first walking about the town. the multitude of big, long-haired, wolflike-looking dogs, loafing about, and the smallness of the neat dwelling-houses. the dogs play in the summer and work untiringly through the long seven months of winter--a "dog's life" then means a volume. small houses are easier to warm than big ones, when fuel is scarce and wood $ , $ and $ per cord, and soft spruce wood at that! [illustration: dawson city, the yukon--looking down.] [illustration: dawson and mouth of klondike river, looking up.] but dawson has an air of prosperity about it. the men and women are well dressed, and have strong, keen faces. many of them "mushed" across chilkoot pass in , and have made their piles. and they are ready to stampede to any new gold field that may be discovered. it is said that there are , people here, stayers, and then there is a fluctuating horde of comers and goers, tenderfeet many of them. this year eleven millions of dust has come into dawson from the neighboring diggings, and since , they say, near a hundred millions have been found! many men and even women have made their millions and "gone out." others have spent as much, and are starting in anew, and the multitude all expect to have their piles within a year or two. a curious aggregation of people are here come together, and from all parts! there are very many whom you must not question as to their past. german officers driven from their fatherland, busted english bloods, many of these in the northwest mounted police, and titled ne'er-do-wells depending upon the quarterly remittances from london, and americans who had rather not meet other fellow countrymen;--mortals who have failed to get on in other parts of this earth, and who have come to hide for awhile in these vast, solitary regions, strike it rich if possible and get another start. and many of them do this very thing, hit upon new fortunes, and sometimes, steadied by former adversity, lead new, honorable careers; but most of the black sheep, if luck is kindly to them, only plunge the deeper and more recklessly into vice and dissipation. the town is full of splendid bar-rooms and gilded gambling-hells. two hundred thousand a night has been lost and won in some of them. i drove past a large, fine-looking man, but possessed of a weak, dissipated mouth, on eldorado creek yesterday. his claim has been one of the fabulously rich, a million or more out of a patch of gravel , feet by , and he has now drunk and gambled most of it away, divorced a nice wife "in the states outside," then married a notorious belle of nether dawson, and will soon again be back to pick and pan and dogs. another claim of like size on bonanza creek was pointed out to me where two brothers have taken out over a million and a quarter since , and have been ruined by their luck. they have recklessly squandered every nugget of their sudden riches in drunkenness and with cards and wine and women to a degree that would put the ancient californian days of ' in the shade. on the other hand, there are such men as lippy, who have made their millions, saved and invested them wisely, and are regarded as veritable pillars in their communities. lippy has just given the splendid y. m. c. a. building to seattle. [illustration: second avenue, dawson.] [illustration: dawson--view down the yukon.] [illustration: the cecil--the first hotel in dawson.] [illustration: a private carriage, dawson.] there is now much substantial wealth in dawson and the klondike. most of the large operations are in the hands of americans, especially of the american companies who have bought up the claims after the individual miner, who just worked it superficially and dug out the cream, has sold the skim milk. and even the major part of the original "stakers" seem to have been americans. there are many good people in dawson among these. then, too, there is the body of canadian officials who govern the territory of yukon--political henchmen of laurier and the liberal party, many of them french canadians. the governor himself and the chief of these officials live here, and their families form the inner circle of select society. very anti-american they are said to be, and they do not mix much with the americans who, of equal or superior social standing at home, here devote themselves to business and gold getting and let canadian society and politics altogether alone. but while the alert american has been the first to stake, occupy and extract the wealth of the klondike, and while by his energy and tireless perseverance he has made the yukon territory the greatest placer mining region of the world, yet this acquirement of vast wealth by americans has not really been pleasing to the canadians, nor to the government of ottawa. so these governing gentlemen in ottawa have put their heads together to discover how they, too, might profit, and especially profit, by the energy of the venturesome american. how themselves secure the chestnuts after he had, at peril of life and fortune, securely pulled the same out of the fire--in this case, frightful frost and ice! and they hit upon this plan: they resolved themselves into little groups, and the government then began granting extensive and exclusive blanket concessions to these groups. just now a great row is on over some of these private concession grants. one man, treadgold by name, turns up and discovers himself to be possessed of an exclusive blanket grant to all the water rights of the klondike valley and its affluent creeks, as well as the exclusive right to hold and work all gold-bearing land not already occupied, and also to hold and have every claim already staked, or worked, which for any reason may lapse to the crown either for non-payment of taxes or any other reason, thus shutting out the individual miner from ever staking a new claim within this region should he discover the gold, and from taking up any lapsed claim, and from re-titling his own claim, should he be careless and neglect to pay his annual taxes by the appointed day! [illustration: dog corral--the fastest team in dawson.] [illustration: a potato patch at dawson.] another man, named boyle, also appears with a similar concession covering the famous bonanza and eldorado creeks, where land is valued by the inch, and millions beyond count have in these few years been dug out. such flagrant and audacious jobbery as the creation and granting of these blanket concessions in the quiet of ottawa, presents to the world, has probably never before been witnessed, unless it be among the inner circle of the entourage of the russian czar. these steals have been so bold and unabashed that this entire mining region has risen as a unit in angry protest. while the miner has been prospecting, discovering, freezing, digging in these arctic solitudes, the snug, smug politician of ottawa has fixed up a job to swipe the whole find should the innocent, ignorant prospector happen to make one. so vigorous has been the protest against these daring abuses of a government clique, that this summer what is called a "dominion royal commission" has been sent here to investigate the situation. the papers are full of the matter. the citizens have met in mass-meeting and unanimously joined in the protest against the concessions, calling for their revocation, and judge--"justice"--britton, the head of the commission, is bitterly denounced as a partisan here simply on a whitewashing trip to exculpate laurier and his friends. and the result of what has unquestionably been crooked jobbery at ottawa is said to be that hundreds of prospectors and miners are moving out of the yukon and into alaska, where they say "there is fair play," and a man may have what he finds. what i here tell you is the current talk in dawson--quite unanimous talk--and i should like to have heard the other side, if there is one. to-day h---- and i have been across the river to visit a characteristic establishment of these far northern lands--a summer "dog ranch"--a place where, during the summer months, the teams of "huskies" and "malamutes" may be boarded and cared for till the working-time of winter comes again. here are some seventy-five dogs in large kennels of rough timber, each team of six dogs having its own private kennel, with a large central yard inside the tiers of pens, into which the whole pack are turned once a day for exercise. we hoped to find the proprietor at home and induce him to give his pets a scamper in the central yard, but he was away. the only visitors besides ourselves were two strange dogs which stood outside, running up and down the line and arousing the entire seventy-five to one great chorus of barks and howls. some of the groups of dogs were superb. and two teams of huskies--the true esquimaux--must have been worth their weight in gold--six dogs--$ , . at the very least. we tried to get some kodak shots, but a cloudy sky and pine log bars made the result doubtful. [illustration: first agricultural fair held at dawson--september, .] we have just returned from an evening at the first annual show of the dawson or yukon "horticultural society." the name itself is a surprise; the display of vegetables particularly and flowers astonished me. the biggest beets i have ever seen, the meaty substance all clear, solid, firm and juicy. potatoes, early rose and other varieties, some new kinds raised from seed in three years--large, a pound or more in size. and such cabbage, cauliflower and lettuce as you never saw before! many kinds, full-headed and able to compete with any produced anywhere. all these raised in the open air on the rich, black bottom and bench land of the yukon. squashes and also tomatoes, but these latter, some of them, not fully ripened. also a display of fine strawberries just now ripe. we bought strawberries in the markets of cristiania and stockholm upon the th and th of september, last year, and now we find a superior ripe fruit here at just about the same degree of north latitude. the wild currants, blueberries and raspberries with which these northern latitudes abound are notorious. and the show of oats, rye, barley, wheat and timothy and native grasses, as well as of red and white clover, was notable, proving beyond a doubt that this yukon region is capable of raising varied and nutritious crops necessary for man's food and for the support of stock, horses and cattle. already a good many thrifty mortals, instead of losing themselves in the hunt for gold, are quietly going into the raising of vegetables and hay and grain, and get fabulous prices for what grows spontaneously almost in a night. and the show of flowers grown in the open air would have delighted you. all of these products of the soil have been grown in sixty or seventy days from the planting of the seed, the almost perpetual sunlight of the summer season forcing plant life to most astonishing growth. september th. day before yesterday i took the six-horse stage up bonanza creek of the klondike and rode some thirteen miles over the fine government road to "discovery" claim, where a cleveland (o.) company is using a dredge and paying the indian "skookum jim," whose house we saw at caribou, a royalty that this year will place $ , . to his credit, i am told. [illustration: daily stage on bonanza.] [illustration: discovery claim on bonanza of the klondike.] the klondike is a large stream, about like elk river of west virginia, rising two hundred miles eastward in the rockies, where the summer's melting snow gives it a large flow of water. the valley is broad--a mile or more. the hills are rolling and rounded, black soil, broad flats of small firs and birches. bonanza creek, on which skookum jim and "dawson charlie" and the white man, discovered the first gold in , has proved the richest placer mining patch of ground the world has ever known. for a length of some twenty miles it is occupied by the several claim-holders, who are working both in the creek bed and also ancient river beds high up on the rolling hill slopes, a thing never known before. here the claims are larger than at atlin, being , feet wide and feet up and down the creek. the claim where a discovery is made is called "discovery claim," and the others are named "no. above" and "no. below," "no. above" and "no. below," etc., and so entered of record. i had seen the dredge being built on gold run at atlin. i wished to see one working here. i found a young american named elmer in charge, and he showed me everything. then he insisted that i dine with him, and took me up to his snug cottage, where i was cordially greeted by his american wife, and taken to the mess tent, where a japanese cook set a good dinner before us. then mrs. elmer said that if i would like she would be delighted to drive me still further up bonanza, and up the equally famous eldorado fork, and show me the more noted claims. her horse was a good one, and for nearly three hours we spanked along. at " eldorado below" i saw the yawning gravel pit from which $ , , has already been taken out by the lucky owner. from " eldorado above" i saw where the pay gravel yielded another enormous sum. and all along men were still digging, dumping, sluicing and getting gold. at " bonanza above," yet another particularly rich strike was shown me, and at " bonanza above," working in the mud and gravel, were men already enormously rich, who in owned nothing but their outfit. and up along the hillsides, too, near the tops, were other gashes in the gravel soil where gold in equally fabulous sums has been taken out and is still being got, for all these rich sands are yet far from being worked out or exhausted. the first mad rush is over. men do not now merely pick out the big nuggets, but are putting in improved machinery and saving the finer dust. along the roadside we also saw many men digging and "rocking" for gold, who have leased a few square yards or an acre or two on a royalty and who are said to be "working a lay." after our drive, i caught the returning stage and came home in the long twilight. to-day i have staged again twenty miles on to the famous hunker creek, and then been driven further and home again by mr. orr, the owner of the stage line, behind a team of swift bays, over another fine government highway. i have looked at more machinery, steam shovels, hoist and labor-saving apparatus, and seen more millions already made and in the making. the present and potential wealth of this country almost stupifies one, and dollars fall into the insignificance of dimes. the traffic on these fine roads is also surprising. substantial log "road houses," or inns, every mile or so, and frequently at even shorter intervals, very many foot-farers traveling from place to place. young men with strong, resolute faces; bicycle riders trundling a pack strapped to their handle-bars, and many six and eight span teams of big mules and big horses hauling immense loads--sometimes two great broad-tired wagons chained together in a train. ten or twelve four and six horse stages leave dawson every day, and as many come in, carrying passengers and mails to and from the many mining camps. in my stage to-day behind me sat two mormons, a man and a woman, who had never met before, from utah, and a woman from south africa, the wife of an expatriated boer; a swede who was getting rich and a french canadian. my host at dinner was from montreal, a black-eyed, bulldog-jawed "habitan," whose heart warmed to me when i told him that my great grandmother, too, was french from quebec, and who thereupon walked me out to the barn to see his eleven malamute pups, and afterward insisted that i take a free drink at his bar. i took a kodak of him with "_mes enfants_," and promised to send him a copy of the same. [illustration: looking up the klondike river.] [illustration: the author at white horse rapids.] [illustration: "mes enfants" malamute pups.] [illustration: a klondike cabin.] to-night i ventured out to try again the restaurant of our first adventure. sitting at a little table, i was soon joined by three bright-looking men--one a "barrister," one a mining engineer, one a reporter. result ( ), an interview; ( ), a pass to the fair; ( ), my dinner paid for, a -cent havana cigar thrust upon me, and ( ) myself carried off to the said fair by two of its directors, and again shown its fine display of fruits and grains and flowers and all its special attractions by the management itself. in fact, the dawsonite can not do too much for the stranger sojourning in his midst. mercury to degrees every morning. before arriving in dawson a big, rugged, government official had said to me, "go to the hotel ---- and give my love to mrs. ----. she has a red head and a rich heart. she has cheered more stricken men than any woman in the yukon. she mushed through with her husband with the first 'sourdoughs' over the ice passes in ' . she was a streak of sunshine amidst the perils and heartaches of that terrible human treck. she runs the only hotel worth going to in dawson. you will be lucky to get into it. give her our love, the love of all of us. tell her you're our friends, and maybe she will take you in." so we were curious about this woman who had dared so much, who had done so much, who was yet mistress of the hearts of the rough, strong men of the yukon. we went to her hotel. we asked to see her. we were shown into a cosy, well-furnished parlor. we might just as well have been in a home in kanawha or new york. we heard some orders given in a firm, low-pitched voice, a quick step, mrs. ---- was before us. an agreeable presence, dignity, reserve, force. tall, very tall, but so well poised and proportioned you didn't notice it. a head broad browed and finely set on neck and shoulders. yes, the hair was red, venetian red with a glimmer of sunshine in it. i delivered the message straight. she received it coolly. "the house was full, but she would have place for us before night. a party would leave on the p. m. stage for dominion creek. we should have his room. dinner would be served at seven." the chamber was given us in due time. plainly furnished, but comfortable. the hotel is an immense log house, chinked with moss and plaster, and paper lined, and all the partitions between the rooms are also paper. but we are learning to talk in low voices, and, between a little french and german and danish, h. and i manage to keep our secrets to ourselves, although of the private affairs of all the other guests we shall soon be apprised. the dining-room is large, the whole width of the house, in the center a huge furnace stove from which radiate many large, hot pipes, where in the long winter night-time is kept up a furious fire, and a cord of wood is burned each day--and wood at $ to $ per cord! the guests sit at many little tables. the linen is spotless. the china good english ware. the fare is delicious. the cook is paid $ per month, the maids $ , with board thrown in. delicate bacon from chicago. fresh eggs from iowa. chickens from oregon--no live chickens in dawson. the first mushers brought in a few, but the hawks and owls, the foxes and minks and other varments devoured many of them, and the surviving ones, after waiting around a week or two for the sun to set, went cackling crazy for lack of sleep, and died of shattered nerves. caribou steak and tenderloin of moose we have at every meal. and to-day wild duck and currant jelly. the ducks abound along the river, the currants grow wild all over the mountain slopes. and such celery and lettuce and radishes and cabbage! potatoes, big and mealy, and turnips, and carrots, delicate and crisp, all grown in the local gardens round about. cabbage here sells at a dollar a head and lettuce at almost as much. but you never ate the like. white and hard as celery, so quickly do they grow in the nightless days! nowhere in all the world can you live so well as in dawson, live if only you have the "stuff." live if you can pay. we follow the habit of the land and pay up in full after each meal. it is dangerous to trust the stranger for his board. it is well for us we hold fast to this custom, else we might not be able to leave the town--a regulation of the government of the city--no man may leave with bills unpaid. so long as he owes even a single dollar, he must remain! and the n. w. m. p. watch the boats, the river and the mountain passes and enforce this law. our hostess takes good care of her guests. very many young men working for the larger commercial companies board here, all, who are allowed, come for transient meals. and those who are homesick and down in spirit come just for the sake of neighborship to the tall, well-gowned woman whose invariable tact and sympathy, and often motherly tenderness, has given new heart to many a lonely "chechaqua" (tenderfoot), so far away from home! in this dining-room, too, one sees a type not so often now met in our own great country, but inherent to english methods. the permanent chief clerk. the man whose career is to be forever a book-keeper or a clerk, whose highest ambition is to be a book-keeper or a clerk just all his life, and who will be trusted with the highest subordinate positions, but will never be made a partner, however much he may merit it. london is filled with such. the offices of the great british commercial companies are full of such the world round. men who know their business and attend to it faithfully, and whose lives are a round of precise routine. such men sit at tables all about us. in london every morning the _times_ or _daily telegraph_ is laid at their plates. here the yukon _sun_ or dawson _times_ is laid before them just the same, and they gravely read the news of the world, while they sip their tea and munch their cold toast, just as though they were "at home." and they walk in and out with the same stoop-shouldered shuffle gait one sees along the strand or bishopsgate street within, or mansionhouse square. our hostess greets each guest as he enters, and walks about among them and says a cheery word to every one. one, on her left, has just now been reading to her from a letter which tells of his mother in england, and, i surmise, hints of a waiting sweetheart; and another, an australian, who is just going away on a prospecting trip far up the stuart river, is telling her what to write home for him in case he shall never come back. the two other chief objects of interest in this dining-room, besides mrs. ----, are--her small boy of six, who is being greatly praised this morning by all the company--he has just licked the big boy across the street, who for a week or two has tried to bully him, on account of which feat his mother is immensely proud--and a wonderful grey and white cat that sits up and begs just like a prairie dog or a gopher. when a kitten, pussy must have gone out and played with some of the millions of gophers that inhabit every hillside, and learned from them how to properly sit up. she visits each guest every morning and sits up and folds her paws across her breast and mews so plaintively that no hand can forbear giving her a tidbit. "we were among the first. we came up from san francisco in a waterlogged schooner through the wash of ice and winter gales to dyea, and then mushed over chilkoot pass on snowshoes with the dogs. i shouldered my pack like the men. and john--john would have backed out or died of weariness, if i hadn't told him that if he quit, i should come on in just all the same. yes! i carried my gun--i didn't have to use it but once or twice. yes! we've done very well in dawson, very well in the klondike, very well!" and a big diamond glinted as though to reenforce the remark. she spoke rapidly, though easily, in crisp, curt sentences, and you felt she had indeed "mushed" in, that frightful winter, over those perilous snow and ice passes, just sure enough! as i looked into her wide-open, brown eyes, i felt that i beheld there that spirit which i have everywhere noted in the keen faces of the men and women of the yukon, the yet living spirit of the great west, of the west of half a century ago; of virginia and new england two hundred years ago; the spirit which drove drake and frobisher and captain cook and their daring mariners out from the little islands of our motherland to possess and dominate the earth's mysterious and unchartered seas; the spirit which still makes the name american stand for energy and power and accomplishment in all the world; the spirit, shall i say, which gives the future of the earth to the yet virile anglo-saxon race. ninth letter. men of the klondike. yukon territory, canada, september , . we lingered in dawson a week waiting for the steamers "sarah" or "louise" or "cudahy" to come up from the lower river, and though always "coming," they never came. meantime the days had begun to visibly shorten, the frosts left thicker rime on roof and road each morning. "three weeks till the freeze-up," men said, and we concluded that so late was now the season that we had best not chance a winter on a sand-bar in the wide and shallow lower yukon, and a nasty time with fogs and floe ice in behring sea. so on wednesday, the th, we again took the fine steamer "white horse," and are now two days up the river on our way. we will reach white horse sunday morning, stay there till monday morning, when we will take the little railway to skagway, then the ocean coaster to seattle and the land of dimes and nickels. we regret not having been able to go down to st. michael and nome, and to see the whole great yukon. my heart was quite set on it, and the expense was about the same as the route we now take, but to do so we should have had to take too great risks at this late season. while lingering in dawson we were able to see more of the interests of the community. one day we called on a quite notable figure, _a_, or rather _the_, dr. grant of st. andrews hospital, m. d., and of st. andrews great church, d. d.! a canadian scotchman of, say, thirty-five years, who, although a man of independent fortune, chose the wild life of the border just from the very joy of buffet and conquest. he "mushed" it in over the chilkoot pass. he built little churches and hospitals all in one, and became the helper of thousands whom the perils and stresses of the great trek quite overcame. so now he is a power in dawson. a large and perfectly equipped hospital, his creation, has been endowed by the government; a fine, modern church holding six hundred; a pretty manse and big mission school buildings of logs. all these standing in a green turfed enclosure of two or three acres. the church cost $ , . he preaches sundays to a packed house. he is chief surgeon of the hospital during the rest of the time. he gives away his salary, and the men of these mining camps, who know a real man when they see him, can't respond too liberally to the call of the preacher-surgeon who generally saves their bodies and sometimes their souls. i found him a most interesting man--a naturalist, a scientific man, a man of the world and who independently expounds a presbyterian cult rather of the lyman abbott type. he showed us all through the hospitals; many surgical accident cases; very few fevers or sickness. the church, too, we inspected; all fittings within modern and up to date; a fine organ, the freight on which alone was $ , , per cent. of its cost; a furnace that warmed the building even at below zero, and a congregation of to people, better dressed (the night we attended) than would be a similar number in new york. there are no old clothes among the well-to-do; gold buys the latest styles and disdains the cost. there are few old clothes among the poor, for the poor are very few. so as i looked upon the congregation before dr. grant, i might as well have been in new york but for a pew full of red coats of "n. w. m. p." (north west mounted police). the succeeding day dr. grant called upon us, and escorted us through the military establishment that polices and also governs the yukon territory as well as the whole canadian northwest. barracks for men, storerooms, armory, horse barn, dog kennel-- dogs--jail, mad-house and courtrooms. the executive and judicial departments all under one hand and even the civil rule as well. everywhere evidence of the cold and protection against it. a whole room full of splendid fur coats, parquets, with great fur hoods. such garments as even an esquimaux would rejoice in. later, we attended the fine public school, where are over children in attendance; all equipment the latest and up to date; kindergarten department and grades to the top, the teachers carefully picked from eastern canada. the positions are much sought for by reason of unusually high salaries paid. the new principal had just come from toronto. he told us that these were the brightest, most alert children he had ever taught. keen faces, good chins, inheriting the aggressive initiative of the parents who had dared to come so far. in the kindergarten a little colored boy sat among his white mates. in canada, like mexico, there is no color line. it now takes us four days to creep up the river against the strong current and through the many shallows to white horse. on the boat there are all sorts. i have met a number of quaint figures. one a french canadian trapper, on his way to a winter camp on mcmillan creek of the pelly river. he will have three or more cabins along a route where he will set his traps. about two hundred he keeps a-going, and sees as many of them as he can each day. mink and marten and otter and beaver, as well as wolves and foxes, lynx and bears. for meat he prefers caribou to moose. for many years he trapped for the "h. b. c." (hudson bay company) over east of the rockies. but they paid him almost nothing and there were no other buyers. now he sells to dawson merchants and gets $ . for a marten skin "all through"--the whole lot. the fur merchant in victoria asked $ . for just such, and said we might buy them as low as $ . in the yukon country, so he had heard. another man to-day has sat on the wood-pile with me and told me of the great north--a man with a well-shaped face, who used language of the educated sort, yet dressed in the roughest canvas, and who is raising hay here along the yukon which he "sells at three cents a pound in dawson, or one cent a pound in the stack," wild, native hay at that. and he had "mushed" and "voyaged" all through the far north. he had set out from edmonton, he and his "pardner," and driven to "athabasca landing" in their farm wagon, three or four hundred miles over the "government road;" had passed through the beautiful, wide, gently sloping valley of the peace river, and through the well-timbered regions north of the peace. at athabasca landing they had sold the wagon and built a stout flatboat, and in this had floated down some three hundred miles to athabasca lake, indian pilots having taken them through the more dangerous rapids. the athabasca river enters the lake among swamps and low, willowy spits of land, where grows wild hay and ducks abound, and the "great slave" river flows out of it into the body of water of that name. these two rivers enter and depart near together, and the voyager escapes the dangers of a journey on the great and shallow athabasca, where the surf is most dangerous. three or four hundred miles of a yet greater river, with many rapids through which you are guided by indian pilots, who live near the dangerous waters, carry you into the great slave lake, the largest body of fresh water in canada. steamboats of the hudson bay company run upon it and ply upon the inflowing rivers, and even go up and down the mckenzie to herschell island at its mouth, and where the "n. w. m. p." have a post, chiefly to protect the natives from the whalers who gather there to trade and smuggle in dutiable goods. the mckenzie is greater than the yukon, is wider and much deeper and carries a much greater volume of water. great slave lake, while shallow and flat toward the eastern end, is deep and bounded by great cliffs and rocks on the west. storms rage upon it, and at all times the voyagers count it dangerous water. both it and athabasca are full of fish, so, too, the adjacent rivers and the mckenzie. floating down the mckenzie, passing the mouth of the nelson river, they came at last to the liard, and up this they canoed to within half a mile of the waters of the pelly, down which they floated to the yukon. the french trapper had also "come in" by this route. "two seasons it takes," he said, "an easy trip," and you can winter quite comfortably in the mountains. east of the mountains there is much big game, "plenta big game;" musk ox are there, and moose and caribou. but the indians and wolves kill too many of them. the indians catch the caribou on the ice and kill them for their tongues. "smoked caribou tongue mighta nice." they leave the carcasses where they fall, and then come the foxes for the feast. "thousands of fox, red fox, silver fox, black fox, white fox. mr. fox he eat caribou, he forget indian--indian set the trap and fox he caught. the wolf, too, he creep up upon the caribou, even upon the moose when he alone, when he lying down; the wolf he bites the hamstring. he kill many moose. that a grand country for to trap, but the hudson bay company it pay nothing for the fur. a sack of flour i see them give one indian for a black fox. now since hudson bay lose his exclusive right, no man trade with him or sell him fur except he must for food." [illustration: on the yukon.] [illustration: floating down the yukon.] we have just passed a little log cabin beneath great firs and amidst a cluster of golden aspen. its door and solitary window are wide open. no one occupies it, or ever will. wild things may live in it, but not man. near the cabin, where the yukon makes a great sweeping bend, and the swift water purls round into bubbling eddies, a narrow trail cut from the river bank leads up among the trees. the dweller in the cabin could see far up the great river; he could espy the raft or skiff or barge descending and mark its occupants; then he used to take his trusty rifle, step across to the opening in the trees at the point, and pick off his victims. sometimes their bodies fell into the deep, cold, swift-running waters. the wolves and foxes picked their bones on the bars below. sometimes he captured the body as well as the outfit, and sunk and buried them at leisure. the pictures of the three last men he murdered hang in the office of the chief of the northwest mounted police, at dawson, beside his own. it took three years to gather the complete chain of circumstantial evidence, but at last they hanged him, two years ago. in the beginning there were many other crimes quite as atrocious committed in this vast region of the unknown north, but soon the efficiency and systematic vigilance of the northwest mounted police broke up forever the bandits and thugs who had crowded in here from all the earth, and uncle sam's dominion in particular. many were hanged, many sent up for long terms, many run out. life sentences were common for robbery. to-day the yukon country is more free from crime than west virginia, and dawson more orderly than charleston. tenth letter. dog lore of the north. white horse, sunday, september , . we arrived about nine o'clock this morning. the voyage up the yukon from dawson has taken us since wednesday at : , when we cast off and stemmed the swift waters--twenty-four hours longer than going down. during the week of our stay at dawson the days grew perceptibly shorter and the nights colder. there is no autumn in this land. two weeks ago the foliage had just begun to turn; a week ago the aspens and birches were showing a golden yellow, but the willows and alders were yet green. now every leaf is saffron and golden--gamboge--and red. in a week or more they will have mostly fallen. as yet the waters of the yukon and affluent rivers show no ice. in three weeks they are expected to be frozen stiff, and so remain until the ice goes out next june. the seasons of this land are said to be "winter and june, july and august." to me it seems inconceivable that the arctic frosts should descend so precipitately. but on every hand there is evident preparation for the cold, the profound cold. double windows and doors are being fastened on. immense piles of sawed and cut firewood are being stored close at hand. sleighs and especially sledges are being painted and put in order; the dogs which have run wild, and mostly foraged for themselves during the summer, are being discovered, captured and led off by strings and straps and wires about their necks. men are buying new dogs, and the holiday of dogkind is evidently close at an end. women are already wearing some of their furs. ice half to a full inch forms every night, and yesterday we passed through our first snow storm, and all the mountains round about, and even the higher hills, are to-day glistening in mantles of new, fresh, soft-looking snow. the steamers of the white pass and yukon railway company will be laid up in three weeks now, they tell us, and already the sleighs and teams for the overland stage route are being gathered, the stage houses at twenty-four-mile intervals being set in order, and the "government road" being prepared afresh for the transmission of mails and passengers. [illustration: approaching seattle.] [illustration: with and without.] we have just seen some of the magnificent labrador dogs, with their keeper, passing along the street, owned by the government post here--immense animals, as big as big calves, heifers, yearlings, i might say. they take the mails to outlying posts and even to dawson when too cold for the horses--horses are not driven when the thermometer is more than degrees below! as i sat in the forward cabin the other night watching the motley crowd we were taking "out," two bright young fellows, who turned out to be "government dog-drivers" going to the post here to report for winter duty, fell into animated discussion of their business, and told me much dog lore. the big, well-furred, long-legged "labrador huskies" are the most powerful as well as fiercest. a load of pounds per dog is the usual burden, and seven to nine dogs attached each by a separate trace--the labrador harness is used with them, so the dogs spread out fan-shaped from the sledge and do not interfere with each other. the great care of the driver is to maintain discipline, keep the dogs from shirking, from tangling up, and from attacking himself or each other. he carries a club and a seal-hide whip, and uses each unmercifully. if they think you afraid, the dogs will attack you instantly, and would easily kill you. and they incessantly attack each other, and the whole pack will always pounce on the under dog so as to surely be in at a killing, just for the fun of it, ripping up the unfortunate and lapping his blood eagerly, though they rarely eat him. and as these dogs are worth anywhere from $ up, the driver has much ado to prevent the self-destruction of his team. and to club them till you stun them is the only way to stop their quarrels. then, too, the dogs are clever and delight to spill the driver and gallop away from him, when he can rarely catch them until they draw up at the next post house, and it may be ten or twelve or thirty miles to that, unless it be that they get tangled among the trees or brush, when the driver will find them fast asleep, curled up in the snow, where each burrows out a cozy bed. the malamutes, or native indian dog, usually half wolf, are driven and harnessed differently--all in a line--and one before the other. they are shorter haired, faster, and infinitely meaner than the long-haired huskie (of which sort the labrador dogs are). their delight is to get into a fight and become tangled, and the only way out is to club them into insensibility, and cut the leather harness, or they will cut the seal-hide thongs themselves at a single bite if they are quite sure your long plaited whip will not crack them before they can do it. these malamutes are the usual dogs driven in this country, for few there are to afford or know how to handle the more powerful labrador huskie. and the malamute is the king of all thieves. he will pull the leather boots off your feet while you sleep and eat them for a midnight supper; he delights to eat up his seal-hide harness; he has learned to open a wooden box and will devour canned food, opening any tin can made, with his sharp fangs, quicker than a steel can-opener. canned tomatoes, fruit, vegetables, sardines, anything that man may put in, he will deftly take out. even the tarpaulins and leather coverings of the goods he may be pulling, he will rip to pieces, and he will devour the load unless watched with incessant vigilance night and day. yet, with all their wolfish greed and manners, these dogs perform astonishing feats of endurance, and never in all their lives receive a kindly word. "if you treat them kindly, they think you are afraid, and will at once attack you," the driver said; "the only way to govern them is through fear." once a day only are they fed on raw fish, and while the malamute prefers to pilfer and steal around the camp, the huskie will go and fish for himself when off duty, if given the chance. just like the bears and lynx of the salmon-running streams, he will stand along the shore and seize the fish that is shoved too far upon the shallows. seventy miles a day is the rule with the indians and their dog teams, and the white man does almost as much. forty miles is it from here to caribou crossing, and the northwest mounted police, with their labrador teams, take the mails when the trains are snowbound and cover the distance in four to five hours. great going this must be! and then the conversation turned to the great cold of this far north land, when during the long nights the sun only shows for an hour or two above the horizon. when the thermometer falls below fifty degrees (fahr.), then are the horses put away, what few there may be, and the dogs transport the freight and mails along the government road between white horse and dawson, as well as from dawson to the mining camps to which the stage lines usually run. indeed, throughout all of this north land, with the coming of the snow, the dogs are harnessed to the sledges and become the constant traveling companions of man. [illustration: malamute team of government mail-carrier--dawson.] [illustration: breaking of the yukon--may , .] [illustration: sun dogs.] [illustration: winter landscape]. the air is dry in all this great interior basin of the continent, and, consequently, the great cold is not so keenly felt as in the damper airs nearer to the sea. the dogs can travel in all weathers which man can stand, and even when it becomes so cold that men dare not move. the lowest government record of the thermometer yet obtained at dawson city is eighty-three degrees below zero. these great falls of temperature only occasionally occur, but when the thermometer comes down to minus sixty degrees, then men stay fast indoors, and only venture out as the necessity demands; then the usually clear atmosphere becomes filled with a misty fog, often so thick that it is difficult to see a hundred yards away. when traveling with a dog team, or, indeed, when "mushing" upon snow-shoes across streams and forests, men go rather lightly clad, discarding furs, and ordinarily wearing only thick clothes, with the long canvas parquet as protection against the wind rather than against the temperature; then motion becomes a necessity, and to tarry means to freeze. the danger of the traveler going by himself is that the frost may affect his eyesight, freezing the eyelids together, perhaps dazing his sight, unless snow-glasses are worn. and the ice forms in the nostrils so rapidly, as well as about the mouth, and upon the mustache and beard, that it is a constant effort to keep the face free from accumulating ice. in small parties, however, men travel long distances, watching each other as well as themselves to insure escape from the ravages of the frost. when the journey is long and the toil has become severe, the arctic drowsiness is another of the enemies which must be prevented from overcoming the traveler, and the methods are often cruel which friends must exercise in order to prevent their companions from falling asleep. during this long period of arctic winter and arctic night, there seems to be no great cessation in the struggle for gold; the diggings in the klondike and remoter regions retain their companies of men toiling to find the gold. the frozen gravels are blasted out and piled up to be thawed the next summer by the heat of the sun and washed with the flowing waters. while the arctic night prevails for twenty-two or twenty-three hours out of the twenty-four, yet so brilliant are the stars and so refulgent are the heavens with the lightening of the aurora borealis, that men work and travel and carry on the usual occupations, little hindered by the absence of the sun. sometimes, in the very coldest days, is beheld the curious phenomenon of several suns appearing above the horizon, and these are called the "sun dogs," the sun itself being seemingly surrounded by lesser ones. i was fortunate enough to obtain a fine photograph taken on one of these days, which i am able to send you. the freezing of the yukon comes on very suddenly, the great river often becoming solid in a night. the curious thing of these northern lakes and rivers is, that the ice forms first upon the bottom, and, rising, fills the water with floating masses and ice particles, which then become congealed almost immediately. early in last october our steamer "white horse," on which we are now traveling, became permanently frozen in when within one hundred miles of dawson city, the apparently clear river freezing so quickly that the boat became fast for the winter, and the passengers were compelled to "mush" their way, as best they might, across the yet snowless country, a terrible and trying experience in the gathering cold. you may be in a row-boat or a canoe upon ice-free waters, and, as you paddle, you may notice bubbles and particles of ice coming to the surface. great, then, is the danger. the bottom has begun to freeze. you may be frozen in before you reach the shore in ice yet too thin to walk upon or permit escape. for the greater part of the winter season the frozen streams become the natural highways of the traveler, and the dog teams usually prefer the snow-covered ice rather than attempt to go over the rougher surface of the land. another curious thing, friends tell me, affects them in this winter night-time, and that is the disposition of men to hibernate. fifteen and sixteen hours of sleep are commonly required, while in the nightless summer-time three and four and five hours satisfy all the demands nature seems to make--thus the long sleeps of winter compensate for the lack of rest taken during the summer-time. and yet these hardy men of the north tell me that they enjoy the winter, and that they perform their toils with deliberation and ease, and take full advantage of the long sleeping periods. the yukon freezes up about the th of october, the snow shortly follows, and there is no melting of the ice until early june. this year the ice went out from the river at dawson upon june th; thus, there are seven to eight months of snow and ice-bound winter in this arctic land. eleventh letter. how the government searches for gold. steamer dolphin, september , . we left white horse by the little narrow-gauge railway, white pass & yukon railway, at : --two passenger cars, one smoker, mail and express and baggage hung on behind a dozen freight cars. our steamer brought up about one hundred passengers from dawson and down-river points, and together with what got on board at white horse, the train was packed. many red-coated northwest mounted police also boarded the train, and just as it pulled out, a strapping big, strong-chinned, muscular woman came in the rear door and sat down. she was elegantly gowned, dark, heavy serge, white shirt waist, embroidered cloth jacket, and much gold jewelry, high plumed hat. presently a big man called out that all the men must go forward into the next car, and the big woman announced that she would proceed to examine all the ladies for gold dust. the paternal government of the yukon territory exacts a tax of - / per cent. of all gold found, and examines all persons going out of the territory, and confiscates all dust found on the person. women are said to be the most inveterate smugglers, and the big woman goes through them most unmercifully. she bade the lady next her to stand up and then proceeded to feel her from stockings to chemise top, and did the same by the others. those who wore corsets had a tough time, and some had to undo their hair. as the first victim stood up and was unbuttoned and felt over, she was greeted with an audible smile by the other ladies, but silence fell as the next victim was taken in hand. meanwhile, during this pleasant diversion, a big red-coat stood with his back to each door, and the men were being similarly though not so ruthlessly gone through in the other cars. this trip no dust was found, i believe, but last week one woman was relieved of $ , sewed into the margin of her skirts and tucked deep into the recesses of her bosom. stockings and bosom are the two chief feminine caches for gold, and when a culprit is thus discovered and relieved, many are the protestations and unavailing the clamors raised. during the past year i am told that the examiners have seized in these searches some $ , in dust, so i presume the happy custom will for some time continue. detectives are kept in dawson, travel on the boats, and so watch and scrutinize every traveler that by the time the final round-up and search takes place, the probable smugglers are all pretty well spotted. as each is examined, his or her name is checked off in a little book. we were close to caribou crossing when the ceremony was over, and i with others of my sex was permitted to re-enter the rear car and rejoin the company of the much beflustered ladies. [illustration: lake bennett.] [illustration: the height of land, white pass.] all along the advance of winter was apparent. the green of a fortnight ago had turned into the universal golden yellow, and the fresh snow lay in more extended covering upon all the mountain summits and even far down their slopes. so it is in this far north, each day the snow creeps down and down until it has caught and covered all the valleys as well as hills. at caribou we met old bishop bompas and his good little wife, who, with a big cane, came all the way into the car to see us and say good-by. a charming couple who have given their lives doing a noble work. lake bennett was like a mirror, and lake lindemann above it, too, seemed all the greener in contrast to the encroaching snows. we were at the white pass summit by p. m., and then for an hour came down the , feet of four per cent. grade, the twenty miles to skagway. the increase of snows on all the mountains seemed to bring out more saliently than ever the sharp, jagged granite rock masses. it even seemed to us that we were traversing a wilder, bolder, harsher land than when three weeks ago we entered it. and the views and vistas down into the warmer valleys we were plunging into were at times magnificent. snow around and above us, increasing greenness of foliage below us, and beyond recurring glimpses of the lynn fiord, with skagway nestling at its head. in every affluent valley a glacier and a roaring torrent. one of the newest and best boats in the trade, "the dolphin," was awaiting us. our stateroom was already wired for and secured. we took our last alaska meal at the "pack train restaurant," where we snacked sumptuously on roast beef, baked potatoes and coffee for seventy cents (in dawson it would have been an easy $ . ), and walked down the mile-long pier to the boat. the tides are some twenty feet here, and the sandy bars of skagway require long piers to permit the ships to land when the tides are out. we cast off about p. m., with the tide almost at its height, and only awoke to-day just as we were steaming out of juneau. now we are approaching the beautiful and dangerous wrangel narrows, and see everywhere above us the fresh snows of the fortnight's making. wild seas among the fjords. wednesday, september rd. it is the middle of the afternoon and we are just safely through the--to-day--tempestuous passage of "dixon's entrance," the thirty-three-mile break in the coast's protecting chain of islands and the outlet for port simpson to the open sea. yesterday we passed through the dangerous twenty miles of the wrangel narrows just before dark, and only the swift swirls of the fighting tides endangered us; they fall and rise seventeen feet in a few hours, and the waters entering the tortuous channels from each end meet in eddying struggle somewhere near the upper end. the boats try and pass through just before the flood tide or a little after it, or else tie up and wait for the high water. if we had been an hour later, we should have had to lie by for fifteen hours, the captain said. as we turned in from frederick sound, between two low-lying islands all densely wooded with impenetrable forests of fir, the waters were running out against us almost in fury, but in a mile or two they were flowing with us just as swiftly. to-day we saw a good many ducks, chiefly mallard and teal, and small divers, and my first cormorant, black, long-necked and circling near us with much swifter flight than the gull. in the narrows we started a great blue heron and one or two smaller bitterns. from the narrows we passed into sumner strait, and then turning to the right and avoiding wrangel bay and fort wrangel, where we stopped going up, passed into the great clarence strait that leads up direct from the sea. a sound or fiord one hundred miles or more long, ten or fifteen miles wide. the day had been clear, but, before passing through the narrows, clouds had gathered, and a sort of fierce scotch mist had blown our rain-coats wet. on coming out into wider waters, the storm had become a gale. the wildest night we have had since twelve months ago in the tempest of the year upon the gulf of finland. to-day, until now, the waters have been too boisterous to write. all down clarence strait, until we turned into revilla and gigedo channels--named for and by the spanish discoverers--and across the thirty-three miles of dixon's entrance, we have shuttlecocked about at the mercy of the gale and in the teeth of the running sea. the guests at table have been few, but now we are snug behind porcher island and passing into the smooth waters of greenville channel, so i am able to write again. the swedish captain says the storm is our equinoctial, and that may be, and now that the sun is out and the blue sky appearing, we shall soon forget the stress, although to-night, as we pass from fitzhugh sound into queen charlotte sound, we shall have a taste of the pacific swell again, and probably yet have some thick weather in the gulf of georgia. considering the lateness of the season, we are, all in all, satisfied that we rightly gave up the st. michaels trip, though it has sorely disappointed us not to have seen the entire two thousand miles of the mighty yukon. already we notice the moderation of the temperature and the greater altitude of the sun, for we are quite one thousand miles south of dawson, while the air has lost its quickening, exhilarating, tonic quality. we are becoming right well acquainted with our sundry shipmates, particularly those who have "come out" from the yukon with us. among them we have found out another interesting man. across the table from us on the steamer "white horse" sat a shock-headed man of about thirty years, tall, very tall, but muscularly built, with a strong, square jaw and firm, blue eyes. a fellow to have his own way; a bad man in a mix-up. a flannel shirt, no collar, rough clothes. possibly a gentleman, perhaps a boss tough. we find him a graduate of the university of michigan. he has lived in mexico, and now for five straight years has been "mushing it," and prospecting in the far north; has tramped almost to the arctic sea, into the water-shed of the mackenzie, and bossed fifty to one hundred men at the klondike and dominion diggings. his camera has always been his companion, and for an hour yesterday he sat in our cabin and read to us from the mss. some of the verse and poems with which his valise is stacked. some of the things are charming and some will bring the tears. this far north land of gold and frost has as yet sent out no poet to depict its hopes, its perils, its wrecks. it may be that he is the man. his name is luther f. campbell, and you may watch for the name. and so we meet all sorts. friday, september th. yesterday was a "nasty" day, as was the day before. early, or a. m., we passed through the ugly waters of millbank sound, where the sweeping surge of the foam-capped pacific smashes full force against the rock-bound coast. we were tossed about greatly in our little -ton boat, until at last, passing a projecting headland, we were instantly in dead quiet water and behind islands once more. about a. m. we came again into the angry pacific, and for fifty miles--four hours--were tossed upon the heavy sea, queen charlotte sound. the equinoctial gales have had a wild time on the pacific, and the gigantic swell of that ocean buffeted our little boat about like a toy. but she is a fine "sea boat," and sat trim as a duck, rolling but little, nor taking much water. toward middle afternoon we were in quiet waters again, and by nightfall at the dangerous seymour narrows, where vancouver island leans up against the continent, or has cracked off from it, and a very narrow channel separates the two. here the tides--twelve feet--rise, rush and eddy, meet and whirl, and only at flood stage do boats try to pass through. in , a u. s. man-of-war tried to pass through when the tides were low, and, caught in the swirling maelstrom, sank in one hundred fathoms of water. in , a coastwise steamer ventured at improper moment to make the passage, was caught in the mad currents, and was engulfed with nearly all on board; half a dozen men alone were saved. hence the captains are now very careful in making the passage, and so we lay at anchor--or lay to--from seven to twelve, midnight, waiting for the tide. to-day we are spinning down the gulf of georgia and puget sound, the wind direct astern, and have already left vancouver and victoria to the north. the sun is clear and soft, not hard and brilliant as in dawson. whales are blowing at play about the ship, gulls skimming the air in multitudes. all our company are over their seasickness and now mostly on deck. we are repacking our bags and the steamer trunk, taking off heavy winter flannels and outer wear, and preparing to land at seattle clad again in semi-summer clothes. twelfth letter. seattle, the future mistress of the trade and commerce of the north. the portland hotel, } portland, oregon, october , . } just one week ago to-day the steamer "dolphin" landed us safely at the pier at seattle. the sail on puget sound, a body of deep water open for one hundred miles to the ocean, was delightful. we passed many vessels, one a great four-masted barque nearing its port after six or eight months' voyage round the horn from liverpool. seattle lies upon a semi-circle of steep hills, curving round the deep waters of the sound like a new moon. an ideal site for a city and for a mighty seaport, which some day it will be. many big ships by the extensive piers and warehouses. the largest ships may come right alongside the wharves, even those drawing forty feet. the tracks of the great northern and northern pacific railways bring the cars along the ship's side, and there load and unload. all this we noted as our boat warped in to her berth. a great crowd awaited us. many of our passengers were coming home from the far north after two and three years' absence. friends and families were there to greet them; hotel runners and boarding-house hawkers; citizens, too, of the half world who live by pillage of their fellowmen were there, and police and plain clothes men of the detective service were there, all alike ready to greet the returning klondiker with his greater or lesser poke of gold. it was exciting to look down upon them and watch their own excitement and emotion as they espied the home-comers upon the decks. we, as well, had all sorts of people among our passengers. mostly the fortunate gold-finders who had made enough from the diggings to "come out" for the winter, and some, even to stay "out" for good. a young couple stood near me; they were on their wedding trip; they would spend the winter in balmy los angeles and then return to the far north in the spring. an old man stood leaning on the rail. deep lines marked his face, on which was yet stamped contentment. he had been "in" to see his son who had struck it rich on dominion creek, who had already put "a hundred thousand in the bank," he said. he had with him a magnificent great, black malamute, "leader of my boy's team and who once saved him from death. the dog cost us a hundred dollars. i am taking him to victoria. i couldn't let him go. his life shall be easy now," the old man added. just then i noted a tall man in quiet gray down on the dock looking intently at two men who stood by one another a little to my left. they seemed to feel his glance, spoke together and moved uneasily away. they were a pair of "bad eggs" who had been warned out of the yukon by the mounted police, and who were evidently expected in seattle. one, who wore a green vest and nugget chain, played the gentleman. the other, who worked with him, did the heavy work and had an ugly record. he was roughly dressed and wore a blue flannel shirt and a cap. a bull neck, face covered with dense-growing, close-cropped red beard, shifty gray eyes. he had been suspected of several murders and many hold-ups. detectives frequently travel on these boats, keeping watch upon the "bad men" who are sent out of the north. we probably had a few on board. in the captain's cabin, close to our own, were piled up more than half a million dollars in gold bars; the passengers, most of them, carried dust. but the pair, and any pals they may have had along, had kept very quiet. they were spotted at the start. they knew it. now they were spotted again, and this, too, they discerned. seattle is the first homing port for all that army of thugs and scalawags who seek a new land like the far north, and who, when there discovered, are summarily hurried back again. it is said to be the "nearest hell" of any city on the coast. the hungry horde of vampire parasites would make a fat living from the pillage of the returned goldseeker if it were not for the vigilance of the police. a strong effort is now being made by the authorities of seattle to stamp out this criminal class and drive it from the city. our impression, as we crowded our way through the pressing throngs upon the pier and pushed on up into the city, was that we were in another chicago. tall buildings, wide streets, fine shops, great motion of the crowds upon the streets, many electric tram-cars running at brief intervals, and all crowded. on our trip up the yukon we had made the pleasant acquaintance of a mr. s---- and a mr. m---- of columbus, o. keen and agreeable men who had been spending a month in dawson puncturing a gold swindle into which an effort had been made to lead them and their friends by unscrupulous alleged bonanza kings. they had cleverly nipped the attempt in the bud, and were now returning, well satisfied with their achievements. we had become fast comrades and resolved to keep together yet another few days. we found our way to the grand rainier hotel, one of seattle's best, and now kept by the old host of the gibson house in cincinnati. our favorable impressions of seattle were confirmed that night when our friends introduced us to the chief glory of puget sound, the monstrous and delicious crab, a crab as big as a dinner plate and more delicate than the most luscious lobster you ever ate. they boil him, cool him, crack him and serve him with mayonnaise dressing. you eat him, and continue to eat him as long as providence gives you power, and when you have cracked the last shell and sucked the last claw, and finally desist, you contentedly comprehend that your palate has reflected to your brain all the gustatory sensations of a delmonico banquet, with a sousa band concert thrown in. saturday, after we had spent the morning in seeing the shops and wandering along the fine streets of the choicer residence section of the city, we all took the tourist electric car, which, at p. m., sets out and tours the town with a guide who, through a megaphone, explains the sights. seattle now claims one hundred and twenty to one hundred and thirty thousand inhabitants, and probably has almost that number. a distinctly new city, yet growing marvelously, and already possessing many great buildings of which a much larger town might well boast. toward evening, at : p. m., we took the through electric flyer, and sped across a country of many truck gardens and apple orchards, some thirty-five miles to tacoma, that distance farther up the sound, and once the rival of seattle. a city more spread out and less well built, the creation of the promoters of the northern pacific railway co., in the palmy days of henry villard. tacoma, too, possesses superb docking facilities and a good two miles of huge warehouses and monstrous wharves, where, also, great ships are constantly loaded and unloaded for the orient, south africa and all the world, but whence few or no ships depart for the northern continent of alaska. tacoma seemed less alive and alert than seattle, fewer people on the streets, smaller shops and business blocks, and the people moving more leisurely along the thoroughfares. in seattle the houses mostly fresh painted; in tacoma the houses looking dingy and as though not painted now for many a month. seattle is noted for the public spirit of its citizens; they work and pull together for the common weal, but tacoma is so dominated by the railway influence which created it, that the people are lacking in the vigor of the rival town. as our electric train came to a standstill, w---- rode up on his bicycle, and he was surely glad to see us. messrs. s---- and m---- had come over with us for the ride, and we all five set right off to find our dinner. "cracked crabs" was again the word, and w---- added, "puget sound oysters broiled on toast." a delicate little oyster about the size of one's finger nail, and most savory. when our party left the table, we were as contented a group as ever had dined. we lodged with w----, and were delightfully cared for--a large, sunny room overlooking such a garden of roses and green turf as i never before have seen. roses as big as peonies and grass as green and thick as the velvet turf of the oxford "quads." our host gave us each morning a dainty breakfast, and then we foraged for ourselves during the day. in the morning of sunday we attended the congregational church, and in the afternoon rode on the electric car to the park, a few miles--two or three--out of the city, along the shores of one of the fine bays that indent the sound. not so fine a park as vancouver's, but one that some day will probably rank among the more beautiful ones of our american cities. on monday we wandered about the town, visited its museum, saw the fine public buildings, and spent several hours in going over and through the most extensive sawmill plant on the coast--"in the world," they say. the big business originally instituted by one of the early pioneers, is now managed by his four sons, all graduates of yale. we met the elder of them in blue overalls and slouch hat, all mill dust. a keen, intelligent face. he works with his men and keeps the details of the business well in hand. how different, i thought, from the english manner of doing things. these men are rich, millionaires; college bred, they work with their men. in england they tell you that no man who would give his son a business career would think of sending him to college. oxford or cambridge would there unfit him for business life. he would come out merely a "gentleman," which there means a man who does nothing, who earns no bread, but who lives forever a parasite on the toil of others. in these great mills the monstrous fir and pine logs of washington are sawed up, cut, planed, and loaded directly into ships for all the markets of the earth--europe, south africa, australia, china, south america and new york, wherever these splendid woods are in demand. the forests of washington and british columbia are said to possess the finest timber in the world, and all the world seems to be now seeking to have of it. many fishing-boats were in the harbor and along the water-side, and many of the big sixty-foot canoes, dug out of a single immense log, paddled by indians, were passing up and down the bay. throughout the states of washington and oregon the indians are the chief reliance of the hop growers for the picking of their crops, and every summer's-end the various tribes along the coast gather to the work. they come from everywhere--from vancouver's island, from british columbia and even from alaska. they voyage down the coast in their immense sea canoes, stop at the ports, or ascend the rivers, pushing as far as water will carry them. they bring the children and the old folks with them, they buy or hire horses, and they push hundreds of miles inland to the hop fields, where a merry holiday is made of the gathering of the hops. they were now returning, and many were passing through tacoma. they were here outfitting, and spending their newly earned wages in buying all those useful and useless things an indian wants--gay shawls and big ear-rings for the squaws, gaudy blankets, knives and guns for the bucks; even toys for the papooses. on the side the women were also selling baskets made in their seasons of leisure. in the shelter of the long pier one afternoon we came upon a group of several family canoes preparing for the long voyage to the north. a number of pale-face women were bargaining for baskets; one had just bought a toy canoe from an anxious mother, and i was fortunate in buying another. near by a man was carefully cutting out the figures of a totem pole. they were evidently from alaska. alaska and a thousand miles or more of sea lay between them and home. they looked like a group of japanese and spoke in gutteral throat tones. the indians we lately met at yakima were wholly different, being redskins of the interior, not the light yellow of the coast. when in caribou crossing, old bishop bompas, who has spent more than forty years among the indians of the north, told me that in his view the coast indians had originally come over from north asia and were allied to the mongolian races, while he believed that the red-tinged, eagle-nosed indian of the interior was of malay origin and of a race altogether distinct. be this as it may, the coast indian, according to our preconceived ideas, is no indian at all, but rather a bastard jap. he fishes and hunts and works, and his labor is an important factor in solving the agricultural problems of the pacific coast. the enormous and profitable hop crops could not be gathered without him. we had hoped while in tacoma to have had the chance of visiting some of the primeval forest regions of the state, where the largest trees are yet in undisturbed growth, but the opportunity of taking advantage of a railway excursion to yakima, there to see the state fair, was too good to be lost, and we accordingly made that journey instead. mr. s---- had joined us in tacoma, so we four bought excursion tickets, and climbed into one of eleven packed passenger coaches of a northern pacific special, and made the trip. eight hours of it, due east and southeast, across the snow-capped cascade mountains and down into the dry, arid yakima river basin to the city--big village--of north yakima. an arid valley, but yet green as an irish hedge, a curious sight. the hills all round sere and brown, tufted and patched with dry buffalo grass and sage brush; the flat bottom lands mostly an emerald green; all this by irrigation, the first real irrigation i had yet seen. the river is robbed of its abundant waters, which are carried by innumerable ditches, and then again divided and sub-divided, until the whole level expanse of wide valley is soaked and drenched and converted into a smiling garden. here and there a piece of land, unwatered, stretched brown and arid between the green. north yakima, named from the indian tribe that still dwells hard by upon its reservation, is a thriving little place, the greenest lawns of the most velvety turf, roses and flowers abounding where the water comes. trees shading its streets, which are bounded on each side by flowing gutters, and the driest, dustiest, vacant lots on earth. the fair is the annual state show of horses, cattle, sheep and fruits, and these we were glad to see. all fine, very fine, and such apples as i never before set eyes on. thousands of boxes of washington apples are now shipped to chicago, and even to new york, so superior is their size and flavor. returning, we had an instance of the insolence of these great land grant fed railway corporations. while the northern pacific had advertised an excursion to yakima and hauled eleven carloads of men, women and children to the fair, it yet made no extra provision to take them back, so that when next day several hundred were at the station in order to board the train for home, only a few dozen could get in, and the very many saw with dismay the train pull away without them! we had got into a sleeper on the rear, fortunately, and thus escaped another twelve hours in the overcrowded little town. yesterday we boarded the night express for portland. the country between this city and tacoma is said to be rough and unsettled, and not fit for even lumbering or present cultivation, so we did not regret the travel at night. on the other hand, we saw much fine forest in crossing the cascade mountains, although the finest timber in the state is, i am told, over in that northwestern peninsula on the slopes of the olympia mountains, between puget sound and the pacific. there the trees grow big, very big, and thence come the more gigantic of the logs, fifty and one hundred feet long and ten to twenty-five feet in diameter at the butt. [illustration: mt. ranier or tacoma.] the puget sound cities are destined to become among the chief marts of commerce and of trade upon the pacific coast, and they are filled with an energetic, intelligent population of the nation's best. the climate, too, though mild, is cool enough for the preservation of vigor. roses bloom all the winter through in tacoma, they tell me. and the summers are never overhot. the humidity of the atmosphere is the strangest thing to one of us from the east. "more like england than any other is the climate," they say, and the exquisite velvet turf is the best evidence of this. but the most wonderful sight of all to my kanawha eyes was the ever-present snow-massed dome of mt. rainier, lifting high into the sky, sixty miles away, but looking distant not more than ten. the third great center of the life of this northwest coast is portland. solid, slow, rich, conservative. a hundred and twenty miles from the sea, but yet a seaport. situated on the willamette river, six miles from its confluence with the mighty columbia. already seattle outstrips it in population, so a portland man admitted to me to-day, yet portland will always remain one of the great cities of the coast. it possesses many miles of fine docks; the waters about their piles are not quiet and serene, but swift and turbulent, sometimes mad and dangerous. it has a complete and extensive electric tramway system, and this evening we have ridden many miles about the city, and up by a cable road onto the heights, a straight pull four hundred feet in the air. below us lay the city, level as a floor, the willamette winding through it, crossed by many steel draw-bridges, while distant, to the north, we could just make out the two-mile-wide columbia. portland is a wealthy and substantial city--a city for the elderly and well-to-do, while seattle is the city for the young man and for the future. the lesson we have really been learning to-day, however, is not so much of portland as of the river columbia, the really "mighty columbia." at : we took a train on the oregon shortline railway up along the columbia--south shore--to the locks at the cascades, a three hours' run, and then came down again upon a powerful steamboat of the yukon type, though not so large. it took us about four and one-half hours with only three landings and with the current. the last fifteen or twenty miles of the trip the river was fully two miles wide, although at the cascades it had narrowed to be no broader than the kanawha. on either side the valley was generally occupied by farms and meadows, grazing cattle, many orchards, substantial farmsteads. a long-time settled country and naturally fertile. and along either shore, at intervals of not more than a quarter of a mile, were the fish-traps, the wheels, the divers handy contrivances of man, to catch the infatuated salmon. until i saw the swarming waters of that creek of ketchikan, my mind had failed to comprehend the fatuity of these fish. this year, owing, they say, to the influence of the hatcheries established by the government, the catch of salmon here has been enormous; so great, in fact, that "hundreds of _tons_" of the salmon had to be thrown away, owing to the inability of the canneries to handle them before they had spoiled. [illustration: along the columbia river.] the portland people whom i have met and talked with all tell me that even though seattle secures the alaskan trade, even though seattle and tacoma obtain the lion's share of the waxing commerce of china and japan, yet will portland be great, because she must ever remain the mistress of the trade of that vast region drained by the columbia and the willamette, all of whose products come to her by water, or by a rail haul that is wholly downgrade. and when i realize that the columbia is plied by steamboats even up in canada, a thousand miles inland, where we traversed its valley on the canadian pacific railway, and that when uncle sam has built a few more locks, these same boats can then come down to portland, and portland boats ascend even to the canadian towns, as well as traverse washington and enter idaho and montana, then is it that i realize that the future of this fine city is most certainly well assured. thirteenth letter. the valley of the willamette. state of oregon, the valley of the willamette, } october , .} from portland to san francisco. written while moving thirty miles an hour on the southern pacific railway. here we are flying due south from portland, crossing the entire state of oregon. we have left portland on the : morning train--"the southern limited"--and shall be in "frisco" at eight o'clock to-morrow night. we are now ascending the beautiful valley of the willamette, "will-am-ett;" with a fierce accent on the _am_. flat and level as a table--ten to twenty miles wide and two hundred miles long, lying between the coast range on the west and the higher cascade mountains on the east. a land of perfect fertility, so gracious a country as i have never yet beheld. in winter, rarely any snow, plenty of rain and very much moist scotch air. in summer, a sunshine that ripens fields of wheat, a moisture that grows the biggest apples and prunes and small fruits. everywhere neat, tidy farmhouses, big barns. great stacks of wheat straw and as big ones of hay, and these generally tented in with brown canvas. we are passing, too, extensive fields of hop vines, an especially lucrative crop at present prices--twenty-five cents a pound, while seven cents is reckoned as the cost. everywhere we see flocks of chickens, turkeys and some geese plucking the stubble fields, for the crops are all cut and harvested. and every now and then we espy a superb mongolian pheasant in gorgeous plumage, for they have become acclimated and multiply in this salubrious climate. herds of fine cattle and sheep are grazing in the meadows, and the horses are large and look well cared for. a rich, fat land, filled with a well-to-do population. i have just fallen into talk with a young lawyer who lives at the port of toledo, where uncle sam is dredging the bar at the mouth of the yaquina river, and to which city new railroads are coming from the interior, and where they expect a second portland to grow up. he tells me that east of the cascade mountains lie other fertile valleys west of the rockies, and where also is the great cattle and stock raising region of the state, and where moisture is precipitated sufficient to save the need of irrigation. now we are just coming to the umpqua river and the town of roseburg--a garden full of superb roses blooming by the station--where stages may be taken to the coast at coos bay, another growing seaport section, where extensive coal mining and timbering prevail. and as the dusk grows we are passing over the divide to rogue river and its verdant valley, which we shall traverse in the night. oregon is green and the verdure much like that of england--the same moist skies, with a hotter summer sun urging all nature to do its best. in the night we shall climb over the siskiyou mountains, and by dawn will be in sight of mount shasta. at portland we were amidst mists and fogs and drizzling rain, so we caught no glimpses of mt. hood and mt. adams and mt. st. helena and mt. jefferson, all of whose towering snow-clad cones may be seen on a clear day. we hope that to-morrow mt. shasta will be less bashful and not hide her white head. sunday a. m., october th. in california! we were called at six o'clock that we might see mt. shasta, and also have a drink from the famous waters of shasta spring. mt. shasta we did not see, so great were the fog masses and mists enshrouding her, but we have had a drink from the elixir fountain. a water much like the springs at addison, in webster county, w. va., but icy cold. now we are coming down the lovely valley of the sacramento. a downgrade all the way to "frisco." the verdure is growing more tropical. the undergrowth of the forests is more and more luxuriant. i see big, red lilies by the swift water-side. the air is milder. we have descended already , feet since passing shasta spring. we have five hundred feet more to drop to oakland. we are now in a ruggedly volcanic mining country, many iron, lead and copper mines and once placer diggings for gold, these latter now pretty much worked out, only a few chinese laboriously washing here and there. now we are at keswick and see our first groves of figs and almonds and some wide-reaching palms and the spreading umbrella-trees, and many prune orchards. the valley is widening, the air is warmer than we have known it for many days. we are surely in california. i have just been talking with the brakeman. he has been in dawson and on the klondike. "mushed" through the white pass, but, after reaching dawson, he lost heart and came back again without a stake. the man who failed! another, a big man, with a strong jaw and keen eye, has just climbed on the rear platform. he, too, has been in dawson, stayed one day, bought a claim in the morning for $ , , and sold it in the evening for $ , , and then came right back to his almond groves to invest his make and thereafter rest content with california. the man who won. near us sits a black-eyed russian woman, young and comely, whose husband was one of the discoverers of gold in nome, and with her the loveliest blue-eyed norwegian maiden just arrived from hammerfest. "my husband's sister who is come to america to stay," the russian says in perfect english. she is learning to talk american, and wonders at the huge cars, the multitude of people, the distances--"only a few hours from trondhjem to kristiania, but over four days and nights from new york to seattle!" she exclaims. and her blue eyes grow big with wonder at the half-tropical panorama now unrolling before us. i am writing this letter by bits as we travel. we are now on a straight track, as from my improved handwriting you may detect. a stretch of thirty-seven miles straight as the crow flies. we are past the smaller fruit farms of the upper sacramento valley; we are out on the interior plain that from here extends all down through california, a thousand miles almost to mexico. we are in the wonderful garden land of the state. on either side of us stretches away, as far as the eye can see, a flat, level plain. it is one monstrous wheat field, and fences only at rare intervals mark it into separate holdings. on the east, far on the sky line, extend the snow-tipped summits of the sierra nevada mountains; on the west, the coast range. we have passed out of the region of mists and clouds, and are now in a clear, warm sunshine, the heavens an arching vault of cloudless blue. as clear as on the yukon almost, but with many times the warmth. this is the region of the mammoth bonanza wheat farms you have so often read about. and one feels that man hereabouts does things in a big way. in oregon, they tell me, the climate is so equable that a single blanket keeps you warm of night the year round. you need it in summer; you do not need more in winter. here, i fancy, you scarcely need any at all, so much further south have we already come. even yet we are passing through the wide stretches of wheat lands, wheat now milled in california and sent in many big ships to the orient. the chinaman is just learning the joy of an american flap-jack or a loaf of wheat bread--and he can't get enough. dusk has come down upon us before we have reached carquinez strait, over which our train--a long train--is carried by a monstrous ferry boat, and then, skirting san francisco bay, we are soon among the suburban illuminations of oakland. across the five miles of water lies san francisco, its million glittering electric lights stretching several miles and covering the hills on which the city is built, while far out on the right flashes the intermittent gleam of the light-houses marking the entrance of the golden gate. the ferry-boat taking us across is said to be the largest in the world, and the norwegian lass's big blue eyes grow all the bigger as she looks about her on the multitude of fellow-passengers. and then we are ashore and are whirling through broad, well-lighted streets to our hotel, "the palace," where now we are. fourteenth letter. san francisco. los angeles, october , . we slept in the old, famous, and yet well-patronized palace hotel, and on which the fair estate has just renewed a mortgage for another term of years. in the morning we essayed to have a look at the city, and so took a long, wide electric car devoted to that purpose. a ride of thirty miles, and all for the price of only "two bits"! we circled around the city, we traversed its streets and avenues, climbed and descended its multitude of hills, went everywhere that an electric car might dare to go, and were given the chance to try the cable trams when the declivity was too steep for anything to move that did not cling. the sunshine was delicious, the watered lawns and watered flowers superb, the unwatered, blistered sand spaces, vacant lots and dust-laden winds dreadful. the city pleased and disappointed me. it is an old city--half a century old--old for the driving west, and mainly built of wood. miles and miles of small, crowded, two-story, wooden dwellings, sadly needing a coat of paint, and mostly constructed thirty or forty years ago. a town once replete with vigor, that has slumbered for several decades, and is now reviving into life again. the vast mansions of the bonanza kings, the railway lords on "nob hill," are now all out of date and mostly empty of their former occupants. the fairs, the mackeys, the o'briens are dead, their heirs scattered to the winds. the crokers, the stanfords, the huntingtons are reminiscences. the street urchins know them no more. fashionable san francisco has moved to another hill. the tenement quarter of the town has crept to their very doors. but the business section of the city has not moved as it has in new york. it stands just where it always stood. the palace hotel, once the glory and boast of the pacific slope, is still the chief hostelry of the town; and yet the city is instinct with a new life. its lively, hustling thoroughfares are full of a new vigor; a new tide of asiatic and oriental commerce has entered the somewhat somnolent city. all this, the magic result of the battle of manila bay, and the new relation of the united states to the far east. where the pacific mail s. s. co. sent a single monthly ship across the pacific five years ago, now six lines of great freight and passenger steamships are unable to satisfy the increasing demands of trade. now twenty steamers and a multitude of sailing craft come to deliver and take cargoes, where few or none came six years ago. on the land side, too, there is progress. the a. t. & santa fe railway has broken through the monopoly of the southern pacific railway company, so cleverly and firmly fastened by huntington and his friends; and there are hopes that other lines may yet establish independent relations with the city. along with this new growth of commerce have come a new throng of energetic men, and new fortunes are being made--and more widely distributed. the city, the commercial center, the ocean port, are all growing at a steadier, healthier gait than in the ancient feverish days of bonanza kings and railroad magnates. for awhile, san francisco was "in the soup," so to speak. its rich men were leaving it, did leave it; its sand-lots proletariat threatened to gain the upper hand; its middle class, the people making and possessing only moderate incomes, were doubtful of a success that to them had not yet come. to the north, sleepy portland had wakened up; seattle and tacoma had been born; and in the south, los angeles had risen, like a phoenix, from the torrid sands. but san francisco did not stir. then dewey sank the fleet of montejo; the nation quickened with a consciousness that she was a world-power; that the trade and commercial dominance of the pacific lands and isles and seas were rightly hers, and in a night san francisco found herself re-endowed with new life. after the tramway ride, we spent an afternoon strolling about through the business streets and along the docks and wharves, viewing the many new shops, splendid modern stores, quite equaling, in the sumptuous display of their wares, the great trading centers of new york and chicago, and noting the volume of wholesale traffic on the down-town streets, the jobbing center, and the busy stir along the waterfront for several miles. no finer sight have we seen than when we stood near the surf-washed rocks, famous as the home of the sea-lions, and, turning our gaze toward the wind-tossed billows of the pacific ocean, beheld eight or ten full-rigged ships and four-masted barques converging on the narrow entrance of the golden gate, coming in out of the west, laden with the teas and silks and commerce of the orient, their multitudinous sails all set before the breeze, like a flock of white-winged sea birds, while slipping among them a steamer from honolulu and another from nome came swiftly in. another day we were ferried five miles across the wide bay toward the north, to the pretty suburban residence section of sausalito, and there taking an electric road were brought to the foot of mount tamalpais, and then changing to a climbing car were pushed ten miles up near , feet into the air, to the top of a volcanic cone that rises out of sea and bay, and dominates the landscape for many miles. below us, at our feet, lay the great bay of san francisco and the city itself, with its green, garden-like suburban villages, the many islands, the ships of war and of commerce, the narrows of the golden gate; and, westward, the pacific ocean, with the distant farallon islands, outposts of the orient, while far to the east, peeping above the clouds, gleamed the snow-capped summits of the sierra nevadas. another day, we visited the presidio, and rejoiced to see the blue uniform of uncle sam after the many weeks of red coats upon the yukon. say what you may, it quickens the blood to catch a glimpse of our boys in blue. i well remember how good it seemed when we met them in command of the fortress of el moro, at havana, two years ago. we also spent a night in chinatown--or part of the night--for we were bound to see its horrors and its joys. the opium dens--a picture of hop sing and his cat, the beast also a victim of the habit--i bring home to you; the theatre, where the audience and the actors were equally interesting; the joss house or temple; the lady with the tiny feet, one of whose midget shoes i took off and have to show you; the barber shop where they shave the head and scrape out the ears and nose; the many handsome shops and almost priceless curios; and the swarms of bright-eyed, laughing, friendly, gentle children. [illustration: a big redwood.] while the chinese upon the pacific coast, and in san francisco more particularly, have been greatly lessened in number the last few years, it is interesting to note how many of the more progressive japanese are now to be seen in all of the great cities along the pacific coast. in vancouver, all of the bell boys and elevator boys in the large hotel vancouver were bright-eyed japs. keen, intelligent, wide-awake little fellows, speaking good english, dressed in american style, and seeming to know their business perfectly. we saw them at seattle and tacoma and portland, and now we find them in large numbers in san francisco. they get along well with the white man. they dress like him, eat like him, walk like him, and try to look as much like him as possible. they seek employment as servants, as day laborers, and are also getting extensively into trade in a small way. they keep prices up like a white man and join labor unions like the white man, and sympathetically act with him to a degree that eliminates the prejudice that hedges in and drives out the chinaman. the japanese seem to supply a genuine want in the pacific slope. i learned, also, that japanese capital is now coming into california and making substantial investments, the expenditure of their money giving employment to american white labor. coming down the sacramento valley the other day, i noticed that all the labor gangs employed by the southern pacific railroad were greeks, dull-looking greeks who could speak no english. it seemed to me as i looked into their semi-oriental faces, that they gave less promise of satisfactory american citizenship than did the up-to-date, alert, intelligent japanese. the one represented a semi-oriental country, whose greatness was destroyed by rome two thousand years ago; the other expressed the awakened intelligence of the new orient, the new japan whose great modern navy to-day ranks first upon the pacific. that night when we first crossed the bay toward the long line of glittering city, the tall norwegian said to me: "i have sailed all about this world and visited many cities, but san francisco suits me the very best of them all." and his black-eyed tartar wife from moscow exclaimed: "ah, i will never leave here till i die." all who visit san francisco feel this subtle charm. there is a certain something in the air that soothes as well as stirs. its lawns and flowers where water is applied; its sunshine, never too hot, for it is tempered by the breezes from the sea; no winter, rarely a dash of snow; no torrid sun; an atmosphere almost gentle, yet not destroying energy. leaving san francisco, we took the little narrow-gauge railway that leads out south of the city, skirts the bay and climbs the coast range through the famous grove of immense redwood trees that comes down to the sea at santa cruz. a pretty village among gardens and orchards of prunes and apricots and almonds, famous for its flowers and its fish. on the long pier we watched the italian fishermen mending their nets and loading them into their lateen-sailed boats. here the rainbow-hued barroda is caught in the deep sea and shipped to the city; while, sitting all along the pier, were old folks and young catching smelts with hook and line. an old man with long, white beard said to me, as he took off a smelt and put it in his creel, "if a man has nothing to do but just to live, this is the most salubrious spot along this coast. i've tried them all." [illustration: italian fishing craft at santa cruz.] [illustration: approaching san francisco.] from santa cruz we went over to the quaint old spanish town of monterey, once california's capital, now the barrack sanitarium of uncle sam's soldier boys, and upon whose quiet main street still dwells the mexican-spanish beauty to whom tecumseh sherman once made love, and in whose garden yet grows the pomegranate he planted in token of their tryst. she has never wed, but treasures yet the memory of her soldier lover. near monterey is that marvelously lovely park, surrounding the great del monte hotel, built by crocker and stanford and huntington in their days of power, and where, among groves and lawns and gardens, winds the seventeen-mile drive of which the world has heard so much. imagine the parks of blenheim and chatsworth and windsor all combined, but filled with palmettos and palms and semi-tropical verdure--giant live oaks and norfolk pines and splendid redwood, with all the flowers of the earth, with ponds and fountains, and you will have some faint conception of the beauty of del monte, an object-lesson of what the landscape gardener may do in california. we regretted leaving this superb place, but were glad to have had even a glimpse of it. all the day we now hastened south on the flying "coast limited," bound for santa barbara. first ascending the broad valley of salinas river, the coast range close on our right, a higher range of mountains on our left, until, converging, we pierced the barrier by a long tunnel and slid down to san louis obispo and then to the sea. many monstrous fields of sugar beet, miles of prune and almond and apricot trees, thriving orchards all of them; then mile after mile of wheat stubble, stacks of wheat straw, piles of sacked wheat at the by-stations; then herds of cattle and many horses as we reached the head of the valley. a rich and fecund land, held originally in big estates, now beginning to be cut up into the smaller farms of the fruit growers. toward the end of the afternoon we were skirting along by the breaker-lashed coast of the pacific. a clear sky, a violent wind and tempestuous, foam-covered sea. we sat with the windows open, not minding the heat of the sun. the tide was at ebb, and upon the sand we saw many sea birds, gulls in myriads, snipe, plover, yellow-legs, sand-pipers in flocks, coots and curlew. we also passed a number of carriages driving close to the receding waters. [illustration: the franciscan garden--santa barbara.] [illustration: our franciscan guide.] [illustration: the sea--santa barbara.] [illustration: the sea--santa barbara.] the country grew constantly warmer, the soil responding to cultivation with more and more luxuriant crops; among these, fields of lima beans, miles of them, which are threshed out and shipped in enormous quantity. it was dark when we drew in at santa barbara, and we did not know what hotel to go to, but, tossing up, chose the potter. many runners were calling their hostelries; the potter porter alone was silent. as we drove in his 'bus through the palm-bordered streets, a cozy home showing here and there in the glare of an electric street light, we wondered what our luck would be. imagine our delight when we drew up at the stately portal of a modern palace, built in the spanish style and right on the borders of the sea. the moon was almost full, the tide near flood, the sunset breeze had died, the sea air soft and sweet, and the palace ours! a new hotel, two millions its cost, no finer on the pacific coast. and in this off season the prices were most moderate. nowhere yet have we been so sumptuously housed. in the lovely dining-room we sat at supper by a big window looking out over the moonlit sea. in the morning we wandered far down upon the beach, watching the breakers beyond the point, and later went up to the famous old franciscan monastery, a mile beyond the town. a shrewd yet simple father in brown monk's robe who asked many questions of the outside world, showed us all about, and in the garden stood for his photograph, quite pleased at the attention. no more charming wintering spot have we yet come to than santa barbara. in the late evening we entrained again and took the local for los angeles. for quite an hour and a half we ran close to the ocean, the perpetual breaking of the crested waves upon the shore sounding above the roar of the moving train. a yet greener land we now passed through, everywhere watered by irrigation, everywhere responding with seemingly greater luxuriance. it was just dusk as we turned inland, and quite dark when we came through the big tunnel into the head waters of the los angeles valley. just then a bright young fellow sat down beside me, and, talking with him, i was pleased to find him from west virginia. a. judy, from pendleton county. a few years ago the family had come to this southern land and all have prospered. he was full of the zest of the life that wins. presently we came to many lights among shade trees, mostly palms, then houses and more lights, wide streets showing themselves. we were in los angeles, the metropolis of southern california, the furthest south that on this journey we shall go. fifteenth letter. los angeles. los angeles, october , . we slept in los angeles with our windows wide open and felt no chill in the dry, balmy air, although a gentle breeze from seaward sifted through the lace curtains all night long. the sun was streaming in when at last we awoke to the sound of new england church bells. we breakfasted on plates piled high with big, red, sweet strawberries, dead ripe, evenly ripe, but not one whit over ripe. a ripeness and sweetness we have never before tasted, even in oxford. in seattle and tacoma we met the royal crab of the puget sound, and found him big and bigger than the crabs of england and of france--big as dinner plates, all of them, and now we find in the great, luscious strawberry of los angeles another american product as big as those that grow in the gardens of merrie england. los angeles! how can i tell you of it and of the lovely region of the american riviera all round about it? my ideas of los angeles had been indefinite. i had only heard of it. i only knew that up in dawson and in alaska the frost-stung digger for gold dreams of southern california and the country of los angeles, and when, during his seven long months of winter and darkness, he assures himself of his stake and his fortune, he talks of the far south and prepares to go there and to end his days among these orange groves and olive orchards and teeming gardens. and when he dies--so it is said--every good yukoner and alaskan has no other prayer than to be translated to southern california! so i had imagined much for this perhaps most charming of all regions of the semi-tropics, within the immediate borders of the united states. but i had not yet conceived the fine, modern city among all of this delight of climate and of verdure. a city with broad, asphalted business streets, built up on either side with new, modern sky-scrapers far exceeding in bigness those of san francisco. the edifices bordering market street in san francisco are fine, but old in type--most or all erected thirty or forty years ago--while the many huge blocks of los angeles are as up to date as those of new york. it possesses two hundred miles of modern electric tramways, and h. e. huntington has sold out his holdings in the southern pacific left him by his uncle, c. p. huntington, and has put and is now putting his millions into the electric tramway system of los angeles. [illustration: marengo avenue--pasadena.] [illustration: street view--los angeles.] during the morning we rode some thirty miles upon the tourist's car, seeing the city, its many fine parks, its public buildings, its business blocks, its extraordinary extent of imposing residences. and when we might ride no longer, we strolled on through adams street and chester place and st. james place, and among those sections of the residence quarter where no tramways are allowed to profane the public way. and here among these modern palaces, perhaps, we learned to comprehend the real inwardness of los angeles' astonishing growth, for many of these superb homes are not built and owned by the business men making fortunes out of the commerce of the city, but are built and owned by those who have already acquired fortunes in other parts of the united states and of the world, and who by reason of the genial climate of southern california, have come here to live out the balance of their days. their incomes are derived from sources elsewhere than in california, and they spend freely of those incomes in the region of their new homes. the exquisite lawns, the flowering shrubs, the tropical and semi-tropical palms and palmettos, all kept and cared for by means of the constant use of water and expert gardeners' skill, give to the city a residence section of marvelous charm. water does it all, and man helps the water. los angeles possesses many fine churches and schools and two flourishing colleges. one run by the methodist church; the other under the control of the state. from a city of twenty-five thousand in , los angeles is now grown to one hundred and twenty-five thousand, and is still expanding by leaps and bounds. it is the center of the gardens and orchards and citrus fruit trade of southern california, and is the mecca toward whose environs comes in perpetual procession the unending army of the world's "one lungers," and their friends. of an afternoon we rode out to pasadena in the swift, through electric train. once a separate community, now already become a suburb of the greater growing city. "the finest climate on the earth," they say, and mankind from all parts of the earth are there to prove it. a large town of residences, each standing apart in its own garden; many surrounded by oranges and pomegranates and figs. lovely homes and occupied by a cultivated society. we did not tarry to see the celebrated ostrich farm, which is one of the famous sights of pasadena, but went on toward the mountain chain beyond and north of pasadena to the base of towering mount low, and climbed right up its face a thousand feet on an inclined plane steeper than any of kanawha's, and then another thousand feet by five miles of winding electric railway. a wonderful ride into the blue sky, with a yet more wonderful panorama stretching for many miles beneath our feet. all the valley of the los angeles, the innumerable towns and villages and farms and groves and orchards and vineyards stretching far as the eye could see until bounded by the mountains of mexico to the south, and the shimmering waters of the pacific to the west, and to the north and east a limitless expanse of scarred and serrated volcanic mountain ranges, like the gigantic petrified waves of a mighty sea. below us the perfect verdure of irrigated land, the patches and masses of greenness everywhere threaded and interspersed by the irrigating ditches and pools and ponds whereby the precious water is impounded and distributed when used. los angeles lies very near the center of an immense cove, whose sea line marks the great indenture on the southwest of the united states, where the coast bends in from cape conception and curves southeastward to the borders of mexico, a total coastal frontage on the pacific ocean of near three hundred miles. on the north, the mountains of the coast range, and the westward jutting spurs of the sierra nevada come together and form a barrier against the cold northern airs. eastward their extension forms a high barrier against the colder airs of the rocky mountain region. los angeles lies at about the point where these protecting mountain ranges recede to near sixty miles from the sea, itself some twenty and thirty miles from the twin ports of santa monica and san pedro, and is the commercial center of this rich alluvial and sheltered region, of which santa barbara, on a lovely bay, is the chief northern center, and san diego, one hundred and fifty miles to the south, upon the second finest harbor in california, is the most southern port and trade outlet. a vast "ventura," as the spaniards called it, upon this fertile plain and rolling upland anything will grow if only it has water. for three or four months in the year, from early november to march, the skies pour down an ample rainfall, and the world is a garden. during the other eight months, man--the active american--now irrigates the land with water stored during the rainy season, and thus a perpetual and prolific yield is won from the fecund soil. here the famous seedless orange was discovered, perpetuated, and has become the most coveted citrous fruit. fortunes have been made from the raising of these oranges alone. the immense and fragrant strawberries ripen every month the year round. figs and pomegranates abound. apples, pears, olives and grapes yield enormous and profitable crops. no frosts, no drouths. last year los angeles and its contributing orchards shipped twenty-five thousand carloads of citrous fruit. this year they reckon to do yet more. their capacity is only limited by the markets' demand, and both seem boundless. the air is dry like that of the yukon valley, and similarly, extremes of temperature are easily borne. it is never unpleasantly hot in southern california, they say, just as the yukoner vows he never suffers from the cold. "only give us water to wash our gold;" "water to irrigate our crops," cries each, "and we will become richer than the mind of man can think." but the types of men and women are somewhat different in the two extremes. a sturdier race wins fortune from the soil in the klondike land; there the children have rosier faces and are more alert. on the crowded streets of the southern city the pale presence of the "one lungers" is at once remarked. but for this, the people might be the same. we left this gracious garden land, with its gentle climate, by the midday train, this time leaving the coast and following the interior san joaquin valley route. just at the outskirts of the city our train halted a moment, and, looking from the window, i saw a most astonishing spectacle--an extensive enclosure with a large, wide-roofed building in its midst, and enclosure, roof and air all thick with myriads of pigeons. here is the greatest pigeon roost of the world, where an enterprising bird lover raises squabs by the thousands, cans them in his own factory, and sends them all over the earth to the delight of the epicure. just why such myriads of birds should not fly away, i do not know, but there they were covering the ground, the roof, and filling the air in circular flights, and seemed rarely or never to leave the borders of the enclosure. for a few hours we retraced our way and then turned eastward across the edge of the great mojave desert. crossing the barrier of the san fernando mountains on the north, through a mile-and-a-half-long tunnel, we left the greenness of olive grove and orange orchard behind, and came out into a continually more and more arid country. cactus and yucca began to appear and to multiply, the dwarf shrunken palmetto of the mexican plains grew more and more plentiful, and then we came through dry, parched gulches and cañons, out onto a dead flat plain stretching away toward the eastern horizon as far as the eye could see--sand and sage brush and stunted cactus; a hundred miles or more away a faint blue mountain range showing in the slanting sunlight against the eastern sky. dry and arid and hopeless to man and beast. a terrible waste to cross, or even to enter, and lifeless and desolate beyond concept. during the night we crossed over the high, arid tehachapi mountains and descended into the san joaquin valley, traversing that wonderfully fertile garden land until in the morning we were at oakland. we then crossed the five miles of wide harbor and took our last breakfast in the city of the golden gate. after night had fallen and i sat with my cigar, i chanced to fall in with an interesting young jap, "r. onishi," on his first visit to america, correspondent of the "jije shimpo," tokio's greatest daily newspaper. he had come over to investigate the growing rice plantations of texas, with a view to japanese capital becoming interested in development there. he had been much impressed with the opportunity there offered, and should report favorably on the proposed enterprise. not to use japanese labor, but for japanese capital under japanese management to use american labor. so does the opportunity and natural wealth of our country begin to attract the investment of the stored wealth of asia as well as of europe. like the rice dealer i met on the "kaiser frederich," crossing the atlantic two years ago, mr. onishi said that american rice brings the highest price of any in the markets of the world, and he looks for a large export trade to asia of american rice, as well as wheat. and america, how vast and rich and hopeful a land it seemed to him! i have now seen almost the entire pacific coast of our northern american continent. from skagway, from dawson to the sight of mexico. its old and its new towns and cities, its ports and trade centers have i visited, and greatly has the journey pleased and profited me. the dim perception of our future pacific power that first dawned upon me at vancouver has now become a settled conviction. we are just beginning to comprehend the future dominance and potency of our nation in oriental trade, in commerce, in wealth, in enlightened supremacy. and it fills the imagination with boundless sweep to contemplate what are the possibilities of these great pacific states. among the cities of the future upon the pacific coast, seattle and los angeles are the two that impress me as affording the wider opportunity and certainty of growth, wealth and controlling influence in trade, in commerce, in politics. if i were a young man just starting out, i should choose one of them, and in and through seattle i believe there is the larger chance. or if i were on life's threshold and, say, twenty-five and vigorous, i would pitch my tent within the confines of the continent of alaska, and by energy, thrift and foresight, become one of its innumerable future millionaires. sixteenth letter. san francisco and salt lake city. salt lake city, utah, october , . we left san francisco on the "overland limited" train, taking the ten o'clock boat across the bay to oakland and there entering our car. it was a lovely morning; the sky, blue, without a cloud; the sun, brilliant, and not so hot as at los angeles. the city, as we receded from it, lay spread before us, stretching several miles along the water and quite covering the range of hills upon which it is built. many great ships were at the quays, many were anchored out in the blue waters awaiting their turn to take on cargo, and among these several battleships and cruisers of our navy and one big monitor. above the city hung a huge black pall of smoke, for soft coal--very soft--and thick asphaltic oil are the only fuels on this coast. we had come to san francisco by night, and marveled at the myriad of electric lights that illumined it; we now left it by day, and yet more fully realized its metropolitan and commercial greatness. the ride, this time, was not along the northern breadth of the sacramento valley, but by the older route through the longer settled country to the south of it. still many immense wheatfields, hundreds of sheep browsing among the stubble, and yet more of the orchards of almonds, prunes, apricots, figs and peaches. a monstrous fruit garden, for more than one hundred miles; and everywhere fruit was drying in the sun, spread out in acres of small trays. at sacramento, we crossed the river on a long iron bridge, and noted the many steamboats along the wharves--the river is navigable thus far for steamboats--boats about the size of our kanawha packets, and flows with a swift current. after leaving san francisco, we began that long ascent, which at last should carry us over the passes of the sierra nevada mountains some , feet above the sea. the grades are easy, though persistent, the track sweeping around mountain bases and along deep valleys in wide ascending curves. all the day, till evening, we were creeping up, up, up, following one long ridge and then another, the distant snow summits always before us and seemingly never much nearer than at first. the lower slopes were, like the sacramento valley, everywhere covered with well-kept orchards, and everywhere we noted the universal irrigation ditches of running water, constantly present beside us or traversing our way. as we climbed higher we began to see evidences of present and past placer mining, many of the mountain-sides being scarred and riven by the monitor-thrown jets of water. just as the shadows began to fall aslant the higher valleys, we commenced that long and irksome journeying through the snowsheds that, for so many miles, are necessary on this road. coming over the canadian pacific, we met few snowsheds through the rockies, and not more than two or three of them in the selkirks, but here they buried us early and held on until long after the fall of night. this road, you know, was originally the central pacific, remaining so until swallowed by its stronger rival of the south, the southern pacific, which now owns and operates it. as we rode along, i could not help recalling its early history, the daring of its projectors, huntington, crocker, stanford and hopkins, and how it never could or would have been built at all but for the aid of the thousands of chinese who, under their irish bosses, finally constructed it. this morning, when we awoke, we had long passed reno in nevada, and were flying down the sierras' eastern slopes through the alkali deserts of the interior basin, and all day long we have been crossing these plains of sand and sage brush and eternal alkali. we read of things, and think we are informed, but only when we see the world face to face do we begin to comprehend it. only to-day have i learned to comprehend that desert and death are one. [illustration: the sagebrush and alkali desert.] on the canadian pacific railway we had beheld the great columbia river plunge between the facing cañon cliffs of the rocky mountains and the selkirks where they almost touch, the very apex of that vast interior arid basin that stretches thence all across the united states and on into mexico. at yakima, in washington state, we had crossed the cascade range and found the arid valley made to bloom and blossom into a perpetual garden by means of the melting snows that there fed the yakima river and adjacent streams. now we were again descending from the crests of the sierra nevadas, down into this same vast basin where no columbia cuts it through and no yakima irrigates its limitless and solitary aridness. for more than three hundred miles have we now been traversing this expanse of parched and naked waste. no water, no life, no bird, no beast, no man. two thousand miles and more it stretches north and south, from canada into mexico. five hundred and forty miles is its narrowest width. we beheld a spur of it the other evening when we crossed the edge of the mojave desert in southern california; we should have traversed it two days or more if we had taken the southern pacific route through arizona. as wide in its narrowest part as from charleston to new york, or to chicago! what courage and what temerity did those early pioneers possess who first ventured to cross it with their lumbering prairie-schooners or on their grass-fed bronchos from the eastern plains! and how many there were who perished in the attempt! yet water will change even these blasted wastes, and, at the one or two stations where artesian wells have been successfully sunk, we saw high-grown trees and verdant gardens. late in the afternoon we began to approach high, barren hills and mountain spurs, all brown and sere, save the sage brush. no cactus or even yucca here, and after climbing and crossing a long, dry ridge, we found ourselves descending into flat, sandy reaches, that bore even no shrubs or plants whatsoever, save a dead and somber sedgy grass in sparse, feeble bunches, and while the land looked wet we saw no water. then far to the southeast glimmered a silver streak, so faint that it seemed no more than mist, and the streak grew and broadened and gleamed until we knew it to be, in fact, utah's great salt lake. later, we came yet nearer to it for a few miles, and then lost sight of it again. but the face of the land had changed. we saw cattle among the sage brush; cattle browsing on the sweet, dry grass that grows close under the sage-brush shadow on the better soils. then we came to an occasional mud dugout hut and sometimes a wooden shack, and the country grew greener, grass--buffalo bunch grass--became triumphant over the sage brush, and then, right in the midst of a waste of sere yellowness, was an emerald meadow of alfalfa and a man driving two stout horses hitched to a mowing-machine cutting it, two women raking it and tossing it. we were in the land of mormondom, and beheld their works. now, the whole country became green, irrigating ditches everywhere, substantial farmhouses, large, well-built barns and outhouses, and miles of thrifty lombardy poplars, marking the roadways and the boundaries of the fields. [illustration: the mormon temple.] at ogden, where we were three hours late, our sleeper was taken off the through train to cheyenne and attached to the express for salt lake city. we made no further stops, but, for an hour, whirled through a green, fruitful, patiently-tilled landscape, whose fertility and productiveness delighted eye and brain. many orchards, large, comfortable farmsteads; wide meadows, green and abundant, as in holland, with cattle and horses feeding upon them; stubble wheatfields, with flocks of sheep; great beet fields and kitchen gardens in full crops; and water--water in a thousand ditches everywhere! big farm wagons, drawn by large, strong horses, we saw upon the highways; and farmers, in well-found vehicles, returning from the city to their homes. then, far away, towering above all else, loomed a group of gray spires, like the distant view of the dominating pinnacles of the minsters and cathedrals of england and of france, and of cologne. they were the spires of the great towers of the mormon temple, that strange, imposing and splendid creation of the brain of brigham young. it was dusk when we reached the city. electric lights were twinkling along the wide streets as we drove to our hotel. we have not yet seen the city, except for a short stroll under the glaring lights. but already it has made an indelible impression on our minds. only two cities upon this continent--cities of magnitude--have ever been created and laid out, by systematic forethought, before being entered and occupied by men. one, washington, laid out according to a comprehensive and well-digested plan; the other, salt lake city, the creation--as all else here--of brigham young. the streets of salt lake city are all as wide as pennsylvania avenue. the blocks, of ten acres each, immense. but these streets--the chief ones are perfectly asphalted; running water flows in every side gutter; great trees, long ago planted, shade every wide sidewalk; the electric tram-cars run on tracks along the middle of the thoroughfare; and the two wide roadways, on either side, are quite free from interfering wires and poles. many great blocks of fine buildings now rise along the business sections, and the stores present as sumptuous displays of goods and fabrics as anything we have seen in san francisco, los angeles, or new york. the town bears the marks of a great city. great in its plan, great in its development, great in its destiny. truly, a capital fit for the seat of power of the potent and comprehending mormon church. [illustration: the mormon tithing-house.] [illustration: the mormon "lion house."] all the morning we have been viewing concrete, practical mormondom, and the sight has been most instructive. high above the buildings of the city tower the imposing spires and pinnacles of the temple, the most immense ecclesiastical structure on the north american continent. thirty years was it in building, all of native granite, and costing more than four millions of dollars. it stands in the central square of the city, surrounded by a high adobe wall, and a gentile may view only the exterior. then we visited the famous tabernacle beneath whose turtle-shaped roof , worshipers may sit, and whose acoustic properties are unrivaled in the world. you can hear a whisper and a pin drop two hundred feet away. in it is the immense organ possessing five hundred and twenty stops, which, like the two great structures, was conceived and constructed by the genius and patience of the mormon architects. we were shown about the grounds of the ecclesiastical enclosure--though not permitted to enter the temple--by a courteous-mannered lady whose black eyes fired with religious enthusiasm as she explained the great buildings. "my son is a missionary in japan, giving his life to the lord. he preaches in japanese, and is translating our holy books into the japanese tongue," she said, turning to an intelligent japanese tourist who was of our party. we also bought some mormon literature in the fine, modern sky-scraper buildings of the _deseret news_, and the bright young man, selling us the books, showed us with evident pride the stores of elegantly printed and bound volumes, all done here in salt lake city. they print their books in every modern tongue, and their missionaries distribute them all over the world. later, we viewed the fine college buildings where higher education is given to the mormon youth. we also saw the famous "lion house," over whose portal lies a sleeping lion, once the offices of brigham young, now occupied by the ecclesiastical managers of the church. and also we viewed the "beehive house," where once brigham dwelt; the tithing house, where is received and stored the ecclesiastical tithe tax of ten per cent. of all crops raised and moneys earned by the devoted mormon believers; and the great bank run in connection with it. all these evidences of practical, organized, devoted religious world zeal have we beheld gathered and centrally grouped in the great city founded and raised by these curious yet capable religious delusionists. i asked about mormonism of a gentile stranger from another state, and he replied in deferential tones: "no man in his senses now throws stones at the mormons; they are among the most industrious, most thrifty and most respected people of the west." to wander along and through the residence section of the city is also a thing to surprise. street after street of fine private dwellings, each mansion standing in its own garden, upon its own lawn. many of them very modern, and many of them far exceeding in cost and imposing elegance any residence charleston, west virginia, can yet boast--equal to the most sumptuous homes of pittsburg and st. louis--and most of them owned and lived in by cultivated families of the mormon cult. and how the zeal and faith and religious ardor of this strange sect even now to-day burns in the atmosphere of this their holy city! it is the same spirit that we met in holy moscow, russia's sacred capital--but more enlightened, more practical. and mormonism is already a political as well as religious power in the west. in idaho, in colorado, in nevada, in arizona, the mormon vote is to be considered and even catered to. in alberta, the mormon settlement is said to be the most prosperous in the province. in mexico, the mormon settlements, their astonishing productivity and fertility, are already teaching the wonder-struck mexican what irrigated agriculture may do. and as i beheld this and the evident success of a religious sect which mixes fanatical zeal with astute practical management, i asked myself what is the real secret of their accomplishment and their power! is it the theory and practice of polygamy. did or does polygamy have anything to do with the unquestioned success and prosperity of the mormon people? i think not. polygamy has been merely an incident, and the disappearance of polygamy has in nowise lessened the formidable growth of mormon power. the secret, i think, is the secret of the amazing growth and spread of early christianity, the putting into actual practice the christian doctrine of the brotherhood of man--with them the brotherhood of the mormon man in particular. once a latter-day saint, and all other saints are ready to lend you a hand, and the organized and ably administered mechanism of the church lends the new saint a hand as well, and those hands once extended are never withdrawn except for powerful and well-merited cause. the mormon farmer feels that back of his success is the ever helpful and protecting eye of his church in material as well as spiritual things. the gentile farmer may succeed or may fail, and who cares; but the mormon must succeed. if he do not himself possess the innate power and force of character and judgment to get on, then men will guide and aid him who do possess that power, and so he gets on even in spite of himself. in a certain sense, the mormons practice the doctrine of collective socialism, and that collective unity is the secret, i think, of their wonderful accomplishment. the creed of the brotherhood of man, and of man within the christian pale, has been the secret of christianity wherever it has won success. the failure to heed it and obey it is the cause of failure to every religious movement that has come to naught. and so long as the mormon church adheres to this fundamental principle, just so long will it continue to be a power, and a power of increasing weight. and this cardinal principle is also the secret of their missionaries' success. all over the world they are, in every state of the union, in nigh every land, and they serve without recompense, without pay even, as did the early missionaries of the christian church. [illustration: great salt lake.] there is and always has been a good deal of cleverness in the leadership of the mormon church. it is an old adage that "the blood of her martyrs is the seed of the church," and the mormon leaders have comprehended this from the start. not only have they cultivated the christian socialism of the early church, but they have also never fled from, but they rather have greatly profited by, a real good case of martyrdom. the buffets and kicks of the gentile world have helped, have been essential in welding the mormon believers into that political, religious and social solidarity so much sought by the leaders. they were driven from new york, from ohio, from missouri, then from nauvoo. they have been shot, stoned, murdered by scores. they have been imprisoned and harried by the federal laws (very justly, perhaps). but the effect of all this has been only to make them stand together all the closer. just now the attack upon senator smoot is profiting them immensely. he sits by and smiles. he has only one wife. he is no more oath-bound to his own church than is every roman or greek archbishop vowed to his. a matter of conscience only. the effort to oust him will probably fail, but it's a good thing for the church to have him hammered. the more martyrs, the fewer backsliders. the faithful line up, stand pat, the church grows. on the streets of salt lake city we have noted the very few vehicles of fashion anywhere to be seen, and, on the other hand, the many substantial farm wagons which generally seem to be driven by a woman accompanied by one or more children, more usually a half-grown boy. the men would seem to be working on the farms, while the women come into town with the loads of produce. the faces, too, of these women were generally intelligent and contented. in our own country we frequently hear the mormons denounced as polygamists. in utah and the neighboring states you hear nothing about polygamy, and, upon inquiry, i was told that while once this tenet of the church had been urged and practiced, yet that under modern social conditions, which have come in with the railways, the younger mormon of to-day finds that one woman is all that he can take care of, and shows no disposition to load himself up with the burden of half a dozen. to my observation, the strength and danger of mormonism is not in polygamy, but rather in their social and political solidarity, the mormon president of the church wielding political influence over his followers similar to, although in nowise so vast as, that of the roman pope. be these things as they may, it is at any rate worth while for a modern gentile to visit this center of the mormon power, and gather from ocular evidence of its vital, living, forceful presence such lessons as he may. this afternoon we took a little railway and journeyed twelve miles to saltair, the atlantic city or virginia beach of this metropolis, and there we bathed in the supersaturated brine. i could swim on it, not in it, so buoyant was the water, and my chief difficulty was to keep my head out and my feet in. the lake is sixty miles wide by ninety miles long, with several islands of high, barren hills. a few boats ply on it. no fish can live in it, and the chief use of it is to evaporate its waters for supply of salt. after dipping in it we came out quite encrusted with a white film of intense salt. to-night we go on to denver, through the cañon of the grand river. seventeenth letter. a broncho-busting match. glenwood springs, october , . we left salt lake city by the express last night over the denver & rio grande railway, starting three hours late. when we awoke, we were coming up the canyon of the green river, one of the head streams of the colorado, and had passed through the barren volcanic lava wastes of the colorado desert during the night. the green river flows between sheer, naked volcanic rock masses, not very high, but jagged, no green thing growing upon them. but the scanty bottom lands were often green with alfalfa meadows and well-kept peach and apple orchards, the result of irrigation. from the valley of the green river we crossed, passing through many deep cuts and tunnels, to the grand river, the eastern fork of the colorado, and followed up this stream all day. very much the same sort of country as before. the bare, ragged, verdureless cliffs and rock masses, dry and plantless, only the red and yellow coloring of sandstone relieving the monotony, and everywhere upon the scant bottom lands the greenness and agriculture of irrigation. the aspen and maples, all a bright yellow, but not so splendid a golden hue as the forests of the valley of the yukon. just before coming to glenwood springs, about noon, i had wandered beyond my sleeper into the smoking-car, thinking to have a view of the sort of men who got in and out at the way stations, and, seating myself in a vacant place, picked up a conversation with my neighbor. imagine my surprise when i found him to be a fellow west virginian, from clarksburg, taking a little summer trip in the west, himself a mr. bassel, nephew of the well-known lawyer, john bassel, of upper state fame. he was going to stop off at glenwood springs to see one of colorado's most popular sports, a "broncho-busting" match, where were to be gathered some of the most eminent masters of the art in the state. i consulted my time-tables, ascertained that we might spend the afternoon there and yet reach denver the next morning, and when the train pulled into the station, we were among the expectant throng who there detrained. the little town was all astir. a pile of mexican saddles lay on the platform, and a crowd of big, brawny men in wide felt hats, leathern cowboy leggings and clanking spurs, were shouldering these, their belongings, and moving up into the town. the streets were full of people come in from the surrounding highlands, where, high up on the "mesas" or plateaus above the valleys, lie some of the finest cattle ranges in the state. big, raw-boned, strong-chinned men they were, bronzed with the sun and marked with a vigor bespeaking life in the open air. the ladies, too, were out in force, well dressed, not much color in their cheeks, but, like the men, possessing clean-cut, clear-eyed faces. and up and down the wide streets were continually galloping brawny riders, evidently arriving from their distant ranches. the crowd stuck to the sidewalk and seemed expectant. we did not know just what was going to happen, but stuck to the sidewalk, too, and well for us it was that we did so. there were rumors of a parade. a number of ranch maidens, riding restive bronchos, some sitting gracefully astride, drew their horses to one side. the crowd was silent. we were silent, too. just then a cloud of dust and a clatter of hoofs came swirling and echoing down the street. a troop of horses! they were running like mad. they were bridleless, riderless; they were wild horses escaped. they ran like things possessed. no, not all were riderless, for behind them, urged by silent riders, each man with swinging lasso, came as many cowboys hot on the chase. had the wild horses broken loose? could they ever be headed off? we wondered. was the fun for the day all vanished by the accident? not so, we found. this was part of the game. every broncho buster, if he would take part in the tests of ridership, must first catch a wild horse, that later an opponent should master. and the way those lassos swung and reached and dropped over the fleeing bronchos was in itself a sight worth stopping to see. then, as each rider came out of the dust and distance leading the wild-eyed, terrified beast by his unerring lasso, great was the acclaim given him by the hitherto silent multitude. every loose horse was caught before he had run half a mile, and thus haltered--the lariat around the neck--was led to the corral near the big meadow, where the man who should ride most perfectly would win the longed-for prize--a champion's belt and a purse of gold. [illustration: nuckolds, putting on the hoodwink.] [illustration: nuckolds, the broncho "busted."] many famous men were met there to win the trophy--the most coveted honor a coloradan or any ranchman may possess. there was marshall nuckolds, of rifle city, swarthy and black as an indian, who had won more than one trophy in hard-fought contests--his square jaw meaning mastery of any four-footed thing that bucks. there was red grimsby, long, and lank and lithe as a comanche, with a blue eye that tames a horse and man alike. there was big, loose-limbed arizona moore, a new man in glenwood, but preceded by his fame. he it was who won that cowboy race in cheyenne, not long since, when his horse fell, and he underneath--dead, the shuddering audience thought him--and who shook himself loose, re-mounted his horse and won the race amidst the mad cheers of every mortal being on the course. he rode a fiery black mustang, and was dressed in gorgeous white angora goat's hair leggins, a blue shirt, a handkerchief about his neck. handy harry bunn, of divide creek, was there too, a dapper little pile of bone and sinew, whom broncho, buck as he might, never yet had thrown. and freddy conners, solid and silent, and renowned among the boys on the ranches all 'round about. and the two thompson brothers, of aspen, home boys, the youngest, dick, the pride of grand river, for hadn't he won the $ saddle in the big match at aspen last year, and then carried off the purse of gold at rifle city on the fourth of last july! slim and clean-muscled, and quick as a flash he was, with a piercing black eye. the crowd on the streets were all betting on dick, and dick was watching arizona moore like a hawk. the honors probably lay between the two. the big meadow in the midst of the mile track was the place. h---- sat in the grandstand, my field-glasses in hand. i was invited to the judges' stand, and even allowed with my kodak out in the field among the judges who sat on their horses and followed the riders, taking points. [illustration: grimsby and the judges.] [illustration: bunn, making rope bridle.] swarthy nuckolds was the first man. he came out into the meadow carrying his own saddle and rope and bridle. to him had fallen a wiry bay, four-year old, never yet touched by man. first the horse was led out with a lasso halter around its neck, then, when it came to a standstill, nuckolds, with the softness of a cat, slipped up and passed a rope halter over its head, which he made cleverly into a bitless bridle, then he stealthily, and before the horse knew it, hoodwinked it with a leather band, and then when the horse could not see his motions, he gently, oh, so gently, laid the big mexican saddle on its back, and had it double girt fast before the horse knew what had happened. then he waved his hand, the hoodwink was pulled off by two assistants, and instantly he was in the saddle astride the astonished beast. for a moment the horse stood wild-eyed, sweating with terror--and then, and then--up it went like a bent hook, its head between its legs, its tail down, its legs all in a bunch, and down it came, stiff-kneed, taut as iron, and then up again, and so by leaps and bounds across the wide field and back again right through the scrambling crowd. all the while nuckolds rising and falling in perfect unison with the mad motions of the terrified horse--his hat gone, his black hair flying, his great whip and heavy spurs goading the animal into subjection. at last he rode it on a trot, mastered, subjugated, cowed, up to the judges' stand. the horse stood quietly, trembling, sweating, wet as though having swum grand river. wild were the yells that greeted nuckolds. he had but added to a reputation already made. "grimsby next," was the command. his horse was a short-backed, spindle-tailed sorrel, with a sort of a vicious gait that boded a bad temper and stubborn mind. again the halter was deftly put on and made into a bitless bridle, the hoodwink slipped on, the saddle gently placed, and man and horse were furiously rushing, bucking, leaping, rearing across the meadow, and right straight at the high board and wire fence. the horse, if it couldn't throw him, would jam and scrape him off if it ever reached that merciless mass of pine and barbed wire. could grimsby turn him, and without a bit? great riding that was, and greater steering, for just before the seeming inevitable crash, the horse swerved, turned and was bucking across and then around the field again. grimsby never failed to meet every wild movement, and sat in the saddle as though in a rocking-chair. the horse, at last conquered, stood quiet as a lamb, and the cheers for the sturdy rider quite equaled the plaudits given his raven-maned predecessor. now the crowd had its blood up. two native champions had proved their grit, what could the arizonian do against such as these? "he's too big and awkward," said one onlooker. "he's not the cut for a king buster," grunted another. "the h--l he ain't. ain't he the man who won that cheyenne race after his horse fell on him?" exclaimed one who knew, and the scoffers became silent. [illustration: arizona moore, up.] [illustration: arizona moore.] arizona moore strode clumsily under the weight of his big saddle, but his black eye shone clear and masterful, and i felt he was sure enough a man. his horse was a dark blood bay, well knit, clean limbed, short-barreled, full mane and tail, a fighter with the grit of a horse that dies before it yields. i stood quite near with my camera. it was difficult to get the rope bridle on, it was more difficult to put on the hoodwink, it was nigh impossible to set and cinch the saddle. but moore did it all, easily, deftly, quietly. the hoodwink dropped, and instantly the slouchy, awkward stranger was riding that furious, leaping, cavorting, bucking, lunging creature as though horse and man were one. i have never beheld such riding. he sat to his saddle and every muscle and sinew kept perfect time to the fiery, furious movements of the horse. and he plied his whip and used his spurs and laughed with glee, as though he were on the velvet cushions of a pullman car. the horse was stronger, more active, more violent than the two before. it whirled 'round and 'round until you were dizzy looking. it went up all in a bunch, it came down spread out, it came down with stiff legs, it reared, it plunged, it ran for the fence. nothing could mar the joy of the rider nor stir that even, easy, tenacious seat. "you've beat 'em all." "nor can the others beat you," roared the crowd, as he rode the conquered animal on a gentle trot up to the judges' stand and leisurely dismounted. it was the greatest horsemanship i have ever seen, nor shall i again see the like for many a day. bunn rode next. his horse was in full and fine condition. it leaped, it bucked, it raced for the fence, it reared, it even sat down and started to roll backwards, a terrible thing to happen, and often bringing death to an incautious rider. but bunn never lost his seat, nor did the horse stay long upon its haunches, for, stung by rawhide and spur, it sprang to its feet and tore across the meadow, actually leaping clean and sheer the impounding fence. and bunn, vanquishing at last, walked his quiet horse peacefully up and dismounted. the thompson boys each covered themselves with glory. dick's first horse was tamed so quickly--a big, bright bay--that they brought him a second one to ride again--a long, lean, dun-colored, roman-nosed cayuse, with scant mane and tail. a mean beast, the sort of a horse that other horses in the bunch scorn to keep company with and hate with natural good horse sense. he stood very quiet through bridling, hoodwinking and saddling. he had seen the others in the game. his mind was quite made up. and when dick vaulted into the saddle, he at first stood stock still, and then, as i set my kodak, i could see nothing but one great cloud of dun-colored dust and thompson's head floating in the upper levels of the haze. the horse was whirling and bucking all at the same instant, a hump-buck, a flat buck, an iron-legged buck, a touch-ground-with-belly buck, and a swirling-whirl and tail-and-neck twist at one and the same moment. enough to throw a tender seat a hundred feet and crack his bones like pipe stems. and then, like the flight of an arrow from a bow, that dun-colored devil bolted straight for the wickedest edge of the fence. i thought dick would be killed certain, but there he sat and drew that horse down on its hams three feet from sure death. it was a long battle, vicious, mean, fierce, merciless--the beast was bleeding, welts stood out on flanks and shoulders, its dry, spare muscles trembled like leaves shaken by wind. [illustration: the crowd at the broncho-busting match.] [illustration: the dun-colored devil.] the boy hero of aspen was hero still, and the dun horse walked quietly up to the judges' horses and allowed himself to be unsaddled without as much as a flinch, and he, too, was drenching wet, as well as bloody. i did not see the last rider, for my train was soon to leave, and i barely had time to get aboard. but i got some fine kodak photographs, and have promised to send a set to the old, gray-headed rancher who stood near me and who almost cried for joy to see how these men rode. "i've seven boys," he said, "and every one of 'em's a broncho buster; even the gals can bust a broncho, that they can." i have not learned who got the coveted prize belt, but i should divide it between arizona moore and dandy dick. eighteenth letter. colorado and denver. denver, october th. after leaving glenwood springs we wound up the gorge of the grand river, the castellated, crenelated, serrated, scarped and wind-worn cliffs towering many thousand feet into the blue sky. the valley narrowed sensibly and the sheer heights imposed themselves more and more upon us as we approached the tunnel at the height of land , feet above the sea, and where part the waters of the gulf of mexico from those of the pacific. on the canadian pacific railway, the interoceanic divide between the waters of hudson bay and the pacific is only some , feet above tide level, so now we were nearly a mile higher in the air. yet the long journey of , miles from san francisco, the crossing of the sierra nevada and wasatch ranges, had brought us to this final ascent almost unperceived. traversing the divide and coming out from the long tunnel which bows above the continental height of land, we diverged from the main line and crept yet higher right up into leadville, where the air was thin and keen and as chill as in december. thence we descended through the wonderful cañon of the platte river that has made this journey on the denver and rio grande railway famous the world round. we came to denver early in the morning; the metropolis of the middle west, the chief railroad center west of the missouri, the mining center of all the rocky mountain mineral belt, and now claiming to be equally the center of the great and rapidly growing irrigated agricultural region of the inter and juxta mountain region of the continent. essentially a business place is denver. its buildings are as elegant as those of new york city, many of them almost as pretentious as those of chicago, as solid as those of pittsburg, and as new as the fine blocks of los angeles. she is altogether a more modern city than san francisco, is denver. her residences are also up to date, handsome, substantial. the homes of men who are making money. her one hundred and eighty miles of electric tramways are good, though not quite as good as the two hundred miles of los angeles. her schools are probably unexcelled in the union. denver is new, and in the clear, translucent atmosphere looks yet newer; she is neat, she is ambitious, and she is gathering to herself the commerce, the trade, the manufacturing pre-eminence, the mining supervision of all that vast section of our continent from canada to mexico, from the great plains to the snowy summits of the cascades and sierra nevadas. all this is denver, while at the same time she is the capital of colorado, a state four times as big as west virginia, though with only half the population. and denver is so fast seated in the saddle of state prosperity that no section of colorado can prosper, no interest can grow nor develop, neither the gold and silver mining with its yield of forty millions a year, nor the iron and coal fields-- , square miles of coal fields--nor the agriculture and grazing interests, worth eighty millions a year (now exceeding the value of the gold and silver produced twice over), none of these can grow and gain, but they immediately and permanently pay tribute to denver. yet this very up-to-dateness of denver robs it of a certain charm. you might just as well be at home as be in denver. the people look the same, they dress the same, they walk the same, they talk the same. just a few more of them, that's all. there are none of the lovely lawns and gardens of los angeles and tacoma in denver, nor can there ever be. roses do not bloom all the winter through, nor in denver does the turf grow thick and velvety green as in seattle, nor can they ever do so--only a few weakly roses in the summer-time and grass--only grass when you water each blade with a hose three times a day. and then, too, men do not go to denver to make homes; they go there the rather to make fortunes, and, if successful, then to hurry away and live in a more congenial clime. denver is not laid out with the imposing regalness of salt lake city, nor can it ever possess the dignity of that place. it is just a big, hustling, commercial, manufacturing, mine-developing center, where the well man comes to work and toil with feverish energy in the thin air; and the sick man--the consumptive--comes to live a little while and die--"one lungers" do not here hold fast to life as in the more tender climate of southern california--nor can they survive long in denver's harsh, keen air. the loveliest, grandest part of denver is that which it does not possess. it is the splendid panorama of the rocky mountain chain that stretches, a monstrous mass of snow-clad summits, along the western horizon, eighteen to thirty miles away. across a flat and treeless plain you behold the long line of lesser summits, and then lifting behind them, towering skyward, the splendid procession of snow-clad giants, glittering and flashing in the translucent light of the full shining sun. the panorama is sublime, as fine as anything in switzerland, and of a beauty worthy of a journey--a long journey--to behold. in canada, the rockies come so slowly upon you that they seem almost insignificant compared with their repute. but here, one realizes in fullest sense the dignity of this stupendous backbone of the continent. and the pellucid atmosphere of the mile-high altitude, gives renewed and re-enforced vision to the eye. the gigantic mountains stand forth with such distinctness that the old tale of the englishman who set out to walk to them before breakfast--thinking them three instead of thirty miles away--is likely enough to have more than once occurred. the great "mountain empire state" of colorado is vastly rich in deposits of gold and silver and lead and antimony and copper and coal and iron, yet very few there are, or ever can be, who do or may amass fortunes therefrom. her coal beds exceed in area the entire state of west virginia nearly twice over, yet thousands of acres lie unworked and are now practically unworkable. her oil fields are promising, a paraffine oil of high grade, yet no oil producer has made or can make any great stake out of them. her agriculture and grazing interests already exceed the enormous values of her gold and silver, yet few farmers or cattle men make more than a living. colorado is rich, fabulously rich, yet the wealth that is wrung from her rocks and her pastures and her tilled fields passes most of it into hands other than those who produce it. the great railroad corporations get the first whack. it has cost enormously to build them; they are expensive to maintain; they are safe from competition by reason of the initial cost of their construction. they are entitled to consideration, and they demand it and enforce it to the limit. the freight rates are appalling, and so adjusted as to squeeze out of every natural product the cream of profit it may yield--sometimes only very thin skim milk is left. the passenger fares are high, usually four cents to ten cents per mile. the cost of living is onerous in colorado; all freights brought there pay excessive tribute to the railways. so much for the general conditions. with mining it is yet more serious. the rockefeller-gugenheim smelter combine now controls mercilessly all the smelting business of the state, and, as for that, of the mining country. and unless you have an ore that "will yield more than $ per ton, you might as well not go into the mining business," experienced mining men repeatedly observed to me. colorado boasts enormous agricultural and grazing wealth. she claims that the present values of her herds of cattle and horses, and flocks of sheep, of her orchards and irrigated crops already exceed that of her gold and silver and mineral production. this may be so, and yet after the cattle and sheep and horses are transported to distant markets and converted into cash, after her farmers have paid the enormous irrigation charges to the private corporations that control the water springs, the man on the soil makes little more than a bare living, the fat profits, if any there be, having passed into the capacious pockets of the water companies, of the transportation companies, of the great meat-packing and horse-buying companies. the farmers and grazers with whom i have talked tell me that if they come out even at the end of the year, with a small and moderate profit, they count themselves fortunate. here and there, of course, a fortune may be amassed by an unusual piece of good luck by the man who raises cattle or fruit, or crops, but as a rule the undoubted profits of these industries are absorbed by the great corporate interests at whose mercy they lie. just what will be the outcome of these crushing industrial conditions it is difficult to forecast, but we already see the first expressions of popular dissatisfaction in the extensive labor strikes now prevailing in the cripple creek region, and threatening to spread to and include all of the mining camps and operations of the state and adjoining states. corporate greed and unscrupulous selfishness arouse opposition, and then ensues corresponding combination, and too often counter aggression quite as unreasonable and quite as inconsiderate in scope and action. men are but mortal, and "an eye for an eye" is too ancient an adage to have lost its force in this twentieth century. just how these transportation, mining, agricultural and industrial problems will be finally solved i dare not predict, but we will trust that the ultimate good sense of american manhood will work out a reasonable solution. nineteenth letter. across nebraska. on burlington route express, } october , . } we left denver upon the night express over the burlington railway system, and all day to-day are flying eastward across flat, flat nebraska. at dawn the country looked parched and treeless; expanses of buffalo grass and herds of cattle. here and there the course of a dried-up stream marked by straggling cottonwood trees and alders, their leaves now turned a dull yellow brown. a drear land, but yet less heart-sickening than the stretches of bleak and barren landscape we have so often gazed upon through nevada, utah and colorado. despite the dry and parched appearance of this immediate region, it is yet counted a fine grazing country, and the cattle range and thrive all the year round upon the tufted bunches of the sweet, nutritious buffalo-grass that everywhere here naturally abounds. by middle morning we are entering the more eastern farming section of the state, though still in western nebraska. the land is all fenced, laid out in large farms, the fences and public roads running north and south and east and west. the farmhouses are neat, mostly, and set in tidy yards with groves of trees planted about. large red barns, many hay and wheat stacks, illimitable fields of thick-growing wheat stubble, and miles of corn, the stalks bearing the large ears yet standing in the hill, while, as a general thing, the roughness has all been gathered in--the southern way of handling the corn crops. no shocks standing like wigwams in the fields. fall plowing is also under way. we have just passed a man sitting on a sulky plow, driving four big horses abreast, his little six-year old daughter on his knee. a pretty sight. there are many windmills, one near each house and barn, some out in the wide fields, all pumping water, turned by the prairie winds that forever blow. we are passing many small towns. all just alike. the square-fronted stores, the steepled churches, the neat residences, rows of trees planted along either side of the streets. "that dreadful american monotony," as foreign visitors exclaim! the country looks just like the flat prairie section of manitoba, assiniboia and alberta, in canada, that we traversed in august, except that this is all occupied and intelligently tilled, while the most part of that is yet open to the roaming coyote, and may be yet purchased from the canadian government or from the railway company, as is rapidly being done. and this country here looks longer settled than does northern minnesota and north dakota through which we passed. the planting of trees in nebraska seems to have been very general, and along the roadways, the farm division lines, and about the farmsteads and in the towns are now multitudes of large and umbrageous trees. and sometimes large areas have been planted, and are now become veritable woodland. at the town of lincoln, mr. w. j. bryan's home city, we have stopped quite awhile, and in the distance can see the tall, white, dome-hooded cupola of the state capitol through the yellow and brown foliage of autumnal tinted cottonwood. sitting in the forward smoker and falling into conversation with a group of nebraska farmers, i found a number of substantial democrats among them, admirers but no longer adherents of mr. bryan--"our crops have never been so good and gold never so cheap and so plenty as during the last few years," they said. and they were not surprised when they saw by the quotation of silver in the denver morning paper that silver had never risen to so high a price in the open market as it holds to-day, sixty-eight cents per ounce. and they spoke of grover cleveland with profound respect. in nebraska, they tell me, all possibility of a recrudescence of the bryan vagaries is now certainly dead, and that this fine agricultural state is as surely republican as is ohio. the farmers are all doing well, making money and saving money. they are fast paying off such land mortgages as remain. also, there are now few, very few, unoccupied lands in nebraska. the state is practically filled up, and filled up with a permanent and contented population. as families grow, and sons and daughters come to manhood and womanhood, the old farms must be cut up and divided among them, or the surplus young folk must seek homes elsewhere. and of this surplus some are among the great american trek into the canadian far north. we reached omaha, the chief city of nebraska, late in the afternoon, coming into the fine granite station of the burlington railway system. while in the city we were delightfully taken care of by our old school and college friends, to whom the vanished years were yet but a passing breath. we were sumptuously entertained at a banquet at the omaha club. we were dined and lunched and driven about with a warm-hearted hospitality which may only have its origin in a heart-to-heart friendship, which, beginning among young men at life's threshold, comes down the procession of the years unchanged and as affectionately demonstrative as though we were all yet boys again. it carried me back to the days when we sat together and sang that famous german student song: "denkt oft ihr brueder an unserer juenglingsfreudigheit, es kommt nicht wieder, die goldene zeit." omaha, a city of , inhabitants, forms, together with kansas city on the south and st. paul, and minneapolis on the north, the middle of the three chief population centers between st. louis, chicago and denver. it is the chief commercial center of nebraska and of south dakota, southern montana and idaho, and controls an immense trade. in old times it was the chief town on the missouri above st. louis and still maintains the lead it then acquired. i was surprised to find it situated on a number of hills, some quite steep, others once steeper, now graded down to modern requirements. its streets are wide and fairly well paved, and its blocks of buildings substantial. the residence streets we drove through contain many handsome houses, light yellow-buff brick being generally used, while denver is a red brick town. the parks, enclosing hill and dale, are of considerable natural beauty, here again having advantage over denver, where the flattened prairie roll presents few opportunities for landscape gardening. the extensive stockyards and abattoirs of armour, swift and several other companies have made omaha even a greater center of the meat trade than kansas city. in company with w---- i spent the morning in inspecting these extensive establishments. the volume of business here transacted reaches out into all the chief grazing lands of the far west. the stockyards are supposed to be run by companies independent of the packing-houses, and to be merely hotels where the cattle brought in may be lodged and boarded until sold, and the cattle brokers are presumed to be the agents of the cattle owners who have shipped the stock, and to procure for these owners the highest price possible. but, as a matter of fact, the packing-houses control the stockyards, dominate the brokers, who are constantly near to them and far from the cattle owners, and the man on the range who once ships his cattle over the railroads, forthwith places himself at the mercy of the packer--the stock having been shipped must be fed and cared for either on the cars or in the yards, and this takes money--so the quicker the sale of them is made the better for the owner. hence, inasmuch as the packer may refuse to buy until the waiting stock shall eat their heads off--the owner, through the broker, is compelled to sell as soon as he can, and is compelled to accept whatsoever price the packer may choose to offer him. so the packing companies grow steadily richer and their business spreads and omaha increases also. the other chief industry of omaha is the great smelter belonging to the trust. incorporated originally by a group of enterprising omaha men as a local enterprise, it was later sold out to the gugenheim trust, whose influence with the several railroads centering in omaha has been sufficient to preserve the business there, though the smelter is really far away from ores and fluxes. these two enterprises, the cattle killing and packing and ore-reducing, together with large railway shops, constitute the chief industrial interests of omaha, and, for the rest, the city depends upon the extensive farming and grazing country lying for five hundred miles between her and the rocky mountains. as they prosper, so does omaha; as they are depressed, so is she. and only one thing, one catastrophe does omaha fear, far beyond words to tell--the fierce, hot winds that every few years come blowing across nebraska from the furnace of the rocky mountains' alkali deserts. they do not come often, but when they do, the land dies in a night. the green and fertile country shrivels and blackens before their breath, the cattle die, the fowls die, the things that creep and walk and fly die. the people--the people flee from the land or die upon it in pitiful collapse. then it is that omaha shrivels and withers too. twice, twice within the memory of living man have come these devastating winds, and twice has omaha suffered from their curse, and even now omaha is but recovering her activity of the days before the plague, forgetful of a future that--well! men here say that such a universal catastrophe may never again occur. and the handsome city is prosperous and full of buoyant life. we now go on to st. louis and thence to cincinnati and so home. twentieth letter. along iowa and into missouri to st. louis. charleston, w. va., october , . our journey from omaha to st. louis was down the valley of the missouri, a night's ride. we crossed the mighty river over an enormously high bridge and then followed the crest of an equally lofty embankment across several miles of wide, rich bottoms to council bluffs, in the state of iowa. "nobody dares fool with the missouri," a man said to me in omaha, as he pointed out where the voracious river was boldly eating up a wide, black-soiled meadow in spite of the square rods of willow mats and tons of rocks that had been laid down to prevent it. "when the missouri decides to swallow up a bottom, or a village, or a town, she just does it, there is no escape." and even the citizens of omaha do not sleep well of nights when the mighty brown tide fumes too angrily. hence the extraordinarily high bridge and enormous embankment we traversed when we sought to cross over to dry land in iowa. the waters of the missouri are as swift as those of the yukon, but the river flows for a thousand miles through the soft muds of the western prairies, instead of through the banks of firm gravel, and it eats its way here and there when and where it chooses, and no man can prevent. hence the railways, while they traverse the general course of the great valley of the missouri, do not dare follow too closely the river banks, but they rather keep far away and have just as little to do with the treacherous stream as they may. so it was we did not see much more of the missouri, but sped into wide, flat, rich stretches of alluvial country until darkness fell upon us and night shut out all suggestions of the river. when morning dawned we were among immense fields of tall corn, corn so high as to quite hide a horseman riding through it. the farm-houses were large and substantial. the farmstead buildings were big and trim. the cattle we saw were big, the hogs were big, the fowls were big. and over all there brooded a certain atmosphere of big contentedness. we were in the state of missouri, and passing through some of its richest, most fruitful, fertile farming lands. a rich land of rich masters, once tilled by slave labor, a land still rich, still possessed by owners well-to-do and yielding yet greater crops under the stimulus of labor that is free. when we had retired for the night our car was but partially filled. when we awoke in the morning, and i entered the men's toilet-room, i found it full of big, jovial, roman priests. our car was packed with them. they had got in at every station; they continued to get in until we reached st. louis. the eminent roman prelate, the right reverend archbishop of st. louis, kain, once bishop of wheeling, had surrendered his great office to the pope, and the churchly fathers of all the middle west were gathering to st. louis, to participate in the funeral pageant. a couple of young priests were talking about the "old man," while a white-haired father spoke of "his eminence," and i learned that cardinal gibbons, of baltimore, was expected to also attend the funeral ceremonies. we breakfasted on the train, and in the dining-car sat at table with two brother masons wearing badges, and from them i learned that they were also traveling to st. louis, there to attend the great meeting of the grand lodge of the state of missouri. the city would be full of masons, and the ceremonies of the masonic order and of the roman church would absorb the attention of st. louis for the next few days. and so we found it, when we at last came to a stop within the great central railway station--next to that of boston, the largest in the world--where we observed that the crowd within it was made up chiefly of men wearing the masonic badges, their friends and families, and the round-collared priests. a strange commingling and only possible in america. in mexico, a land where the roman church dominates, though it no longer rules, the masons do not wear their badges or show outward token of their fraternal bonds. in england, where the king is head of the masonic order, there, until the last half century, the roman catholic subject might not vote nor hold office. here in st. louis, in free america, i saw the two mixing and mingling in friendly and neighborly comradeship. i do not know whether you have ever been in st. louis, but if you have, i am sure you have felt the subtle, attractive charm of it. it is an old city. it was founded by the french. the old french-descended families of to-day talk among themselves the language of la belle france. for a century it has been the mecca of the southern pioneer, who found in it and about it the highest northern limit of his emigration. missouri was a slave state. st. louis was a southern slave-served city. the virginians, who crossed through greenbrier and flat-boated down the kanawha and ohio, settled in it or went out further west from it. alvah, charles and morris hansford, the lewises, the ruffners, made their flatboats along the kanawha and floated all the way to it. st. louis early acquired the courtly manners of the south. she is a city to-day which has preserved among her people much of that southern savor which marks a southern gentleman wherever he may be. st. louis is conservative; her french blood makes her so. she is gracious and well-mannered; her southern founders taught her to be so. and when the struggle of the civil war was over, and the union armies had kept her from the burning and pillaging and havoc and wreck that befell her more southern sisters, st. louis naturally responded to the good fortune that had so safely guarded her, and took on the renewed energy and wealth-acquiring powers of the unfolding west. the marvelous developments of the southwest, and now of mexico, by american railroad extension, has built up and is building up st. louis, just as the great northwest has poured its vitalizing energies, its boundless wheat crops, into chicago. corn and cattle and cotton have made st. louis, and spanish is taught in her public schools. chicago may be the chief of the cities upon the great lakes; st. louis must forever remain the mistress of the commerce and trade and wealth of the great mississippi basin, with new orleans as her seaport upon the south, baltimore, newport news, norfolk on the chesapeake bay, her ports upon the east. st. louis is self-contained. she owns herself. most of the real estate in and out of st. louis is owned by her citizens. her mortgages are held by her own banks and trust companies. chicago is said to be chiefly owned by the financiers of boston and new york. the st. louisian, when he makes his pile and stacks his fortune, builds a home there and invests his hoard. the chicagoan when he wins a million in the wheat pit or, like yerkes, makes it out of street railway deals, hies himself to new york and forgets that he ever lived west of buffalo. hence, you find a quite different spirit prevailing among the people of st. louis from chicago. this difference in mental attitude toward the city the stranger first entering st. louis apprehends at once, and each time he returns to visit the great city, that impression deepens. i felt it when first i visited st. louis just eleven years ago, when attending the first nicaragua canal convention as a delegate from west virginia. i have felt it more keenly on every occasion when i have returned. the great union depot of st. louis is the pride of the city. it was designed after the model of the superb central bahnhof of frankfort on the main, in germany, the largest in europe, but is bigger and more conveniently arranged. in the german station, i noted a certain disorderliness. travelers did not know just what trains to enter, and often had to climb down out of one car to climb up into another, and then try it again. here, although a much greater number of trains come in and go out in the day, american method directs the traveler to the proper train almost as a matter of course. from the station we took our way to the southern hotel, for so many years, and yet to-day, the chief hostelry in the city. a building of white marble, covering one entire block, with four entrances converging upon the office in the center. here the southern planters and mississippi steamboat captains always tarry, here the corn and cattle kings of kansas and the great southwest congregate. the politicians of missouri, too, have always made the southern a sort of political exchange. other and newer hotels, like the planters, have been built in st. louis, but none has ever outclassed the southern. we were not expecting to tarry long at the hotel, nor did we, for after waiting only a short interval in the wide reception-room, a carriage drove up, a gracious-mannered woman in black descended, and we were soon in the keeping of one of the most delightful hostesses of old st. louis. her carriage was at our command, her time was ours, her home our own so long as we should remain. and we had never met her until the bowing hotel clerk brought her smiling to us. so much for acquaintance with mutual friends. the morning was spent visiting the more notable of the great retail stores, viewing the miles of massive business blocks, watching the volume of heavy traffic upon the crowded streets. at noon we lunched with our hostess in a home filled with rare books and objects of art, collected during many years of foreign residence and travel, and i was taken to the famous st. louis club, shown over its imposing granite club-house, and put up there for a fortnight, should i stay so long. in the afternoon we were driven through the sumptuous residence section of the city out toward the extensive park on whose western borders are now erected the aggregation of stupendous buildings of the louisiana purchase exposition. this residence section of st. louis has always been impressive to me. there is so much of it. the mansions are so diverse in architecture, so splendid in design. "palaces," they would be called in england, in germany, in france. here the plain st. louisian says "come up to my house," and walks you into the palace with no ado. evidences of the material wealth of this great city they are. not one, not two, but tens and hundreds of palatial homes. men and women live in them whom you and i have never read about, have never heard about, will never know about, yet there they are, successful, intelligent, influential in the affairs of this republic quite as much so as you and i. and the larger part of these splendid mansions are lived in by men and women who represent in themselves that distinctively american quality of "getting on." one granite palace pointed out to me, is inhabited by a man and his wife, neither of whom can more than read and write. yet both are gifted with great good sense, and he lives there because he saved his wages when a chore hand in a brewery until at last he owned the brewery. another beautiful home is possessed by a man who began as a day laborer and then struck it rich digging gold in the black hills. calves and cattle built one french chateau; corn, plain corn, built several more, and cotton and mules a number of others. steamboats and railways, and trade and commerce and manufactures have built miles of others, while the great shaw's botanical garden, established and endowed and donated to the city, came from a miserly bachelor banker's penchant to stint and save. the incomes of the hustling citizens of st. louis remain her own; the incomes of the rent-payers of chicago, like the interest on her mortgages, go into the pockets of stranger owners who dwell in distant cities in the east. the extensive fair grounds and exposition buildings were driven upon and among. a gigantic enterprise, an ambitious enterprise. st. louis means to outdo chicago, and this time chicago will surely be outdone. the buildings are bigger and there are more of them than at chicago. they are painted according to a comprehensive color scheme, not left a blinding white, less gaudy than the french effort of , more harmonious than the pan-american effects at buffalo two years ago. the prevailing tints are cream white for the perpendicular walls and statuary, soft blues, greens, reds, for the roofs and pinnacles, and much gilding. more than twenty millions of dollars are now being expended upon this great exposition show. for one brief summer it is to dazzle the world, forever it is to glorify st. louis. the complacent st. louisian now draws a long breath and mutters contentedly, "thank god, for one time chicago isn't in it." the art buildings alone are to be permanent. they are not yet complete. i wonder whether it will be possible to have them as splendidly sumptuous as were the marble art palaces i beheld in paris three years ago--the only works of french genius i saw in that exposition that seemed to me worthy of the greatness of france. the exposition grounds and buildings are yet in an inchoate condition, and but for the fact that americans are doing and pushing the work, one would deem it impossible for the undertaking to be completed within the limited time. as it is, many a west virginian and kanawhan will next summer enjoy to the full these evidences of american power. in the late afternoon we were entertained at the country club, a delightful bit of field and meadow and woodland, a few miles beyond the city. here the tired business man may come from the desk and shop and warehouse and office, and play like a boy in the sunshine and among green, living things. here the young folk of the big city, some of them, gather for evening dance and quiet suppers when the summer heat makes city life too hard. here golf and polo are played all through the milder seasons of the year. we were asked to remain over for the following day, when a polo match would be played. we should have liked to see the ponies chase the ball, but our time of holiday was coming to an end. we might not stay. in the evening we were entertained at a most delightful banquet. a large table of interesting and cultivated people were gathered to meet ourselves. we had never met them before, we might never meet them again, but for the brief hour we were as though intimates of many years. all the night we came speeding across the rolling prairie lands of illinois and indiana into ohio. a country i have seen before, a landscape wide and undulating, filled with immense wheat and corn fields. the home of a well-established and affluent population. the sons and grandsons of the pioneers who, in the early days of the last century, poured in from all quarters of the east, many virginians and kanawhans among the number. a country from which the present younger generations have gone and are now going forth into the land yet further west, and even up into the as yet untenanted prairies and plains of the canadian north. in the morning we were in cincinnati and felt almost at home. the city, smoky as usual, marred by the blast of the great fire of the early summer. the throngs upon the streets were just about as numerous, just about as hustling as those elsewhere we have seen, yet there was a variation. the men not so tall, more chunky in build, bigger round the girth, stolid, solid. the large infusion of german blood shows itself in cincinnati, even more than in st. louis, where the lank westerner is more in evidence. it was dusk when the glimmering lights of charleston showed across the placid kanawha. we were once more at home. we had been absent some seventy days; we had journeyed some eight thousand miles upon sea and lake and land. we had enjoyed perfect health. we had met no mishap. we had traveled from almost the arctic circle to the sight of mexico. we had traversed the entire pacific coast of the continent from skagway to los angeles. we had twice crossed the continent. we had beheld the greatness of our country, the vigor and wealth and energy of many cities, the splendor and power of the republic. [illustration: on the great kanawha.] [illustration: our kanawha garden.] [illustration: map of route in u. s.] [illustration: map of upper yukon basin.] index. agricultural and grazing wealth of colorado, . animal life, . an outlaw at white horse rapids, . a prospector's story, . atlin, , . a wild night, . banff, . bathing in salt lake, . bird notes, , , , . bishop bompas, . bishop bompas on the coast indians, . blanket concessions from ottawa, . boyle, . british columbia river, . broncho-busting match, - . canadian pacific railway, . canadian rockies, . caribou station, . cascades, . chinatown, . cincinnati, . clarence straight, . climate of oregon, . cold of the north land, . colorado and denver, . crossing the rockies, . dangerous navigation, . dawson charlie, , . dawson city, , , . dawson horticultural society, . del monte hotel at monterey, . detroit river, . dixon channel and port simpson, . dogs--malamutes and huskies, , . dog ranch, . dr. grant, of st. andrews hospital, . edmonton to dawson, . fifty mile river, . first glimpse of the great salt lake, . fort selkirk, . fort wrangel, . fraser river, . frederick sound, . freezing of the yukon, . french canadian trapper, . glacier hotel, . glenwood springs, . government of yukon territory, . grand river, . grand trunk pacific railway, . grayling, , . green river, . gulf of georgia, . hells gates, . how the government searches for gold, . icebergs and whales, . immigrants from the u. s., . indian laborers in washington and oregon, . international boundary line, . japanese on the coast, . japanese rice planter, . juneau, . ketchikan, . kicking horse river, . klondike, . lake atlin, . lake bennett, . lake lebarge, . lake marsh, . lake st. clair, . lake superior, . lake taggish, . los angeles, . los angeles to salt lake city, . lynn canal, . luxurious living in dawson, . mackinac, . miles cañon, . millbank sound, . mineral wealth of colorado, . mining on bonanza creek, , . mining on el dorado fork, . mining on pine creek, . mining on hunker creek, . minneapolis, . mode of living at the diggings, . mojave desert, . monterey, . mormon literature, . mormon temple, . mt. shasta, . narrow-gauge railway from skagway, . nebraska, . northwest mounted police, . ogden to salt lake city, . omaha, . otter creek, . our landlady at dawson, . peace river, . pelly river, . placer mining, . portland, . preparations for winter, . presidio, . ptarmigan, . public school in dawson, . puget sound cities, . puget sound crabs, . queen charlotte sound, . returning travellers from the klondike, . ride along the coast, . ride to portland, . ride to yakima, . salmon, . salmon at ketchikan, . salmon in the columbia river, . salt lake city, . salt lake city to glenwood springs, colorado, . san francisco, . santa barbara, . santa cruz, . san joaquin valley, . sausalito and mt. tamalpais, . sault st. marie, . sawmill at tacoma, . seattle, . secret of the success of mormonism in utah, . silver bow river, . skagway, , . spruce creek, . steamer "city of seattle," . steamer white horse, . stewart river, . st. louis, . st. paul, , . sutton, geologist, . tacoma, . the five fingers, . thirty mile river, . treadgold, . treadwell mines, . trip to the taku glacier, . upper yukon, . up the yukon from dawson, . u. s. fish commission, . valley of the willamette, . vancouver, , . victoria, , , . washington state fair at yakima, . wheat land, , , , . white pass, . wild sheep and goats, . winnipeg, . work in the diggings in winter, . yukon above dawson, . zodiacal lights in winter, . transcriber's note: small inconsistencies in punctuation in the index and captions of photographs have been resolved. two 'n' entries in the index ("narrow-gauge railway" and "northwest mounted police"), were misplaced, and have been moved to their correct positions. there were several other indexing errors: "portland" was corrected to refer to p. . "cincinati" was corrected to refer to p. . the following obvious printer's errors are noted, and where unambiguous, have been corrected. p. . we are sor[r]ry removed extra 'r'. p. and blow it in [in] leisurely removed repeated 'in'. p. the great [llewellen] or taku _sic_ glacier p. n. w. [n/m]. p. north west mounted police p. so i [persume/presume] corrected. p. the very best of them all.["] added. p. they have also never fled from, but added. the[y] rather [illustration: "we of the flannel shirt and the unblacked boot." _frontispiece._] through the yukon gold diggings a narrative of personal travel by josiah edward spurr geologist, united states geological survey [illustration] boston eastern publishing company copyright, by josiah edward spurr preface. as a geologist of the united states geological survey, i had the good fortune to be placed in charge of the first expedition sent by that department into the interior of alaska. the gold diggings of the yukon region were not then known to the world in general, yet to those interested in mining their renown had come in a vague way, and the special problem with which i was charged was their investigation. the results of my studies were embodied in a report entitled: "geology of the yukon gold district," published by the government. it was during my travels through the mining regions that the klondike discovery, which subsequently turned so many heads throughout all of the civilized nations, was made. general conditions of mining, travelling and prospecting are much the same to-day as they were at that time, except in the limited districts into which the flood of miners has poured. my travels in alaska have been extensive since the journey of which this work is a record, and i have noted the same scenes that are herein described, in many other parts of the vast untravelled territory. it will take two or three decades or more, to make alterations in this region and change the condition throughout. in recording, therefore, the scenes and hardships encountered in this northern country, i describe the experiences of one who to-day knocks about the yukon region, the copper river region, the cook inlet region, the koyukuk, or the nome district. my aim has been throughout, to set down what i saw and encountered as fully and simply as possible, and i have endeavored to keep myself from sacrificing accuracy to picturesqueness. that my duties led me to see more than would the ordinary traveller, i trust the following pages will bear witness. let the reader, therefore, when he finds tedious or unpleasant passages, remember that they record tedious or unpleasant incidents that one who travels this vast region cannot escape, as will be found should any of those who peruse these pages go through the yukon gold diggings. author. contents chap. page i. the trip to dyea ii. over the chilkoot pass iii. the lakes and the yukon to forty mile iv. the forty mile diggings v. the american creek diggings vi. the birch creek diggings vii. the mynook creek diggings viii. the lower yukon ix. st. michael's and san francisco illustrations page "we of the flannel shirt and the unblacked boot" _frontispiece_ an alaskan genealogical tree bacon, lord of alaska lynn canal alaskan women and children alaskan indians and house shooting the white horse rapids talking it over alaska humpback salmon, male and female washing gravel in sluice-boxes "tracking" a boat upstream a "cache" native dogs on the tramp again hog'em junction road-house on hog'em gulch custom house at circle city the break-up of the ice on the yukon a yukon canoe indian fish-traps in a tent beneath spruce trees three-hatch skin boat, or bidarka eskimo houses at st. michael's a native doorway the captured whale the author wishes to express his indebtedness to messrs. a. h. brooks, f. c. schrader, a. beverly smith, and the united states geological survey, for the use of photographs. through the yukon gold diggings. before the klondike discovery. chapter i. the trip to dyea. it was in , before the klondike boom. we were seated at the table of an excursion steamer, which plied from seattle northward among the thousand wonderful mountain islands of the inland passage. it was a journey replete with brilliant spectacles, through many picturesque fjords from whose unfathomable depths the bare steep cliffs rise to dizzy heights, while over them tumble in disorderly loveliness cataracts pure as snow, leaping from cliff to cliff in very wildness, like embodiments of the untamed spirits of nature. we had just passed queen charlotte sound, where the swells from the open sea roll in during rough weather, and many passengers were appearing at the table with the pale face and defiant look which mark the unfortunate who has newly committed the crime of seasickness. it only enhanced the former stiffness, which we of the flannel shirt and the unblacked boot had striven in vain to break--for these were people who were gathered from the corners of the earth, and each individual, or each tiny group, seemed to have some invisible negative attraction for all the rest, like the little molecules which, scientists imagine, repel their neighbors to the very verge of explosion. they were all sight-seers of experience, come, some to do alaska, some to rest from mysterious labors, some--but who shall fathom at a glance an apparently dull lot of apparent snobs? at any rate, one would have thought the everlasting hills would have shrunk back and the stolid glaciers blushed with vexation at the patronizing way with which they were treated in general. it was depressing--even european tourists' wordy enthusiasm over a mud puddle or a dunghill would have been preferable. there are along this route all the benefits of a sea trip--the air, the rest--with none of its disadvantages. so steep are the shores that the steamer may often lie alongside of them when she stops and run her gang-plank out on the rocks. these stops show the traveller the little human life there is in this vast and desolate country. there are villages of the native tribes, with dwellings built in imitation of the common american fashion, in front of which rise great totem poles, carved and painted, representing grinning and grotesque animal-like, or human-like, or dragon-like figures, one piled on top of the other up to the very top of the column. a sort of ancestral tree, these are said to be,--only to be understood with a knowledge of the sign symbolism of these people--telling of their tribe and lineage, of their great-grandfather the bear, and their great-grandmother the wolf or such strange things. [illustration: an alaskan genealogical tree.] the people themselves, with their heavy faces and their imitation of the european dress--for the tourist and the prospector have brought prosperity and the thin veneer of civilization to these southernmost tribes of alaska--with their flaming neckerchief or head-kerchief of red and yellow silk that the silk-worm had no part in making, but only the cunning yankee weaver, paddle out in boats dug from the great evergreen trees that cover the hills so thickly, and bring articles made of sealskin, or skilfully woven baskets made out of the fibres of spruce roots, to sell to the passengers. or the steamer may stop at a little hamlet of white pioneers, where there is fishing for halibut, with perhaps some mining for gold on a small scale; then the practical men of the party, who have hitherto been bored, can inquire whether the industry pays, and contemplate in their suddenly awakened fancies the possibilities of a halibut syndicate, or another treadwell gold mine. so the artist gets his colors and forms, the business man sees wonderful possibilities in this shockingly unrailroaded wilderness, the tired may rest body and mind in the perfect peace and freedom from the human element, old ladies may sleep and young ones may flirt meantimes. all this would seem to prove that the passengers were neither professional nor business men, nor young nor old ladies--part of which appeared to me manifestly, and the rest probably untrue; or else that they were all enthusiastic and interested in the dumb british-american way, which sets down as vulgar any betrayal of one's self to one's neighbors. some one at the table wearily and warily inquired when we should get to the muir glacier, on which point we of the flannel-shirted brotherhood were informed; and incidentally we remarked that we intended to leave the festivities before that time, in juneau. "oh my!" said the sad-faced, middle-aged lady with circles about her eyes. "stay in juneau! how dreadful! are you going as missionaries, or," here she wrestled for an idea, "or are you simply going." "we are going to the yukon," we answered, "from juneau. you may have heard of the gold fields of the yukon country." and strange and sweet to say, at this later day, no one had heard of the gold fields--that was before they had become the rage and the fashion. but the whole table warmed with interest--they were as lively busybodies as other people and we were the first solution to the problems which they had been putting to themselves concerning each other since the beginning of the trip. there was a fire of small questions. "how interesting!" said an elderly young lady, who sat opposite. "i suppose you will have _all kinds_ of experiences, just _roughing_ it; and will you take your food with you on--er--wagons--or will you depend on the farmhouses along the way? only," she added hastily, detecting a certain gleam in the eye of her vis-a-vis, "i didn't think there were many farmhouses." "they will ride horses, jane," said the bluff old gentleman who was evidently her father, so authoritatively that i dared not dispute him--"everybody does in that country." then, as some glanced out at the precipitous mountain-side and dense timber, he added, "of course, not here. in the interior it is flat, like our plains, and one rides on little horses,--i think they call them kayaks--i have read it," he said, looking at me fiercely. then, as we were silent, he continued, more condescendingly, "i have roughed it myself, when i was young. we used to go hunting every fall in pennsylvania, when i was a boy, and once two of us went off together and were gone a week, just riding over the roughest country roads and into the mountains on horseback. if our coffee had not run out we would have stayed longer." "but isn't it dreadfully cold up there?" said the sweet brown-eyed girl, with a look in her eyes that wakened in our hearts the first momentary rebellion against our exile. "and the wild animals! you will suffer so." "i used to know an explorer," said the business man with the green necktie, who had been dragged to the shrine of nature by his wife. he had brought along an entire copy of the new york _screamer_, and buried himself all day long in its parti-colored mysteries. "he told me many things that might be useful to you, if i could remember them. about spearing whales--for food, you know--you will have to do a lot of that. i wish i could have you meet him sometime; he could tell you much more than i can. somebody said there was gold up there. was it you? well don't get frozen up and drift across the pole, like nansen, just to get where the gold is. but i suppose the nuggets----" "let's go on deck, jane," said the old gentleman;--then to us, politely but firmly, "i have been much interested in your account, and shall be glad to hear more later." we had not said anything yet. we disembarked at juneau. we had watched the shore for nearly the whole trip without perceiving a rift in the mountains through which it looked feasible to pass, and at juneau the outlook or uplook was no better. those who have been to juneau (and they are now many) know how slight and almost insecure is its foothold; how it is situated on an irregular hilly area which looks like a great landslide from the mountains towering above, whose sides are so sheer that the wagon road which winds up the gulch into silver bow basin is for some distance in the nature of a bridge, resting on wooden supports and hugging close to the steep rock wall. the excursionists tarried a little here, buying furs at extortionate prices from the natives, fancy baskets, and little ornaments which are said to be made in connecticut. in the hotel the proprietor arrived at our business in the shortest possible time, by the method of direct questioning. he was from colorado, i judged--all the men i have known that look like him come from colorado. there was also a heavily bearded man dressed in ill-fitting store-clothes, and with a necktie which had the strangest air of being ill at ease, who was lounging near by, smoking and spitting on the floor contemplatively. "here, pete," said the proprietor, "i want you to meet these gentlemen." he pronounced the last word with such a peculiar intonation that one felt sure he used it as synonymous with "tenderfeet" or "paperlegs" or other terms by which alaskans designate greenhorns. i had rather had him call me "this feller." "he says he's goin' over the pass, an' maybe you can help each other." pete smiled genially and crushed my hand, looking me full in the eye the while, doubtless to see how i stood the ordeal. "pete's an old timer," continued the hotel-man, "one of the yukon pioneers. been over that pass--how many times, pete, three times, ain't it?" "dis makes dirt time," answered pete, with a most unique dialect, which nevertheless was scandinavian. "virst time, me an' frank densmore, whisky bill an' de odder boys. dat was summer som we washed on stewart river, on'y us--fetched out britty peek sack dat year--eh?" he had a curious way of retaining the scandinavian relative pronoun _som_ in his english, instead of _who_ or _that_. "you bet, pete," answered the other, "you painted the town; done your duty by us." "ja," said pete, "blewed it in; mostly in 'frisco. was king dat winter till dust was all been spent. saw tings dat was goot; saw udder tings was too bad, efen for alaskan miner. one time enough. i tink dese cities kind of bad fer people. so i get out. sez i,--'i jes' got time to get to lake bennett by time ice breaks,' so i light out." he smiled happily as he said this, as a man might talk of going home, then continued, "den secon' dime i get a glaim forty mile, miller greek,--dat's really sixty mile, but feller gits dere f'm forty mile. had a pardner, but he went down to birch greek, den i work my glaim alone." he put his hand down in his trousers pocket and brought up a large flat angular piece of gold, two inches long; it had particles of quartz scattered through, and was in places rusty with iron, but was mostly smooth and showed the wearing it must have had in his pocket. he shoved the yellow lump into my hand. "dat nugget was de biggest in my glaim dat i found; anoder feller he washed over tailin's f'm my glaim efter, an' he got bigger nuggets, he says, but i tinks he's dam liar. anyhow, i get little sack an' i went down 'frisco, an' i blewed it in again. now i go back once more." we talked awhile and finally agreed to make the trip to forty mile together, since we were all bound to this place, and pete, unlike most miners and prospectors, had no "pardner." we were soon engaged in making the rounds of the shops, laying in our supplies--beans, bacon, dried fruit, flour, sugar, cheese, and, most precious of all, a bucket of strawberry jam. we made up our minds to revel in jam just as long as we were able, even if we ended up on plain flour three times a day. for a drink we took tea, which is almost universally used in alaska, instead of coffee, since a certain weight of it will last as long as many times the same weight of coffee: moreover, there is some quality in this beverage which makes it particularly adapted to the vigorous climate and conditions of this northern country. men who have never used tea acquire a fondness for it in alaska, and will drink vast quantities, especially in the winter. the russians, themselves the greatest tea-drinkers of all european nations, long ago introduced "tschai" to the alaskan natives; and throughout the country they will beg for it from every white man they meet, or will travel hundreds of miles and barter their furs to obtain it. [illustration: bacon, lord of alaska.] concerning the amount of supplies it is necessary to take on a trip like ours, it may be remarked that three pounds of solid food to each man per day, is liberal. as to the proportion, no constant estimate can be made, men's appetites varying with the nature of the articles in the rations and their temporary tastes. on this occasion pete picked out the supplies, laying in what he judged to be enough of each article: but it appeared afterwards that a man may be an experienced pioneer, and yet never have solved the problem of reasonably accurate rations, for some articles were soon exhausted on our trip, while others lasted throughout the summer, after which we were obliged to bequeath the remainder to the natives. camp kettles, and frying-pans, of course, were in the outfit, as well as axes, boat-building tools, whip-saw, draw-shave, chisels, hammers, nails, screws, oakum and pitch. it was our plan to build a boat on the lakes which are the source of the yukon, felling the spruce trees, and then with a whip-saw slicing off boards, which when put together would carry us down the river to the gold diggings. for our personal use we had a single small tent, a-shaped, but with half of one of the large slanting sides cut out, so that it could be elevated like a curtain, and, being secured at the corners by poles or tied by ropes to trees, made an additional shelter, while it opened up the interior of the tent to the fresh air or the warmth of the camp-fire outside. blankets for sleeping, and rubber blankets to lay next to the ground to keep out the wet; the best mosquito-netting or "bobinet" of hexagonal mesh, and stout gauntleted cavalry gloves, as protection against the mosquitoes. for personal attire, anything. dress on the frontier, above all in alaska, is always varied, picturesque, and unconventional. flannel or woollen shirts, of course, are universal; and for foot gear the heavy laced boot is the best. as usual, we were led by the prospective terrors of cold water in the lakes and streams to invest in rubber boots reaching to the hip, which, however, did not prove of such use as anticipated. we had brought with us canvas bags designed for packing, or carrying loads on the back, of a model long used in the lake superior woods. they were provided with suitable straps for the shoulders, and a broad one for the top of the head, so that the toiler, bending over, might support a large part of the load by the aid of his rigid neck. these we utilized also as receptacles for our clothes and other personal articles. other men were in juneau also, bound for the yukon,--not like the hordes that the klondike brought up later from the states, many of whom turned back before even crossing the passes, but small parties of determined men. we ran upon them here and there. in the hotel we sat down at the table with a self-contained man with a suggestion of recklessness or carelessness in his face, and soon found that he was bound over the same route as ourselves, on a newspaper mission. danlon, as we may call him, had brought his manservant with him, like the englishman he was. he was a great traveller, and full of interesting anecdotes of afghanistan, or borneo, or some other of the earth's corners. he had engaged to go with him a friend of pete's, another pioneer, cooper by name, short, blonde and powerfully built. between us, we arranged for a tug to take us the hundred miles of water which still lay between us and dyea, where the land journey begins; after which transaction, we sat down to eat our last dinner in civilization. how tearfully, almost, we remarked that this was the last plum-pudding we should have for many a moon! we sailed, or rather steamed away, from juneau in the evening. our tug had been designed for freight, and had not been altered in the slightest degree for the accommodation of passengers. her floor space, too, was limited, so that while ten or twelve men might have made themselves very comfortable, the fifty or sixty who finally appeared on board found hard work to dispose of themselves in any fashion. she had been originally engaged for our two parties, but new passengers continually applied, who, from the nature of things, could hardly be refused. so the motley crowd of strangers huddled together, the engines began clanking, and the lights of juneau soon dropped out of sight, as we steamed up lynn canal under the shadow of the giant mountains. our fellow-passengers were mostly prospectors; nearly all newcomers, as we could see by the light of the lantern which hung up in the bare apartment where we were. they had their luggage and outfit with them, which they piled up and sat or slept on, to make sure they would not lose it. there were men with grey beards and strapping boys with down on their chins; white handed men and those whose huge horny palms showed a life of toil; all strange, uneasy, and quiet at first, but soon they began to talk confidentially, as men will whom chance throws together in strange places. there was a catholic priest bound to his mission among the eskimos on the lower yukon,--calm, patient, sweet-tempered, and cheerful of speech; and near him was a noted alaskan pioneer and trader, bound on some wild trip or other alone. there was another alaskan--one of those who settle down and take native women as mates and are therefore somewhat scornfully called "squaw-men"; he had been to juneau as the countryman visits the metropolis, and had brought back with him abundant evidence of the worthlessness of the no-liquor laws of alaska, in the shape of a lordly drunk, and the material for many more, in a large demijohn, which he guarded carefully. the conversation among this crowd was of the directest sort, as it is always on the frontier. "where are _you_ goin', pardner? prospectin', i reckon?" then inquiries as to what each could tell the other concerning the conditions of the land we were to explore, mostly unknown to all: and straightway pete and cooper were constituted authorities, by virtue of their previous experience, and were listened to with great deference by the rest. the night was not calm, and the little craft swashed monotonously into the waves. one by one the travellers lay down on the bare dusty floor and slept; and so limited was the room that the last found it difficult to find a place. glancing around to find a vacant nook i was struck with the picturesqueness of the scene. under the lantern the last talkers--the catholic priest in a red sweater, smoking a bent pipe, the professional traveller and book-maker, and another englishman with smooth face and oily manners,--were discussing matters with as much reserve and decorum as they would in a drawing-room. around them lay stretched out, over the floor, under the table, and even on it, motley-clad men, breathing heavily or staring with wide fixed eyes overhead. the pioneer had gone to sleep lying on his back and was snoring at intervals, but by a physical feat hard to understand, retained his quid of tobacco, which he chewed languidly through it all. the only space i could find was in a narrow passageway leading to the pilot-house. here i coiled myself, hugging closely to the wall, but it was dark and throughout the night i was awakened by heavy boots accidentally placed on my body or head; yet i was too sleepy to hear the apologies and straightway slept again. it was natural, under the circumstances, that all should be early risers, and we were ravenously hungry for the breakfast which was tardily prepared. the only table was covered with oilcloth, and was calculated for four, but about eight managed to crowd around it: yet with all possible haste the last had breakfast about noon. we sat down where a momentary opening was offered at the third or fourth sitting. a moment later a couple of prospectors appeared who apparently had counted on places, and the hungry stomach of one of them prompted some very audible mutterings to the effect that all men were born free and equal, and he was as good as any one. the priest immediately got up, and with sincere kindness offered his seat, which so overcame the man with shame that he politely refused and retired; but the rest of us insisted on crowding together and making room for him. and for the remainder of the trip a more punctiliously polite individual than this same prospector could not be found. after each round of eaters, the tin plates and cups and the dingy black knives and forks were seized by a busy dishwasher, who performed a rapid hocus-pocus over them, in which a tiny dishpan filled with hot water that came finally to have the appearance and consistency of a hodge-podge, played an important part; then they were skillfully shyed on to the table again. i looked at my plate. swimming in the shallow film of dish-water, were flakes of beans, shreds of corned-beef and streaks of apple-sauce, which took me back in fancy to all the different tables that had eaten before: the boat was swaying heavily and i gulped down my stomach before i passed the plate to the dishwasher and suggested wiping. he was a very young man, remarkably dashing, like the hero of a dime novel. he was especially proficient in profanity and kept up a running fire of insults on the cook. he took the plate and eyed me scornfully, witheringly. "seems to me some tenderfeet is mighty pertickler," said he, with a very evident personal application, then swabbed out the plate with a towel, the sight of which made me turn and stare at the spruce-clad mountain-sides, in a desperate effort to elevate my mind and my stomach above trifles. "this is no place for a white man," said a prospector who had been staring out of the door all day. "good enough for bears and--and--siwash, maybe." most, i think shared more or less openly his depression, for the shores of lynn canal are no more attractive to the adventurer than the rest of the bleak alaskan mountain coast. [illustration: lynn canal.] it was a chilly, drizzling day. the clouds ordinarily hid the tops of the great steep mountains, so that these looked as if they might be walls that reached clear up to the heavens, or, when they broke away, exposed lofty snowy peaks, magnificent and gigantic in the mist. we caught glimpses of wrinkled glaciers, crawling down the valleys like huge jointed living things, in whose fronts the pure blue ice showed faintly and coldly. here and there waterfalls appeared, leaping hundreds of feet from crag to crag, and all along was the rugged brown shore, with the surf lashing the cliffs, and no place where even a boat might land. all men, whether they clearly perceive it or not, find in the phenomena of nature some figurative meanings, and are depressed or elevated by them. we anchored in the lee of a bare rounded mountain that night, it being too rough to attempt landing, and the next morning were off dyea, where we were to go ashore. the surf was still heavy, but the captain ventured out in a small boat to get the scow in which passengers and goods were generally conveyed to the shore; for the water was shallow, and the steamer had to keep a mile or so from the land. in the surf the boat capsized, and we could see the captain bobbing up and down in the breakers, now on top, now under his boat, in the icy water. the dishwasher, who evidently knew the course of action in all such emergencies from dime-novel precedents, yelled out "man the lifeboat!" the captain had taken the only boat there was. the entire crew, it may be mentioned, consisted, besides the dishwasher and the captain, of the sailor, who was also the cook. the duty of manning the lifeboat--had there been one--would thus apparently have devolved on the sailor, but he grew pale and swore that he did not know how to row and that he had just come from driving a milk-wagon in san francisco. a party of prospectors became engaged in a heated discussion as to whether, if there had been a boat on board, it would not have been foolish to venture out in it, even for the sake of trying to rescue the captain; some urging the claims of heroism, and others loudly proclaiming that they would not risk _their_ lives in any such d----d foolish way as that. however, all this was only the froth and excitement of the moment. the captain hauled his boat out of the breakers, skillfully launched it again, and came on board, shivering but calm, a strapping, reckless cape breton scotch-canadian. in due course of time afterwards the scow was also got out, and we transferred our outfits to it and sat on top of them, while we were slowly propelled ashore by long oars. chapter ii. over the chilkoot pass. at this time there was only one building at dyea--a log house used as a store for trading with the natives, and known by the name of healy's post. (two years afterwards, on returning to the place, i found a mushroom, sawed-board town of several thousand people; but that was after the klondike boom.) we pitched our tents near the shore that night, spreading our blankets on the ground. in the morning all were bustling around, following out their separate plans for getting over the pass as soon as possible. of the different notches in the mountain wall by which one may cross the coast range and arrive at the head waters of the yukon, the chilkoot, which is reached from dyea, was at that time the only one practicable. it was known that jack dalton, a pioneer trader of the country, was wont to go over the chilkat pass, a little further south, while schwatka, hayes, and russell, in an expedition of which few people ever heard, had crossed by the way of the taku river and the taku pass to the hootalinqua or teslin river, which is one of the important streams that unite to make up the upper yukon. but the white pass, which afterwards became the most popular, and which lies just east of the chilkoot, was at that time entirely unused, being a rough long trail that required clearing to make it serviceable. the chilkoot, though the highest and steepest of the passes, was yet the shortest and the most free from obstructions; it had been, before the advent of the white adventurer in alaska, the avenue of travel for the handful of half-starved interior natives who were wont to come down occasionally to the coast, for the purpose of trading. the coast indians are, as they always have been, a more numerous, more prosperous, stronger and more quarrelsome class, for the sea yielded them, directly and indirectly, a varied and bountiful subsistence. the particular tribe who occupied the dyea region,--the chilkoots--were accustomed to stand guard over the pass and to exact tribute from all the interior natives who came in; and when the first white men appeared, the natives tried in the same way to hinder them from crossing and so destroying their monopoly of petty traffic. for a short time this really prevented individuals and small parties from exploring, but in a party of nineteen prospectors, under the leadership of edmund bean, was organized, and to overcome the hostility of the chilkoots, a sort of military "demonstration" was arranged by the officers in charge at sitka. the little gunboat stationed there proceeded to dyea, and, anchoring, fired a few blank shots from her heaviest (or loudest) guns; afterwards the officer in charge went on shore, and made a sort of unwritten treaty or agreement with the thoroughly frightened natives, by which the prospectors, and all others who came after, were allowed to proceed unmolested. the fame of that "war-canoe" spread from indian to indian throughout the length and breadth of the vast territory of alaska. one can hear it from the natives in many places a thousand miles from where the incident occurred, and each time the story is so changed and disguised, that it might be taken for a myth by an enthusiastic mythologist, and carefully preserved, with all its vagaries, and very likely proved to be an allegory of the seasons, or the travels of the sun, moon, and stars. in proportion as the story reached more and more remote regions, the statements of the proportions of the canoe became more and more exaggerated, and the thunder of the guns more terrible, and the number of warriors on board increased faster than jacob's flock. the gunboat was the butt for many good-natured jokes from navy officers, on account of her small dimensions and frail construction. yet the natives a little way into the interior will tell you of the wonderful snow-white war-canoe, half a mile long, armed with guns a hundred yards or so in length; and by the time one gets in the neighborhood of the arctic circle, he will hear of the "great ship" (the native will perhaps point to some mountain eight or ten miles away) "as long as from here to the mountain"; how she vomited out smoke, fire and ashes like a volcano, and at the same time exploded her guns and killed many people, and how she ran forwards and backwards, with the wind or against it, at a terrific speed,--a formidable monster, truly! at the time of our trip (in ) the immigration into the yukon gold country had gone on, in a small way, for some years; several mining districts were well developed, and the natives had settled down into the habit of helping the white man, for a substantial remuneration. these natives were all camped or housed close to the shore. they were odd and interesting at first sight. the men were of fair size, strong, stolid, and sullen-looking; clothed in cheap civilized garb in this summer season,--it was in the early part of june--in overalls and jumpers, with now and then a woollen guernsey jacket, and with straw hats on their heads. the women were neither beautiful nor attractive. many of them had covered their faces with a mixture of soot and grease, which stuck well. other women had their chins tattooed in stripes with the indelible ink of the cuttlefish--sometimes one, sometimes three, sometimes five or six stripes. this custom i found afterwards among the women of many tribes and peoples in different parts of alaska, and it seems, in some regions at least, to be a mark of aristocracy, indicating the wealth of the parents at the time the girl-child was born. all the natives were living in tents or rude wooden huts, in the most primitive fashion, cooking by a smouldering fire outside, and sleeping packed close together, wrapped in skins and dirty blankets. [illustration: alaskan women and children.] it had been the custom of the miners to engage these natives to carry their outfits for them, from dyea, and some of the men who had come with us, immediately hired packers for the whole trip to lake lindeman, paying them, i think, eleven cents a pound for everything carried. the storekeeper, however, had been constructing a foot trail for about half the distance and had bought a few pack-horses, and we engaged these to transport our outfit as far as possible, trusting to indians for the rest. we had brought with us from juneau, on a last sudden idea, a lot of lumber with which to build our boat when we should get to lake lindeman, and here the transportation of this lumber became a great problem. to pack it on the horses was an impossibility, and the indians refused absolutely to take the boards unless they were cut in two, which would destroy much of their value, and even if this were done, demanded an enormous price for the carrying; therefore it was concluded to leave them behind, and trust to good luck in the future. in one way or another, everybody was furnished with some kind of transportation, and the whole visible population of dyea, permanent or transient, began moving up the valley. some of the natives put their loads in wooden dugout canoes, which they paddled, or pushed with poles, six or seven miles up the small stream which goes by the name of the dyea river; others took their packs on their backs, and led the way along the trail. not stronger, perhaps, than white men, the chilkoots showed themselves remarkably patient and enduring, carrying heavy loads rapidly long distances without resting. not only the men, but the women and children, made pack-animals of themselves. i remember a slight boy of thirteen or so, who could not have weighed over eighty pounds, carrying a load of one hundred. the dog belonging to the same family, a medium-sized animal, waddled along with a load of about forty pounds; he seemed to be imbued with the same spirit as the rest, and although the load nearly dragged him to the ground, he was patient and persevering. the trail was a tiresome one, being mostly through loose sand and gravel alongside the stream: several times we had to wade across. as we went up, the valley became narrower, and we had views of the glacier above us, which reached long slender fingers down the little valleys from the great ice-mass on the mountain. it was evident that the glacier had once filled the entire valley. as soon as we were up a little we were obliged to clamber over the piled-up boulders in the strips of moraine which the ice had left; in places the rows were so regular that they had the appearance of stone walls. we were seized with fatigue and a terrible hunger. "you haven't a sandwich about your clothes, have you?" i asked of some prospectors whom i overtook resting in the lee of a cliff. here the stream becomes so rough and rapid that the natives can work their canoes no further, and so the place has been somewhat pompously named on some maps the "head of navigation," by which most people infer that a gunboat may steam up this far. "no, by ----, pardner," was the answer, "if we had, we'd a' eaten it ourselves before now." crossing the stream for the last time, on the trunk of a fallen tree, which swayed alarmingly, the trail led up steeply among the bare rocks of the hillside. all the pedestrian groups had separated into singles by this time, every one going his "ain gait" according to his own ideas and strength, and in no mood for conversation. i overtook a young irishman, who had started out with a pack of about seventy-five pounds; he was resting, and quite downcast with fatigue and hunger. just where we stopped some one had left a load of canned corn and tomatoes. we eyed them hungrily, and gravely discussed our rights to helping ourselves. we did not know the owners and could not find them--certainly they were none of those that had come with us. we could not take them and leave money, for although the natives respected "caches" of provisions, we could not expect them to do the same with money. "again," said the irishman, "the feller what lift them here may be dipinding on every blissed can of swate corn for some little schayme of his, while we have plenty grub of our own, if we can on'y get our flippers on it." at this period, all through alaska, provisions and other property was regarded with utmost respect. old miners and prospectors have told me that they have left provisions exposed in a "cache" for a year, and on returning after having been hundreds of miles away, have found them untouched, although nearly starving natives had passed them almost daily all winter. in the mining camps the same custom prevailed. locks were unknown on the doors. when a white man arrived at the hut of an absent prospector, he helped himself, taking enough provisions from the "cache" to keep him out of want, till he could make the next stage of his journey, and wrote on paper or on the wooden door, "i have taken twenty pounds of flour, ten pounds of bacon, five pounds of beans, and a little tea," signed his name, and departed. it was not a bill, but an acknowledgment; and to have left without making the acknowledgment constituted a theft, in the eyes of the miner population. this condition of primitive honesty did not last, however. later, with the klondike boom, came the ordinary light-fingeredness of civilization, and a state of affairs unique and instructive passed away. we arrived finally at the end of the horse-trail, a spot named sheep camp by an early party of prospectors who killed some mountain sheep here. steep, rocky and snowy mountains overhang the valley, with a vast glacier not far up; and here, since our visit, have occurred a number of fatal disasters, from snowslides and landslides. pete had arrived before us: he had set up a yukon camp stove of sheet iron, had kindled fire therein and was engaged in the preparation of slapjacks and fried bacon, a sight that affected us so that we had to go and sit back to, and out of reach of the smell, till pete yelled out in vile chinook "muk-a-muk altay! bean on the table!" there were no beans and no table, of course, but that was pete's facetious way of putting it. further than sheep camp the horse-trail was quite too rocky and steep for the animals; so we tried to engage indians to take our freight for the remaining part of the distance across the pass. up to the time of our arrival, the regular price for packing from dyea to lake lindeman had been eleven cents a pound. for the transportation by horses over the first half of the distance--thirteen miles--we had paid five cents a pound, and we had expected to pay the indians six cents for the remainder of the trip. in the first place, however, it was difficult to gather the indians together, for they were off in bands in different parts of the neighboring country, on expeditions of their own; and when they arrived in sheep camp, with a bluster and a racket, they were so set up by the number of men that were waiting for their help that they took it into their heads to be in no hurry about working. finally they sent a spokesman who, with an insolence rather natural than assumed for the occasion, demanded nine cents per pound instead of six, for packing to lake lindeman. it was a genuine strike--the revolt of organized labor against helpless capital. being in a hurry to get ahead and fulfill our mission, we should doubtless have yielded; but there were many parties camped here besides ourselves--namely, all those who had been our fellow-sufferers on board the scrambler--and a general consultation being held among the gold-hunters, it was decided that the proposed increase of pay for labor would prove ruinous to their business. a committee representing these gentlemen waited on us and begged us not to yield to the strikers, in the carelessness of our hearts and our plethoric pocket-books, but to consider that in doing so they--the prospectors--must follow suit, the precedent being once established; whereas they were poor men, and could not afford the extra price. to this view of the case we agreed, considering ourselves as a part of the sheep camp community, rather than as an individual party; and the english traveller (who was likewise suspected of being overburdened with funds, and therefore likely to be careless with them) was also waited upon and persuaded to resist the demands. so everybody camped and waited, and was obstinate, for several days: not only the white men, but the siwash. by way of digression it may be mentioned that the word siwash is indiscriminately applied by the white men to all the alaskan natives, to whatever race--and there are many--they belong. the word therefore has no definite meaning, but corresponds roughly to the popular name of "nigger" for all very dark-skinned races, or "dago" for spaniards, portuguese, italians, greeks, turks, armenians, and a host of other black-haired, olive-skinned nations. the name has been said to be a corruption of the french word "sauvage,"--savage,--and this seems very likely. like the corresponding epithets cited, the word siwash has a certain familiar, facetious, and contemptuous value, and this may have been the idea which prompted its use just now, when speaking of the natives as strikers and opponents. at any rate, they took the situation in a careless, matter-of-fact way; cooked, ate, slept, borrowed our kettles, begged our tea and stole our sugar with utmost cheerfulness, and were apparently contented and happy. we white men likewise tried to conceal our restlessness, and chatted in each others' tents, admired the scenery, or went rambling up the steep mountain-sides in search of experiences, exercise, and rocks. some of us clambered over the huge boulders, each as big as a new england cottage, which had been brought here by glacial action, then up over the steep cliffs, wrenched and crumbling from the crushing of the same mighty force, supporting ourselves,--when the rocks gave way beneath our feet and went rattling down the cliff,--by the tough saplings that had taken root in the crevices, and grew out horizontally, or even inclined downwards, bent by continuous snowslides. so we reached the base of the glacier, where a sheer wall of clear blue ice rose to a height which we estimated at three or four hundred feet, back of which stretched a great uneven white ice field, as far as the eye could see, clear up till the view was lost in the mists of the upper mountains; an ice field seamed with great yawning crevasses, where the blue of the ice gleamed as streaks on the dead white. one morning we heard a yell from the siwash, and soon they came running over the little knoll which separated our camp from theirs, and began grabbing the articles that belonged to some of the miners. we were at a loss to know the meaning of what seemed at first to be a very unceremonious proceeding, but when we saw the miners, with many shamefaced glances at us, help the natives in the distribution of the material, we realized that these men had forsaken us and their resolutions; so greedy were they to reach the land of gold that they had gone to the natives and agreed to pay them the demanded rates on condition that they should have all the packers themselves, leaving none to us. we let these men and their natives go in peace, without even a reproach: less than a week afterwards we had the deep satisfaction of passing them on the trail, and even in lending them a hand in a series of little difficulties for which, in their haste, they had come unprepared. the veteran miner in alaska is a splendid, open-hearted, generous fellow; the newcomer, or "chicharko," is a thing to be avoided. after this we had to wait till the natives had got back from carrying the miners' supplies, and then we agreed, with what grace we could, to pay the price that the others had. the indians were quite a horde, capable of carrying in one trip all the supplies belonging to our party and that of the english traveller. since they were paid by the pound they vied in taking enormous loads; the largest carried was pounds, but all the men's packs ranged from to pounds. women and half-grown boys carried packs of pounds. it was a "stick" or interior indian, named at the mission _tom_, but originally possessed of a fearful and unpronounceable name, who carried the largest load. he was barely tolerated and was somewhat badgered by the chilkoots, hence he fled much to the society of the whites, and would squat near for hours, always smiling horribly when looked at; he claimed to be a chief among his own wretched people, and spent all his spare time in blackening his face, reserving rings around the eyes which he smeared with red ochre--having done which, he grinned ghastly approval of himself! pete started over the pass in advance of the party, to procure for us if possible a boat at lake lindeman. "dis is dirt time i gross pass," said pete. "virst dime i dake leedle pack--den i vos blayed out; nex' dime i dake leedle roll of clo'es--den i vos blayed out too, py chimney: dis dime i dake notting--den i vill be blayed out too!" the natives, after much shouting and confusion and wrangling, made up their packs about noon, and started out, we following; just before getting to snow-line they stopped in a place where a chaotic mass of boulders form a trifling shelter, grateful to wild beasts or wild men like these. here they deposited their loads, and with exasperating indifference composed themselves to sleep. we tried to persuade them to go on, but to no avail, and we discovered afterwards, as often happened to us in our dealing with the natives, that they were right. it was june, and yet the snow lay deep on all the upper parts of the pass; and in the long, warm days it became soft and mushy, making travel very difficult, especially with heavy packs. as soon as the sun went down behind the hills, however, the air became cool, and a hard crust formed, so that walking was much better. we left the natives and followed a trail which led among the boulders and then higher up the mountain, where many moccasined feet had left a deep path through the icy snow. we tramped onward, sometimes on hard ice, sometimes through soft snow, strung out in indian file, saying nothing, saving our breath for our lungs; at times the crust rang hollow to our tread, and beneath us we could hear torrents raging. it was about eight o'clock at night when we started, and the sun in the narrow valley had already gone down behind the high glaciers on the mountain-tops, even at this latitude and in the month of june; so the long northern twilight which is alaska's substitute for night in the summer months soon began to settle down upon us. at the same time the moisture from the snow which all day long had been lying in the sun, began cooling into mists, changeful and of different thicknesses; and in the dim light gave to everything a weird and unnatural aspect. even our fellow-travellers were distorted and magnified, now lengthwise, now sidewise, so that those above us were powerful-limbed giants, striding up the hill, while those behind us were flattened and broadened, and seemed straddling along as grotesquely as spiders. when we drew near and looked at each other we were inclined to laugh, but there was something in the pale-blue, ghastly color of the faces that made us stop, half-frightened. at twelve o'clock it was so dark that we could hardly follow the trail; then we saw a fire gleaming like a will-o'-the-wisp somewhere above us, and clambering up the steep rock which stuck out of the snow and overhung the trail, we saw a couple of figures crouching over a tiny blaze of twigs and smoking roots. it was a native and his "klutchman" or squaw; he turned out to be deaf-and-dumb, but made signs to us,--as we squatted ourselves around the fire,--that the night was dark, the trail dangerous, and that it would be better to wait till it grew a little lighter. so we kept ourselves warm for a half-hour or more by our exertions in tearing up roots for a fire: the fire itself being nothing more than a smoky, flary pile of wet fagots, hardly enough to warm our numbed fingers by. then a dim figure came toiling up to us. it was one of our packers, and he explained in broken, profane, and obscene english, of which he was very proud, (the foundation of his knowledge had been laid in the mission, and the trimmings, which were profuse and with the same idea many times repeated, like an art pattern, had been picked up from straggling whites) that the trail was good now. so we very gladly took up our march again. two of us soon got ahead of the guide and all the rest of our party, following the beaten track in the snow; after a while the ascent became very steep, as the last sheer declivity of the pass was reached, and we began to suspect that we had strayed from the right path, for although here was a track, we could find no footprints on it, but only grooves as if from things which had slid down. yet we decided not to go back, for we did not know how far we had strayed from the path, and the climbing was not so easy that we were anxious to do it twice. so we kept on upward, and the ascent soon became so steep that we were obliged to stop and kick footholds in the crust at every step. it was twilight again, but still foggy, and we could see neither up nor down, only what appeared to be a vast chasm beneath us, wherein great indistinct shapes were slowly shifting--an impression infinitely more grand and appalling than the reality. at any rate, it made us very careful in every step, for we had no mind that a misplaced foot should send us sliding down the grooves we were following. at last we gained the top, found here again the trail we had lost, and waited for the rest. around us, sticking out of the snow, were rocks, which appeared distorted and moving. it was the mists which moved past them, giving a deceptive effect. my companion suddenly exclaimed, "there's a bear!" on looking, my imagination gave the shape the same semblance, but on going towards it, it resolved itself very reluctantly into a rock, as if ashamed of its failure to "bluff." most grown-up people, as well as children, i fancy, are more or less afraid of the dark--where the uncertain evidence of the eyes can be shaped by the imagination into unnatural things. goethe must once have felt something like what faust expressed when he stood at night in one of the rugged hartz districts: "seh' die baüme hinter baüme, wie sie schnell vorüber rücken, und die klippen, die sich bücken, und die langen felsennasen, wie sie schnarchen, wie sie blasen." presently the rest of the party came up from quite a different direction and with them a whole troop of packers. the main trail, from which we had strayed, was much longer, but not so steep; while the one we had followed was simply the mark of the articles which the packers were accustomed to send down from the summit to save carrying, while they themselves took the more circuitous route. on the interior side of the summit is a small lake with steep sides, which the miners have named crater lake, fancying from the shape that it had been formed by volcanic action; it has no such origin however, but occupies what is known as a glacial cirque or amphitheatre--a deep hollow carved out of the dioritic mountain mass by the powerful wearing action of a valley glacier. this lake was still frozen and we crossed on the ice, then followed down the valley of the stream which flowed from it and led into another small lake. there are several of these small bodies of water and connecting streams before one reaches lake lindeman, which is several miles long, and is the uppermost water of the yukon which is navigable for boats. our path was devious, following the packers, but always along this valley. we crossed and recrossed the streams over frail and reverberant arches, half ice, half snow, which, already broken away in places, showed foaming torrents beneath. as we descended in elevation, the ice on the little lakes became more and more rotten and the snow changed to slush, through which we waded knee deep for miles, sometimes putting a foot through the ice into the water beneath. we were all very tired by this time and were separated from one another by long distances, each silent, and travelling on his nerve. the indian packers, too, in spite of their long experience, were tired and out of temper; but the most pitiful sight of all was to see the women, especially the old ones, bending under crushing loads, dragging themselves by sheer effort at every step, groaning and stopping occasionally, but again driven forward by the men to whom they belonged. one could not interfere; it was a family matter; and as among white people, the woman would have resented the interference as much as the man. finally we came to a lake where the water was almost entirely open and were obliged to skirt along its rocky shores to where we found a brawling and rocky stream entering it, cutting us off. after a moment of vain glancing up and down in search of a ford, we took to the water bravely, floundering among the boulders on the stream's bottom, and supporting ourselves somewhat with sticks. afterwards we found a trail which led away from the lake high over the rocky hillside, where the rocks had been smoothed and laid bare by ancient glaciers, now vanished. here we found the remnants of a camp, left by some one who had recently gone before us; we inspected the corned beef cans lying about rather hungrily, thinking that something might have been left over. our only lunch since leaving sheep camp had been a small piece of chocolate and a biscuit. the biscuit possessed certain almost miraculous qualities, to which i ascribe our success in completing the trip and in arriving first among the travellers at lake lindeman. i myself was the concocter of this biscuit, but it was done in a moment of inspiration, and since i have forgotten certain mystic details, it probably could never be gotten together again. it was the first and last time that i have made biscuit in my life, and i did it simply for the purpose of instruction to the others, who were shockingly ignorant of such practical matters. we had brought a reflector with us for baking,--a metal arrangement which is set up in front of a camp-fire, and, from polished metallic surfaces, reflects the heat up and down, on to a pan of biscuit or bread, which is slid into the middle. these utensils as used in the lake superior region, that home of good wood-craft, are made of sheet iron, tinned; but thinking to get a lighter article, i had one constructed out of aluminum. this first and last trial with our aluminum reflector at sheep camp showed us that one of the peculiar properties of this metal is that it reflects heat but very little, but transmits it, almost as readily as glass does light. so when i had arrived at the first stage of my demonstration and had the reflector braced up in front of the fire, i found that the dough remained obstinately dough, while the heat passed through the reflector and radiated itself around about sheep camp. still i persisted, and after several hours of stewing in front of the fire, most of the water was evaporated from the dough, leaving a compact rubbery grey biscuit, as i termed it. i offered it for lunch and i ate one myself; no one else did, but i was rewarded by feeling a fullness all through the tramp, while the others were empty and famished. i also was sure that it gave me enormous strength and endurance; while some of the rest were unkind enough to suggest that the same high courage which led me up to the biscuit's mouth, figuratively speaking, kept me plugging away on the lake lindeman trail. we reached lake lindeman at about nine o'clock in the morning, and found pete and cooper already there. it was raining drearily and they had made themselves a shelter of poles and boughs under which they were lying contentedly enough, waiting until the packers should bring the tents. in a very short time after we had arrived all the natives were at hand, and setting down their packs demanded money. they could not be induced to accept bills, because they could not tell the denomination of them, and would as soon take a soap advertisement as a hundred-dollar note; they dislike gold, because they get so small a quantity of it in comparison with silver. like the indians of the united states, the alaskans formerly used wampum largely as a medium of exchange--small, straight, horn-shaped, rather rare shells, which were strung on thongs--but when the trading companies began shipping porcelain wampum into the country the natives soon learned the trick and stopped the use of it. i have in my possession specimens of this porcelain wampum, which i got from the agent of one of the large trading companies on the yukon. silver is now the favorite currency, whether or not on the basis of sound political economy; and each particular section has often a preference for some special coin, such as a quarter, ("two bits," as it is called in the language of the west coast) a half-dollar or a dollar. where the natives have had to deal only with quarters, you cannot buy anything for half-dollars, except for nearly double the price you would pay in quarters; while dimes, however large the quantity, would probably be refused entirely. [illustration: alaskan indians and house.] the chilkoots, however, on account of their residence on the coast and consequent contact with the whites, had become more liberal in their views as regarded denomination of silver, but drew the line at bimetalism, and had no faith whatsoever in the united states as the fulfiller of promises to redeem greenbacks in silver coin. so there was some trouble in paying them satisfactorily; and after they were paid they came back, begging for a little flour, a little tea, etc., and keeping up the process with unwearied ardor till the supply was definitely shut off. the toughness of these people is well shown by the fact that when they had rested an hour and had cooked themselves a little food and drunk a little tea, they departed over the trail again for sheep camp, although they had made the same journey as the white men, who were all exhausted, and had, in addition, carried loads of as high as pounds over the whole of the rough trail of thirteen miles. when affairs were settled we pitched our tents, rolled into our blankets, and for the next twenty hours slept. chapter iii. the lakes and the yukon to forty mile. upon reaching lake lindeman, we found a number of other parties encamped,--men who had come over the trail before us, and had been delaying a short time, for different reasons. from one of these parties pete had been lucky enough to buy a boat already built, so that we did not have to wait and build one ourselves--a job that would have consumed a couple of weeks. the boat was after the dory pattern, but sharp at both ends, made of spruce, lap-streaked and unpainted, with the seams calked and pitched; about eighteen feet long, and uncovered. during the trip later we decided that it ought to be christened, and so we mixed some soot and bacon-grease for paint, applied it hot to the raw, porous wood, and inscribed in shaky letters the words "_skookum pete_," as a compliment to our pilot. _skookum_ is a chinook word signifying strength, courage, and other excellent qualities necessary for a native, a frontiersman, or any other dweller in the wilderness--qualities which were conspicuous in pete. pete was overcome with shame on reading the legend, however, and straightway erased his name, so that she was simply the skookum. and skookum she proved herself, in the two thousand miles we afterwards travelled, even though she sprung a leak occasionally or became obstinate when being urged up over a rapid. it may be observed that the chinook, to which this word belongs, is not a language, but a jargon, composed of words from many native american and also from many european tongues. it sprung up as a sort of universal language, which was used by the traders of the hudson bay company in their intercourse with the natives, and is consequently widely known, but is poor in vocabulary and expression. there were several boats ready to start, craft of all models and grades of workmanship, variously illustrating the efforts of the cowboy, the clerk, or the lawyer, at ship-carpentry. several of us got off together in the morning, our boat carrying four, and the english traveller's boat the same number, for he had taken into his party the priest whom we had met on the scrambler. this gentleman, with a number of miners and a newspaper reporter, had been unlucky enough to fall into the trap of a certain transportation company, which had a very prettily furnished office in seattle. this office was the big end of the company. as one went north towards the region where the company was supposed to be doing its transportation, it shrunk till nothing was left but a swindle. they promised for a certain sum of money to transport supplies and outfits over the pass, and to have the entire expedition in charge of an experienced man, who would relieve one of all worry and bother; and after transportation across the pass, to put their passengers on the company's steamers, which would carry them to the gold fields. even at juneau the "experienced man" who was to take the party through, and who was a high officer of the company, kept up the ridiculous pretences and succeeded in obtaining a number of passengers for the trip. when these men learned later, however, that the guide had never yet been further than juneau; that he had no means of transporting freight over the pass; that the steamers existed only in fancy; and finally, when opportunity to hire help offered, that the leader had no funds, so that they were obliged to do all the work themselves, in order to move along: when they learned all this they were naturally a disgusted set of men, but having now given away their money, most of them decided to stick together till the diggings were reached. the priest, however, who was in a hurry, became nervous when he saw different parties leaving the rapid and elegant transportation company in the rear, and effected a separation. when we left sheep camp, the manager was trying to cajole his passengers into carrying their own packs to the summit, even going so far as to take little loads himself--"just for exercise," as he airily informed us. he was an englishman, of aristocratic tendencies, with an awe-inspiring acquaintance with titles. "you know lord dudson dudley, of course," he would begin, fixing one with his eye as if to hypnotize; "his sister, you remember, made such a row by her flirtation with sir jekson jekby.--never heard of them?--humph!" and then with a look which seemed to say "what kind of a blarsted philistine is this?" he would retreat to his own camp-fire. we sailed down lake lindeman with a fair brisk wind, using our tent-fly braced against a pole, for a sail. the distance is only four or five miles, so that the lower end of the lake was reached in an hour. a mountain sheep was sighted on the hillside above us, soon after starting, and a long-range shot with the rifle was tried at it, but the animal bounded away. at the lower end of this first of the yukon navigable lakes there is a stream, full of little falls and rapids, which connects with lake bennett, a much larger body of water. according to pete, the boat could not run these rapids, so we began the task of "lining" her down. with a long pole shod with iron, especially brought along for such work, pete stood in the bow or stern, as the emergency called for, planting the pole on the rocks which stuck out of the water and so shoving and steering the boat through an open narrow channel, while we three held a long line and scrambled along the bank or waded in the shallow water. we had put on long rubber boots reaching to the hip and strapped to our belts, so at first our wading was not uncomfortable. on account of the roar of the water we could not hear pete's orders, but could see his signals to "haul in," or "let her go ahead." on one difficult little place he manoeuvered quite a while, getting stuck on a rock, signalling us to pull back, and then trying again. finally he struck the right channel, and motioned energetically to us to go ahead. we spurted forward, waddling clumsily, and the foremost man stepped suddenly into a groove where the water was above his waist. ugh! it was icy, but he floundered through, half swimming, half wading, dragging his great water-filled boots behind him like iron weights; and the rest followed. we felt quite triumphant and heroic when we emerged, deeming this something of a trial: we did not know that the time would come when it would be the ordinary thing all day long, and would become so monotonous that all feelings of novelty would be lost in a general neutral tint of bad temper and rheumatism. on reaching shallow water the weight of the water-filled rubber boots was so great that we could no longer navigate among the slippery rocks, so we took turns going-ashore and emptying them. there was a smooth round rock with steep sides, glaring in the sun; on this we stretched ourselves head down, so that the water ran out of our boots and trickled in cold little streams down our backs; then we returned to our work. before undertaking to line the skookum through the rapids we had taken out a large part of the load and put it on shore, in order to lighten the boat, and also to save our "grub" in case our boat was capsized. the next task was to carry this over the half-mile portage. packing is about the hardest and most disliked work that a pioneer has to do, and yet every one that travels hard and well in alaska and similar rough countries must do it _ad nauseam_. in such remote and unfinished parts of the world transportation comes back to the original and simple phase,--carrying on one's back. the railroad and the steamboat are for civilization, the wheeled vehicle for the inhabited land where there are roads, the camel for the desert, the horse for the plains and where trails have been cut, but for a large part of alaska nature's only highways are the rivers, and when the water will not carry the burdens the explorer must. in a properly-constructed pack-sack, the weight is carried partly by the shoulders but mainly by the neck, the back being bent and the neck stretched forward till the load rests upon the back and is kept from slipping by the head strap, which is nearly in line with the rigid neck. an astonishing amount can be carried in this way with practice,--for half a mile or so, very nearly one's own weight. getting up and down with such a load is a work of art, which spoils the temper and wrenches the muscles of the beginner. having got into the strap he finds himself pinned to the ground in spite of his backbone-breaking efforts to rise, so he must learn to so sit down in the beginning that he can tilt the load forward on his back, get on his hands and knees and then elevate himself to the necessary standing-stooping posture; or he must lie down flat and roll over on his face, getting his load fairly between his shoulders, and then work himself up to his hands and knees as before. sometimes, if the load is heavy, the help of another must be had to get an upright position, and then the packer goes trudging off, red and sweating and with bulging veins. by the time we had carried our outfits over the portage, we were ready for supper, and after that for a sleep. we pitched no tent--we were too tired, and the blue sky and the still shining sun looked very friendly--so we rolled in our blankets and slumbered. there were other craft than ours at lake bennett,--belonging to parties who had come over before us, and who had not yet started. the most astonishing thing was a small portable sawmill, which had been pulled across the chilkoot pass in the winter, over the snow and ice; and the limited means of communication in this country are well shown by the fact that no news of any such mill was to be had anywhere along the route. men went over the chilkoot pass into the interior, but rarely any came back that way. among the gold hunters was a solitary dutchman, a pathetic, desperate, mild-mannered sort of an adventurer, who had built himself a boat like a wood-box in model and construction, square, lop-sided, and leaky; but he started bravely down lake bennett, paddling, with a rag of a square-sail braced against a pole. we pitied, admired, and laughed at him, but many were the doubts expressed as to whether he could reach the diggings in his cockle-shell. then there was a large scow, also frailly built; this contained several tons of outfit, and a party of seven or eight men and one woman. they were the parasites of the mining camp, all ready, with smuggled whisky and faro games--wein, weib, und gesang--to relieve the miners of some of their gold-dust: and i am told that the manager of the expedition brought out $ , two years later. we all got away, one after the other. there was a stiff fair wind blowing down the lake, which soon increased to a gale, and the waves became very rough. the lake is narrow and fjord-like, walled in by high mountains which often rise directly from the shores. lakes like this all through alaska are naturally subject to frequent and violent gales, since the deep mountain valleys form a kind of chimney, up and down which the currents of air rush to the frosty snowy mountains from the warmer lowlands, or in the opposite direction. the further we went the harder the wind blew, and the rougher became the water, so that when about half-way down we made a landing to escape a heavy squall. after dinner, it seemed from our snug little cove that the wind had abated, and we put out again. on getting well away from the sheltering shore we found it rougher than ever; but while we were at dinner we had seen the scow go past, its square bow nearly buried in foaming water, and had seen it apparently run ashore on the opposite side of the lake, some miles further down. once out, therefore, we steered for the place where the scow had been beached, for the purpose of giving aid if any were necessary. on the run over we shipped water repeatedly over both bow and stern, and sometimes were in imminent danger of swamping, but by skillful managing we gained the shelter of a little nook about half a mile from the open beach where the scow was lying, and landed. we then walked along the shore to the scow, and found its passengers all right, they having beached voluntarily, on account of the roughness of the water. however, we had had enough navigation for one day, so we did not venture out again. presently another little boat came scudding down the lake through the white, frothy water, and shot in alongside the skookum. it was a party of miners--the young irishman whom i had overtaken on the trail to sheep camp, and his three "pardners." it was not an ideal spot where we all camped, being simply a steep rocky slope at the foot of cliffs. when the time came to sleep we had difficulty in finding places smooth enough to lie down comfortably, but finally all were scattered around here and there in various places of concealment among the rocks. i had cleared a space close under a big boulder, of exactly my length and breadth (which does not imply any great labor), and with my head muffled in the blankets, was beginning to doze, when i heard stealthy footsteps creeping toward me. as i lay, these sounds were muffled and magnified in the marvellous quiet of the alaskan night (although the sun was still shining), so that i could not judge of the size and the distance of the animal. soon it got quite close to me, and i could hear it scratching at something; then it seemed to be investigating my matches, knife and compass. finally, wide-awake, and somewhat startled, i sat up suddenly and threw my blanket from my face, and looked for the marauding animal. i found him--in the shape of a saucy little grey mouse, that stared at me in amazement for a moment, and then scampered into his hole under the boulder. as i had no desire to have the impudent little fellow lunching on me while i slept, i plugged the hole with stones before i lay down again. some of the same animals came to visit schrader in his bedchamber, and nibbled his ears so that they were sore for some time.[ ] as the gale continued all the next day without abatement, we profited by the enforced delay to climb the high mountain which rose precipitously above us. and apropos of this climb, it is remarkable what difference one finds in the appearance of a bit of country when simply surveyed from a single point and when actually travelled over. especially is this true in mountains. broad slopes which appear to be perfectly easy to traverse are in reality cut up by narrow and deep canyons, almost impossible to cross; what seems to be a trifling bench of rock, half a mile up the mountain, grows into a perpendicular cliff a hundred feet high before one reaches it; and pretty grey streaks become gulches filled with great angular rock fragments, so loosely laid one over the other that at each careful step one is in fear of starting a mighty avalanche, and of being buried under rock enough to build a city. owing to difficulties like these it was near supper-time when we gained the top of the main mountain range. as far as the eye could see in all directions, there rose a wilderness of barren peaks, covered with snow; while in one direction lay a desolate, lifeless table-land, shut in by high mountains. below and near us lay gulches and canyons of magnificent depth, and the blue waters of one of the arms of lake bennett appeared, just lately free from ice. above, rose a still higher peak, steep, difficult of access, and covered with snow; this the lateness of the hour prevented us from attempting to climb. next day and the next the wind was as high as ever; but the waiting finally became too tedious, and we started out, the four miners having preceded us by a half an hour. once out of the shelter of the projecting point, we found the gale very strong and the chop disagreeable. we squared off and ran before the wind for the opposite side of the lake, driving ahead at a good rate under our little rag of a sail. although the boat was balanced as evenly as possible, every minute or two we would take in water, sometimes over the bow, sometimes in the stern, sometimes amidships. i have in my mind a very vivid picture of that scene: wiborg in the stern, steering intently and carefully; goodrich and schrader forward, sheets in hand, attending to the sail; and myself stretched flat on my face, in order not to make the boat top-heavy, and bailing out the water with a frying-pan. on nearing the lower shore we noticed that the boat containing the miners had run into the breakers, and presently one of the men came running along the beach, signaling to us. fearing that they were in trouble, we made shift to land, although it was no easy matter on this exposed shore; and we then learned that they had kept too near the beach, had drifted into the breakers and had been swamped, but had all safely landed. three of our party went to give assistance in hauling their boat out of the water, while i remained behind to fry the bacon for dinner. after dinner we concluded to wait again before attempting the next stage; so we picked out soft places in the sand and slumbered. when we awoke we found the lake perfectly smooth and calm, and lost no time in getting under way. on this day we depended for our motive power solely on our oars, and we found the results so satisfactory that we kept up the practice hundreds of miles. below lake bennett came tagish lake, beautiful and calm. its largest fjord-like arm is famous for its heavy gales, whence it has been given the name of "windy arm"; but as we passed it we could hardly distinguish the line of division between the mountains in the air and those reflected in the lake, so completely at rest was the water. at the lower part, where we camped, we found the first inhabitants since leaving the coast, natives belonging to the tagish tribe. they are a handful of wretched, half-starved creatures, who scatter in the summer season for hunting and fishing, but always return to this place, where they have constructed rude wooden habitations for winter use. we bought here a large pike, which formed an agreeable change from bacons, beans, and slapjacks. while camped at this place we met an old man and his two sons, who had brought horses into the country some months before, with some crazy idea of taking up land for farming purposes, or of getting gold. the old man had been taken sick, and all three were now on their way out, having abandoned their horses on the hootalinqua. all three were thin and worn, and agreed if they ever got out of the country they would not come back. the old man begged for a little tea, which we supplied him, together with a few other things; he insisted on our taking pay for them, with the pathetic pride of a man broken in health and fortune, but we understood the pioneer custom well enough to know we should give no offence by refusing. after passing out of this lake we entered another, appropriately called by the miners "mud lake"; it is very shallow, with muddy bottom and shores. here we found camping disagreeable, for on account of the shallowness we could not bring our heavily laden boat quite to the shore, but were obliged to wade knee deep in soft mud for a rod or two before finding even moderately solid ground. about this time we experienced the first sharp taste of the terrible alaskan mosquito--or it might be more correct to reverse the statement, and say that the mosquitoes had their first taste of us. at the lower end of tagish lake they suddenly attacked us in swarms, and remained with us steadily until near the time of our departure from the territory. we had heard several times of the various hardships to be encountered in alaska, but, as is often the case, we found that these accounts had left a rather unduly magnified image of the difficulties in our imaginations, as compared with our actual experiences. in this generalization the mosquito must be excepted. i do not think that any description or adjective can exaggerate the discomfort and even torture produced by these pests, at their worst, for they stand peerless among their kind, so far as my experience goes, and that of others with whom i have spoken, for wickedness unalloyed. we were driven nearly frantic when they attacked us and quickly donned veils of netting, fastened around the hat and buttoned into the shirt, and gauntleted cavalry gloves; but still the heat of rowing and the warmth of the sun made the stings smart till we could hardly bear it. from time to time i glanced at pete, who sat in the stern, steering with a paddle, his face and hands unprotected, his hat pushed back, trolling his favorite song. "and none was left to tell me, tom, and few was left to know who played upon the village green, just twenty year ago!" i admired him beyond expression. "how long," thought i, "does one have to stay in alaska before one gets so indifferent to mosquitoes as this? or is it simply the phlegm of the norwegian--magnificent in mosquito time?" just then pete broke in his song and began a refrain of curses in norwegian and english and some other languages--all apropos of mosquitoes. he averred emphatically that never--no, never--had he seen mosquitoes quite so disagreeable. this lasted about five minutes; then he settled down to a calm again. i perceived that men's tempers may be something like geysers--some keep bubbling hot water continually, while others, like pete's, keep quiet for a while and then explode violently. it seems strange to many that a country like alaska, sub-arctic in climate, should be so burdened with a pest which we generally associate with hot weather and tropical swamps. but the long warm days of summer in these high latitudes seem to be extraordinarily favorable to all kinds of insect life--mosquitoes, gnats, and flies--which harbor in the moss and dense underbrush. other countries similarly situated, such as the region between the gulf of bothnia and the arctic ocean--northern finland--which is north of the arctic circle, are also pestered with mosquitoes during the summer months. in alaska the mosquitoes are so numerous that they occupy a large part of men's attention, and form the subject for much conversation as long as they remain--and they are astonishing stayers, appearing before the snow is gone and not leaving until the nights grow comparatively long and frosty. they flourish as well in cool weather as in hot, thawing cheerfully out after a heavy frost and getting to work as if to make up for lost time. we were able to distinguish at least three species: a large one like those met at the seaside resorts, which buzzes and buzzes and buzzes; then a smaller one that buzzes a little but also bites ferociously; and, worst of all, little striped fellows who go about in great crowds. these last never stop to buzz, but come straight for the intruder on a bee-line, stinging him almost before they reach him--and their sting is particularly irritating. many stories have been told of the mosquitoes in alaska; one traveller tells how bears are sometimes killed by these pests, though this story is probably an exaggeration. but men who are travelling must have veils and gloves as protection against them. even the natives wrap their heads in skins or cloth, and are overjoyed at any little piece of mosquito-netting they can get hold of. with the best protection, however, one cannot help being tormented and worn out. we always slept with gloves and veils on, and with our heads wrapped as tightly as possible, yet the insects would crawl through the crevices of the blankets and sting through the clothes, or where the veil pressed against the face,--not one, but hundreds--so that one slept but fitfully and woke to find his face bloody and smarting, and would at once make for the cold river water, bathing hands and face to relieve the pain, and dreading to keep his veil up long enough to gobble his breakfast. the climate of this interior country is dry, and the rains infrequent. we worked so long during the day that we seldom took the trouble to pitch a tent at night, but lay down with our backs against some convenient log, so that the mosquitoes had a good chance at us. even in the day, when protected by veil and gloves, i have been so irritated by them as to run until breathless to relieve my excitement, and i can readily believe, as has been told, that a man lost in the underbrush without protection, would very soon lose his reason and his life. as soon as the country is cleared up or burned over, the scourge becomes much less, so that in the mining camps the annoyance is comparatively slight. mosquitoes are popularly supposed to seek and feed upon men, while the reverse is true. they avoid men, swarming most in thick underbrush and swamps which are difficult of access, and disappearing almost entirely as soon as the axe and the plow and other implements in the hands of man invade their solitudes. out of mud lake we floated into the river again, and slipped easily down between the sandbanks. ducks and geese were plentiful along here, and we practised incessantly on them with the rifle, without, however, doing any noticeable execution. on the second day we knew we must be near the famous canyon of the lewes; and one of our party was put on watch, in order that we might know its whereabouts before the swift current should sweep us into it, all heavily laden as we were. the rest of us rowed and steered, and admired the beautiful tints of the hills, which now receded from the river, now came close to it. presently we heard a gentle snore from the lookout who was comfortably settled among the flour sacks in the bow; this proved to us that our confidence had been misplaced, and all hands became immediately alert. soon after, we noticed a bit of red flannel fluttering from a tree projecting over the bank, doubtless a part of some traveller's shirt sacrificed in the cause of humanity; and by the time we had pulled in to the shore we could see the waters of the river go swirling and roaring into a sudden narrow canyon with high, perpendicular walls. we found the parties of miners already landed, and presently, as we waited on the bank and reconnoitered, danlon's party came up, and not long after, the barge, so that we were about twenty in all. wiborg, and danlon's guide, cooper, were the only ones that had had experience in this matter, so all depended on their judgment, and waited to see the results of their efforts before risking anything themselves. in former years all travellers made a portage around this very difficult place, hauling their boats over the hill with a rude sort of a windlass; but a man having been accidentally sucked into the canyon came out of the other end all right, which emboldened others. in this case wiborg and cooper decided that the canyon could be run, although the water was very high and turbulent; and they thought best to run the boats through themselves. our own boat was selected to be experimented with; most of the articles that were easily damageable by water were taken out, leaving perhaps about eight hundred pounds. i went as passenger sitting in the bow, while the two old frontiersmen managed paddles and oars. rowing out from the shore we were immediately sucked into the gorge, and went dashing through at a rate which i thought could not be less than twenty miles an hour. so great is the body of water confined between these perpendicular walls, and so swift is the stream, that its surface becomes convex, being considerably higher in the centre of the channel than on the sides. waves rushing in every direction are also generated, forming a puzzling chop. two or three of these waves presently boarded us, so that i was thoroughly wet, and then came a broad glare of sunlight as we emerged from the first half of the canyon into a sort of cauldron which lies about in its centre. here we were twisted about by eddying currents for a few seconds, and then precipitated half sidewise into the canyon again. the latter half turned out to be the rougher part, and our bow dipped repeatedly into the waves, till i found myself sitting in water, and the bow, where most of the water remained, sagged alarmingly. it seemed as if another ducking would sink us. this fortunately we did not get, but steered safely through the final swirl to smooth water. during all this trip i had not looked up once, although as we shot by we heard faintly a cheer from the rocks above, where our companions were. next day, after a night made almost unbearable by mosquitoes, we rose to face the difficulties of white horse rapids, which lie below the canyon proper, and are still more formidable. here the river contracts again, and is confined between perpendicular walls of basalt. the channel is full of projecting rocks, so that the whole surface is broken, and there are many strong conflicting currents and eddies. at the end of these rapids, which extend for a quarter of a mile or so, is a narrow gorge in the rocks, through which the whole volume of water is forced. this is said to be only twenty or thirty feet wide, although at the time of our passing the water was sufficiently high to flow over the top of the enclosing walls, thus concealing the actual width of the chute. through this the water plunges at a tremendous velocity--probably thirty miles an hour--forming roaring, foaming, tossing, lashing waves which somehow make the name white horse seem appropriate. above the beginning of the rapid we unloaded our boat, and carefully lowered it down by ropes, keeping it close to the shore, and out of the resistless main current. after having safely landed it, with considerable trouble, below the chute, we carried our outfit (about twelve hundred pounds) to the same point. danlon's boat and that belonging to the miners were safely gotten through in the same way, all hands helping in turn. when it came to the scow, it was the general opinion that it would be impossible to lower it safely, for its square shape gave the current such a grip that it seemed as if no available strength of rope or man could hold out against it. as carrying the boat was out of the question, the only alternative was to boldly run it through the rapids, in the middle of the channel; and this naturally hazardous undertaking was rendered more difficult by the frail construction of the scow, which had been built of thin lumber by unskilled hands. the scow's crew did not care to make the venture themselves, but finally prevailed upon wiborg and cooper to make the trial. [illustration: shooting the white horse rapids.] reflecting that at any time i might be placed in similar difficulties, in this unknown country, and thrown upon my own resources, i resolved to accompany them, for the sake of finding out how the thing was done; but i was ruled out of active service by wiborg, who, however, consented finally to my going along as passenger. two of the scow's own crew were drafted to act as oarsmen, and we pushed out, cooper steering, and wiborg in the bow, iron-shod pole in hand, fending off from threatening rocks; and in a second we were dancing down the boiling rapids and tossing hither and thither like a cork. i sat facing the bow, opposite the oarsmen, who tugged frantically away, white as death; behind me cooper's paddle flashed and twisted rapidly, as we dodged by rocks projecting from the water, sometimes escaping only by a few inches, where a collision would have smashed us to chips. the rest of the party, waiting below the chute, said that sometimes they saw only the bottom of the scow, and sometimes looked down upon it as if from above. as we neared the end, cooper's skillful paddle drove us straight for the centre, where the water formed an actual fall; this central part was the most turbulent, but the safest, for on either side, a few feet away, there was danger of grazing the shallow underlying rocks. as we trembled on the brink, i looked up and saw our friends standing close by, looking much concerned. a moment later there was a dizzying plunge, a blinding shower of water, a sudden dashing, too swift for observation, past rock walls, and then wiborg let out an exultant yell--we were safe. at that instant one of the oarsmen snapped his oar, an accident which would have been serious a moment before. on the shore below the rapids we found flour-sacks, valises, boxes and splintered boards, mementoes of poor fellows less lucky than ourselves. we camped at the mouth of the tahkeena river that night, and arrived the next day at lake labarge, the last and longest of the series. when we reached it, at one o'clock, the water was calm and smooth; and although it was nearly forty miles across, we decided to keep on without stopping till we reached the other side, for fear of strong winds such as had delayed us on lake bennett. danlon's party concluded to do the same, and so we rowed steadily all night, after having rowed all day. about two o'clock in the morning a favorable wind sprung up suddenly, and increased to a gale. at this time we became separated from the other boats, which kept somewhat close to the shore, while we, with our tiny sail, stood straight across the lake for the outlet. as soon as we stopped rowing i could not help falling asleep, although much against my will, for our position was neither comfortable nor secure; and thus i dozed and woke half a dozen times before landing. on reaching the shore we found difficulty in sleeping on account of the swarms of hungry mosquitoes, so we soon loaded up again. we had got caribou meat from some people whom we passed half-way down lake labarge; and the next day we saw a moose on an island, but the current swept us by before we could get a shot at him. large game, on the whole, however, was very scarce along this route. the weather was warm and pleasant after leaving lake labarge, and there were no serious obstructions. the swift current bombarded the bottom of the boat with grains of sand, making a sound like a continual frying. "look out!" pete would say. "the devil is frying his fat for us!" we travelled easily sixty or eighty miles a day, floating with the current and rowing. danlon's party, which we had lost sight of on lake labarge, reached us a couple of days afterwards, having pulled night and day to catch up. they were grey and speckled with fatigue and told us of having decided to leave one boat (they came with only one of the two they had started in) at lake labarge, and also of leaving some of their provisions. they had unfortunately forgotten to keep any sugar--could we lend them some? we produced the sugar and smiled knowingly; a few days later we ran across the solitary dutchman, who had engineered his wood-box thus far, and he told us the whole story: how when the boats got near the shore one was swamped in shallow water, losing most of its cargo, and how the occupants had to stand in cold water the rest of the night, finally getting to shore and to rights again. the priest had been naming the camps after the letters of the greek alphabet, and the night on labarge should have been camp rho; and this was appropriate as we rowed nearly all night. from here the journey was comparatively easy. the skies were always clear and blue, and the stream had by this time increased to a lordly river, growing larger by continual accessions of new tributaries. it is dotted with many small islands, which are covered with a dense growth of evergreen trees. on the side of the valley are often long smooth terraces, perfectly carved and smoothly grassed, so as to present an almost artificial aspect. from this sort of a country are sudden changes to a more bold and picturesque type, so at one time the river flows swiftly through high gates of purple rock rising steeply for hundreds of feet, and in a few moments more emerges into a wide low valley. the cliffs are sometimes carved into buttresses or pinnacles, which overlook the walls, and appear to form part of a gigantic and impregnable castle, on the top of which the dead spruces stand out against the sky like spires and flag-staves. usually on one side or the other of the river is low fertile land, where grows a profusion of shrubs and flowers. in the mellow twilight, which lasts for two or three hours in the middle of the night, one can see nearly as far and as distinctly as by day, but everything takes on an unreal air. this is something like a beautiful sunset effect further south, but is evenly distributed over all the landscape. at about ten o'clock the coloring becomes exquisite, when the half-light brings out the violets, the purples, and various shades of yellow and brown in the rocks, in contrast to the green of the vegetation. [illustration: talking it over.] we had some difficulty in finding suitable camping-places in this country. one night i remember, we ran fifteen miles after our usual camping-hour, with cliffs on one side of the river and low thickets on the other. three times we landed on small islands, in a tangle of vines and roses; and as many times we were driven off by the innumerable mosquitoes. at last we found a strip of shore about ten feet wide, between the water and the thickets, sloping at a considerable angle; and there we made shift to spend the night. there are two places below the white horse rapids where the channel is so narrowed or shallowed that rapids are formed. at the first of these, called the "five finger rapids," the river is partially blocked by high islets, which cut up the stream in several portions. although the currents in each of these "fingers" is rapid, and the water rough, yet we found no difficulty in running through without removing any part of the load, although one of the boats shipped a little water. when we arrived at the second place, which is called the "rink rapids," and is not far below the five fingers, we were relieved to find that owing to the fullness of the river, the rough water, which in this case is caused by the shallowing of the stream, was smoothed down, and we went through, close to the shore, with no more trouble than if we had been floating down a lake. during the whole trip the country through which we passed was singularly lonely and uninhabited. after leaving the few huts on tagish lake, which i have mentioned, we saw a few indians in a summer camp on lake labarge; and this was all until we got to the junction of the lewes and pelly rivers, over three hundred miles from tagish lake. at pelly we found a log trading-post, with a single white man in charge, and a few indians. there were also three miners, who had met with misfortune, and were disconsolate enough. they had started up pelly river with a two years' outfit, intending to remain and prospect for that period, but at some rapid water their boat had been swamped and all their provisions lost. they had managed to burn off logs enough to build a raft, and in that way had floated down the river to the post, living in the meantime on some flour which they had been lucky enough to pick up after the wreck. although there are very few people in the country, one is continually surprised at first by perceiving solitary white tents standing on some prominent point or cliff which overlooks the river. at first this looks very cheerful, and we sent many a hearty hail across the river to such places; but our calls were never answered, for these are not the habitations of the living but of the dead. inside of each of these tents, which are ordinarily made of white cloth, though sometimes of woven matting, is a dead indian, and near him is laid his rifle, snowshoes, ornaments and other personal effects. i do not think the custom of leaving these articles at the grave implies any belief that they will be used by the dead man in another world, but simply signifies that he will have no more use for the things which were so dear to him in life--just as among ourselves, articles which have been used by dear friends are henceforth laid aside and no longer used. these dwellings of the dead are always put in prominent positions, commanding as broad and fair a view as can be obtained. at pelly we saw several indian graves that were surrounded by hewn palings, rudely and fantastically painted. when we reached the white river we found it nearly as broad as the yukon. the waters of the two rivers are separated by a distinct line at their confluence and for some distance further down, the yukon water being dark and the other milky, whence the name--white river. all over this country is a thin deposit of white dust-like volcanic ash, covering the surface, but on white river this ash is very thick, and the river flowing through it carries away enough to give the waters continually a milky appearance. as we approached white river we beheld what seemed a most extraordinary cloud hanging over its valley. it was a solid compact mass of white, like some great ice-flower rising from the hills, reminding one as one explored it through field-glasses, in its snowy vastness and unevenness, of some great glacier. the clouds were in rounded bunches and each bunch was crenulated. below was a mass of smoke with a ruddy reflection as if from some great fire, and smaller snowy compact clouds came up at intervals, as if gulped out from some crater. this we thought might be the fabled volcano of the white river, but on getting nearer it seemed to be probably a forest-fire. although there are no railway trains to set fires with their sparks, nowhere do fires start more easily than in alaska, for the ground is generally covered deep with a peat-like dry moss, which ignites when one lights a fire above and smoulders so persistently that it can hardly be extinguished, creeping along under the roots of the living moss and breaking out into flame on opportunity. the fourth of july was celebrated by shooting at a mark; and that night we had a true blessing, for we camped on a little bare sandspit on an island, where the wind was brisk and kept the mosquitoes away. these insects cannot stand against a breeze, but are whisked away by it like the imps of darkness at the first breath of god's morning light, as we have read in fairy stories. the freedom was delicious, so we just stretched ourselves in the sand, and slept ten hours. we were awakened by a violent plunge in the water and stuck our heads out of the blankets in a hurry, thinking it was a moose; but it turned out to be only one of our party celebrating the day after the fourth by a bath. at sixty mile we found an indian trading-post, located on an island in the river, and kept by jo la du, a lonely trader who a year afterwards became rich and famous from his participation in the klondike rush. he had no idea of this when we saw him, but shook hands with us shyly and silently, a man whom years had made more accustomed to the indian than to the white man. the name sixty mile is applied to a small river here, which is sixty miles from old fort reliance, an ancient trading post belonging to the hudson bay company. the hardy and intrepid agents of the company were the first white men to explore the interior of alaska. the lower yukon in the vicinity of the delta was explored by the russians in to , and the river was called by the eskimo name of kwikpuk or kwikpak,--the great river: in - the russian lieutenant zagoskin explored as far as the nowikakat. but the upper yukon was first explored by members of the hudson bay company. in a trader named bell crossed from the mackenzie to the porcupine, and so down to the yukon, to which he first applied the name by which it is now known: it is an indian, not eskimo, word. previous to this, in , robert campbell, of the hudson bay company, crossed from the stikeen to the pelly and so down to its junction with the lewes or upper yukon. at the point of the junction campbell built fort selkirk, which was afterwards pillaged and burned by the indians, and remained deserted till harper built the present post, close to the site of the old one. forty miles below old fort reliance is forty mile creek, so that the mouths of forty mile and sixty mile are a hundred miles apart. the river by this time is a mile wide in places, and filled with low wooded islands: its water is muddy and the eddying currents give the appearance of boiling. we found no one on the site of old fort reliance, and we used the fragments of the old buildings lying around in the grass for fire-wood. it was practically broad daylight all night, for although the sun went down behind the hills for an hour or two, yet it was never darker than a cloudy day. the day of leaving fort reliance we came to the junction of the klondike or thronduc river with the yukon, and found here a village of probably two hundred indians, but no white men. the indians were living in log cabins: on the shore numbers of narrow and shallow birch canoes were drawn up, very graceful and delicate in shape, and marvellously light, weighing only about thirty pounds, but very difficult for any one but an indian to manoeuvre. yet the natives spear salmon from these boats. at the time we were there most of the male indians were stationed along the river, eagerly watching for the first salmon to leap out of the water, for about this time of the year the immigration of these fish begins, and they swim up the rivers from the sea thousands of miles, to place their spawn in some quiet creek. on account of the large number of salmon who turn aside to enter the stream here, the indians called it thronduc or _fish-water_; this is now corrupted by the miners into klondike, the indian village is replaced by the frontier city of dawson, and the fame of the klondike is throughout the world. [illustration: alaska humpbacked salmon, male and female.] the trip of forty miles from fort reliance to forty mile post was made in the morning, and was enlivened by an exciting race between our boat and that belonging to danlon. we had kept pretty closely together on all our trip, passing and repassing one another, but our boat was generally ahead; and when we both encamped at fort reliance, the other party resolved to outwit us. so they got up early in the morning and slipped away before we were well awake. when we discovered that they were gone, we got off after them as quickly as possible, but as the current flows about seven miles an hour, and they were rowing hard besides, they were long out of sight of us. however, we buckled down to hard rowing, each pulling a single oar only, and relieving one another at intervals, tugging away as desperately as if something important depended on it. when we were already in sight of forty mile post we spied our opponents' boat about a mile ahead of us, and we soon overhauled them, for they had already spent themselves by hard rowing. then pete knew a little channel which led up to the very centre of the camp, while the others took the more roundabout way, so that we arrived and were quite settled--we assumed a very negligent air, as if we had been there all day--when the others arrived. we called this the great anglo-american boat race and crowed not a little over the finish. footnote: [ ] a portion of this description is similar to that used by the writer in an article published in "outing." chapter iv. the forty mile diggings. forty mile creek is the oldest mining camp in the yukon country, and the first where coarse gold or "gulch diggings" was found. in the fall of a prospector by the name of franklin discovered the precious metal near the mouth of what is now called forty mile creek. this stream was put down on the old maps as the shitando river, but miners are very independent in their nomenclature, and often adopt a new name if the old one does not suit them, preferring a simple term with an evident meaning to the more euphonious ones suggestive of pullman cars. at the time of the discovery of gold there was a post of the alaskan commercial company at the mouth of the stream, but the trader in charge, jack mcquesten, was absent in san francisco. as the supplies at the post were very low, and a rush of miners to the district was anticipated for the next summer, it was thought best to try to get word to the trader, and george williams undertook to carry out a letter in midwinter. accompanied by an indian, he succeeded in attaining the chilkoot pass, but was there frozen to death. the letter, however, was carried to the post at dyea by the indian, and the necessary supplies were sent, thus averting the threatened famine. from to the various gulches of forty mile creek were the greatest gold producers of the yukon country, but by the supplies of gold began to show exhaustion; and about this time a russian half-breed, by the name of pitka, discovered gold in the bars of birch creek, some two hundred miles further down the yukon. a large part of the population of the forty mile district rushed to the new diggings and built the mining camp to which they gave the name of circle city, from its proximity to the arctic circle. the forty mile district is partly in british and partly in american territory, since the boundary line crosses the stream some distance above its mouth, while birch creek is entirely in american territory. the world-renowned klondike, again, is within british boundaries. so the tide of mining population has ebbed back and forth in the yukon country, each wave growing larger than the first, till it culminated in the third of the great world-rushes after gold, exciting, wild and romantic--the klondike boom, a fit successor to the "forty-nine" days of california, and to the events which followed the discovery of gold in australia. at the time of our visit, in , forty mile post was distinctly on the decline. yet it contained probably or inhabitants, not counting the indians, of whom there were a considerable number. these indians were called charley indians, from their chief charley. there is a mission near here and the indians have all been christianized. it is told that the tanana indians, who had no mission, and who came here out of their wild fastnesses only once in a while to trade, did not embrace christianity, which rather elated charley's followers, as they considered that they now had decidedly the advantage; and they openly vaunted of it. in this country at certain times of the year, particularly in the fall, great herds of caribou pass, and then one can slaughter as many as he needs for the winter's supply of meat, without much hunting, for the animals select some trail and are not easily scared from it. one fall a herd marched up one of the busiest mining gulches of birch creek and the miners stood in their cabin doors and shot them. so the indians always watch as eagerly for the caribou, as they do for the salmon in the summer. but this particular fall it happened that the animals stayed away from the charley indians' hunting grounds, but passed through those of the tananas in force. the heathen then came down to the trading post laden with meat, and the chief, who knew a little english, taunted charley in it. "where moose, charley?" he asked. "no moose," said charley. "woo!" said the tanana chief, grinning in triumph. "what's the matter with your jesus?" the indians at forty mile post were mostly encamped in tents or were living in rude huts of timber plastered with mud; while the white men had built houses of logs, unsquared, with the chinks filled with mud and moss and the roof covered with similar material. prices were high throughout: a lot of land in the middle of the town, say by feet, was worth $ , or $ , ; sugar was worth twenty-five cents a pound and ordinary labor ten dollars a day. all provisions were also very expensive, and the supply was often short. many common articles, usually reckoned among what the foolish call the necessities of life, could not be obtained by us. i say foolish, because one can learn from pioneering and exploring, upon how little life can be supported and health and strength maintained, and how many of the supposed necessities are really luxuries. the alaskan eskimo lives practically on fish alone throughout the year, without salt, without bread,--just fish--and grows fat and oily and of pungent odor. but white men can hardly become so simple in their diet without some danger of dying in the course of the experiment, like the famous cow that was trained to go without eating, but whose untimely death cut short her career in the first bloom of success. the miners have always been dependent for supplies on steamers from san francisco or seattle, which have to make a trip of , miles or more; and, in the early days, if any accident occurred, there was no other source. i have heard of a bishop of the episcopal church, a missionary in this country, who lived all winter upon moose meat, without salt; and an old miner told me of working all summer on flour alone. when the fall came he shot some caribou, and his description of his sensations on eating his first venison steak were touching. hardly a winter has passed until very recently when the miners were not put on rations--so many pounds of bacon and so much flour to the man,--to bridge over the time until the steamer should arrive. the winter of - is known to the old yukon pioneer as the "starvation winter," for during the previous summer a succession of accidents prevented the river boat from reaching forty mile with provisions. the men were finally starved out and in october they all began attempting to make their way down the yukon, towards st. michaels, over a thousand miles away, where food was known to be stored, having been landed at this depot from ocean steamers. nearly a hundred men left the post in small boats. some travelled the whole distance to st. michaels, others stopped and wintered by the way at the various miserable trading posts, or in the winter camps of the indians themselves, wherever food could be found. it happened that this year the river did not freeze up so early as usual, which favored the flight, though the journey down the lower part of the river was made in running ice. in connection with the shortness of provisions and supplies in these early years, a story is told of a worthless vagabond who used to hang around forty mile post, and whose hoaxes, invented to make money, put the wooden nutmeg and the oak ham of connecticut to shame. there was a dearth of candles one year at the post, and in midwinter, when, for a while, the sun hardly rises at all, that was no trifling privation. the weather was cold, as it always is at forty mile in the winter time. the trickster had some candle molds in his possession, but no grease; so he put the wicks into the molds, which he filled with water colored white with chalk or condensed milk. the water immediately froze solid, making a very close imitation of a candle. he manufactured a large number and then started around the post to peddle them. all bought eagerly--indian squaws to sew by, miners, shop-keepers, everybody. one man bought a whole case and shoved them under his bed; when he came to pull them out again to use, he found nothing but the wicks in a pile, the ice having melted and the water having evaporated in the warm room. what punishment was meted out to this unique swindler i do not know, but i could not learn that he was ever severely dealt with. the evening of our arrival in forty mile post we were attracted by observing a row of miners, who were lined up in front of the saloon engaged in watching the door of a large log cabin opposite, rather dilapidated, with the windows broken in. on being questioned, they said there was going to be a dance, but when or how they did not seem to know: all seemed to take only a languid looker-on interest, speaking of the affair lightly and flippantly. presently more men, however, joined the group and eyed the cabin expectantly. in spite of their disclaimers they evidently expected to take part, but where were the fair partners for the mazy waltz? the evening wore on until ten o'clock, when in the dusk a stolid indian woman, with a baby in the blanket on her back, came cautiously around the corner, and with the peculiar long slouchy step of her kind, made for the cabin door, looking neither to the right nor to the left. she had no fan, nor yet an opera cloak; she was not even décolleté; she wore large moccasins on her feet--number twelve, i think, according to the white man's system of measurement--and she had a bright colored handkerchief on her head. she was followed by a dozen others, one far behind the other, each silent and unconcerned, and each with a baby upon her back. they sidled into the log cabin and sat down on the benches, where they also deposited their babies in a row: the little red people lay there very still, with wide eyes shut or staring, but never crying--indian babies know that is all foolishness and doesn't do any good. the mothers sat awhile looking at the ground in some one spot and then slowly lifted their heads to look at the miners who had slouched into the cabin after them--men fresh from the diggings, spoiling for excitement of any kind. then a man with a dilapidated fiddle struck up a swinging, sawing melody, and in the intoxication of the moment some of the most reckless of the miners grabbed an indian woman and began furiously swinging her around in a sort of waltz, while the others crowded around and looked on. little by little the dusk grew deeper, but candles were scarce and could not be afforded. the figures of the dancing couples grew more and more indistinct and their faces became lost to view, while the sawing of the fiddle grew more and more rapid, and the dancing more excited. there was no noise, however; scarcely a sound save the fiddle and the shuffling of the feet over the floor of rough hewn logs; for the indian women were stolid as ever, and the miners could not speak the language of their partners. even the lookers-on said nothing, so that these silent dancing figures in the dusk made an almost weird effect. one by one, however, the women dropped out, tired, picked up their babies and slouched off home, and the men slipped over to the saloon to have a drink before going to their cabins. surely this squaw-dance, as they call it, was one of the most peculiar balls ever seen. no sound of revelry by night, no lights, no flowers, no introductions, no conversations. of all the muses, terpsichore the nimble-footed, alone was represented, for surely the nymph who presides over music would have disowned the fiddle. all the diggings in the forty mile district were remote from the post, and to reach them one had to ascend forty mile creek, a rapid stream, for some distance. pete left us here, and we three concluded to go it alone. inasmuch as we were young and tender, we were overwhelmed with advice of such various and contradictory kinds that we were almost disheartened. every one agreed that it would be impossible to take our boats up the river, that we should take an "up river" boat, (that is, a boat built long and narrow, with a wide overhang, so as to make as little friction with the water as possible, and to make upsetting difficult); but when we came to inquire we found there was no such boat to be had. we were advised to take half-a-dozen experienced polers, but such polers could not be found. evidently we must either wait the larger part of the summer for our preparations _à la mode_, or go anyhow; and this latter we decided to do. we announced our intention at the table of the man whose hospitality we were enjoying. he stared. "you'll find forty mile creek a hard river to go up," he said, slowly. "have you had much experience in ascending rivers?" "very little," we replied. "are you good polers?" asked another. "like the young lady who was asked whether she could play the piano," i answered, "we don't know--we never tried." everybody roared; they had been wanting to laugh for some time, and here was their opportunity. later a guide was offered to us, but we had got on our dignity and refused him; then he asked to be allowed to accompany us as a passenger, taking his own food, and helping with the boat, and we consented to this. he had a claim on the headwaters of sixty mile, to which he wished to go back, but could not make the journey up the river alone. a year afterwards this penniless fellow was one of the lucky men in the klondike rush and came back to civilization with a reputed fortune of $ , . we could row only a short distance up the creek from the post, for after this the current became so swift that we could make no headway. we then tied a long line to the bow of the boat, and two of us, walking on the shore, pulled the line, while another stood in the bow and by constant shoving out into the stream, succeeded in overcoming the tendency for the pull of the line to make the boat run into the shore or into such shallow water that it would ground. we soon reached the canyon, supposed to be the most difficult place in the creek to pass; here the stream is very rapid and tumbles foaming over huge boulders which have partially choked it. we towed our boat up through this, however, without much difficulty, and on the second night camped at the boundary line. here a gaunt old character, sam patch by name, had his cabin. he was famous for his patriotism and his vegetables. his garden was on the steep side of a south-facing hill and was sheltered from the continual frosts which fall in the summer nights, so that it succeeded well. foreign vegetables, as well as native plants, thrive luxuriantly in alaska so long as they can be kept from being frost-bitten: for in the long sunshiny summer days they grow twice as fast and big as they do in more temperate climates. "sam patch's potato patch" was famous throughout the diggings, and the surest way to win sam's heart was to go and inspect and admire it. sam was always an enthusiastic american, and when the canadian surveyors surveyed the meridian line which constituted the international boundary, they ran it right through his potato patch; but he stood by his american flag and refused to haul it down--quite unnecessarily, because no one asked him to do so. the next day we reached the mouth of the little tributary called moose creek. from here a trail thirty miles in length leads over the low mountains to the headwaters of sixty mile creek, where several of the richest gulches of the forty mile district were located. we beached our boat, therefore, put packs on our backs and started. at this time the days were hot and the mosquitoes vicious, and nearly every night was frosty; so we sweat and smarted all day, and shivered by night, for our blankets were hardly thick enough. we used to remark on rising in the morning that alaska was a delightful country, with temperature to suit every taste; no matter if one liked hot weather or moderate or cold, if he would wait he would get it inside of twenty-four hours. we were tired when we started over the trail, and the journey was not an easy one, for we carried blankets, food, cameras, and other small necessaries. we camped in a small swamp the first night, where the ground was so wet that we were obliged to curl up on the roots of trees, close to the trunks, to keep out of the water. the second day a forest fire blocked our journey, but we made our way through it, treading swiftly over the burning ground and through the thick smoke: then we emerged onto a bare rocky ridge, from which we could look down, on the right, over the network of little valleys which feed forty mile creek, and on the other side over the tributaries of sixty mile creek, clearly defined as if on a map. the ridge on which we travelled was cut up like the teeth of a saw, so that a large part of our time was spent in climbing up and down. on the latter part of the second day we found no wood, and at night we could hardly prepare food enough to keep our stomachs from sickening. my feet had become raw at the start from hard boots, and every step was a torture; yet the boots could not be taken off, for the trail was covered with small sharp stones, and the packs on our backs pressed heavily downward. the third day we separated, each descending from the mountain ridge into one of the little gulches, in which we could see the white tents or the brown cabins of the miners, with smoke rising here and there. my way led me down a rocky ridge and then abruptly into the valley of miller creek. as i sat down and rested, surveying the little valley well dotted with shanties, two men came climbing up the trail and sat down to chat. they were going to the spot on forty mile creek which we had just left--there was a keg of whisky "cached" there and they had been selected a committee of two by the miners to escort the aforesaid booze into camp. they were alternately doleful at the prospect of the sixty mile tramp and jubilant over the promised whisky, for, as they informed us, the camp had been "dry for some time." descending into the camp where the men were busily working, i stopped to watch them. gaunt, muscular, sweating, they stood in their long boots in the wet gravel and shovelled it above their heads into "sluice boxes,"--a series of long wooden troughs in which a continuous current of water was running. the small material was carried out of the lower end of the sluices by the water. here and there the big stones choked the current and a man with a long shovel was continuously occupied with cleaning the boxes of such accumulations. everybody was working intensely. the season is short in alaska and the claim-owner is generally a hustler; and men who are paid ten dollars a day for shovelling must jump to earn their money. strangers were rare on miller creek in those days, and everybody stopped a minute to look and answer my greetings politely, but there was no staring, and everybody went on with his work without asking any questions. men are courteous in rough countries, where each one must travel on his merits and fight his own battles, and where social standing or previous condition of servitude count for nothing. i wandered slowly down from claim to claim. they were all working, one below the other, for this was the best part of one of the oldest and richest gulches of the forty mile district. one man asked me where i was going to sleep, and on my telling him that i had not thought of it, replied that there were some empty log cabins a little distance below. further down a tall, dark, mournful man addressed me in broken english, with a canadian french accent, and put the same question. "i work on ze night shift to-night," he continued, "so i do not sleep in my bed. you like, you no fin' better, you is very welcome, sair, to sleep in my cabine, in my bed." i accepted gratefully, for i was very tired; so the frenchman conducted me to a cabin about six feet square and insisted upon cooking a little supper for me. he was working for day's wages, he answered to my rather blunt questions, but hoped that he would earn enough this summer and the next winter to buy an outfit and enough "grub" to go prospecting for himself, on the tanana, which had not been explored and where he believed there must be gold; prospectors get very firmly convinced of such things with no real reason. after supper he darkened the windows for me and went to work. i sought the comfort of a wooden bunk, covering myself with a dirty bed-quilt. it was very ancient and perhaps did not smell sweet, but what did i care? it was heaven. the darkness was delicious. i had not known real darkness for so long throughout the summer--always sleeping out of doors in the light of the alaskan night--that i had felt continually strained and uncomfortable for the lack of it, and this darkened cabin came to me like the sweetest of opiates. when i awoke the frenchman was preparing breakfast. i had slept some ten hours without moving. there was only one tin plate, one cup, and one knife and fork, and he insisted upon my eating with them, while he stood by and gravely superintended, urging more slapjacks upon me. i suddenly felt ashamed that i had told him neither my name nor business, for although i had questioned him freely, he had not manifested the slightest curiosity. so without being asked i volunteered some information about myself. he listened attentively and politely, but without any great interest. it was quite apparent that the most important thing to him was that i was a stranger. soon after breakfast i thanked him warmly and went away--i knew enough of miners not to insult him by offering him money for his hospitality. the night shift of shovellers had given way to the day shift, and work was going on as fiercely as ever. the bottoms of all these gulches are covered with roughly stratified shingle, most of which slides down from the steep hillsides of the creek. among the rocks on the hillsides are many quartz veins, which carry "iron pyrite" or "fool's gold"; these often contain small specks of real gold. so when all the rubble gets together and is broken up in the bottom of the stream, where the water flows through it, the different materials in the rocks begin to separate one from another, more or less, according to the difference in their weights and the fineness of the fragments into which they are broken. now gold is the heaviest of metals, and the result is, that through all this jostling and crowding it gradually works itself down to the bottom of the heap, and generally quite to the solid rock below. this has been found to be the case nearly everywhere. in process of time the gravel accumulations become quite thick; in miller creek, for example, they varied from three or four feet at the head of the valley, where i was, to fifty or sixty at the mouth. but all the upper gravels are barren and valueless. where the gravels are not deep, they are simply shovelled off and out of the way, till the lower part, where the gold lies, is laid bare; this work generally takes a year, during which time there is no return for the labor. once the pay gravel--as it is called--is reached, a long wooden trough called a "sluice," is constructed, the current turned through it, and the gravel shovelled in. this work can only be carried on in the summer-time, when the water is not frozen, so that the warm months are the time for hustling, day and night shifts being employed, with as many men on each as can work conveniently together. in case the barren overlying gravel is very deep, the miners wait until it is frozen and then sink shafts to the pay dirt, which they take out by running tunnels and excavating chambers or "stopes" along the bed rock. in this work they do not use blasting, but build a small fire wherever they wish to penetrate, and as soon as the gravel thaws they shovel it up and convey it out, meanwhile pushing the fire ahead so that more may thaw out. in this way they accumulate the pay dirt in a heap on the surface, and as soon as warm weather comes they shovel it into the sluices as before. at the time of my visit, the construction of the sluices was a work of considerable labor, for as there was no sawmill in the country, the boards from which they were made had to be sawed by hand out of felled trees. in the last few of the trough-sections or sluice-boxes, slats are placed, sometimes transverse, sometimes lengthwise, sometimes oblique, sometimes crossed, forming a grating--all patterns have nearly the same effect, namely, to catch the gold and the other heavy minerals by means of vortexes which are created. thus behind these slats or "riffles" the gold lodges, while the lighter and barren gravel is swept by the current of water out of the trough, and the heavy stones are thrust out by the shovel of the miner. nearly the same process as that which in nature concentrates gold at the bottom of the gravels and on top of the bed-rock is adopted by man to cleanse the gold perfectly from the attendant valueless minerals. [illustration: washing the gravel in sluice-boxes.] everybody was hospitable along the gulch. i had five different invitations to dinner,--hearty ones, too--and some were loath to be put off with the plea of previous engagement. they were all eager for news from the outside world, from which they had not heard since the fall before; keenly interested in political developments, at home and abroad. they were intelligent and better informed than the ordinary man, for in the long winter months there is little to do but to sleep and read. they develop also a surprising taste for solid literature; nearly everywhere shakespeare seemed to be the favorite author, all nationalities and degrees of education uniting in the general liking. a gulch that had a full set of shakespeare considered itself in for a rather cozy winter; and there were regular shakespeare clubs, where each miner took a certain character to read. books of science, and especially philosophy, were also widely sought. it has been my theory that in conditions like this, where there are not the thousand and one stimuli to fritter away the intellectual energy, the mental qualities become stronger and keener and the little that is done is done with surprising vigor and clearness. down the creek i found a swede, working over the gravels on a claim that had already been washed once. he had turned off the water from the sluice-boxes and was scraping up the residue from among the riffles. mostly black heavy magnetic iron particles with many sparkling yellow grains of gold, green hornblendes and ruby-colored garnets. he put all this into a gold pan, (a large shallow steel pan such as used in the first stages of prospecting), and proceeded to "pan out" the gold yet a little more. he immersed the vessel just below the surface of a pool of water, and by skillful twirlings caused the contents to be agitated, and while the heavier particles sank quickly to the bottom, he continuously worked off the lighter ones, allowing them to flow out over the edge of the pan. yet he was very careful that no bit of gold should escape, and when he had carried this process as far as he could, he invited me into his cabin to see him continue the separation. here he spread the "dust" on the table and began blowing it with a small hand-bellows. the garnets, the hornblendes and the fragments of quartz, being lighter than the rest, soon rolled out to one side, leaving only the gold and the magnetic iron. then with a hand magnet he drew the iron out from the gold, leaving the noble yellow metal nearly pure, in flakes and irregular grains. as the material he had separated still contained some gold, he put this aside to be treated with quicksilver. the quicksilver is poured into the dust, where it forms an amalgam with the gold: it is then strained off, and the amalgam is distilled--the quicksilver is vaporized, leaving the gold behind. this man had his wife with him, a tired, lonely looking woman. i asked her if there were no more women on the creek. she said no; there was another woman over on glacier creek, and she wanted so much to see her sometimes, but she was not a good woman, so she could not go. she was lonely, she said; she had been here three years and had not seen a woman. from some of the miners i obtained a pair of indian moccasins, which i padded well with hay and cloth to make them easy for my chafing feet; then i slung my own heavy boots on top of my pack and the next morning bade the gulch good-bye, feeling strengthened from my rest. as i climbed out of the gulch i met the miners who had gone as a committee to escort the whisky, arriving with it, white and speckled with fatigue, speaking huskily, (but not from drinking), yet triumphant. the day was cool and when one is alone one is apt to travel hard; but the unwonted lightness of my feet and the freedom from pain encouraged me, so i set my indian moccasins into a regular indian trot, and by noon had covered the entire fifteen miles that constituted the first half of the journey. this brought me to a locality dignified by the name of the "half-way house," from a tent-fly of striped drilling left by some one, in which the miners were accustomed to pass the night in their journeys over the trail. here i found schrader, who had arrived late the night before and was preparing to make a start. we lighted a fire and made some tea, which with corned beef and crackers, made up our lunch. while we were eating, our old companion pete, with two more miners, came in from the opposite direction to that from which we had come; he was on his way to visit his old claim on miller creek. afterwards we got away, and kept up a steady indian trot till we reached our camp on forty mile creek at about six o'clock. we found goodrich already arrived and wrestling with the cooking, with which he was having tremendously hard luck. this travelling thirty miles in one day, carrying an average of thirty-five pounds, i considered something of an achievement; but the tiredness which came the next day showed that the energy meant for a long time had been drawn upon. [illustration: "tracking" a boat upstream.] for four days after that we worked our way up forty mile creek, making on an average seven or eight miles a day. mosquitoes were abundant, and the weather showery. we used the same method of pulling and poling as before,--a laborious process and one calculated to ruin the most angelic disposition. the river was very low and consequently full of rapids and "riffles," as the miners call the shallow places over which the water splashes. on many of these riffles our boat stuck fast, and we dragged it over the rocks by sheer force, wading out and grasping it by the gunwale. again, where there were many large boulders piled together in deep water, the boat would stick upon one, and we would be obliged to wade out again and pilot it through by hand, now standing dry upon a high boulder, and now floundering waist deep in the cold water at some awkward step--maybe losing temper and scolding our innocent companions for having shoved the boat too violently. we generally worked till late, and began cooking our supper in the dusk--which was now beginning to come--over a camp-fire whose glare dazzled us so that when we tossed our flapjack into the air, preparatory to browning its raw upper side, we often lost sight of it in the gloom, and it sprawled upon the fire, or fell ignominiously over the edge of the frying-pan. those were awful moments; no one dared to laugh at the cook then. we took turns at cooking, and patience was the watchword. the cook needed it and much more so, those on whom he practiced. one of our number produced a series of slapjacks once which rivalled my famous chilkoot biscuit. they were leaden, flabby, wretched. we ate one apiece, and ate nothing else for a week, for, as the woodsmen say, it "stuck to our ribs" wonderfully. "how much baking powder did you put in with the flour?" we asked the cook. "how should i know?" he answered, indignantly. "what was right, of course." "did you measure it?" we persisted, for the slapjack was irritating us inside. "anybody," replied the cook, with crushing dignity, "who knows anything, knows how much baking powder to put in with flour without measuring it. i just used common sense." so we concluded that he had put in too much common sense and not enough baking powder. just above where the river divides into two nearly equal forks, the water grew so shallow that we could not drag our boat further, so we hauled it up and filled it with green boughs to prevent it from drying and cracking in the sun; then we built a "cache." it may be best to explain the word "cache," so freely used in alaska. the term came from the french canadian voyageurs or trappers; it is pronounced "cash" and comes from the french _cacher_, to hide. so a cache is something hidden, and was applied by these woodsmen to hidden supplies and other articles of value, which could not be carried about, being secreted until the owners should come that way again. in alaska, when anything was thus left, a high platform of poles was built, supported by the trunks of slender trees, and the goods were left on this platform, covered in some way against the ravages of wild animals. to this structure the name "cache" came to be applied; and later was extended to the storehouses wherein the natives kept their winter supplies of fish and smoked meat, for these houses have a somewhat similar structure, being built on top of upright poles like the old swiss lake-dwellings. [illustration: a "cache."] the next morning we shouldered our pack-sacks, containing our blankets, a little food, and other necessities, and were again on the tramp, this time having no trail, however, but being obliged to keep on the side of the stream. here, as below, the river flowed in one nearly continuous canyon, but on one side or the other flats had been built out on the side where the current was slackest, while on the opposite side was deep water quite up to the bold cliffs; and since the current sweeps from side to side, one encounters levels and gravel flats, and high rocks, on the same side. many of the cliffs we scaled, crawling gingerly along the almost perpendicular side of the rock. the constant temptation in such climbing is to go higher, where it always looks easier, but when one gets up it seems impossible to return. however, we had no accidents, which, considering how awkward our packs made us, was lucky. at other times we waded the stream to avoid the cliffs. at night we reached the mouth of franklin gulch, where active mining had been going on for some time. the miners were almost out of food, the boat which ordinarily brought provisions from forty mile post having been unable to get up, on account of the low water. yet they gave us freely what they could. we took possession of an empty log cabin, lighted a fire and toasted some trout which they gave us, and this with crackers and bacon made our meal; then we discovered some bunks with straw in them, which we agreed were gilt-edged, and proceeded to make use of them without delay. only a few of the total number of miners were here, the rest having gone over the mountain to chicken creek, where the latest find of gold was reported. the men had not heard from "the outside" for some time. even forty mile post was a metropolis for them and they were glad to hear from it. they had few books and only a couple of newspapers three years old. "doesn't it get very dull here?" we asked of an old stager; "what do you do for amusement?" "do!" he echoed with grave humor, "do! why, god bless you, we 'ave very genteel amusements. as for readin' an' litrachure an' all that, wy, dammit, wen the fust grub comes in the spring, we 'ave a meetin' an' we call all the boys together an' we app'int a chairman an' then some one reads from the directions on the bakin'-powder boxes." i set out alone for chicken creek the next morning, following a line of blazed trees up over the mountain from franklin creek. i had been told that once up on the divide one could look right down into chicken creek, and i have no doubt that this is true, for on attaining the top of the hill a stretch of country twenty miles across was spread out before me as on a map, while directly below was a considerable branch of forty mile creek, divided into many closely adjacent gulches. one of these must be chicken creek, but which? there were no tents and no smoke visible, much as the eye might strain through the field-glasses. just here the trail gave out, the blazer having evidently grown tired of blazing. thinking to obtain a better view into the valley, i set out along the hill which curved around it, tramping patiently along until nearly night over the sharp ridges, but without ever seeing any signs of life in the great desolate country below me. when the dark shadows were striking the valleys, i caught sight of what appeared to be a faint smoke in the heart of a black timbered gulch, and i made straightway down the mountain-side for it, hurrying for fear the fire should be extinguished before i could get close enough to it to find the place. i had no doubt that this came from the log cabin of some prospector, who would be only too glad to welcome a weary stranger with a warm supper and a blanket on the floor. on getting down, away from the bare rocks on the mountain ridge, i found deep moss, tiresome to my wearied limbs, and further down great areas of "niggerheads"--the terror of travellers in the northern swamps. these niggerheads are tufts of vegetation which grow upwards by successive accumulations till they are knee high or even more. they are scattered thickly about, but each tuft is separated completely from all the rest, leaving hardly space to step between; if one attempts to walk on top of them he will slip off, so there is nothing to do but to walk on the ground, lifting the legs over the obstacles with great exertion. the tops of the tufts are covered with long grass, which droops down on all sides, whence the name niggerheads,--_têtes de femme_ or women's heads is the name given them by the french canadian voyageurs. still lower the brush and vines became so thick that it was almost impossible to force the way through in places. at last i emerged upon a grey lifeless area which seemed to have been burned over. there were no trees or plants, but the bare blackened sticks of what had once been a young growth of spruce still stood upright, though some trunks had fallen and lay piled, obstacles to travelling. the whole looked peculiarly forlorn. a little further i came to the spot where i had seen the smoke. there was nothing but a stagnant pool covered so deep with green scum that one caught only an occasional glimpse of the black water beneath, and from this, unsavory mists were rising in the chill of the evening air. i had mistaken these vapors for smoke from my post miles up the mountain. my dream of a log cabin and a blanket went up likewise in smoke. it was now eleven o'clock at night, and twilight; i had walked at least twenty miles through a rough country and could go no further. so i broke off the smaller dried trees and sticks and lighted a fire, then i ate some crackers and bacon that i had with me, but i did not dare to drink the water of the stagnant pool, which was all there was to be had. the night grew frosty, and i had no blankets; but i lay down close to the fire and caught fifteen-minute naps. once i woke with the smell of burning cloth in my nostrils: in my sleep i had edged too close to the grateful warmth, and my coat and the notebook in my pocket, containing all my season's notes, had caught fire. i rolled over on them and crushed out the fire with my fingers, and after that i shivered away a little further from the fire. at about three o'clock it grew light enough to see the surrounding country, and i started out again for the first point i had reached on the ridge the morning before, thinking to get back to franklin gulch, for i was thoroughly exhausted. on reaching the ridge, however, i met a miner coming over the trail; he agreed to pilot me to the new prospects, so i turned back again. there were fifteen or twenty men in the gulch which we finally reached, all living in tents in a very primitive way, and all very short of provisions, yet, hospitable to the last morsel, they freely offered the best they had. they were poor, too; everybody does not get rich in the gold diggings, even in alaska. in fact, previous to the klondike discovery, the largest net sum of money taken out by any one man was about $ , , while hundreds could not pay for their provisions or get enough to buy a ticket out of the country. the klondike, too, has been badly lied about. not one man in twenty who goes there makes more than a bare living, and many have to "hustle" for that harder than they would at home. so the hospitality of the miners, such as i found it nearly everywhere on the yukon, is not a mere act of courtesy which costs nothing, but the genuine unselfishness which cheerfully divides the last crust with a passing stranger. having been strengthened by two square meals, simple but sufficient, i started back for franklin gulch the same night. it began to rain in torrents on the way, and this, as usual, drove out the mosquitoes and made them unusually savage. they attacked me in such numbers that in spite of my gloves and veil i was nearly frantic. the best relief was to stride along at a good round pace, for this kept most of the pests at my back, and gave me a vent for my wrought-up nerves; and at the same time i had the satisfaction of knowing i was "getting there." the thong of my moccasin became undone, but i did not dare to stop to tie it, but kept plunging along, shuffling it with me. i reached our cabin at the mouth of franklin gulch, and the sight of the bunk with straw in it, and the familiar grey blanket, was sweet to me. next day we bade the miners at the creek's mouth good-bye, with promises to hurry up the provision-boat if possible, and made our way to where we had left our boat and cache. the next morning we launched the skookum again, and began our journey back. going down was quicker work than coming up, not so laborious, and far more exciting. owing to the lowness of the water, the stream was one succession of small rapids, which were full of boulders; and to steer the boat, careering like a race horse, among these, was a pretty piece of work. one pulled the oars to give headway, another steered, and the third stood in the bow, pole in hand, to fend us off from such rocks as we were in danger of striking. we soon found that the safest part of such a rapid is where the waves are roughest, for here the water, rebounding from the shallow shore on either side, meets in a narrow channel, where it tosses and foams, yet here is the only place where there is no danger of striking. the second day out we ran twenty-five or thirty of these rapids. in running through one we pulled aside to avoid a large boulder sticking up in midstream, and then saw in front of us another boulder just at the surface, which we had not before noticed. it was too late, however, and the boat stuck fast in a second, and began to turn over from the force of the water behind. with one accord we all leaped out of the boat, expecting to find foothold somewhere among the boulders, and hold the boat or shove her off so that she should not capsize; but none of us touched bottom, though we sank to our necks, still grasping the gunwale of the boat. our being out, however, made the boat so much lighter that she immediately slipped over the rock and went gloriously down the rapid, broadside, we hanging on. as soon as we could we clambered in, each grasped a paddle or oars or pole, and by great good luck we had no further accident. some distance further down we again sighted white water ahead, where the stream ran hard against a perpendicular cliff. some miners were "rocking" gravel for gold in the bars just above; and we yelled to them to know if we could run the rapids. "yes," came the answer, "if you're a d----d good man!" "all right--thanks!" we cried, and sailed serenely through. this was known by the cheerful name of dead man's riffle. owing to the strong wind blowing, the mosquitoes were not very annoying these few days; the sun was warm and bright, and the hillsides were covered thickly with a carmine flower which gave them a general brilliant appearance. these things, with the exhilaration of running rapids, made a sort of vacation--an outing, a picnic, as it were--in contrast to our previous hard work. when we got to the miller creek trail we took on a couple of miners who wanted to get out of the country, but had no boat in which to go down to forty mile post. they had worked for some time and had barely succeeded in making enough to buy food, and now, a little homesick and discouraged, they had made up their minds to try to get out and back to "god's country" as they called it--colorado. with their help we let our boat down through the "cañon" safely, and the next day,--the th of july,--arrived at forty mile post. at the post we found that plenty was reigning, for the first steamboat had arrived, bringing a lot of sorely-needed provisions. the trader in charge gave us a fine lunch of eggs, moosemeat, canned asparagus, and other delicacies, and then we took possession of a deserted log cabin. on ransacking around we found a yukon lamp, consisting of a twisted bit of cotton stuck into a pint bottle of seal oil, and when it began to grow dusk we lighted it and sat down at the table and wrote home to our friends; for the steamer had gone further up the river and would return in a few days, so that letters sent down by her would probably be ahead of us in getting home--eight thousand miles! we had laid in a new stock of provisions. flour, i remember was $ . for pounds, and we managed to get a few of the last eggs which the steamer had brought, at $ . a dozen. the skookum had suffered considerably in our forty mile trip, and we spent a large part of the next day in patching her, plugging her seams with oakum and sealing them with hot pitch. one of our number, who was cooking for the boat-menders, suddenly appeared on the scene, chasing a pack of yelping dogs with our long camp-axe. he had gone to the woodpile for a moment, leaving the door ajar. at this moment a grey dog whose tail had been cut off somehow, was looking around the log house opposite--he had been on guard and watching our door for the last twenty-four hours. he uttered a low yelp which brought a dozen others together from all quarters, all lean, strong and sneaking; and they slipped into our door. when the cook turned from the woodpile a minute later he was just in time to aim a billet at the last one as he emerged from the cabin with our cheese in his mouth. they fled swiftly and were not to be caught: and an examination showed that they had, in their silent and well organized raid, cleaned our larder thoroughly, having eaten the delicacies on the spot and carried off nearly all the rest. [illustration: native dogs.] the indian dog is a study, for he is much unlike his civilized brother. he rarely barks, never at strangers, and takes no notice of a white man who arrives in the village,--even though the village may never have seen such a thing, and the children scream, the women flee, and the men are troubled and silent--but he howls nights. a dog wakes up in the middle of the night, yawns, looks at the stars, and listens. there is not a sound. "how dull and stupid it is here in ouklavigamute," he thinks; "not nearly as lively as it was in mumtreghloghmembramute. there we had fights nearly every night, sometimes twice. if i only knew a dog i was sure i could lick--anyhow, here goes for a good long howl. i'll show them that there is a dog in town with spirit enough to make a noise, anyhow." with that he tunes up--do, re, mi, tra-la-la, dulce, crescendo, grand wagnerian smash. the other dogs wake up and one nudges the other and says, "oh, my, what a lark! isn't it fun! let's yell too--whoop, roo, riaow!" and just as men get excited at a football game, or an election, or when the fire-alarm rings, these dogs yell and grow red in the face. then the inhabitants wake up and get out after the dogs, who run and yelp; and after a while each cur crawls into a hiding-place and goes to sleep. in the morning they wake up and wriggle their tails. "what enthusiasm there was last night--but--er--i didn't quite catch on to the idea--of course i yelled to help the other fellows--it's such fun being enthusiastic, you know." this happens every night. the indian dog makes it a point to stand around like a bump on a log and look stupid; when he has fooled you to that extent he will surprise you some day by a daring theft, for he is clever as a man and quick as an express train. chapter v. the american creek diggings. from forty mile we floated down the yukon again, and in a day's journey camped at the mouth of mission creek, not then down on the map. it had received its name from miners who had come there prospecting. several of them were encamped in tents, and they came over and silently watched our cooking, evidently sizing us up. "when did you leave the outside?" asked a blue-eyed, blonde, shaggy man. (the outside means anywhere but alaska--a man who has been long in the country falls into the idea of considering himself in a kind of a prison, and refers to the rest of the world as lying beyond the door of this.) "in june," we replied. "how did the harvard-yale football game come out last fall?" he inquired eagerly--it was now august, and nearly time for the next! "harvard was whipped, of course," we answered. "look here," he said, firing up, "you needn't say 'of course.' harvard is _my_ college!" i was engaged in reinforcing my overalls with a piece of bacon sack; i could not help being amused at this fair-haired savage being a college man. "that makes no difference," i replied. "harvard's _our_ college too--all of us." "what are you giving me?" he ejaculated, and at first i thought he looked a little angry, as if he thought we were trifling with him; and then a little supercilious, as he surveyed the forlorn condition of my clothing, which the removal of the overalls i wore instead of trousers had exposed. "hard facts," i said. "classes of ' and ' . lend me your sheath-knife." "why-ee!" he exclaimed. "ninety-three's my class. shake!--rah, rah, rah! who are we?--you know!--who are we? we are harvard ninety-three--what can we do?--what can we do?--we can lick harvard ninety-two--cocka-doodle-doodle-doo--harvard, harvard--ninety-two--hooray!" the next day we tramped over to american creek together, where some new gold diggings were just being developed. the harvard miner had had no tea for several months, as he told us (and one who has been living in alaska knows what a serious thing that is) so we brought a pound package along to make a drink for lunch. at american creek we got a large tomato can outside of a miner's cabin, and the harvard man offered to do the brewing. "how much shall i put in?" he asked. "suit yourself," was the answer. he took a tremendous handful. "is this too much?" he asked, apologetically. "you see, i haven't had tea for three months, and i feel like having a good strong cup." we assured him that the strength of the drink was to be limited only by his own desires. he was tempted to another handful, and so little by little, till half the package was in the can. when he was satisfied, we told him to keep the remaining half pound for the next time. he was disappointed. "if i had known you intended giving it to me," he replied, "i wouldn't have used so much." we drank the tea eagerly, for we were tired, but my head spun afterwards. there were some paying claims already on this creek--it was a little stream which one could leap at almost any point--and on the day we arrived we saw the clean-up in one of them. it was very dazzling to see the coarse gold that was scraped from the riffles of the sluice-boxes into the baking-powder cans which were used to store it. there was gold of all sizes, from fine dust up to pieces as big as pumpkin seed; but this was the result of a week's work of several men, and much time had been spent in getting the claim ready before work could begin. still, the results were very good, the clean-up amounting, i was told, to "thirty dollars to the shovel"--that is, thirty dollars a day to each man shovelling gravel into the sluices. on the edge of the stream the rock, a rusty slate, lay loosely; one of the miners was thrusting his pick among the pieces curiously, and on turning one over showed the crevice beneath filled with flat pieces of yellow gold of all sizes. they were very thin and probably worth only about five dollars in all, but lying as they did the sight was enough to give one the gold fever, if he did not yet have it. the harvard man and his companion were immediately seized with a violent attack, and set off down the stream to stake out claims, meanwhile talking over plans of wintering here, so as to be early on the ground the next spring. i slept on the floor of a miner's cabin that night and the next morning made my way back to our camp on the yukon. chapter vi. the birch creek diggings. the next night we reached that part of the river where circle city was put down on the map we carried, but not finding it, camped on a gravelly beach beneath a timbered bluff. when we went up the bluff to get wood for our fire the mosquitoes fairly drove us back and continued bothering us all night, biting through our blankets and giving us very little peace, though we slept with our hats, veils, and gloves on. we afterwards found that circle city had at first been actually started at about this point, but was soon afterwards moved further down, to where we found it the next day. we had been looking forward to our arrival in this place for several reasons, one of which was that we had had no fresh meat for over a month, and hoped to find moose or caribou for sale. as our boat came around the bend and approached the settlement of log huts dignified by the name of circle city, we noticed quite a large number of people crowding down to the shore to meet us, and as soon as we got within hailing distance one of the foremost yelled out: "got any moose meat?" when we answered "no," the crowd immediately dispersed and we did not need to inquire about the supply of fresh meat in camp. we landed in front of the alaska commercial company's store, kept by jack mcquesten. on jumping ashore, i went up immediately, in search of information, and as i stepped in i heard my name called in a loud voice. i answered promptly "here," with no idea of what was wanted, for there was a large crowd in the store; but from the centre of the room something was passed from hand to hand towards me, which proved to be a package of letters from home--the first news i had received for over two months. on inquiry i found that the mail up the river had just arrived, and the storekeeper, who was also postmaster _ex officio_, had begun calling out the addresses on the letters to the expectant crowd of miners, and had got to my name as i entered the door--a coincidence, i suppose, but surely a pleasant and striking one. we obtained lodgings in a log house, large for circle city, since it contained two rooms. it was already occupied by two customhouse officers, the only representatives of uncle sam whom we encountered in the whole region. one room had been used as a storeroom and carpenter-shop, and here, on the shavings, we spread out our blankets and made ourselves at home. the building had first been built as a church by missionaries, but as they were absent for some time after its completion, one room was fitted up with a bar by a newly arrived enterprising liquor-dealer, till the officers, armed in their turn with the full sanction of the church, turned the building into a customhouse and hoisted the american flag, on a pole fashioned out of a slim spruce by the customs officer himself. the officers, when we came there, were sleeping days and working nights on the trail of some whisky smugglers who were in the habit of bringing liquor down the river from canadian territory, in defiance of the american laws. there were only a few hundred men in circle city at this time, most of the miners being away at the diggings, for this was one of the busiest times of the year. these diggings were sixty miles from the camp, and were only to be reached by a foot trail which led through wood and swamp. several newcomers in the country were camped around the post, waiting for cooler weather before starting out on the trail, for the mosquitoes, they said, were frightful. it was said that nobody had been on the trail for two weeks, on this account, and blood-curdling stories were told of the torments of some that had dared to try, and how strong men had sat down on the trail to sob, quite unable to withstand the pest. however, we had seen mosquitoes before, and the next morning struck out for the trail. it was called a wagon road, the brush and trees having been cut out sufficiently wide for a wagon to pass; taken as a footpath, however, it was just fair. the mosquitoes were actually in clouds; they were of enormous size, and had vigorous appetites. it was hot, too, so that their bites smarted worse than usual. the twelve miles, which the trail as far as the crossing of birch creek had been said to be, lengthened out into an actual fifteen, over low rolling country, till we descended a sharp bluff to the stream. here a hail brought a boatman across to ferry us to the other side, where there stood two low log houses facing one another, and connected overhead by their projecting log roofs. [illustration: on the tramp again.] this was the twelve mile cache, a road-house for miners, and here we spent the night. each of the buildings contained but a single room, one house being used as a sleeping apartment, the other as kitchen and dining-room. the host had no chairs to offer us, but only long benches; and there were boxes and stumps for those who could not find room on the benches, which were shorter than the tables. we ate out of tin dishes and had only the regulation bacon, beans and apple-sauce, yet it was with a curious feeling that we sat down to the meal and got up from it, as if we were enjoying a little bit of luxury--for so it seemed to us then. there were eleven of us who slept in the building which had been set apart for sleeping; we all provided our own blankets and slept on the floor, which was no other than the earth, and was so full of humps and hollows, and projecting sharp sticks where saplings had been cut off, that one or the other of the company was in misery nearly all night, and roused the others with his cursings and growling. the eight who were not of our party were miners returning from the diggings with their season's earnings of gold in the packs strapped to their backs; they all carried big revolvers and were on the lookout for possible highwaymen. on getting up we washed in the stream, ate breakfast, and prepared to start out again. in the fine, bright morning light we noticed a sign nailed up on the dining cabin, which we had not seen in the dusk of the preceding evening. it was a notice to thieves, and a specimen of miners' law in this rough country. notice. to whom it may concern. _at a general meeting of miners held in circle city it was the unanimous verdict that all thieving and stealing shall be punished by whipping at the post and banishment from the country, the severity of the whipping and the guilt of the accused to be determined by the jury._ so all thieves beware. our packs were about twenty-five pounds each, and contained blankets, a little corned beef and crackers, and a few other necessities: they were heavy enough before the day was over. from twelve mile cache to the diggings we travelled over what was called the hog'em trail, since it led to the gulch of that name: it ran for the whole distance through a swamp, and was said to be a very good trail in winter--in summer it was vile. we had been informed of a way which branched off from the hog'em route and ran over drier ground to a road-house called the "central house," but we were unable to pick up this; and we discovered afterwards that it had been blazed from the central house, but that the blazing had been discontinued two or three miles before reaching the junction of the hog'em trail, the axe-man having got tired, or having gone home for his dinner and forgotten to come back. so people like ourselves, starting for the diggings, invariably followed the hog'em trail, whether they would or not, and those coming out of the diggings and returning by way of the central house, followed the blazes through the woods till they stopped, and then wandered ahead blindly, often getting lost. the hog'em trail was a continuous bed of black, soft, stinking, sticky mud, for it had been well travelled over. at times there was thick moss; and again broad pools of water of uncertain depth, with mud bottoms, to be waded through; and long stretches covered with "nigger-heads." we walked twelve miles of this trail without stopping or eating, for the mosquitoes were bloodthirsty, and even hunger can hardly tempt a man to bestride a "nigger-head" and lunch under such conditions. we arrived at night at what was called the "jump-off,"--a sharp descent which succeeded a gradual rise--where we found two sturdy men, both old guides from the adirondacks, engaged in felling the trees which grew on the margin of the stream, and piling them into a log house. this they intended to use as a road-house, for the travel here was considerable, especially in the winter. in the meantime they were living in a tent, yet maintained a sort of hostelry for travellers, in that they dispensed meals to them. as soon as they were through with the big log they were getting into place when we arrived, they built a fire on the ground and cooked supper, after which we were invited to spread our blankets, with the stars and the grey sky for a shelter. they made some apologies at not being able to offer us a tent--theirs was a tiny affair,--and promised better accommodations if we would come back a month from then, when the cabin would be finished and the chinks neatly plugged with muck and moss. the next day's journey was again twelve miles, over about the same kind of trail. crossing a sluggish stream which was being converted into a swamp by encroaching vegetation, we were obliged to wade nearly waist deep, and then our feet rested on such oozy and sinking mud that we did not know but the next moment we might disappear from sight entirely. further on, the trail ran fair into a small lake, whose shores we had to skirt. there was no trail around, but much burnt and felled timber lay everywhere, and climbing over this, balancing our packs in the meantime, was "such fun." sometimes we would jump down from a high log, and, slipping a little, our packs would turn us around in the air, and we would fall on our backs, sprawling like turtles, and often unable to get out of our awkward position without help from our comrades. reedy lakes such as this, fringed with moss and coarse grass, with stunted spruce a little distance away, are common through this swampy country, and have something of the picturesque about them. the surrounding vegetation is very abundant. excellent cranberries are found, bright red in color and small in size; and on a little drier ground blue-berries nourish. raspberries of good size, although borne on bushes usually not more than two or three inches high, are also here; and red and black currants. [illustration: hog'em junction road-house.] at the end of the second day we arrived at hog'em junction, where the hog'em trail unites with that leading off to the other gulches where gold is found. here was the largest road-house we had seen. there were fifteen or twenty men hanging about, mostly miners returning or going to the diggings, and a professional hunter--a sort of wild man, who told thrilling stories of fighting bears. one of the structures we saw here was called the dog-corral and was a big enclosure built of logs. dogs were used to carry most of the provisions to the birch creek diggings from circle city, freighting beginning as soon as the snow fell and everything froze hard. there was a pack of these animals around the inn--a sneaking, cringing, hungry lot, rarely barking at intruders or strangers, and easily cowed by a man, but very prone to fight among themselves. they were all indian dogs, and were of two varieties; one long-haired, called mahlemut, from the fact that its home is among the mahlemut eskimo of the lower yukon; the other short-haired, and stouter. both breeds are of large size, and a good dog is capable of pulling as much as pounds on a sleigh, when the snow is very good, and the weather not too cold. the dog-corral is used to put the sleighs in when the freighter arrives, and the dogs are left outside, to keep them away from the provisions. the winter price for freight from circle city was seven cents per pound; in summer it was forty. we ate breakfast and supper at hog'em junction, paying a dollar apiece for the meals; and when we learned that the bacon which was served to us had cost sixty-five cents a pound, the charge did not seem too much. no good bacon was to be had, that which we ate being decidedly strong; and even this kind had to be hunted after at this time of the year. not only was food very high in the diggings, but it could not always be bought, so that in the winter, when freighting was cheap, enough could not often be obtained to last through the next summer, and the miners had to wait for the steamer to come up the yukon. the hog'em junction innkeeper paid twenty dollars for a case of evaporated fruit, such as cost a dollar in san francisco; condensed milk was one dollar a can, and sugar eighty-five cents a pound. the previous winter beans brought one dollar a pound, and butter two and a half dollars a roll. in summer all prices were those of circle city, plus forty cents freighting, plus ten cents handling. so a sack of potatoes, which i was told would cost twenty-five cents in the state of washington, cost here eighty-five dollars. even in circle city the prices, though comparatively low, were not exactly what people would expect at a bargain counter in one of our cities. winchester rifles were sold for fifty dollars apiece, and calico brought fifty cents a yard. luckily there were few women folks in the country at that time! of the hog'em junction inn i have little distinct recollection except concerning the meals. we were so hungry when we reached there that the food question was indelibly branded on our memory. for the rest i remember that when supper was cleared away, the guests wrapped themselves in their private blankets and lay down anywhere they thought best. there was a log outhouse with some rude bunks filled with straw, for those who preferred, so in a short time we were stowed away with truly mediæval simplicity, to sleep heavily until the summons came to breakfast,--for there were no "hotel hours" for lazy guests at this inn, and he who did not turn out for a seven o'clock breakfast could go without. we three separated on leaving here, each taking a different trail, so that we might see all of the gulches in a short space of time. i shouldered my blankets and after a seven mile tramp through the brush came to the foot of hog'em gulch, which was in a deep valley in the hills that now rose above the plain. this gulch derived its name from the fact that its discoverer tried to _hog_ all the claims for himself, taking up some for his wife, his wife's brother, his brother, and the niece of his wife's particular friend; even, it is said, inventing fictitious personages that he might stake out claims for them. the other miners disappointed him in his schemes for gain, and they contemptuously called the creek "hog'em." afterwards a faction of the claim-owners proposed to change the name to deadwood, claiming that it sounded better and was also appropriate, inasmuch as they had got that variety of timber on the schemer. it was somewhat unkindly asserted, however, by those who were not residents of the gulch, that the first name was always the most appropriate, since the spirit of the discoverer seemed to have gone down to his successors. be that as it may, i noticed a remarkable difference between the men whom i found working their claims along the creek and the miners of forty mile. nobody showed the slightest hospitality or friendliness, except one man on the lower creek, who invited me to share his little tent at night. he had not enough blankets to keep him warm, so i added mine, and beneath them both we two slept very comfortably. in the morning he cooked a very simple meal over a tiny fire outside of the tent--wood was scarce along here--and invited me, with little talk, to partake of it with him. he was evidently far from happy in this cheerless existence; he was working for wages, which, to be sure, were ten dollars a day, but with provisions as high as they were this was nothing much, and the work was so hard that, great stalwart man as he was, he had lost thirty pounds since he had begun. he would have liked to return to the states, for he was somewhat discouraged, but he could not save enough money to pay for the expensive passage out. i hope he has struck it rich since then and brought back to his wife and babies the fortune he went to seek! [illustration: on hog'em gulch.] after i left this silent man, i found none who showed much interest. some of them were a little curious as to what i was doing, but most of them were fiercely and feverishly working to make the most of the hours and weeks which remained of the mining season; the run of gold was ordinarily very good, and all were anxious to make as good a final clean-up as possible. at dinner-time everybody rushed to their meal, and i sat down by the side of the trail, ate stale corned beef, broken crackers, and drank the creek water. when i was half-way through i observed two young men in a tent munching their meal, but watching me; and a sort of righteous indignation came upon me, as must always seize the poor when he beholds the abundance of the rich man's table. i walked into the tent and asked for a share of their dinner. they gave me a place, but so surlily that i said hotly, "see here, i'll pay you for this dinner, so don't be so stingy about it." the offer to pay was an insult to the miner's tradition and one of them growled out, "none of that kind of talk, d'ye hear? you're welcome to whatever we've got, and don't yer forget it! only there's been a good many bums along here lately, and we was getting tired of them." after this they were pleasanter, although i could not help reflecting that i was actually a bum, as they put it, and mentally pitied the professional tramp, if his evil destiny should ever lead him into the yukon country. as it grew near nightfall i climbed out of the gulch, and, crossing the ridge, dropped down into greenhorn gulch, which, with its neighbor tinhorn gulch, form depressions parallel to hog'em. there was only one claim working here, and on this the supply of water was so scarce that not much washing could be done. the people seemed like those of hog'em gulch, and took little notice of strangers. having learned a new code of manners on birch creek, however, i walked into the cabin where one of the claim owners was getting supper. he was a short, powerful, fierce-eyed man, who never smiled, and spoke with an almost frenzied earnestness. he did not speak for some time, however, but glared suspiciously when i walked in. i looked at him without nodding, took off my pack and put it in the corner, sat down on a stool and fished my pipe out of my pocket. he glared until he was tired, and then said: "hallo!" "hallo," i returned, and drawing up to the table, began working with my specimens and notebook. looking up and finding him still regarding me, i continued: "how's the claim turning out?" "pretty fair!" he growled. "what in h--l are _you_ reportin' for?" "uncle sam," i replied. he was from the moonshine district of tennessee, and this was no recommendation to him, so he kept his eye on me. presently his "pardner" came in and looked at me inquiringly. i spoke to him quite warmly, as if i was welcoming him to the cabin. soon supper was ready, and the fierce-eyed moonshiner looked at me four or five times, then said, beckoning me to the table: "set up." after supper the two men crawled into their bunks; i spread my blankets on the floor. the tennessee man poked his head out. "goin' to sleep on the floor?" he asked. "yes," answered i. he crawled out and pulled a caribou hide from the rafters above. "lay on that," he said. when i thanked him, he looked at me suspiciously. in the morning i sat down to breakfast without being asked, and ate enormously and silently. the moonshiner warmed up at this. "you're a better sort of feller than i thought at first," he said; "i thought you was goin' to be one of them d--d polite fellers." "me? oh, no; not me," i replied, "you're thinkin' of some one else, i reckon?" after breakfast he showed me his gold dust; a little flat piece interested me, and i said, "gimme that, i'll pay yer; what's it worth?" "nothin'," he replied. "yer can take it." afterwards i shouldered my pack and made for the door; when i got there i stopped and looked over my shoulder and said, "so long!" "so long to _you_!" he answered, looking after me with more human interest than i had previously seen in him. "stop here when you come this way again." i climbed out of the gulch and walked along the mountain ridge for a while, encountering, whenever there was no wind, swarms of the tiny gnats which the miners often dread worse than the mosquitoes. they are so numerous as actually to obscure the sun in places and they fill nose, ears, and eyes; there is no escape from them, for they are so small that they go through the meshes of a mosquito net with the greatest ease. on top of the ridge, where the wind blew, they disappeared. as i walked along here i met a prospector, and after a friendly talk with him, dropped down another mountain-side to the bed of independence creek, and followed that to the junction of mammoth creek, so called from the number of bones of the extinct elephant, or mammoth, which are buried there. wading across a swamp, i found in the brush another road-house, the mammoth junction. this was a large log building containing a single room, which served as kitchen, dining-room, parlor, general bedroom, and barroom. at first i was the only guest, but afterwards a prospector arrived from a hard trip to the tanana, and he related his experiences; how he had shot three bears, seven caribou, and a moose in seven days. he was a tall, well-built cape bretoner, dick mcdonald by name. when he got tired of talking i spread my blankets on the floor (for which privilege i paid fifty cents) and gladly stowed myself away for the night. the next day a tramp of seventeen miles brought me to the central house, on the way home from the diggings; for although our rendezvous should have been at mammoth junction, yet i concluded to wait for the others at circle city. the trail was very bad, and during the first part of the journey the gnats were as annoying as they had been on the mountains the day before. there were millions of them. during the last part the mosquitoes got the upper hand, and gave me the strictest attention. "ah," i soliloquized, perspiring freely and tugging at my pack straps like a jaded horse at his harness, "the trials of an alaskan pioneer! stumbling and staggering through mud knee-deep, and through nigger-heads, wading streams, fighting gnats and mosquitoes, suffering often from hunger and thirst, and rolling into one's sole pair of blankets under the frosty stars or the rain-clouds!" when my views were thus gloomy, a smell of smoke came to my nostrils, and crossing a little stream on a fallen tree, i came to the friendly inn i was seeking. the next morning, at five o'clock by my watch and eight by the host's, (it is unnecessary to observe that there was no standard time used in the birch creek district) i started for twelve mile cache. the first part of the trail was fairly well worn, but was covered with small dead trees which had fallen across it, necessitating the continual lifting of the feet and the taking of irregular steps. ten miles of this was enough to make one very weary. i lunched on my stale corned beef and cracker crumbs, and drank from a little creek that i crossed. soon after this, i came to a place where a newly blazed trail, leading to the twelve mile cache, diverged from the older path, which ran up over the mountains. deciding to take the newer route, i found it very hard walking, especially as my feet were clad in the eskimo sealskin boot, or makalok, which are soft and offer little protection. much of the road lay among immense untrodden nigger-heads and in swampy brush, where the sticks which had been cut off in making the trail stuck up three or four inches above the ground, just convenient for stubbing the toe; and yet the long grass quite concealed them, so they could not be avoided. afterwards the trail struck into an old winter sleighing road, and i got on more rapidly for a few miles; but the mosquitoes had increased to legions and stung painfully. the gnats and flies were also numerous, the big deer flies biting my ears where the mosquito netting rested on them, till they were bloody. at about four o'clock the cut trail came to an end, and here was a stick pointing into the woods, inscribed: "foller thes blaies to twelv mill house. six mills to twelv mill house mills central house." the "blaies" (blazes) had been newly cut, and as i started to follow them, it seemed that they led through the thickest of the brush, where it was almost impossible to fight one's way, especially with a pack, which protrudes on both sides of the shoulders, and which often wedges one firmly between two saplings. soon the blazes grew further and further apart; after leaving one it often took ten minutes to find the next, scouting around everywhere in the tangle of bushes. the mosquitoes kept up their attacks, and my head began to ache splittingly, partly from their bites and partly from the jerking of the head strap of my pack in my struggles through the brush. at last in despair i abandoned the attempt to follow the blazes, and turning square away from them, struck off in the direction where i knew the hog'em junction trail, by which we had reached the diggings, must lie, steering by my compass. very soon i found better walking,--comparatively open swampy patches, with alder thickets between--and in half a mile i cut into the trail i was seeking. three miles of this trail brought me to twelve mile cache, after one of the hardest days i had had in alaska. compared with such a trip as this the dreaded chilkoot pass was not so formidable, after all. the entire distance i had travelled was twenty-seven miles. i had counted my paces through it all, and they tallied with the count of my companions, who came on later. for supper at twelve mile cache we had fresh fish,--pike and arctic trout--taken from a trap in the river, and fresh vegetables raised on the roof, which was covered with a luxuriant garden. a thick layer of rich loam had been put on, and the seed dropped into this throve amazingly, for the fires inside the cabin supplied warmth, and the plants did not have to fight against the eternal frost which lies everywhere a short distance below the surface. the long glorious sunshine of the northern summer did the rest, and splendid potatoes, rutabagas, cabbages, beets, and lettuce were the results. the fifteen miles back to circle city the next day was a very weary walk, for my overwork on the day before had left me tired out. the mosquitoes were maddening on the last part of the trail, in spite of gloves and veil. on getting into circle city, however, i was kindly welcomed by my friends, the customs officers, and given a square meal. the room we had occupied as a bedroom had, in the short time since we had left, been put to still other uses. a newly arrived physician was using it for a laboratory, and a man who had brought a scow load of merchandise down the yukon was storing his stuff in the same room. also a red-sweatered young man turned up who said he had been told to sleep here, but the customs officers kicked him out and he went and slept under an upturned boat on the bank. after a bath i felt refreshed, but glancing into a looking-glass for the first time for many a day, i saw that my appearance was still against me. i was a long-haired, bushy-bearded, ragged, belted and knifed wild man, not fair to look upon. i spent the next day in wandering around town in a desultory fashion, and on returning to the customhouse found the door locked. when i knocked i was challenged and then cautiously admitted: on entering i was surprised to see the officers with their rifles ready for use alongside of them. ross lifted up the strip of calico which formed a curtain hiding the space under the bed and disclosed two good-sized kegs. these he told me he and wendling (the other officer) had seized while we were away. it was, and is, entirely illegal to bring liquor into the territory of alaska, and this law and its attendant features have brought about much of the dishonesty and corruption which have made the inside history of alaskan government since its acquisition by americans such a dismal one. [illustration: custom house at circle city.] in circle city liquor was freely brought down the river from the british side of the boundary. the first customs inspector was said to have been a notorious rascal, who had not only winked at the bringing in of liquor, but had taken a hand in the trade himself. the present representatives of the government, however, seemed to wish to do their duty, and their watching nights and sleeping days had finally resulted in their trapping the smugglers as they were landing, and they had captured the whisky and had brought it to the customhouse, where the whole camp knew it to be. the whole camp was interested in it, moreover, for it had been whisky-dry; and the feeling towards the officers was probably none of the best in any quarter, although most recognized that they were simply doing their duty. at the enormously high prices which prevailed, these two kegs were worth several thousand dollars, and so were valuable booty. therefore, a plot had been hatched to recover the liquor, and this plot had come to the officers' ears a few hours before the _coup_ was to have taken place. hence the caution and warlike preparations which greeted me. the men from whom the whisky had been taken were the leaders in the scheme, and they had also enlisted several miners, among them a gigantic fellow who called himself "caribou bill," and whom i had met on the trail to the diggings. bill gave the thing away by going to a saloon-keeper and trying to borrow a second revolver--he already had one. on being questioned as to why he wanted it, he took the saloon-keeper into his confidence. the saloon-keeper told a friend of his, who being also a friend of one of the customs officers, cautioned him. both of the officers advised me to go elsewhere till the trouble was over, but reflecting that i was their guest and so under obligations to them, and also that i was an officer of uncle sam, and was in duty bound to "uphold the government of the united states by land and sea, against foreign and domestic enemies" as had been specified in my oath of office, i decided to remain with them. ross hunted up two of his old friends among the miners and told them he proposed to resist the attack till the last, and that if there should be any bloodshed he hoped the camp would treat him fairly, considering that he had simply been doing his duty. the miners offered to stay with us and help in the resistance, but as we knew their hearts were hardly in their offer of loyalty, we refused to let them stay. one of them, however, loaned his rifle to wendling; and as he went to get it, a couple of forms behind the house jumped up and ran away. the other miner, who had also gone out for a moment, returned with the news that he had seen four men skulking behind the bank which lay in front of the house. the plan of the smugglers and their friends, as ross had learned it, was to come to the door of the cabin and knock. when the officer went to the door to open it, he would be covered with a revolver, and the second officer with another, and the whisky would be rolled out and over the bank into a boat which would convey it up the river into a new hiding-place. if the officers resisted they would be shot and the whisky taken just the same. the plan we determined upon was to leave the door unlocked, so that when the expected knock should come we would not have to go to the door to open it, but would call out "come in" without stirring. i had my post on a box near the wall directly opposite the door, while ross sat in the darkness close by the window, so that when the knocker should enter he would find the muzzles of repeating rifles levelled at him from two opposite directions, and be invited to drop his fire-arms and surrender. wendling was in the other room watching the second door and window, but we did not expect the attack to be made there, since the smugglers must know very well that the whisky was in the officers' living-room, where we were. directly after we had taken our places a man came and stood twenty yards in front of the cabin in the dusk, and beckoned. ross went out to him, and a long talk ensued, which ended by the officer returning. he said that the man had told him that we were three against many, and that they were bound to get the whisky anyway, since it was theirs and they would fight for it; so if ross would simply yield without fighting it would save us. at the same time they would be willing to pay him a nice little sum as a plaster wherewith to heal his wounded dignity. ross had replied that they had mistaken their man; whereupon he was informed that he must take the consequences. so he returned, and we waited with tense nerves, in momentary expectation of an attack, our eyes strained, our fingers on the triggers of our cocked rifles, our ears listening. after an hour or more had passed, and no sound was heard, the suspense began to grow unbearable. ross whispered to me, "if them fellers are coming i wish they'd hurry up, and not keep us waiting here all night." shortly afterwards wendling, crawling cautiously and silently around in the other room, knocked down from some shelf on the wall a pile of tin pans, which made a terrific rattle and bang; this upset our tightly-drawn nerves so that we laughed convulsively, trying to choke down our merriment so that it could not be heard. still no noise from the outside, save that once we heard coughing behind the logs at the back of the building. ross, peering through the window, saw now and then a shadowy form creeping along the bank in front; and wendling, reconnoitring through the window in the other room, saw other figures passing around back of the house. and still no alarm. sitting bolt upright on my box, i suddenly caught my head, which was in the act of falling forward--caught it with a jerk which brought my eyes wide open, and at the same time horror filled my soul--i was in danger of falling asleep! this frightened me so that i kept awake easily after that. so we waited till the morning grey brightened in the sky, when finally ross remarked: "well, there's no more danger, and i'm tired enough to sleep." we rolled ourselves in our blankets and dropped asleep without a moment's delay, not waking until the day was late and goodrich and schrader, just returning from the diggings, pounded on the door and asked for admission and a bite to eat. concerning the reasons why the raid was given up, there was much inner history that i never learned. i suspect that the miners who had offered to help us afterwards warned the smugglers, telling them how well we were prepared, and that this kept them from carrying out their plans. the next night a grand ball was gotten up by the ladies of circle city, and our bedroom in the customhouse--being one of the largest places available--was selected as the scene of the dance. i was requested to write the announcements of the ball, which i did, and stuck one up on each of the companies' stores. they ran as follows: social dance. _there will be a social dance given by the ladies of circle city wednesday eve. aug. th, at the residence of mr. george ross. the supply of ice cream brought up on the arctic being exhausted, there will be no collation. no rubber boots allowed on the floor. dogs must be tied with ribbons in the anteroom._ after the notices were posted, one of the customs officers came to me in great perturbation concerning the regulation about rubber boots, saying that such a restriction would exclude many desirable and well-meaning gentlemen who would otherwise be able to attend. the shavings were swept out of the room and our beds and other stuff cleared out. wax candles were cut up and rubbed on the floor, and by dusk everything was in readiness. one of the trading companies donated the candles, which were stuck up around the room to the extent of nearly a dozen, and furnished a brilliant illumination. the services of a pock-marked vagabond who was employed around a saloon and dance-house was secured as director of the affair, and two miners just in from the gulches (they had taken only one change of clothes to the diggings and had not had time to change them after coming back before going to the dance), furnished the orchestra, playing very acceptably on guitar and fiddle. the music was all classical,--ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay or the irish washerwoman occupying most of the time. each of the players was so enthusiastic in his art that he often entirely forgot his companion, and would be fiddling away at the closing spasms of ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay, with perspiring zeal, when his more rapid partner had finished this tune and was merrily galloping through "wuz ye iver inside of an irishman's shanty? wid salt an' peraties an' iverything planty, a three-legged stool an' a table to match, and the door of the shanty unlocks wid a latch!" the pock-marked director yelled out "_swing_ your pardners. _ladies_ to the left. _forward_ and back! _alleman left!_ etc.," loud above the squeak of the stringed instruments. the couples gyrated in eccentric curves around in obedience to the cries; the candles flickered in the draft from the open door; and a row of miners too bashful to dance, or who could find no partners, sat on boxes close to the wall, hunched up their legs and spit tobacco-juice, until the middle of the floor was a sort of an island. in short, it was the most brilliant affair circle city had ever witnessed; even the indians who crowded around the open door and peered in over one another's heads murmured in admiration, and all agreed that it was a "_haioo_ time", which is equivalent to saying a rip-roaring time. this was not the first dance held in the camp. the small but powerful contingent of ladies of adventure held nightly dances, but this was the first where the ladies were respectable. we were hard put to it for finery. the dancer of our party, having, as we explained to him, to bear in a way the brunt of the social duties for us all, bought a new pair of blue overalls, much too large for him; these he turned up at the bottom, and braced up mightily, so that they covered many shortcomings; then he bought a green and yellow abomination of a necktie, which had been designed to catch the heathen fancy of the natives, plastered his hair down, and worried the tangles out of his beard. after this he was the beau of the evening, the gayest of the gay, being snubbed by only one woman, and she of doubtful reputation, as we consolingly reminded him. the men in general wore the most varied costumes, high boots being the prevailing style, though even the rubber boots i had been so near forbidding were seen; then one might notice the indian moccasins, and the sealskin makalok, which had been brought up from the eskimos on the lower yukon. flannel shirts without coat or vests were the rule, for the night was warm. here and there was a corduroy coat, or a mackinaw checked with red and green squares four inches across, but the wearers of them suffered for their vanity. in striking and almost ridiculous contrast to this picturesque attire was the black cutaway suit and polished shoes of the baker who had just arrived on a yukon steamer from st. michael's. after midnight we had cake, which the ladies had brought with them, and considering the fact that they had so little material for cooking, the variety and excellence were remarkable. underneath the festive board which covered the bed still lay concealed the two kegs of whisky which we had watched over the night before. it was at a late hour (to adopt country newspaper phraseology) that the company broke up, loud in their praises of the success of the fête, and returned to their respective homes. we then rolled our blankets out upon the waxed floor, and lay down for another night. the same day a river steamer had arrived in circle city from the lower yukon, bringing our trunks to us, which we had sent around by water from seattle. these were well filled with a goodly outfit for the winter, for we had expected that our work would take us two seasons. we had, however, gotten on twice as well as we had expected, and already saw the end of our task ahead, so there was nothing to hinder us from going out this same fall. the freight on our three trunks from seattle was one hundred and eighty dollars, and we did not feel justified in expending a like sum to carry them back. we therefore determined to sell our things, and the day after the party i wrote out notices announcing an auction to be held in the room where we had danced. wendling volunteered to act as auctioneer, provided he were allowed to work in as part of our effects several hundred pounds of tobacco which he had brought up as a speculation. at seven o'clock we started in, having borrowed a pair of gold-scales for the sake of transacting the financial part of the business, for almost the sole currency of the camp was gold dust. not being ourselves accustomed to the delicate operation of weighing, we persuaded some of the miners to do it for us, so that there should be no question as to fairness. at eight the miners began leaving and we were told that a miners' meeting had been called, so we adjourned for an hour, and attended the gathering. the miners' meeting was the sole legislative, judiciary and executive body in these little republics. to settle any question whatever, any one had the right to call such a council, which brought the issue to a summary close. this one was held in the open air close to the river bank in front of the company's store. the miners flocked together and conversed in groups. nobody knew who had called the meeting or why; but presently some grew impatient, remarking: "let's have the meeting. who's for chairman?" one man answered: "what's the matter with sandy jim for chairman? here he is, just in from the diggings! come over here, jim!" "second the motion, somebody. any body object to sandy jim?" said the first speaker. "climb up on the box, sandy, my boy." sandy jim was a slender, blonde young man with quiet manners, and a style of speech which told of a good education. he mounted the box in the centre of the crowd, and having thus obtained a commanding position, he began, with correct parliamentary methods, to bring about order. having requested silence, he inquired who had called the meeting. a man who acted as town clerk or some similar officer in the miners' vague system of government, explained that he had issued the call, to inform the miners that some one had settled upon a piece of land that had been set aside for town purposes, and, in spite of warnings to the contrary, was proceeding to erect a log house upon it; and that the tent temporarily occupied by the individual mentioned was already pitched upon the lot. as an officer of the camp he had felt in duty bound to call a meeting and let the boys decide what was to be done. instantly there was a rattle of contradictory suggestions, everybody addressing everybody else, and forgetting to turn to the chairman. finally a tall man with a heavy black beard mounted the box and addressed the meeting, arguing coldly and logically that the person had acted in defiance of the miners' meeting, which was the only law they had; and proposing that he be fined, and in case he resisted further, put in a boat and set floating down the yukon. there was a general murmur of approval, and the chairman, putting the question to a vote, found a fairly unanimous verdict in favor of the speaker's suggestion. "before i appoint a committee," said the chairman, "the meeting should know who the person is who has to be dealt with, and i will ask the gentleman who called the meeting to give the information." the clerk of the camp elbowed his way forward a little. "i've been trying to get a word in for a long time," he said. "i don't think we ought to be so hard in this case. you all know the person--it's black kitty. she's a woman, even if she _is_ black and a fighter, and she's alone and working for a living. i move we go it easy." amid another buzz the tall bearded man got up and remarked: "that's different. i don't think any one wanted to quarrel with a woman, and a black one at that." this was only his way of expressing it, for he certainly did not mean that he would rather have quarrelled with a white woman. "anyhow, there's plenty of land for public purposes out there in the brush, and i move an amendment that we let kitty alone!" in defiance of all parliamentary usage, this amendment was accepted with a chorus of approval by the crowd, which, satisfied with itself, scattered almost before the chairman could make himself heard, sanctioning and proclaiming valid the last expression of opinion. most of the miners returned to our cabin, where the auction began again, and lasted till twelve o'clock, by which time we had sold nearly everything we cared to, at prices a little above cost in seattle. wendling also succeeded in disposing of a hundred pounds of his tobacco, putting up lots every now and then. some miners expressed surprise to ross that we should use so much tobacco, and ross winked and put his finger on his nose and said, "you don't know the inside, that's all. see that little feller over there?" indicating me. "that little feller chews a pound a day. yes, sir! he eats it sometimes." the next morning we weighed out our gold dust and found it some twenty-five dollars more than we had any record of, from which we inferred that the miners who had so kindly superintended the weighing of the various sums paid in had been a little generous, and always given full weight. when we got to san francisco, and presented our gold dust at the mint, where it was weighed accurately, we received several dollars more for it than we made it from our final weighing; so it appears that the yukon miner's currency is none of the most accurate. stories were told around camp, of barkeepers who panned the sawdust on their floor and made good wages at it; and it was alleged that one had a strip of carpet on his counter, into which he let fall a trifle of gold dust every time he took a pinch for a drink of whisky, and at the end of the day, by taking up his carpet and shaking it, he had a nice little sum over his day's earnings. chapter vii. the mynook creek diggings. the next day, the st of august, we loaded up the skookum again, and dropped away from circle city with the current. the customs officers were short of rice, but they sent a pair of old slippers flying after us as we moved away; and several of the ladies who had been at the dance stood on the bank and waved us adieu. soon the river broadened out, with many channels flowing amid a maze of low wooded islands. this was the beginning of the great yukon flats, which stretch in dreary monotony for so many miles below circle city. the wind blew strong, with gusts of rain, in the morning, and increased to a gale which lasted nearly all day. the proper channel was difficult to determine, and we were often sucked into some little channel or slough (pronounced "sloo"), only to find our way back again, after a long circuit, to the larger body of water, at a place near where we had left it. no hills were visible in any direction--nothing but the waste of waters, the sandspits, and the level wooded islands and banks. at night we reached fort yukon, a trading post, which is situated at the junction of the porcupine with the yukon; we had made the distance from circle city, estimated at about eighty miles, in sixteen hours. so bewildering are the various channels here that one would hardly suspect that any stream entered the yukon, and the current is so varied and sluggish that one might easily attempt to ascend the porcupine, having the impression that he was still descending the yukon--a delusion that would be dispelled after the first few miles. like other so-called "forts" in the alaskan country, fort yukon was simply a rough log building inhabited by one white man, who had a scanty stock of very poor provisions, such as flour and tea, to exchange for skins with the natives. around the building the indians had made their camp, as usual, a trading-post being always the nucleus of a dirty and foul-smelling congregation of natives. from one indian we bought a whitefish, and on his presenting it to us whole, we motioned him to clean it; he did so, laying the entrails carefully on a board. he wished tea in exchange for it, and not being experienced in native trading, we gave him what we afterwards learned was ten or twelve times the usual price. we had the best english breakfast tea, and he was at first doubtful at this, having seen only the cheap black tea always sold to the natives; but he was vastly pleased at the quantity, and, laughing delightedly, proceeded to "treat" his friends on the occasion of his good fortune, by handing around the raw entrails of the fish, which they divided and ate without further ceremony. not liking to sleep within reach of the indian dogs, who are very dangerous enemies to one's bacon, we dropped down the river half a mile below the post and made camp in a spruce grove--a beautiful spot, cool, and free from mosquitoes. the next day we were still in the flats. there was a high wind blowing and the sky was spotted with curious clouds. some were like cauliflowers in form; others were funnel-shaped; and still others were dark, with long black tentacles of rain. whenever these tentacles passed over the river in a direction against the current, an ugly chop sea was the result, and our boat, stout dory though she was, shipped water in some of these places. floating down through the network of channels we suddenly ran hard upon a sand-bar, and it took a couple of hours' work to get us off, for as soon as we were lodged the sand which the yukon waters carry began settling round the boat and banking it in, making it the hardest work imaginable to move it. while we were tugging and groaning in our efforts, a steamer--the arctic--came down the river behind us, and being steered by experienced indian pilots, struck the right channel only a short distance from us and floated past triumphantly. the deck was swarming with miners who were bound for st. michael's, and they made many jocose remarks at our expense, offering to take word to our friends, and do other favors for us. we said nothing, though we fumed inwardly. finally we succeeded in getting free, and floated off. some time afterwards we saw behind us what appeared to be the smoke of another steamer; but when we stopped for lunch the craft caught up with us, and proved to be an ordinary open boat like our own, but with a yukon stove made of sheet iron set up in it, whereon the solitary passenger cooked his dinner while he floated. in the afternoon we caught sight of a bona fide steamer ahead of us, and as we came steadily closer, it seemed as if she must be stopping; soon we recognized the arctic, and saw that the crew and all the passengers were laboring excitedly in many ways, trying to get the boat off the sand-bar on which she was stuck. we ran close by her, for there was water enough for our little boat, although the rapid deposit from the river had built up a bank to the surface of the water on one side of the steamer. we were sorry for these men, who were in a hurry to get to st. michael's, and so on home; at the same time we could not resist the temptation to return to them their greetings of the morning, and offer to take letters to their friends. they did not seem to be so much amused at the joke as they had been in the morning--probably because they had heard it before. we were several days floating through this monotonous part of the river. there were always the same banks of silt, from which portions, undercut by the current, were continually crashing into the stream; these were immediately taken up and hurried along by the current to form part of the vast deposit of mud which the yukon has built up at its mouth, and which has filled up the behring sea until it is shallow and dangerous. on the higher banks, which were forty feet or so above the river (it was then low water), spruce and other trees were growing, and as the soil which bore them was undercut, they too dropped into the river and started on their long journey to the sea. along the vast tundra at the yukon mouth, and the treeless shores of the behring sea, the natives depend entirely upon these wandered trees for their fuel. the quantity brought down every year is enormous, for the stream is continually working its way sidewise, and cutting out fresh ground. everywhere we noticed the effects of the ice which comes grinding down the river in the spring. the trees had been girdled by the ice and were dying, the underbrush cut down, the earth plowed up, and occasionally there were piles of pebbles where a grounded cake had melted and deposited its burden. [illustration: the break-up of the ice on the yukon.] we used to camp on the gravel bars mostly, to avoid the mosquitoes; but every now and then a night was cool and even frosty, and the mosquitoes and gnats, after starting in their assault, were gradually numbed, and their buzzing grew fainter and fainter till it disappeared. when we felt such nights coming on, we camped in the spruce groves on the higher banks, built roaring fires and sat by them comfortably and smoked, looking out on the smooth river with the dark even fringe of trees between it and the sky with its snapping stars; and for the first time on our trip we began to have some of the pleasures which usually come to the camper-out. we passed indian hunting and fishing camps occasionally, and once a solitary white man engaged in cutting wood for the river steamers. the natives seemed always to have plenty to eat, and we frequently obtained from them fish, duck, moose, and berries. as we passed a camp the inhabitants would put out in their tiny birch-bark canoes, if we did not stop; and, overtaking us with ease, would hold up for purchase such articles as they had. the berries were in native dishes of hewn wood, or of birch-bark tied with wooden thongs, and were so quaint that we took them home as curiosities. after several days in the flats, we saw--when the clouds lifted after a prolonged rainstorm--that the course of the river was apparently barred by low mountains, level-topped, with occasional higher peaks rising above the general level, but all with smooth and rounded outlines. as we drew nearer we saw a narrow valley cutting through the mountains, and into this the river ran. just before entering, we found a trading post, fort hamlin by name, and from the trader, who was the only white man here, we each bought a pair of eskimo water-boots, made of the skin of the makalok or hair seal, soaked in oil. we had long ago worn out the most of our civilized foot-gear, and were obliged to adopt the native styles. these eskimo boots often have soles of walrus, and yet they are too thin for walking over stones, so they are made very large, and dried grass is put into the bottom; the foot, too, is wrapped in as many thicknesses of cloth or skins as possible, and thus is protected against bruises and against the cold of the severest winter weather. leaving fort hamlin, we floated down through picturesque hills, on the sides of which the birch was beginning to yellow. another day brought us to mynook creek, of which we had heard at circle city as likely to be a good gold producer. at the mouth of the creek we found the temporary camps of a few prospectors, who were on their way up to stake out claims. there were also numerous indians encamped in the vicinity--true savages, with very few words of english among them, "yes" "no" and "steamboat" making up almost their entire vocabulary. a sort of chief among them was a mynook, a half-breed with more indian than white in his features. it was after him that the creek had been named (or rather renamed, for it had formerly been known as the klanakakat or klanachargut, the native name); he had been the first to discover gold, and was engaged in working a claim with a crew of natives, notwithstanding the fact that indians have, according to our somewhat peculiar laws, no legal right to stake mines. he was a good-looking fellow with a fair knowledge of english, which he was very proud to air, especially the "cuss-words," which he introduced into conversation very gravely and irrelevantly. he said when he got dust enough he was going to "san francisco," that being to him a general name for the world of the white men. he had always hired natives to work his claims, although he admitted that they did not work nearly as well as white people; they would labor only until they had a little money ahead, and then would quit until it was all spent, although it might be the very busiest season; and if perchance a steamboat was reported on the river, the gang to a man would drop pick and shovel and trot down the trail to the mouth of the creek, there to stand open-eyed and open-mouthed, gazing at the smoking monster which held them with a fascination stronger than even mynook's displeasure. we camped on the beach, and made preparations the next morning to visit the diggings. we separated, as usual, each taking a different route, and each hiring an indian to accompany him and carry his pack. the first indian i hired had on a new gingham jumper, and a sly smile which gave an impression that his subsequent actions did not belie. he wanted to be paid before starting, and when this was refused said he was hungry, and was so weak that he could not walk without food. so we administered to him a substantial breakfast, after which he disappeared and never could be found again. soon another indian presented himself--a particularly wicked looking fellow, with red bulging eyes that gave one a sort of shiver to look at him. he wanted to go with me, and i hired him, having no other choice. then he too explained by gestures, that he was starving and must have some breakfast to keep him strong on his long walk; whereupon i explained, also by gestures, that the first indian had gotten the second indian's breakfast already, and that, having delivered the breakfast, the rest was no affair of mine (i having carried out my share of the transaction as was fitting), so that the only possible subject for discussion lay between him and the first indian. he seemed to be impressed with the logic of this, shouldered his pack and trotted off meekly enough. as we started, the smoke of a steamboat became visible down the river; the natives raised the excited cry of "shteemboot" and my guide showed signs of sitting down to wait for it to come and go before he should proceed with his journey. however, a few studiously stern looks, accompanied by prodding in his ribs with a stick, started him along the trail, to which he kept faithfully after that. this led through a thick growth of alder brush, across brooks, but always kept in the valley of the main stream, on each side of which were hills with the bare rocks peering from among the yellowing foliage. after three hours' tramp, we turned up a little side valley, and soon came upon a claim that was being worked by a number of miners. this was the only active one on this creek, and with the exception of mynook's claim on another small branch, the only one being exploited on mynook creek as a whole. several other men, however, had staked claims and were engaged in building log cabins, preparatory to the winter's prospecting. here i dismissed my indian, telling him by signs to come back again on the next day. during the two days he and i were out together, we did not utter an articulate sound in trying to communicate with one another. it was of no use, for he could not understand the english any better than i yukon. so in this case i looked at him fixedly and silently, and pointed to the miner's cabin, laid my head on my hand and shut my eyes, signifying that i intended to sleep there. then with my finger i followed in the sky the course the sun would take on the following day, halting at a point midway in the afternoon; then, pointing to him, i imitated the motion of a man carrying a pack, and with a rapid movement of the finger indicated the trail back to the mouth of the creek; finally with a comprehensive gesture i gave him to understand that he might do as he pleased in the meantime. he disappeared immediately, coming back at night to beg for food from my hosts; failing in that, he bivouacked at a camp-fire, with a few other indians who were working on the creek, in front of the miner's log cabin, and before we were up in the morning had disappeared again. at exactly the appointed time the next day, however, he returned, ready for the harness, as red-eyed, dumb and vicious-looking as ever. the sign language of all these yukon indians is wonderfully clever; it is also very complicated, and i have seen two natives conversing fluently behind a trader's back, using their faces and hands in rapid movements which, however, conveyed no idea to the uninitiated observer as to their meaning. some of their signs which i have understood are remarkable for the clever selection of a distinguishing characteristic to designate a given object. for example, a white man was expressed by stroking the chin as if it were bearded. in this wild country razors were unknown and even scissors a rarity, so that all white men wore thick and usually bushy beards, while the natives had very little or no hair on their faces. since i wore spectacles, i was described in sign language first by a gesture of stroking the beard, which indicated that i was a white man, and then by bending the thumb and forefinger in a circle, and peering through this circle, thereby sufficiently identifying me among others. at the cabin where i spent the night was a man who had been on the exploring expedition of lieutenant allen some years before, when that young officer accomplished such a splendid journey under such great difficulties, through a barren and unknown country, ascending the copper river, descending the tanana, exploring the koyukuk, and finally returning to st. michael's by way of the yukon. on learning that i was in the government service, this man insisted on my becoming his guest. he slept and ate in a little log cabin of his own, where he had a bed built of hewn wood, which was pretty exactly proportioned to his own length and breadth. by a little careful manipulation, however, we both managed to stretch out on it and as the night was frosty and our covering none of the thickest, neither of us objected to the proximity of the other, although we were so crowded that when one turned over the other had to do so at the same time. in the morning my "pardner," as he might fitly be called, had a savory breakfast well under way when i opened my eyes. after our meal my host went to his work, while i undertook a journey a little further up the main stream to a tributary gulch. here one man was engaged in prospecting--oliver miller, one of the remarkable prospectors of early alaskan times. he had been in this region many years already, always prospecting, often lucky in finding, but never resting or stopping to reap the benefits of his discoveries, and always pushing restlessly onwards towards new and unexplored fields. in the early eighties he had been among the first who had come to the forty mile district from stewart river and the other affluents of the yukon above the international boundary. he discovered the creek still known by his name--miller creek,--which really lies at the headwaters of sixty mile creek, but is separated only by a low dividing ridge from the gold-producing gulches at the head of forty mile creek, and is therefore usually reckoned as a part of the forty mile district. miller creek was one of the richest creeks in the district and was soon staked out by eager prospectors; but miller himself got restless, and saying the place was getting too crowded for him, sold his claim one day for what he could get, and investing the amount in "grub" and outfit, started out over the hills alone, prospecting. in the birch creek district, which was discovered later, he found gold again, but as soon as miners came in he sold out and went further. now after many wanderings he was in mynook creek, and it was characteristic of the man that instead of being industriously engaged in washing gold in one of the already prospected tributaries nearer the yukon, he had vanished into the brush, out of reach of the sound of pick and shovel, and was nosing around among the rocks and panning gravel. according to directions, i left the trail, which indeed ran no further, and followed the bank of the main stream, working my way through the brush, till i came to a little brook, then went up along this nearly to where it emerged from a rocky gorge in the hills. at this point i came upon a grassy nook under the birches, where a fire was smouldering; and under a tree a man's heavy blankets were spread on a bed of green boughs, as if he had just stepped out. a couple of kettles were standing near the fire, and a coat was lying on the ground, while an axe was sticking in the tree above the blankets. there was no tent or any superfluities whatever, and it was evident that this camping outfit was one of those which a man may take on his back and wander over hill and dale with. not hearing or seeing any sign of life, i sat down and waited, but no one appearing after half an hour, i began following a man's trail from the camp up the gorge, tracing him by the bent grass and broken twigs. after having gone a short distance, i heard the thumping of a pick on a rocky wall in front and above me, and gave a hail. the prospector came down very slowly, his manner not being so much that of a man who was sorry to see one--on the contrary, he was pleasant and cordial--as that of one who is reluctantly dragged away from a favorite employment. we went back to his camp under the birches and as it was now noon he invited me to dinner with him. it was a sunny day, and the grass was warm and bright, with the shadow of the delicate leaves falling upon it; the mosquitoes had disappeared in this period of frosty nights and chilly days, so that the sylvan camp was ideal. some boiled beans, boiled dried apples, and bread, baked before an open fire, constituted the meal; yet i remember to this day the flavor of each article, so delicious they appeared to my sharp appetite. miller was embarrassed somewhat about dishes. he had by good luck two kettle covers, which served as plates for us, and he was, he explained, in the habit of using his sheath-knife to manage the rest, for he had neither table-knife, fork, nor spoon. i produced my own sheath-knife and assured him that i was born with it in my mouth, so to speak, and we set to eating cheerfully. for a professional recluse, i found miller very cordial and communicative. he travelled alone, he told me, not because he would not have been glad of company, but because it was hard to find any one to go with him, and almost impossible that two "pardners," even when at first agreeable, should remain very long without quarrelling; so he had decided, as the simplest solution, to carry out his ideas alone. he was in the habit of exploring the most remote parts of the territory, searching for minerals. he had tramped over the mountains between the yukon and the tanana, back and forth; and had been a thousand miles up the koyukuk, to where it headed in a high range, climbing which, he had looked out upon the arctic ocean. on returning down the river, he had been knocked out of his boat by a "sweeper" (a log which extends out from a bank over a stream, two or three feet above the water). the current was so rapid where he met with the accident that when he rose to the surface his boat was some distance ahead of him. he struck out swimming to catch up with it, but, as if animated with a perverse living spirit, the boat moved off on a swifter current toward the centre of the river. soon he was in danger of being benumbed in the icy water, and he was exhausted from his efforts, yet he knew if he should swim to the banks and lose his boat he would eventually perish in the wilderness, without resource and hundreds of miles from the nearest human being. so he swam desperately, and when on the point of giving up and sinking, a check in the current ahead slackened the speed of the boat so that by an effort he was able to reach it and grasp the gunwale. but it was some time before he gathered strength enough to pull himself aboard. the history of the prospectors in any new country, especially in alaska, would be a record of intensely interesting pioneering. unfortunately these men leave no record, and their hardships, lonely exploring tours and daring deeds, performed with a heroism so simple that it seems almost comical, have no chronicler. they penetrate the deserts, they climb the mountains, they ascend the streams, they dare with the crudest preparation the severest danger of nature. some of them die, others return to civilization and become sailors or car-conductors or janitors; but they are of the stuff that keeps the nation alive. by that i do not mean the false or imitation prospector, who has no courage or patience, but only the greed of gold. thousands of such poured into alaska after the klondike boom, and many of them turned back at the first sight of chilkoot pass, which is nothing to frighten a strong boy of twelve. many more got enough of alaska in floating down the yukon, and kept on straight to st. michael's, scarcely stopping in any of the mining regions; thereby benefiting the transportation companies greatly, and adding much to the territory's sudden apparent prosperity. but before the klondike rush nearly all the alaskans were of the hardy true pioneer type i write about. in the afternoon i returned, and finding my indian punctually on hand at the appointed time, we went back to the yukon together. chapter viii. the lower yukon. the next day we broke camp, and floating down the river, soon entered the main range of the rampart mountains. they were not high, but picturesque, and the lower parts and the valleys were gay with green and gold. it was a perfect day, cool and clear. we stopped for the night below the so-called rapids, which at this time of low water were hardly noticeable. an indian came to our camp from his village across the river, and we traded a can of condensed milk with him for a silver salmon. i got into his little narrow birch canoe, and managed to paddle it with the feather-like paddle, thanks to my experience in rowing a racing-shell; but it required infinite care in balancing. i could not help admiring the ease with which the indian managed the delicate boat when he left us for home again, and wondering how these people catch salmon out of canoes like these. [illustration: a yukon canoe.] [illustration: indian fish-traps.] all this day and the next we passed many indian villages, made up of white tents, with red dried salmon hung up on frames in front. although these natives are classed as indians, (belonging to the group of athabascans) and although they show certain traits of physiognomy like them, yet in their general nature they are entirely different. unlike the stoical sioux or arapahoe of the united states, these people are childlike and open in their manners. they chatter freely in their own language, whether it is understood or not; they are anxious to give and get information; and they seize the slightest excuse for a joke to giggle convulsively. they are fine boatmen, and good hunters and fishermen. all along the river could be seen their traps of stakes, set in some eddy near a bend of the river, and in the early frosty mornings the squaws would come down to the traps in their canoes,--which are broader than those of the men, and managed by a wider paddle--propelling them swiftly and rhythmically along, crooning a song. they are an intelligent, good-humored people, already a little spoiled in their manners and ideas by contact with whites who were hardly fitted to teach the untutored savage. yet they are on the whole far from disagreeable people to deal with, and although their habits did not always seem up to the civilized standard, yet in contrast to the eskimos whom we saw further down the river, they were models of cleanliness. there is no lack of variety in their faces, and in one camp i saw a woman whose dark beauty would have ornamented the finest drawing-room. whether or not she had some share of white blood i do not know. these indians, as a rule, have no chief, but live in the most complete independence, the only authority over them being that of the _shaman_ or medicine man, who attains his ascendency by his cleverness in duping others to believe he has supernatural gifts, such as prophecy. it is the custom for any one who aspires to high position to make prediction as to the weather, when the next steamboat will arrive, and so on. when his predictions become true frequently, he gradually obtains influence. great travellers are the alaskan indians too, and at a trading post along this part of the yukon one may see, besides the yukon indians, others from the koyukuk, the tanana, and even the kuskokwim; but one rarely sees eskimos, who are not such great wanderers, and when they make voyages visit only the regions peopled by their own race. those indians who live on the flats of the river frequently go to the mountains a long distance off to hunt. dr. dall, in his "alaska and its resources," gives the following translation of a song which he heard a koyukuk woman singing to her infant. "the wind blows over the yukon. my husband hunts the deer on the koyukun mountains. ahmi, ahmi, sleep, little one. "there is no wood for the fire. the stone axe is broken, my husband carries the other. where is the sun-warmth? hid in the dam of the beaver, waiting the springtime? ahmi, ahmi, sleep, little one, wake not! "look not for ukali,[ ] old woman. long since the cache was emptied, and the crow does not light on the ridge-pole! long since my husband departed. why does he wait on the mountains? ahmi, ahmi, sleep, little one, softly. "where is my own? does he lie starving on the hillside? why does he linger? comes he not soon, i will seek him among the mountains. ahmi, ahmi, sleep, little one, sleep. "the crow has come, laughing. his beak is red, his eyes glisten, the false one. 'thanks for a good meal to kuskokala the shaman. on the sharp mountain quietly lies your husband.' ahmi, ahmi, sleep, little one, wake not. "twenty deer's tongues tied to the pack on his shoulders; not a tongue in his mouth to call to his wife with. wolves, foxes, and ravens are tearing for morsels. tough and hard are the sinews; not so the child in your bosom. ahmi, ahmi, sleep, little one, wake not! "over the mountain slowly staggers the hunter. two bucks' thighs on his shoulders, with bladders of fat between them. twenty deer's tongues in his belt. go gather wood, old woman! off flew the crow,--liar, cheat, and deceiver! wake, little sleeper, wake, and call to your father! "he brings you back fat, marrow, and venison fresh from the mountains. tired and worn, he has carved a toy of the deer's horn, while he was sitting and waiting long for the deer on the hillside. wake, and see the crow, hiding himself from the arrow! wake, little one, wake, for here is your father." although we saw fish in front of all the tents and apparent contentment in every face, yet we were told that the catch had not been nearly so great as usual that summer, and that there must inevitably be much suffering during the winter. "yes," said mynook, at mynook creek, philosophically, "goin' be hard winter; tink old people all die." we asked him why just the old people, and he explained that the old people had not been able to gather so much provisions as the young and vigorous ones, and would therefore sooner starve. we told him that in our country we cared for the old first, and he seemed to think such a custom very unjust, observing that the old who had lived should die if there was any famine, and make room for the younger ones who could live yet a long time if they could get food. it is starvation, one may add, which keeps the indian population of the whole alaskan interior within very meagre limits. on the d of september we came to the mouth of the tanana, a large tributary which enters the yukon on the left side; the country around its mouth is low, and the river itself splits into many channels, forming a delta. on the bank of the yukon opposite the mouth of the tanana we found a trading post with two white men and a host of indians. when we landed at the store we were met by the indians, the white men having not yet observed us. the first was evidently a shaman or medicine man, a copper-colored old fellow with cross eyes and a cunning wrinkle around his mouth. he ceremoniously pulled off his buckskin gloves before offering his hand to shake; then pointing his finger to the sky he began a long speech in his own language, with many gestures. we all listened very gravely, and when he got through and looked at me with an air of self-satisfaction and triumph, i placed both hands on my stomach, and rolled my eyes, then thumbed my nose at him, and finally began to quote to him the immortal soliloquy of hamlet "to be or not to be," with much emphasis and many variations. everybody listened with evident delight, especially the shaman, and when we were through they conducted us up to the trading post. an old fellow was smoking a curiously carved wooden pipe, which filled the soul of one of our party with the desire to obtain it, since it seemed such a remarkable bit of native work. he offered five dollars for it as a starter, and the old fellow, astounded but willing to accept the gifts of the gods without questioning, handed over the pipe with an alacrity that made goodrich examine it a little more before parting with his money. on the bottom of the bowl was stamped in the wood "smith & co., new york," and on closer inspection it was evident that the apparent carving was in reality pressed, and that the pipe was worth in the neighborhood of twenty-five cents in the states. we were welcomed by the trader, and after a lunch with him floated down the river about eight miles to the mission below. there our eyes were delighted by a neat little building with a belfry and bell, and actually two dormer windows. it was the work of the pioneer mike hess, from whom the stream entering the yukon above mynook creek had been named. the missionary was absent in a parochial call five hundred miles away, but his wife and child and a nurse were there. the missionary published the only paper on the yukon at that time; it appeared once a year, and consisted of four small pages, printed on a hand-press. the items were from all over the country, and many of them were very interesting and amusing. from here we kept on travelling with the current down the yukon, helping our speed by continuous rowing. there being three of us, "tricks" of one hour were arranged, so each man steered for an hour, rowed an hour, and then sat in the stern for an hour, regarding the landscape and making notes. it grew so chilly that often the time for resting was hardest to endure, for the skin would cool and the teeth would chatter even with all the clothes we could get on, and we would be glad to get a little vigorous exercise again. storms were frequent, and we often had the pleasure of sitting in the driving rain all day long. we covered over our outfit as well as we could and even rigged up a sort of awning of sail-cloth on a frame-work of boughs, which kept the rain off the steersman, while the man who was resting crawled under a tarpaulin, and the oarsman rowed and got wet; so that under these conditions the position of steersman was most coveted. the wind blew with such violence that sometimes we took water over the bow and stern of our boat, and the steerman had to exert skill to keep from swamping. when the weather was clear, however, it was cool, and we enjoyed life more at such times than we had before done. [illustration: in a tent beneath spruce trees.] to wake up on a gloriously bright morning, in a tent pitched beneath spruce trees, and to look out lazily and sleepily for a moment from the open side of the tent, across the dead camp-fire of the night before, to the river, where the light of morning rests and perhaps some early-rising native is gliding in his birch canoe; to go to the river and freshen one's self with the cold water, and yell exultingly to the gulls and hell-divers, in the very joy of living; or to wake at night, when you have rolled in your blankets in the frost-stricken dying grass without a tent, and to look up through the leaves above to the dark sky and the flashing stars, and hear far off the call of a night bird or the howl of a wolf: this is the poetry, the joy of a wild and roving existence, which cannot come too often. no one need look for such moments during mosquito time in alaska. but the pests were over now, and men and animals who had been fighting them all summer rested and drew deep draughts of peace, and strengthened themselves for the stinging cold of the winter, likewise hard on the temper and on the vital powers. in our downward journey we passed close by mountains whose tops were beginning to be snow-covered, and were higher than those of the rampart mountains, which we had crossed above the tanana; yet they were further from the river, with level country between. leaving these behind we came to flats similar to the great yukon flats above the ramparts, but not so extensive. here the river split into many channels, enclosing low green islands. the clay banks were fifty or a hundred feet high, and as we followed the current it took us against the side which it was engaged in cutting away. we had to avoid getting too close, for one never knew when a portion, undermined by the stream, would topple over with a tremendous splash; and if such a mass should strike the boat it would bear it to the bottom of the river and bury it so deeply and easily that when the dust of the fall should clear away, the circles on the water would be as regular as usual. the banks showed on the upper parts, deposits of black peat, twenty or thirty feet thick, and it was evident that the accumulations are going on at the surface yet. alaska is, like other arctic regions, densely covered with moss, which grows alike in the swamps and on the steep hillsides; and the successive generations of mosses, one rearing itself on the remains of the others, bring about in time a deposit of peat which one can find nearly everywhere, if he digs down. it is well known that such vegetable accumulations, after having been transformed into peat, may by further change become a lignite or sort of brown coal, and when much altered by the heat or pressure attending the uneasy movement of the earth's crust may even become anthracite. in many regions the crust, apparently still, is in reality constantly moving, although so slowly that we do not notice it; yet in the course of ages the most stupendous changes have been brought about. we are accustomed to picture coal as originating in tropical swamps of the carboniferous period, with enormous trees bearing leaves many feet long, and bullfrogs as big as men squatting in the background, while the air is so heavily laden with carbonic acid that it would put out a candle; but here, at the arctic circle, the formation of coal is evidently going on rapidly, and future generations may derive benefit from it. beds of vegetable matter belonging to a past age are abundant all along the yukon, but the coal is as yet only a black shiny lignite, for it has not been altered much; and leaves found in it show that the vegetation of the period when the beds accumulated was not far different from what it is to-day, and had nothing to do with gigantic tadpoles and malaria. one of the most interesting of the high clay bluffs which we passed lies on the left-hand side of the river, not far below the tanana. it has been called by some early travellers the palisades, and this name appears on the map, but the miners and traders know it by the name of the boneyard, from the fact that there are buried in the silts near the top (which is about two hundred feet high) many bones of large animals, which come down to the river as portions of the bluff are undermined and fall. we stopped at this place, and, slumping through the mud to the foot of the bluff, we came across the tusk of a mammoth, which probably weighed over a hundred and fifty pounds. it was as thick as a man's leg at its larger end, but the whole of it was evidently not there. further on we found a smaller tusk with the end worn off as if the animal had been using it severely for some purpose. afterwards we saw other bones,--leg bones, fragments of the backbone, etc.,--in great abundance. our little boat was too small to carry these gigantic relics, but we preserved a huge molar tooth from a mammoth, measuring several inches across, and we sawed off portions of one of the tusks. the extinct hairy elephant, or mammoth, inhabited alaska at a time previous to the memory of man, yet not very ancient, geologically speaking. remains of these animals are also abundant in arctic america and siberia. it was at first supposed that the climate was tropical when they existed, since it is well known that the elephant is a native of hot countries, and the bones are almost exactly like those of the elephants of the tropics. the discovery of some of these remains in the river lena in siberia was one of the most interesting of modern scientific events. from some reason or the other, many mammoth had been caught in the ice of the river and had been frozen in, the ice never melting through all the thousands of years that followed. so well preserved were they at the time of their discovery that it is said they furnished food for dogs; but what amazed scientists most was to find that this elephant was covered with very long hair or fur, forming a protection against the cold such as few creatures possess. the fur and much of the skin of one of these mammoth may be seen in the museum at st. petersburg. we know from geologic evidence that alaska, firm and solid land though it appears to be, is really slowly rising out of the sea, and we also know that this rising motion has been going on for a very long time. at a period which must have been many hundred years ago, the country was covered with a multitude of shallow lakes, many of them large, and some of immense size--rivalling our great lakes of the st. lawrence river system. most of these lakes are now drained and we have, as records of them, only broad flats composed of fine clays and silts which accumulated as sediments in the lake bottoms. through this vast lake region roamed the mammoth in herds, and so far as we can tell the climate was much the same as it is now; but with the elevation of the land and the draining of the lakes the mammoth has disappeared--the reason no one is able to tell. the eskimos carve the mammoth tusks into ornaments, pipes, and other ivory articles. they are familiar, in fancy, with the animal, and have a special name for it, as well as for its ivory as distinguished from walrus ivory. they also have some vague legends about it, which the traveller may learn through an interpreter. at st. michael's a mahlemut eskimo told me that a long time ago, when the whole country was full of lakes and darker than it is now, these animals were alive, and in the time of their fathers they were said to still exist, far in the interior, on the shores of a great lake; and that their fathers never went near this lake, hunting, for fear of this beast. it is more than likely, however, knowing what we do of the eskimo habits and character, that this was simply fancy, which grew out of finding the tusks and the bones; or an invention, gotten up to satisfy the white man's curiosity, for the eskimo is so willing to please that he always tells exactly what he thinks will be appreciated, whether or not it is the truth. moreover, so far as i have been able to judge from other things, the eskimo tradition does not run nearly so far back as it needs must to extend to the time of the mammoth. breaking camp one morning, just as the smoke was beginning to curl from the camp of our siwash neighbors on the other bank of the river, we ran rapidly down stream, and by the early afternoon passed the mouth of the koyukuk. this is a large stream of clear water contrasting sharply with the muddy roily waters of the yukon, from which it is separated almost by a distinct line. above the rivers at the point of junction rises a beautiful sharp cliff, probably a thousand feet high and nearly perpendicular to the top. on reaching this place we were met by heavy winds which tossed the surface of the river into waves, and where it blew against the current made a chop sea, so that the skookum took in a good deal of water. soon we were unable to make any headway at all against the wind, so we landed, and tracking our boat along the bank till we came to a little "slough" or shallow side channel where the water, protected by trees which grew on both sides, was smooth, we made camp. it was a flat smooth place, and the ground was covered thickly with fuzzy bright green plants of the horse-tail family, which made everything look so downy that one felt like rolling in it. these beautiful plants are easily crushed under foot, and a little tramping around had the effect of pressing out the water with which the sand was filled, and transforming all into a very soft mud. we had to keep our heavy boots on, therefore, especially around the fire, which is the most frequented spot in a pioneer's camp; and finally we had to lay poles along the path between the camp and the boat, to prevent slumping too deeply. to add to our discomforts, the rain came down in torrents that night, piercing our somewhat service-worn tent, so that by morning most of our outfit, including blankets, was more or less wet. starting out again, we found, soon after leaving our sheltered nook, that the wind was still blowing, and in stretches of the river where the wind was ahead we could move only very slowly, while on other curves we went at a high rate of speed. so we moved along by jerks till about noon, when we were brought to a standstill by an increase in the wind, and after an effort to proceed further, which resulted in our being blown back a little up the river, we landed, waited an hour and lunched; after this, the wind having gone down somewhat, we proceeded. we passed several native villages, both winter and summer camps, the former with their clumsily built log houses and attendant log caches, the latter with their white tents and lines of fish drying on frames in front. the inhabitants shouted out vociferous greetings to us as we passed, which we did not understand; but we responded quite as cordially in our own tongue. at about five o'clock we reached the native village of nulato, one of the largest on the river, with a population of several hundred, and a small trading post, at that time kept by a half-breed trader. our first question on landing was whether the steamer had passed down the yukon for st. michael's. this steamer would be the last which would make connections with seattle or san francisco, so if we missed it we would be obliged to remain all winter in the country. we knew approximately when the boat would leave circle city, and from time to time, as we had been floating down the river, we had inquired at trading posts whether she had yet passed us, for this would be very easy by day in the many channels of the flats, and still easier by night, especially as the river, even when confined in a single channel, is often several miles wide in this lower part, and a steamer passing on one side would hardly be observed from our camp on the other bank. we had last heard at the station opposite the mouth of the tanana that she had not yet passed, though she was daily expected--but that was several days ago. of course we would have been able to lie by at any of these posts and camp until the steamer should arrive; but so great was our desire to make the best possible use of every minute we had to stay in alaska that we preferred to take the risk of being left all winter, with an opportunity of building a log hut and laying in fire-wood till spring, rather than lose the last part of our journey in the skookum. but we were relieved by the trader at nulato, who told us that the steamer had not arrived. we were then given the use of a log cabin, with glass windows, which was sumptuously furnished with a stove, a hewn-wood bed, a table and a three-legged stool. after supper we made the tour of the village, crawling into the little cabins of the natives, where the women sat cross-legged in groups, occupied in their sewing. they were making gloves of moose-skin trimmed with beaver, caps of the ground squirrel or marmot fur, and high boots of the hair seal with bottoms of walrus hide. most of them used steel needles, though many still kept to those of pierced bone, which seemed in skillful hands to serve the purpose quite as well. our curiosity was soon satisfied, for each dwelling was much like every other; so after we had made bargains for some of the articles, we went back to our cabin and turned in. the joy of having a roof over our heads as a protection against the rain which was now pelting down was so great that i lay awake some little time staring gloatingly up at the logs. in the morning the one whose turn it was to cook rose early, and soon large kettles were full of beans, dried apples and rice, and all were boiling merrily away, while the bacon sizzled and smoked in the frying-pan. the other two of us lay lazily in our blankets, and sniffed the delicious odors, turning now and then from side to side when the hewn logs upon which we were lying grew conspicuously hard. suddenly the door was burst open and a deaf-and-dumb indian who had made himself useful the night before, bringing us wood and water in consideration of a square meal afterwards, rushed in, and with many gestures began to try to make us understand something. we had seen a surprisingly large number of deaf mutes among the natives, and they were always more easy to understand than the others, who had the habit of sputtering and choking away in their own tongue, although they knew very well that we did not understand a word of it; while the deaf mutes immediately enlightened us by some of the signs they were so practiced in making. this one, by energetic revolutions of his hands around one another, recalled to us immediately the stern-wheel of a steamboat, while the puffing he made with his mouth took away all doubt as to his meaning. then he pointed up the river, and gesticulated violently. we all turned out on the double quick, and, sure enough, the steamer was not more than a half a mile away. she was due to stop at nulato a half hour to get wood, and so heavy was the traffic on the river at this time of the year and so important every hour in making connections with the ocean steamer that we knew she could not be got to stay longer. so we began hasty and energetic preparations, first rolling our blankets and strapping them with our personal outfit into the pack-sacks which we had carried throughout the trip, then hurriedly bundling together tents, specimens, and whatever else we deemed necessary and practicable to take out of alaska with us. many of the more cumbersome articles we abandoned, as they were much worn, and it would cost more than the original price to carry them back to the united states at the extraordinary prices for freight then prevailing. the natives soon became aware of our hurry and hung around in numbers, eager to help, but generally getting in the way; each had his eye on some article which he hoped to fall heir to. to many of these natives, poor beyond our ordinary conception of poverty, a nicked camp-axe is a substantial private fortune, and one siwash to whom this article was awarded for general good conduct marched off in great happiness. another fell heir to our boat--the faithful old skookum, who had carried us two thousand miles, and now was somewhat battered and leaky as the result of her travels. meanwhile the steamer had swung in close to the flat high bank, the gang planks had been dropped down, and scores of natives, partly those of the village and partly those who had come on the steamer, scampered back and forth carrying wood on board in the most clumsy and ridiculous fashion, but still accomplishing much work by reason of their numbers. miners, with whom the boat was crowded, came ashore and strolled around the village; they walked into our cabin and pestered us with idle and aimless questions, as we were working hard to get our stuff ready to take on board. at the last moment, when sufficient wood had been gotten in, the whistle was blown; we grabbed our pack-sacks and gave the remaining burdens to the natives to carry, and hurried on board. we had left some things, others than those mentioned. i felt then a keen regret, which occurs to me whenever i think of it, at being obliged to abandon all the good "grub" which had been boiling and frying away so merrily on the stove when our deaf-and-dumb friend had roused us from our dream. none of us being enthusiastic cooks, it had been our custom to prepare large amounts of the stock articles of diet at a time, in order that one cooking, with some few additions, might last most of each man's allotted time of three days; so the quantity we left behind was ample to feed quite a number of siwash, and i have no doubt they gorged themselves, and had lively times trying to see who could eat the most and the quickest. the steamer was packed. miners who had intended to go to the "outside" this year, had waited as late as they dared, so as to work their claim and bring out as much as possible, and then had taken this last boat. we found every sleeping accommodation taken, and not until late in the afternoon did the steward's resources find us a place. the only available space left under cover was that occupied by the tables in the steerage division. after supper was eaten, these tables were taken out, and the floor-room thus gained was allotted us. the rest of the floor was already occupied, and we had to exercise great care to keep from rolling over into another man's preserves. we spread our rubber blankets on the deck to protect us from tobacco juice and other unpleasant things, and spread our woollen blankets on these. lights were put out at about ten o'clock, and after that there was considerable stumbling around. on the forward deck in front of the steerage department an active poker game, conducted by a professional gambler, was continually in progress, under a sail which had been rigged up as a cover. this game always wore on until midnight and attracted many interested spectators as well as players, all crowding around the table on which stacks of gold pieces were piled, under the light of a lantern tied overhead. when the men finally started to bed, they lost their bearings in the almost complete darkness and wandered far and wide, stumbling over the prostrate sleepers, whose loud and heartfelt oaths disturbed the peace almost as much as the hobnailed boots on one's stomach. at the first glimmer of dawn--_i.e._, about three in the morning--we were routed out and made to roll up our blankets out of the way in order that the tables might be set up for a seven o'clock breakfast; so on the whole our sleep was light and short. yet we had paid first-class fares on boarding the boat. i have since taken a comfortable two-weeks' voyage on a transatlantic steamer to germany for the same price as i paid for this passage to st. michael's, occupying four or five days. the next day we stopped at the native village of anvik. by this time we had left the land of the indians or ingeliks, which reaches down the river below nulato, and had reached that of the innuits or eskimos. anvik was the first eskimo village i had seen and the impression i carried away with me was one of extreme disgust. the whole place was a human sty, from which arose an overpowering stink. the houses were mere shacks built of poles laid close together, with holes in the centre to allow the smoke to escape. all around the houses, in front, behind, and along the paths, was ordure. most of the people whom we saw had the appearance of being diseased: whole rows of the maimed, the halt, the blind, and the scrofulous, sunned themselves in front of the huts. others sat huddled in their long fur shirts or parkas (which constitute their only garment), and coughed constantly, too sick to show much interest in the white visitors. a little apart, in front of the houses, a woman squatted, sobbing, while beside her crouched an old crone with a mouth like a fish, who crooned incessantly a weird, monotonous and mournful chant, to which the sobbing woman made brief responses at intervals. other women sat around in their doors, all looking sad, and many sobbing. a young indian boy from the steamer, who had picked up some english in a mission school, explained the scene to us. "that woman's baby die," he said. "everybody all day cry." we were glad to turn away from the most dismal and degraded set of human beings it had ever been my lot to see; on our way back to the steamer we passed a building of sawed boards used as a mission, and met the missionary, who was properly attired in a suit of clerical black, with white linen and tie. he had a book in his hand. i had rather seen him dressed in a parka, with an axe over his shoulder. below anvik a short distance, we came to the holy cross mission, a catholic station located at another eskimo village. the village was only a little better than that of anvik to look at, but somewhat better to smell of. the mission itself, however, was a model. the buildings were well-built and clean, and there was a flourishing garden, containing potatoes, rutabagas, cabbages and lettuce, the whole surrounded by a rail fence; and in another little enclosure there was a real live cow, almost as much a novelty to us as to the natives from further up the river, who left the steamboat and pressed around the strange animal with wondering eyes, as children view the elephant at their first circus. we saw many little girls, pupils of the school, spotlessly arrayed in new calico dresses, with gay silk or cotton handkerchiefs on their heads. they made quite a pretty picture, and the contrast of the little maidens with their relatives at anvik was something almost startling. these children had been taken away from their parents by the sisters who teach at the mission and were being brought up by them, to be sent away again only when grown. between the holy cross mission and the yukon delta the river grows continually wider till it is in places fully five miles from bank to bank, without islands. the banks themselves become low and very flat, and the timber disappears almost entirely, leaving the swampy plains known as tundra. along here the only fuel is driftwood; and this the natives had stacked up in places ready for the steamer. landing to take on wood was always the opportunity for a run on shore, dickering with the natives for curiosities, and general hilarity. the people here were wonderfully different from those on the yukon from nulato to the headwaters, being round and rosy, rather small in stature, and with a certain mongolian appearance. they are childlike in look and action, with round wondering eyes, and mouths always ready to smile broadly and unreservedly at any hint of a joke. they were dressed in the eskimo parka, made of furs of various sorts, especially squirrel, mink, reindeer, or muskrat. the whole sustenance of the people in this barren tundra district appeared to be fish, and many of them had been obliged to make their parkas and leggings out of the fish skins, which were sewn together with much neatness and taste, and were ornamented with red ochre. in wet weather they wore long shirts made of the entrails of animals, split open and sewn together; these had tight-fitting hoods and sleeves, and were practically watertight. the eskimo kayak or covered boat, made by stretching seal or walrus skins over a wooden frame, makes its appearance along here, although the birch canoe is still to be seen. in the houses of these people we saw sealskins full of oil laid up as a provision against the winter. [illustration: three-hatch skin boat, or bidarka.] at a mission further up the river a russian priest of the greek catholic church had gotten on board. he wore the plain black gown, full beard and long hair of men of his class, and spoke broken english. he seemed well acquainted with the country, however, and assured us that these people were distinct both from the kolchane or indians, who were found all along the yukon above nulato, and from the mahlemut eskimos. these middle people he called kwikpaks; but i am sure they are really eskimos, with perhaps some peculiarities, due to their position on the border-line of two races differing so greatly as do the eskimos and the indians. the same day we left the yukon for good, emerging from the northern or ap-hoon mouth, (for the yukon forms a delta which spreads out many miles and includes many channels) out on the open sea. we were struck with the color of the clear green water, after so long viewing the muddy brown yukon or the clear black of some of its tributaries. before us the country was barren, untimbered, and black, with volcanic cones rising here and there. as we advanced, low islands rose out of the sea around these cones,--fields of lava, covered with swamps and ponds,--while we left behind us the dead level untimbered tundra of the yukon delta. we anchored under the lee of an island that night, and as usual we were roused from our sleeping places before daylight the next morning by the cook. the sun rose gloriously from behind the low black volcanic hills and just as we were getting around to breakfast at the fourth table we steamed into st. michael's. footnote: [ ] dried salmon. chapter ix. st. michael's and san francisco. st. michael's is the usual port for the yukon, though seventy miles from its mouth. the russians had a fort and garrison at this place before they sold the territory to the united states, and since then the commercial companies have had posts here. the chief part of the population, however, consists of eskimos. these people are very expert in carving. from stone they make axes, lamps, skin-scrapers and many other implements; and from bone, and especially from the walrus and mammoth ivory, they carve many things, among them polished pipes. these pipes are evidently modelled after the opium pipes of the east, with a peculiar shaped bowl having only a very small cavity in it, and a long stem. they are ornamented with many figures scratched on the ivory with a sharp knife, and then colored by having charcoal and grease rubbed into the scratches; these figures, of which there may be several hundred on a single pipe, represent the eskimo in his daily occupations, especially his hunting of deer, wolf, and whale, his dancing in the _kashim_, or his travelling in his kayak. [illustration: eskimo houses at st. michael's.] [illustration: a native doorway.] strolling around the village, and peering into the _barabarras_, or private houses, i ran across an old savage who was handling an object which immediately attracted my attention; when he saw my curiosity he explained by signs that it was an apparatus for making fire, and at my request he actually performed the feat. it was the old plan of rubbing two sticks of wood together, such as we have often read that savages do; yet i had never known any one who knew exactly how it was done, although as a boy i had often worn myself out in vain endeavors to make fire in this way. so far as i know, no one had ever satisfactorily explained how the alaskan natives get their fire, one writer having even supposed that they brought it from volcanoes in the first place; and from the extraordinary care which they take in preserving hot coals and often in carrying them considerable distances, one does not often see them in the process of obtaining a new supply. the apparatus which i saw here used was simple and ingenious. in a thoroughly dry stick of spruce were cut a number of little grooves,--this was the wood destined to catch fire. the other piece of wood was a rounded stick of some very hard variety, which the eskimo told me was picked up in the driftwood along the shore: it was very likely a foreign wood. the point of the hard stick was set upright in one of the grooves of the soft dry piece and by means of a leather thong was made to revolve rapidly in it, the hard upright piece being kept in place by a stone socket set in a piece of wood, which was held in the mouth of the operator. after vigorously twirling the stick by means of the thong for about a minute the soft wood began to smoke; a moment afterwards a faint spark was visible. then the eskimo stopped revolving the stick and heaping all the fine dust of the soft wood which had been worn off by the grinding on the spark, and blew it carefully till it grew to larger dimensions; then he placed a blade of dry grass on the spark, and, blowing again, it burst into flame. the whole process had lasted about three minutes. the old man explained also that in boring the holes in stone, bone or ivory, they used the same device, employing a stone drill instead of the wooden stick. there was great commotion among the natives at st. michael's the morning after we arrived, and the men all dragged their kayaks into the water and getting into them paddled out into the harbor, where a number of small whales were seen disporting themselves. when they neared the school the men separated, and when a whale would sound they spread themselves out so as to be nearly at the spot where he should come up. each man had several of the light spears they used for capturing fish; these weapons are perhaps three and a half feet long, and weigh about a pound, the shaft being slender and of light wood and the tip of a barbed piece of bone. to each of these they had fastened by a long thong, as they were paddling out, a blown-up bladder. as soon as a whale rose the eskimo who happened to be near sent his little spear with great force deeply into its flesh. the wound was of course insignificant, and the animal, taking alarm, sank into the water again; but when after some time he was forced to return to the surface, he encountered several hunters again, and received several more spears with attached bladders. this time the buoyancy of the bladders made it difficult for him to sink, and he rose soon afterwards, only to be filled with so many spears that the bladders kept him from sinking at all; then the natives drew near and with all kinds of weapons cut and slashed and worried the creature till he finally gave up from loss of blood, and died. then he was towed ashore amid great excitement and with rejoicing, not only by the hunters, but by the women, children and old men who flocked down to the beach as it came in. the next thing was to cut up and divide the carcass, and this was done thoroughly, everybody in the village coming in for a share. nothing was wasted. even the blood was carefully saved and divided, and the sinews were given to the women, who would dry and make them into threads for sewing. soon all the fires in the village were burning, and the smell of boiling whale-flesh came from many pots, into which the women peered expectantly. one old lady whom i noticed doing this showed in her dress some of the effects of civilization, which is a rare thing with the eskimo, as they dress by preference in their squirrel or muskrat-skin parkas; her flowing garment was made of flour-sacks sewn together, and one might read the legend, inscribed many times and standing in many attitudes, that the wearer (presumably) was anchor brand. st. michael's is made up of volcanic rock, and has been lifted from the sea in recent geologic times. the natives know this, and say that they find lines of driftwood marking the ancient limit of the waves, at places far above where the highest water now reaches; on the other hand, they say that the island has been thrice submerged since the memory of man. out of the general swampy level of the land around the village rise, further back, broken cones with old craters at their tops; these were very likely under the level of the sea when they were active. we had time to spend a few days wandering over this country, climbing through the rocky craters, and looking down on the numberless swamp lakes which cover the southeast side of the island. one day, however, we received sudden word that the steamer on which we had engaged passage was about to sail, and we hurried on board. that night we were far out on behring sea, tossing in a strong wind which soon increased to a terrific gale. [illustration: the captured whale.] we lay several days "hove to" in this gale, with oil casks over the bows to break the great waves which threatened more than once to smash us and often seemed about to roll us over and over. finally, however, it quieted enough to let the seasick ones drop asleep, while the sailors made things taut again, and before long we were in harbor at the island of unalaska--one of the great chain of aleutian islands which reaches from america to asia, and the chief stopping point for nearly all boats between the yukon mouth and the coast of the united states proper. unalaska is a country of chaotically wild scenery. the streams in turn meander over level benches and then tumble in waterfalls over steep cliffs to the next bench, and so on till they reach the sea; such a cataract we saw on the right as we entered the harbor. in the village here we found the aleuts semi-civilized from their long contact with white men, for here the russians held direct control long before the territory was sold to the united states; they live in neat wooden houses, and if one peeps in by night he may even see here and there lace curtains and rocking-chairs. seventeen days after leaving st. michael's we finally reached san francisco. it was a clear, fine sunday when we passed through the golden gate, tingling with excitement which we had felt since seeing the first land on the california coast. the sight of the multitude of houses on the hillside, the smoke of the city, the craft of all kinds going back and forth, had in it something very strange and discomposing for us. it was only when the ship was at the dock, and we had gone ashore, that we realized, from the way the curious crowd formed a circle around us and stared in open-mouthed wonder, that our appearance was unusual for a city. we had not taken much baggage through the yukon country, and our camp clothes were very shabby. none of us had had opportunity to have hair and beard trimmed since we left--with the result that we had a mane reaching to the shoulders and fierce bushy buccaneer whiskers, inches deep all around. two of us wore ancient high leather boots and the third wore a kind of moccasin. we all had heavy "mackinaw" trousers of blanket-cloth, with belted coats of the same material, while coarse flannel shirts and dilapidated felt hats, burned with the sparks of many a camp-fire and seamed with the creases of many a night's sleep, completed our costume. finding the attention of the crowd embarrassing, we took a carriage for the grand hotel, and as we were driving through the streets i noticed that if one so much as caught a glimpse of our faces through the carriage window, he would turn and stare after the cab till it was out of sight. it was sunday afternoon, and the streets were filled with smartly dressed men and women. for our part, the sight of all this correct and conventional dressing made a disagreeable impression on us, after so long a period of free and easy life; the white collars and cuffs of the men, in particular, obtruded themselves on my attention and irritated me. we had left our "store clothes" in seattle and had to telegraph to get them. it took a couple of days for this, and in the meantime we had only to wait. we had been looking forward to going to the theatre as soon as we should arrive in san francisco, and when our clothes did not arrive, were disappointed, till we suddenly braced up in defiance of the whole city, and said, "let's go anyhow." we had not had time to get our hair and beard trimmed, and our costume was in all respects the same as when we left circle city, but we sallied out bravely. we were late at the theatre, and the play had already begun; it was a popular one, and the only seats left were some in the "bald-headed" row. although we had by this time the idea forced on us that our appearance was unusual, we were by no means prepared for the commotion which we brought about, as we walked up the broad aisle to our seats. there was a hum and a sizzle of whispers throughout the house, which changed to laughter and exclamations; and the actors on the stage, catching sight of us, got "rattled" and forgot to go on. up in the peanut gallery the gods began to indulge in catcalls and make personal inquiries. we hurried to our seats to escape this storm, and meeting an usher thrust our tickets into his hand. he looked at us with a puzzled air and a broad grin, as if he thought it all some huge joke, but we were getting nervous, and gave him a glare which made him indicate our seats for us. the audience evidently believed we were part of the show; many were standing by this time, waiting to see what the next would be, but after a while the buzz subsided and the play went on. there was a constant current of conversation about us, however; behind us a young fellow was excitedly asking his companion "who are they, who are they?" "don't know," said the other. "sailors, i guess." after a while we felt like returning to the solitude of our hotel rooms; the play, too, did not please us, so in the middle of an act we got up, and having remarked very audibly "dis is a rotten show," we went. as we started down the aisle the commotion grew louder than ever, and we slipped quickly out and down a side street. finis. transcriber's notes obvious punctuation errors repaired. hyphen removed: "network" (p. ), "sawmill" (p. ), "thronduc" (p. ). hyphen added: "wood-box" (p. ). both "nigger-head" and "niggerhead" are used and have not been changed. p. : "comtemplate" changed to "contemplate" (contemplate in their suddenly awakened fancies). p. : "synonomous" changed to "synonymous" (he used it as synonymous with "tenderfeet"). p. : "bottow" changed to "bottom" (the bottom of the scow). p. : "caribon" changed to "caribou" (he had shot three bears, seven caribou, and a moose). p. : "read" changed to "reap" (reap the benefits of his discoveries). [illustration: sledding up the chilkat valley] gold-seeking on the dalton trail _being the adventures of two new england boys in alaska and the northwest territory_ by arthur r. thompson illustrated boston little, brown, and company _copyright, _, by little, brown, and company _all rights reserved_ university press · john wilson and son · cambridge, u.s.a. to my comrade of many camp-fires dexter wadleigh lewis preface among my first passions was that for exploration. the unknown--that region of mysteries lying upon the outskirts of commonplace environment--drew me with a mighty attraction. my earliest recollections are of wanderings into the domains of the neighbors, and of excursions--not infrequently in direct contravention to parental warnings--over fences, stone-walls, and roofs, and into cobwebbed attics, fragrant hay-lofts, and swaying tree-tops. of my favorite tree, a sugar maple, i remember that, so thoroughly did i come to know every one of its branches, i could climb up or down unhesitatingly with eyes shut. at that advanced stage of acquaintance, however, it followed naturally that the mysteriousness, and hence the subtle attractiveness, of my friend the maple was considerably lessened. by degrees the boundary line of the unknown was pushed back into surrounding fields. wonderful caves were hollowed in sandy banks. small pools, to the imaginative eyes of the six-year-old, became lakes abounding with delightful adventures. the wintry alternations of freezing and thawing were processes to be observed with closest attention and never-failing interest. nature displayed some new charm with every mood. there came a day when i looked beyond the fields, when even the river, sluggish and muddy in summer, a broad, clear torrent in spring, was known from end to end. then it was that the range of low mountains--to me sublime in loftiness--at the western horizon held my fascinated gaze. to journey thither on foot became ambition's end and aim. this feat, at first regarded as undoubtedly beyond the powers of man unaided by horse and carry-all (the thing had once been done in that manner on the occasion of a picnic), was at length proved possible. what next? like alexander, i sought new worlds. nothing less than real camping out could satisfy that hitherto unappeasable longing. this dream was realized in due season among the mountains of new hampshire; but the craving, far from losing its keenness, was whetted. of late it has been fed, but never satiated, by wider rovings on land and sea. perhaps it is in the blood and can never be eliminated. believing that this restlessness, accompanied by the love of adventure and out-of-door life, is natural to every boy, i have had in mind particularly in the writing of this narrative those thousands of boys in our cities who are bound within a restricted, and it may be unromantic, sphere of activity. to them i have wished to give a glimpse of trail life, not with a view to increasing their restlessness,--for i have not veiled discomforts and discouragements in relating enjoyments,--but to enlarge their horizon,--to give them, in imagination at least, mountain air and appetites, journeys by lake and river, and an acquaintance with men and conditions as they now exist in the great northwest. the dalton trail, last year but little known, may soon become a much travelled highway. with a united states garrison at pyramid, and the village of klukwan a bone of contention between the governments of this country and canada, the region which it traverses is coming more and more into notice. i would only add that natural features, scenery, and people, have been described faithfully, however inadequately, and the story throughout is based upon real happenings. should any of my young readers pass over the trail to-day in the footsteps of david and roly, they would find, save for possible vandalism of indians or whites, the cabins on the north alsek and in the kah sha gorge just as they are pictured, and they could be sure of a welcome from lucky, long peter, and coffee jack. contents chapter page i. a letter from alaska ii. buying an outfit iii. from seattle to pyramid harbor iv. the first camp v. the great nugget, and how uncle will heard of it vi. roly is hurt vii. camp at the cave viii. sledding ix. klukwan and the fords x. a porcupine-hunt at pleasant camp xi. the mysterious thirty-six xii. the summit of chilkat pass xiii. dalton's post xiv. from the stik village to lake dasar-dee-ash xv. staking claims xvi. a conflagration xvii. through the ice xviii. building the cabin xix. the first prospect-hole xx. roly goes duck-hunting xxi. last days at pennock's post xxii. a hard journey xxiii. the lake affords two meals and a perilous crossing xxiv. david gets his bear-skin xxv. moran's camp xxvi. how the great nugget nearly cost the bradfords dear xxvii. an indian cremation xxviii. the plague of mosquitoes xxix. lost in the mountains xxx. washing out the gold xxxi. david makes a boat-journey xxxii. champlain's landing xxxiii. alone in the wilderness xxxiv. raided by a wolf xxxv. a long march, with a surprise at the end of it xxxvi. how david met the offender and was prevented from speaking his mind xxxvii. homeward bound xxxviii. a caribou, and how it was killed xxxix. dangers of the summer fords xl. sunday in klukwan xli. the robbers at last xlii. pyramid, skagway, and dyea.--conclusion illustrations page sledding up the chilkat valley _frontispiece_ pyramid harbor, pyramid mountain in the distance map of the dalton trail a curious phenomenon beside the trail the camp of the mysterious thirty-six "presently some little yellow specks were uncovered" children of the wilderness rafting down the north alsek a herd of cattle.--yukon divide in the distance fording the klaheena "salmon by the thousand" gold-seeking on the dalton trail chapter i a letter from alaska in a large, old-fashioned dwelling which overlooked from its hillside perch a beautiful city of connecticut, the bradford family was assembled for the evening meal. it was early in february, and the wind, which now and then whirled the snowflakes against the window-panes, made the pretty dining-room seem doubly cozy. but mrs. bradford shivered as she poured the tea. "just think of poor will," she said, "away off in that frozen wilderness! oh, if we could only know that he is safe and well!" and the gentle lady's brown eyes sought her husband's face as if for reassurance. mr. bradford was a tall, strongly built man of forty-five, with light-brown hair and mustache, and features that betrayed much care and responsibility. upon him as treasurer had fallen a great share of the burden of bringing a large manufacturing establishment through two years of financial depression, and his admirable constitution had weakened under the strain. but now a twinkle came into his gray eyes as he said, "my dear, i hardly think will is suffering. at least he wasn't a month ago." "why, how do you know?" asked mrs. bradford. "has he written at last?" for answer mr. bradford drew from the depths of an inside pocket a number of letters, from which he selected one whose envelope was torn and travel-stained. it bore a canadian and an american postage stamp, as if the sender had been uncertain in which country it would be mailed, and wished to prepare it against either contingency. at sight of the foreign stamp ralph,--or "roly," as he had been known ever since a certain playmate had called him "roly-poly" because of his plumpness,--aged fifteen, was awake in an instant. up to that moment his energies had been entirely absorbed in the laudable business of dulling a very keen appetite, but it quickly became evident that his instincts as a stamp collector were even keener. he had paused in the act of raising a bit of bread to his mouth, and made such a comical figure with his lips expectantly wide apart that his younger sister helen, a little maid of nine, was betrayed into a sudden and violent fit of laughter, in which, in spite of the superior dignity of eighteen years, their brother david was compelled to join. "yes," said mr. bradford, "i received a letter from will this afternoon. suppose i read it aloud." absolute quiet being magically restored, he proceeded as follows:-- rainy hollow, chilkat pass, jan. , . dear brother charles,--i am storm-bound at this place, and waiting for an opportunity to cross the summit, so what better can i do than write the letter so long deferred? i have been as far west as the cook inlet region, and have acquired some good coal properties. while there i heard from excellent authorities that rich gold placers have been discovered on the dalton trail, which leads from pyramid harbor to dawson city, at a point about two hundred miles inland. i thought it best to investigate the truth of this rumor, and am now on the way to the designated locality, with an indian guide and dog-team. now, as you know, i was able to take claims for you as well as for myself in the cook inlet country, by the powers of attorney which you sent me, but in the canadian territory to which i am going the law does not allow this, and you can only secure a claim by purchase, or by being here in person to take it up. i don't suppose you are in a position to buy claims; but it struck me, charles, that it would be a grand good thing if you could leave that work of yours awhile and rough it in these mountains. you looked worn out when i saw you last, and you need a change. this is a rugged country, but a healthful one if a man takes care of himself, and nothing would do you more good than to take my advice and come. why not bring the boys along? too much schooling isn't good for growing lads, and they will lose nothing in the long run. come prepared to stay six months. i will write our friend kingsley at seattle in regard to your outfit, and will send him directions for the journey. start at once, for i think there'll be a rush in this direction very soon. you'll be surprised to find how comfortable you can be in your tent on the snow, even with the mercury below zero. trust the directions i shall send to kingsley, and i'll guarantee you against the suffering you read of, most of which is the result of ignorance and carelessness. i send this letter out by an indian who leaves here to-morrow. with love to you all, i am, your brother, william c. bradford. "uncle will's a brick!" exclaimed roly, promptly. "of course we shall go." whereupon helen burst into tears because she was not a boy. david managed to preserve outward calmness, but his eyes sparkled as he thought of the wonders he might soon see. as for mrs. bradford, she scarcely knew whether to be sad or glad. she was willing to believe her enthusiastic brother-in-law would not urge his own relatives to face unreasonable dangers. but to think of being separated from them half a year! after all, she could do no better than leave the matter to her husband. "well, charles," she said quite calmly, "what do you propose to do?" david and roly trembled in their seats, while mr. bradford regarded them thoughtfully. "i am inclined," he said at last, "to think favorably of will's proposal, so far as it concerns myself." at the word "favorably" both boys jumped, but when they heard the last of the sentence they looked very wretched and crestfallen. they did not understand the whole of uncle will's letter, but there was absolutely no doubt that he had suggested their coming. david ventured to remind his father that they were both a year in advance of most boys of their age in their school-work. this argument appeared to have weight with mr. bradford. he reflected, too, on the many youthful adventures of his own in the adirondack woods, which he had often narrated in their hearing. it was but natural that they should wish to go. he was bound to admit that they had studied carefully and well, and had fairly earned an outing. david, dark-haired and brown-eyed like his mother, had reached the age of rapid growth. he was shooting up like a weed, and his face was paler than it should be. roly was of light complexion, and round and ruddy. nothing more could be desired of him in the matter of health, yet his father knew how keenly he would feel the disappointment if his brother were permitted to go and he were left behind. mr. bradford looked inquiringly at his wife. "can you spare them?" he asked. it was a hard question. mrs. bradford would have preferred to keep the boys at home, but she had travelled extensively before her marriage, and knew the value of travel. she was ambitious for her sons and wished them to have every advantage. but it was not without a flood of affectionate tears that she consented at last to let them go. the matter being thus decided, at a sitting, as it were, the evening was spent in a study of maps and guide-books; and long after they went to bed the boys lay awake and talked over their good fortune. chapter ii buying an outfit in spite of his brother's injunction to hurry, mr. bradford was unable to complete his arrangements until the first of march. mrs. bradford's heart sank as she said "good-by" to the three, and watched the train roll away in the distance. helen, too, was quite awed by the solemnity of the occasion, but was comforted by the thought that her aunt charlotte was coming in the absence of the rest of the family. as for the boys, their spirits rose quickly after the sad moments of parting, it being the pleasant privilege of youth to see only bright skies ahead, and to leave responsibility to wiser brains. neither david nor roly had been beyond new york, and the next few days were filled with novel sights and experiences. how strange it seemed to sit down to one of the little tables in the dining-car, with its white spread and dainty dishes, and calmly make a meal while being whirled through the country at sixty miles an hour! but that was nothing to the sensation of lying in bed in a long, dimly lighted sleeping-car which seemed to be flying through space. what a delicious sense of motion! what power and speed the swaying on the curves betrayed! now they hear the hollow roar of a bridge, then presently the deadened sound of the firm ground again; and they know they are passing through a village when they recognize the clattering echoes from freight-cars on a siding. and now the electric lights of a large town gleam through the windows, and the train slows down and stops. there is a babel of voices, the rumble of a truck along the platform, the clink of a hammer against the car-wheels, and at last the distant "all aboard!" and they are off again. it was a long, long journey, and the boys realized as never before the length and resources of their country. they crossed the snowy prairies of ohio, indiana, and illinois, made a flying change of cars at chicago, passed through wisconsin in a night, and found themselves at st. paul on the mississippi, where, in the course of their rambles about the city, david petitioned for a camera,--a petition which mr. bradford willingly granted. they crossed minnesota that night, and north dakota with its prairies and bad lands the next day. at mandan the boys discovered near the station a taxidermist's shop in which were finely mounted heads of moose, antelope, and buffalo,--the latter worth two hundred dollars apiece. stuffed but very lifelike foxes looked craftily out from every corner, and gorgeous birds of various species were perched all about. there were wonderful indian relics, too,--bows and arrows, headdresses of feathers, brightly beaded moccasins, and great clubs of stone with wooden handles. through montana and idaho the surface of the country was diversified by the spurs and peaks of the rocky mountains, while in washington they passed alternately through fertile tracts dotted with ranches, and barren, sandy plains where only the gray sage-bushes thrived. as in the rockies, two engines were required to draw the heavy train up the slopes of the cascade range. through a whole afternoon the scenery was of the most beautiful description. they wound about the forest-covered heights, now through a dark tunnel or a snowshed, now along the edge of a precipice from which they could see the winding valley far below and the snow-crowned peaks beyond. the change from the sandy barrens to the deep snows and rich forests of the mountains was as refreshing as it was sudden. darkness was falling over the landscape when the highest point of the pass was gained. the laborious puffing and panting of the engines ceased, and the train ran swiftly down the grades by the simple force of gravitation. late that evening, after a brief stop at tacoma, they rumbled into seattle,--six days from new york. mr. kingsley, who had been notified by telegraph of the time of arrival, awaited the bradfords on the platform. he shook mr. bradford's hand warmly. they had been chums in their boyhood days, and many years had passed since they had seen each other. the boys were then introduced, and he greeted them cordially. he insisted that they should stay at his home while they were in the city, and led the way to a carriage, first cautioning mr. bradford against pickpockets, of whom there were many in town at that time. they were driven rapidly through lighted business streets, then up several steep hills, and presently the carriage stopped before a pleasant house, surrounded by a wide lawn with shrubs and shade trees, some of which were putting forth green buds. here mrs. kingsley and her daughter flora, aged fifteen, received the travellers. david was awakened from a most refreshing slumber next morning by the songs of birds outside his window. he roused roly, and together they jumped up and looked out. below them to the west lay the city, and beyond it sparkled the waters of puget sound. beyond the sound towered a range of majestic snowy peaks which, they afterward learned, were the olympic mountains. turning to the south window, they saw in the southeast the graceful form of mount rainier looming over fourteen thousand feet into the clouds. it was a glorious morning, bright and balmy. at the breakfast table mr. kingsley said he had received full directions regarding their needs on the trail, together with a rough map of the country through which they were to travel. he was a jolly, red-faced man, and the boys were sorry he was not going to accompany them. he declared, however, when mr. bradford suggested it, that he was too stout to walk so far, and wouldn't be hired to go until he could ride in a railroad-car. the entire day was devoted to the purchase of the outfit. as soon as breakfast was over, mr. bradford and the boys, in company with mr. kingsley, boarded a cable-car, which soon carried them down a hill so steep that it was only with great difficulty that the passengers, especially those unaccustomed to the performance, kept themselves from sliding in a heap to the front of the car. roly thought the sensation a good deal like tobogganing, except that they did not go so fast. there was a liveliness and stir in the crowds which thronged the business streets, betokening the excitement due to the recent gold discoveries. hundreds of roughly dressed men crowded into the outfitting establishments. many of them were picturesque in yellow mackinaw coats, broad-brimmed felt hats, and knee boots. they came from every state in the union, but all had a common purpose, and seemed for the most part strong, brave, good-tempered fellows, ready to laugh at hardships and able to overcome all sorts of difficulties. entering one of the large stores recommended by mr. kingsley, mr. bradford opened negotiations for the necessary clothing, aided by the list which his brother had prepared. suits of heavy black mackinaw were selected, and as time was precious and fit not important, mr. bradford and david were provided for from the ready-made stock. roly was just too small for the smallest suit in the store, but the proprietor promised to make him a suit of the right material and have it ready in two days. stout canvas coats and blue overalls were then selected, and underwear both heavy and light. blue flannel shirts, rubber gloves for the work of panning, heavy woollen caps, stockings and mittens, stout shoes, and broad-brimmed felt hats were added. then came rubber boots reaching to the hips, and rubber "packs" for use with the snow-shoes. creepers, consisting of leather soles studded with sharp spikes, for travel over ice, completed the list of footwear. owing to the lateness of the season, it was considered best to take no furs, and very thick blankets and down quilts were substituted for sleeping-bags. two small mosquito-proof tents and one larger tent were next secured. the morning's work was completed by the selection of various small articles such as towels, handkerchiefs, mosquito netting to fit over their hats, toilet articles, a sewing kit, and dark glasses to protect the eyes from the glare of the snow. they had brought a partial supply of these things from home, owing to the forethought of good mrs. bradford. that afternoon the boys were given their freedom, as they could be of no assistance to their father in the purchase of the hardware. at mrs. kingsley's suggestion, with flora for a guide, they took a cable-car to lake washington, east of the city, where a great land-slide had wrecked many houses. when they returned it was nearly supper-time. mr. bradford had completed his purchases, and the goods had been delivered at the house. the boys could hardly wait for supper to be over, so eager were they to rush out into the storeroom and inspect the new supplies, but at last they were free to go. there stood three pairs of fine snow-shoes made in michigan. mr. kingsley slyly remarked that he would like to be present when they first tried to use them, but when mr. bradford observed that he had already been invited, the jolly gentleman laughed and said he supposed, if he accepted, he would have to be a participator in the gymnastics instead of a spectator, which might interfere with his enjoyment of the occasion. mr. bradford now took from its canvas case a double-barrelled shot-gun of excellent workmanship and very light weight, which he handed to david. the latter thought at once of the bear-skin which he had already resolved to bring back to flora, to whom he had taken a great fancy. what a delight it would be to own the beautiful weapon now in his hands! he had no idea that his father was about to test his sense of fairness. "i intend," said mr. bradford, "to give this gun to one of you boys. now, dave, which do you think ought to have it?" david found his desire and his generosity at once engaged in a struggle. he had asked for a camera and received it. ought he to have all the good things? thanks to his affection for roly and his strong sense of right, the struggle was brief. "i think, sir," he replied after a moment, "that if you believe roly is old enough and careful enough, he ought to have it," and to prove his sincerity he immediately turned the gun over to that delighted youth, who was no less pleased than mr. bradford at this outcome. the latter stepped to the corner of the room and presently returned, holding something behind his back. "since you have made the right decision," said he, smiling, "i'm very glad to give you this," and he handed to david a fine rifle. david could hardly realize his good fortune, but he thanked his father again and again and expressed his pleasure as well as he was able. mrs. kingsley asked mr. bradford if he did not fear they would shoot themselves or somebody else, to which that gentleman replied that he should personally instruct them in the use of the weapons, and take care that they were competent and careful before he allowed them to hunt by themselves. as for himself, he expected to carry only a revolver. outside the door stood three strong sleds, one about six feet long and the others two feet shorter, which were to carry their supplies. then there were bread-tins, a frying-pan, and aluminum kettles and cups, very light in weight, and made to nest one within another, thus taking up the smallest possible space. the plates, forks, and spoons were also of aluminum; but the knives, which required greater strength and a keen edge, were of steel. there were three handsome hunting-knives and belts. as his brother had a portable sheet-iron stove, as well as a whip-saw and other tools, mr. bradford omitted those articles, but thought it best to provide an axe for himself and hatchets for the boys, some rope, a shovel, a pick, a gold-pan, compasses, fishing-lines and flies, and a supply of medicines. a rainstorm set in on the following day, but the boys were not to be kept in the house. they visited a shipyard where eighteen light-draught steamers were in process of construction for the yukon river. then at roly's suggestion they went down to the wharves, where countless great sea-gulls flew to and fro, dipping occasionally to pick up stray bits of food. here they were just in time to witness the arrival of the ocean steamer "walla walla," from san francisco, with hundreds of klondikers on board,--a motley collection of rough-looking men, and not a few women. they also saw an antiquated steamer with a very loud bass whistle and a great stern paddle-wheel which churned up the water at a furious rate. while the boys were thus occupied, mr. bradford had been busy with the food supply, and reported at the supper table that he had completed the work, and the provisions had been sent down to the "farallon,"--the steamer which was to carry the little party northward. being desired by the boys to make known what sort of fare they might expect on the trail, he read the list of the articles of food, the amount in each case being estimated as sufficient for six months. mr. kingsley asked if it was not the rule of the canadian mounted police to turn back at the boundary line all persons who did not have a year's supplies, to which mr. bradford replied that such was the case on the chilkoot and white pass trails from dyea and skagway, but he understood that so few miners had yet gone in by the dalton trail from pyramid harbor through the chilkat river valley that the police had not yet established a post upon that trail. the provisions upon mr. bradford's list included bacon, salt pork, ham, flour, corn meal, rolled oats, beans, rice, crystallized eggs; evaporated fruits such as apples, peaches, apricots, plums, and prunes; evaporated vegetables, including potatoes, onions, cabbages, and soup vegetables; raisins, canned butter, hard-tack, baking powder, sugar, salt, pepper, concentrated vinegar, mustard, tea, coffee, cocoa, condensed milk, and beef tablets. with such a variety the boys felt sure they could live very comfortably, and were surprised that so many fruits and vegetables, and even butter and eggs, could be had in such convenient forms. chapter iii from seattle to pyramid harbor late in the afternoon of the following day, the th of march, the travellers embarked on the "farallon," commanded by the genial captain roberts. the "farallon" was not as graceful a vessel as the eastern steamers to which the boys were accustomed, but she appeared to be stanch and seaworthy,--qualities eminently to be desired in view of the six days' voyage of a thousand miles which lay before her. her decks were now thronged with hopeful klondikers of all ages and descriptions, the majority men, though there were a few brave women who preferred roughing it with their husbands to staying behind in physical comfort, but alone. on the bow temporary stalls had been built for a score of horses intended for use in the coast towns or on the trails. as the wharf receded david caught a glimpse of a girlish figure and a face framed in wavy light hair, among the crowd. flora saw him at the same moment and waved her handkerchief. how pretty and winsome she looked! david vowed then and there to bring her that bear-skin at all hazards. at last, when he could see her no longer, he turned toward the stateroom on the upper deck abaft the pilot-house, where his father was stowing away the brown canvas bags which contained their clothing and such small articles as they would need on the trail. we must pass rapidly over the events of the voyage, filled though it was with experiences quite new to the bradfords. at victoria, the pleasant little capital of british columbia, situated on the southern point of vancouver island, where the steamer remained half a day, mr. bradford procured two mining licenses which gave himself and david the right to locate claims in canadian territory, cut timber, and take game and fish. these licenses cost ten dollars apiece, and no claim could be legally staked without one. poor roly, not having reached the required age of eighteen, could take neither license nor claim. this business completed, they wandered through the city, david securing a picture of the magnificent parliament building then just finished. two days later, after passing up the sheltered gulf of georgia and crossing the broad, blue expanse of queen charlotte's sound, the steamer entered a narrow waterway between islands on the west and the mainland of british columbia on the east. here the scenery was of the most bold and rugged description, reminding the travellers of the hudson where it breaks through the catskills. on either side rose immense mountain masses, covered below to the water's edge with a virgin forest of spruce, cedar, and hemlock, while from the bleak, treeless summits the snow could sometimes be seen blowing into the air like smoke. "what a pity," exclaimed mr. bradford to david and roly, as they stood upon the deck gazing about them in admiration, "that the grandeur and beauty of this coast are so little known! we've been travelling for hours through this paradise without seeing a hotel, or a cottage, or even a log-cabin, and yet i believe it will not be long before tourists will throng to this region. now there," said he, pointing to a level plateau on the top of a forest-covered ridge which rose a hundred feet above the water,--"there is an ideal site for a hotel. it commands a view of the strait both north and south, and of the mountains in every direction. no doubt there is a lake in that hollow beyond it, and the waterfall yonder is its outlet. i should like to spend a summer right here." that evening they emerged into dixon's entrance, where the open pacific tossed them about for several hours until they came again into the lee of islands. morning found them at saxman, a village of the extreme southern end of alaska, where the "farallon" stopped to take on a passenger. at ketchikan, a few miles beyond, there was a good wharf and a considerable settlement, and here the bradfords saw for the first time a raven, which the boys mistook for a crow. here, too, they first beheld an indian totem-pole,--a great tree-trunk carved into grotesque shapes of beast and bird, and strange caricatures of the human countenance, all of which doubtless had a significance relating to the tribe, family, and achievements of the deceased chieftain whose memory it perpetuated. david, with the enthusiasm of an amateur, attempted to photograph this strange column, but as the day was dark and a damp snow was falling, he failed to obtain first-rate results. at ten in the evening the lights of wrangel, or fort wrangel, as it is often called, being a united states military post, came into view. late as it was, the bradfords decided to go ashore, for this was one of the larger alaskan towns. the wharf was unlighted save by the steamer's lamps, but they picked their way without much difficulty. most of the townspeople seemed to have retired, and only the saloons and dance halls showed signs of life. from these places the travellers heard the strains of a fiddle, or the worn, hard voice of some poor girl doomed to sing to a throng of rough men amid the glare of lights and the fumes of beer and bad tobacco. there were many evidences that the gold excitement had brought a large if transient population to wrangel. new frame buildings were in process of erection all along what appeared to be the main street, which was, however, utterly impassable for any kind of wheeled vehicle, being a deep ditch far below the level of the board walk which skirted it. in this hollow what little light there was revealed logs, lumber, boats, and mud, and it was evident that at high tide the water filled it. the buildings were raised on piles to the level of the future highway. the bradfords followed the walk with the utmost caution, for some of the boards were missing and others were broken, and in the darkness an ankle might be sprained or a leg fractured by one false step. the boys took turns in going ahead, the leader warning those behind of holes and pitfalls. after proceeding thus gingerly for nearly half a mile and passing several elaborate totem-poles, they found themselves well out of the business portion of the town and in the midst of a collection of tents interspersed with cheap frame structures. here and there on tents and houses they could dimly distinguish flaming advertisements of museums and various catch-penny shows, but none of them were open at that hour. the board walk seemed to lead no farther, so the three carefully and slowly retraced their steps to the steamer, where a lively scene presented itself. three incandescent lights backed by a powerful reflector had been rigged on board to illumine the forward deck and hold, from which freight was being discharged upon the wharf. captain roberts informed them that one hundred tons of freight were to be left at wrangel, and a number of the horses and dogs. "ah!" said roly, "i'm glad some of the horses are to go ashore here. they haven't had a chance to lie down since we left seattle." "no," said david; "and i saw two this morning so tired that they went to sleep standing up. their eyes were shut, and their heads kept drooping, drooping, and then popping up again like mr. dobson's when he goes to sleep in church." roly laughed. "i only hope," said he, "the poor brutes will have no worse time on the trail." just as dawn was breaking over the town, the "farallon" took advantage of high tide to pass through wrangel narrows,--a tortuous channel between low, wooded shores, where the scenery, though of a subdued character, was exceedingly beautiful. a bark and a barkentine were aground in this dangerous passage, though buoys and lighthouses were plentiful; but the steamer emerged safely in due time into broader waters, and the day passed without special incident until evening, when they had passed the latitude of sitka, the alaskan capital, on baranoff island to the west. not long after supper mr. bradford and david were reading in the stateroom and roly was sitting on the iron grating, through which a pleasant warmth arose from the engine-room, when they all heard a bumping sound and felt the steamer tremble. a second later there came another bump. instantly bells rang and the engine stopped, while roly jumped from the grating, and running to the bridge peered forward into the darkness. he could see nothing in that direction, nor could mr. bradford and david, who were quickly beside him; but the next moment a huge block of ice and several smaller fragments grazed along the steamer's side, and were dimly illuminated by her lights. then they understood what had happened. "she's hit one o' them small icebergs out o' glacier bay," they heard a man say on the deck below them. "there's many of 'em hereabouts, i'm told, but they ain't big enough to do damage." "not if she hits 'em square," said another voice. captain roberts, however, thought it best to be cautious, especially as he had just broken the bell-wire and could only communicate with the engine-room by speaking-tube. he sent a man to the bow of the vessel to watch for ice, and ordered half-speed ahead. in a few hours they had reached juneau. it was so late that the bradfords did not leave the ship, but they could see by the lights that juneau was larger than wrangel, and contained not a few wooden buildings of very respectable size and appearance. it was a mystery how the town could grow any more, however, except straight up in the air like new york, for it was surrounded by water on two sides, and on the others by huge barriers of rock two thousand feet high. across the strait a few straggling lights disclosed the location of douglass city and the famous treadwell gold mines. the following day was mild, but the scenery became more arctic. the steamer passed up the long inlet known as the lynn canal, on either side of which rose bold peaks crowned with brilliant snow. glaciers flowed through the valleys between them,--great frozen rivers which no summer sun could melt. of these, one of the largest and most graceful was the davidson glacier on the western side of the strait. ducks were seen here in countless numbers. porpoises rolled and played about the vessel, and roly caught sight of a seal which bobbed above the water at intervals. as they were now nearing the end of the voyage, mr. bradford and the boys wrote letters to send back by the purser. early in the afternoon the course was changed slightly to the west, and the steamer entered pyramid harbor, a beautiful circular sheet of water, flanked on the south by high mountains. near its eastern side rose a pointed mound of pyramidal shape, to which the harbor owed its name. on the southwest shore, under the shadow of the mountains, lay the little settlement, prominent in which was an extensive salmon cannery. in front of the cannery two wharves projected toward the bay,--one high above the beach, designed for use at high tide; the other a slender affair, longer and lower. "there must be very high tides here," said mr. bradford, observing the wharves. "yes," answered a tall, brown-whiskered man who stood near. "twenty foot, if i ain't mistaken. reminds me o' the bay o' fundy, only there they gen'rally build only one wharf an' give it two stories." the boys recognized in the speaker the man whom they had heard discoursing of icebergs on the previous evening. "the cannery doesn't seem to be running," observed mr. bradford. "no," replied the other; "i b'lieve they only run it in summer. there ain't no salmon this time o' year." mr. bradford told david to see that everything was ready for landing, and to bring the clothing bags out upon the deck. the steamer had blown her whistle as she entered the harbor, and two men could be seen walking down toward the end of the lower wharf. mr. bradford turned his field-glass upon them. suddenly he uttered an exclamation of surprise and handed the glass to roly. "do you know either of those men?" he asked. "why," said roly, after he had scrutinized them a moment, "the second one looks like--no, it can't be. i declare, though, it does look like him! yes, it _is_ uncle will! but what a big beard he has!" [illustration: pyramid harbor, pyramid mountain in the distance] david, hearing these exclamations, came running out of the stateroom, and joyfully verified the identification. there could be no doubt that uncle will was there, but what had brought him was more than they could conjecture. chapter iv the first camp the "farallon" was slowly and carefully brought to the end of the lower wharf, though the water was so shallow that her screw stirred up the mud. roly and david signalled with their caps and soon attracted uncle will's attention, and that gentleman waved his arms delightedly the moment he saw them. meanwhile the cannery watchman had made fast the steamer's bow and stern lines, the latter to the piling of the higher wharf, and the other to a large rock on the beach. a few minutes later the bradfords had jumped ashore, and the crew had piled their sleds, provisions, and belongings of all kinds in a promiscuous heap on the wharf. they were the only passengers to disembark there, for the dalton trail was little used. the "farallon" presently drew in her lines and backed away with a parting blast of her whistle, to continue her voyage a few miles farther up lynn canal to the head of navigation, whither the rest of her passengers were bound, some intending to go to the klondike by the white pass trail from skagway, and others preferring the chilkoot trail from dyea. [illustration] "i didn't expect to find you here, will," said mr. bradford, as he warmly grasped his brother's hand, "but i'm all the more glad to see you." "and i'm delighted to be here to welcome you, charles. i'll tell you how it happened when we have a moment to spare. you've brought the boys, i see. that's right. they'll enjoy the life, and it'll do them good. why, i hardly knew david here, he's grown so tall! we'll soon have some tan on that pale face of his. as for roly," and he eyed that healthy specimen of a boy, "about all he seems to need is hard labor and a bread-and-water diet." roly laughed, for he saw the twinkle in his uncle's eye, and had no fears that such a course of training would be inflicted,--or at least the bread-and-water part of it. "is that good mother of yours well, roly, and the little girl?" asked uncle will. "yes," said roly. "and how about the 'maine?'" continued his uncle, turning to mr. bradford. "i have just heard that she has been blown up at havana. shall we have a war?" "i hope not," said mr. bradford. "it may happen, but such a contest wouldn't last long." uncle will was of the same opinion. "and now," said he, taking command of the little party by the tacit consent of all, since he best knew what was to be done, "let us throw off our coats and carry these goods to a place of safety. the tide has turned and will soon cover the end of this wharf. we must get everything up to the level of the cannery buildings. this is a country of work,--good hard honest labor, of which no man need be ashamed." so saying, he stripped off his outer coat and, throwing it over a post, picked up a fifty-pound bag of flour and swung it lightly across one shoulder, calling to his brother to place a second bag on the other. having thus obtained his hundred-pound load, he started up the incline to the cannery. mr. bradford now followed him, david swinging up the second bag to his father's shoulder. david took a single bag, finding that he could not manage two, and roly staggered along with another. on the next trip mr. bradford advised roly to bring a bag of dried apricots, which was lighter, and thus, each carrying what he could, all the supplies were at length stowed safely above high-water mark. "next," said uncle will, as he resumed his coat and wiped the perspiration from his forehead, "we must have these goods taken over to my camping-place on the west shore of the harbor. suppose you boys stand guard while your father and i see if we can get a boat. all you'll have to do will be to keep the indian dogs away from the bacon." the boys assented to this proposal, and the two men walked away in the direction of the indian village, which lay not far from the cannery toward the harbor's mouth, where the watchman said they might find a canoe. they had been gone but a few minutes when several indian men and boys approached, dressed in the clothing of civilization, but quite ragged withal, followed by a number of wolfish dogs, which lost no time in running up to the pile of provisions as soon as they scented the meat. david promptly sent a snowball at the largest cur with such good effect that he beat a hasty retreat, while the others, seeing his flight and hearing his howls, for the snowball had struck him in the nose, slunk away and sat down at a respectful distance to await developments. the indians now came up and with much curiosity began to inspect the goods. they seemed to take no offence at the treatment of the dogs, much to the relief of the boys, who half expected they would consider it a declaration of hostilities. "me chilkat indian," said one of the older men, addressing david and pointing to himself. david nodded to show that he understood. "where you go?" asked the indian. david did not know that the place to which they were bound had any name, but he remembered how his uncle had dated his letter, so he said, "rainy hollow." "ugh!" grunted the indian. "rainy hollow there," and he pointed to the north. "you go get gold?" "yes," said david. "me go too?" "i don't know," replied david. "ask my father." he motioned toward a large black two-masted canoe which now made its appearance from the direction of the village. one of the natives and uncle will were paddling, while mr. bradford was sitting in the stern and steering. the indian turned and scrutinized the craft. "chief's canoe," said he. "him chief's son." the canoe, which was quite an elaborate affair, built of wood, with a high projecting prow and stern, was presently brought alongside the wharf, the end of which was already submerged by the rising tide. the occupants jumped out, and the indian tied the painter to the piling. "now, boys," shouted uncle will, "off with your coats again, and we'll soon have the goods on board." they had hardly begun the work when the old indian approached uncle will and renewed his plea, but the white man shook his head and said, "plenty indian. long peter go." which lingo the old fellow understood perfectly. large as the canoe was, when all the goods were on board, together with the three men and the boys, it was down nearly to the water's edge. there was no wind, however, and the course lay near the shore under the shelter of the mountains. "there," said uncle will, in a tone of relief, as he resumed his paddle, "now we shall be clear of the dogs. they're a great nuisance wherever there's an indian settlement. i've no doubt they would have kept us awake all night here prowling around the supplies." "where are we to camp?" asked david. "look along there on the west beach," replied his uncle. "you can see my tent now. it's about half a mile away." the boys looked with interest at the spot which was to be their first camping-place. behind the tent was a dark spruce forest which spread back nearly on a level for a short distance, and then mounted the steep, snowy slopes of the mountains. before long the canoe grated against the small stones near the beach, the indian jumped out regardless of the water, and carried uncle will and then the boys ashore on his back. uncle will went at once to his tent, and soon reappeared wearing long rubber boots. mr. bradford passed the goods out from the canoe, uncle will and the indian carried them ashore, and there david and roly received them and took them up the beach above the high-tide mark of driftwood and seaweed. when this work had been accomplished, the indian was paid and dismissed and was soon paddling back to the settlement. "now, boys," said mr. bradford, "do you know how to pitch your tent?" "no," said david, "but we'd like to try it. i guess we can manage it after a few trials. our tent is like uncle will's, isn't it?" "yes," replied mr. bradford. "you can study on that awhile, or watch me pitch mine." "there's no need of getting yours out at all, charles, unless you want to," put in his brother. "my indian has his own tent back there in the woods, and you can bunk with me." so it was decided that only the boys' tent should be raised, and they set about it at once, while their father cut some dry spruce boughs on which to pile the supplies. on examining their uncle's tent they found that it consisted of two parts,--the main tent, really a complete tent in itself and rendered mosquito-proof by having a floor of canvas continuous with the walls, and an entrance which could be tightly closed by a puckering string; and, secondly, the fly or extra roof above the tent proper. ventilation was obtained by openings covered with mosquito netting at the peak in front and rear. the tent stood on the beach between the line of snow and the high-tide mark. underneath it, on the stones, was a thick layer of small spruce boughs. there was no possibility of driving stakes into the stony ground, and the guy-ropes were tied around a prostrate tree-trunk on each side, these side logs being about five inches in diameter and fifteen feet long. there was a straight and slender ridgepole, to which the roof-ropes were attached, and this ridgepole rested upon two crotched poles at each end of the tent, set wide apart with the crotched ends uppermost and interlocked. after noting all these things, the boys sought out their tent from the pile of goods and unrolled it to get some idea of its size. they found that it was much smaller than their uncle's tent and had no walls, the roof part sloping to the ground and connecting directly with the floor. "we won't need such long poles as uncle's tent has," said david, "nor such heavy side logs either. suppose you cut a lot of spruce boughs to put underneath, and i'll cut the poles and logs." roly assented at once, and the two set off for the woods with their hatchets. there was abundance of spruce, but david had considerable difficulty in finding saplings or bushes which would afford crotched poles of the proper size. he found it a slow and laborious task, too, when he attempted to cut down two larger trees for the side or anchor poles, and was finally obliged to return to the camp for an axe,--a tool which mr. bradford let him have with some misgivings and many words of caution. having succeeded in cutting the poles and spruce boughs, they were obliged to make several trips back and forth before all the material was brought to the beach, the deep snow greatly impeding their progress. as they were starting out for the last time, a tall young indian, with cheeks more plump than an indian's usually are, shuffled along toward them on snow-shoes, drawing a long sled loaded with wood. he smiled good-naturedly when he saw them. "me long peter," said he,--"chilkat injun. go with mr. b'adford. you go with mr. b'adford?" "yes," replied david, who concluded that this was the indian his uncle had mentioned. so the three returned to camp together. savory odors were now wafted about from the camp-fire where uncle will was getting supper, and the boys hastened their work in order to be ready when he called. they succeeded in untangling the tent-ropes, and after a few mistakes and frequent examinations of the larger tent, their own little dwelling was set up near the other, on a soft bed of fragrant spruce. then with a piece of soap and a towel from one of the clothing bags they went down to the water's edge to wash. presently uncle will shouted, "muck-muck!" and the boys looked around inquiringly to see what he meant. "supper-r!" he called in the same cheery tone. there was no mistaking the meaning of _that_, and the little party speedily gathered around the fire, where uncle will informed them that "muck-muck" was the indian term for "something to eat," and was generally adopted on the trail as a call to meals. the aluminum plates and cups were handed around, and uncle will distributed crisp bacon and potato and rice, while mr. bradford opened a box of hard-tack. david meanwhile made himself useful by filling the cups with coffee, and passing the sugar and condensed milk. as for long peter and roly, finding nothing better to do, they attacked the viands at once with appetites sharpened by labor. "i declare!" exclaimed mr. bradford, as soon as he too was ready, "i haven't been so hungry since i was a boy in the adirondacks. what memories the smell of that bacon calls up!" he took a seat on a log which roly had drawn up before the fire, and presently called for a second helping. "that's right, charles," said his brother. "it does me good to see you eat like that. well, well! the boys are ready for more, too. i see i shall have to fry another mess of bacon. never mind, though! that means just so much less to carry on the trail." and their good-natured cook forthwith cut off half a dozen generous slices with his hunting knife and soon served them crisp and hot. when the meal was finished, the dishes washed by long peter, and fresh wood piled on the fire, uncle will deftly lighted his pipe with a glowing ember, then turned to the others, who had comfortably seated themselves around the crackling logs, and declared his readiness to explain his presence at pyramid harbor. chapter v the great nugget, and how uncle will heard of it "let me see, charles," he began; "i was at rainy hollow when i wrote to you, wasn't i?" "yes," replied mr. bradford. "and i told you of the rumors of rich strikes about two hundred miles in on this trail?" "yes." "well, my intention was to go straight to that spot with all possible speed; but as robbie burns puts it, 'the best-laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft a-gley.' i met with an accident, and it's fortunate that i did, for when i reached this place yesterday i found that the stories of gold had leaked out, and already a well equipped party of more than thirty men had just landed here. to be exact, there are thirty-six of them; and owing to the absolute secrecy which they maintain regarding their destination, they are already known as the mysterious thirty-six. i have tried to induce two or three of them to talk, but they declared they knew no more about their plans than i did. only their leader knows where they are going, and what they are to do. now, i am perfectly convinced that these men are bound for the very spot i wrote you about, and we must get ahead of them, if we are to have the pick of the claims. they are camped now about three miles up the valley, waiting for a party of indians who are to help them with their sleds. "it's fortunate i had to return to the coast, for you might not have realized the necessity of outstripping them. besides that, i have cached most of my goods a hundred and forty miles up the trail, and come back empty-handed, so for that distance long peter and i can help you with your outfit, and we can give them a good race." "won't that be fun?" cried roly, excitedly. "i should just like to give them the slip!" david had a better idea of what it meant. "you won't feel so much like racing, i guess," said he, "after a few miles of it. but, uncle," he added, "did you say you had cashed your goods? you haven't sold out, have you?" "oh, no!" answered uncle will. "the word i used was 'cached,' which, in the language of the trail, signifies that i left my goods temporarily beside the way. a 'cache,' if we consider the french word 'cacher,' would mean goods concealed or covered up; but the idea of concealment is not prominent in the miner's use of the term, and in fact there is generally no attempt at concealment. it would be death in this country to be convicted of stealing such supplies, and few indians or whites would venture to disturb them." "i understand now," said david, "and beg pardon for interrupting. and now what was the accident you mentioned?" uncle will took a few strong puffs on his pipe, and blew the smoke away in rings meditatively. presently he proceeded. "i won't stop to tell you much about my journey, for you will soon pass over the same ground. rainy hollow, where i wrote the letter, is about sixty miles from here, near the summit of chilkat pass. i pushed on from that point through a grand mountainous country. day after day i trudged through snowy valleys and over frozen rivers until i reached dalton's trading-post, the location of which, about a hundred and twenty miles from the coast, you have doubtless noticed on the maps. "there i rested a day, and fell into conversation with a young german, al king by name, who told me he had spent all of last summer in prospecting on the coast, and had recently explored the region around dalton's. he had taken a claim on a stream called shorty creek, about thirty miles away and somewhat to the west of the main trail, and thought a man could make about ten dollars a day there, working alone; but i have no doubt, from what he told me of the character of the gulch, that operations on a larger scale would pay extremely well, and i resolved to turn aside for a look at the place on my way north. i convinced myself that he had heard nothing of the rumors which had brought me into the region, and had not visited the spot to which i was going, and i thought it best to tell him nothing then, though i hope, if all goes well, to do him a good turn later. "after leaving dalton's post, we--that is, long peter and i--continued as far as klukshu lake, the point at which we were to turn from the main trail and make a flying trip over to shorty creek, which was about fifteen miles distant by the winter route, i should judge. "we were cooking our supper among the willows near the foot of the lake when we heard the sound of a gun toward the north, followed by a cry. we both jumped up and ran to the shore, in order to get a clear view up the lake. half a mile away near the east bank we could see what was apparently a man lying on the ice, with a smaller person bending over him, while a dog was running and barking around the two. "on reaching the place, we found that the prostrate man was a young indian of the stik tribe, whose village lies near dalton's post. his younger brother, a lad of about fourteen, was with him. long peter recognized them both. "we saw at once that lucky, the older one, had been shot. as we afterward learned, he had left his shot-gun standing against a log on the shore while he went out on the ice to fish. while he was cutting a hole, the dog upset the gun and discharged it, and poor unlucky lucky had received most of the shot below the left knee. "his small brother, who was called coffee jack, was trying to stanch the flow of blood when we came up, and lucky was quite coolly giving directions. i bound a handkerchief tightly about the wound, and we helped the unfortunate fellow to our camp, where we made him as comfortable as possible. on the following day, i succeeded in picking most of the shot out of his leg,--an operation which he bore with true indian fortitude. then came the question of what to do with him. "long peter was for leaving him right there in care of coffee jack. you see, there's not much love lost between the chilkats and the stiks. the two tribes used to be continually at war, for the chilkats wouldn't let the stiks come out to the coast without a fight. and though the presence of the whites prevents actual war at present, the members of the rival tribes have very little to say to each other, remembering the old feud. "i was quite unwilling, however, to leave lucky until i had assured myself that his wound was healing properly, so we remained there with him a week. at the end of that time, as all went well, i made preparations to continue on the journey, intending to leave provisions enough to last the two brothers until they could return to their village, for they had with them, at the time of the accident, a very small supply of dried salmon, and that was already consumed. "there are two log shanties near the foot of klukshu lake. one was in good repair, and the door was fastened with a padlock. i suppose some white man--dalton, perhaps--keeps supplies there. the other was open to any one who cared to enter, and though the roof was gone, the hut afforded fairly good shelter. into this hut we carried lucky, after repairing the roof as well as we could, and cutting some firewood, for it was intensely cold. with a good fire blazing in the centre of the room and coffee jack at hand, there was no fear that lucky would suffer with cold, even though the mercury froze in the tube, as in fact it did a little later in my pocket thermometer when i hung it on my tent-pole one night. "when all was ready, and long peter and i had packed our goods on our sleds, i went into the hut to say good-by to the brothers. lucky beckoned me to come closer. when i had done so, coffee jack shut the door behind me. i thought from their actions that they had something to say, and didn't wish long peter to hear it, which proved to be the case. "having made sure that peter was at a distance, lucky said in a low tone, 'you good man. you help me. you give me muck-muck. now me help you. me find big nug--what you call 'em--nuggit--kah sha river--big as my head--four moons. me show you when snow go away--no find him now.'" here roly interrupted to ask if lucky's head was as big as four moons. "oh, no!" replied uncle will, smiling. "he meant that it was four months ago when he found the big nugget. the only month the indians know is the period between one full moon and another, which is about thirty days. "after some further conversation with lucky," continued uncle will, "i made out that he had discovered, not a loose nugget, but what i judge is a remarkable outcropping of gold ore in the solid rock. he had no means of breaking out any of the rock, and so had nothing by which to prove his statements, but i have every reason to believe him. now the kah sha river is the stream into which shorty creek flows, so the discovery must be in the neighborhood of king's claim. lucky said that the snow was very deep in the gorge where the nugget is, and it would be hidden for two moons. he promised to meet me at the proper season, and go with me to the spot. "long peter and i then started on our journey; but we had gone only a short distance toward the lake when, in descending a steep bank, all the upright supports on one side of my sled gave way, some of them being split beyond repair, and the iron braces broken. the uprights on the other side were badly wrenched and weakened at the same time, and further progress that day was out of the question. we therefore took everything back to the hut, and cached the goods there. i found it impossible to repair the sled. it was an old one which i never ought to have bought, but i was in a hurry when i started into the country, and took the first one i saw. "there was nothing to do but return for a strong sled. i could get none at the trading-post, and so came all the way back, and the more readily, because i knew it was time you reached here if you were coming. long peter's sled we brought with us, and now i must go over to dyea or skagway and get one for myself. then we shall be in first-rate trim." "well, boys," said mr. bradford, as uncle will finished, "it looks as if we had work ahead, and plenty of it. better turn in now and get all the sleep you can." the boys accordingly rose and departed toward their tent. david crawled into that small dwelling first, and roly handed him a rubber blanket, which he doubled and laid on the canvas floor. then a down quilt was similarly folded and placed upon the rubber blanket. the heavy woolen blankets followed, and finally the other quilt. into this warm nest the boys crept, after removing their shoes and coats and rolling the latter into the form of a pillow. two minutes later they were sound asleep. chapter vi roly is hurt the camp was early astir. mr. bradford examined the thermometer which he had left outside the tent, and found that it registered twenty-seven degrees above zero. "i expected much colder weather here," he remarked, as they were eating their breakfast of oatmeal, ham, biscuits, and coffee. "we must hurry, or the snow will melt under our sleds." "oh, there's no fear of that yet," said uncle will, reassuringly. "you see, we still get the influence of the japanese current of the pacific, which warms this whole coast. we shall find it colder in the interior. at the same time, we have a long distance to go, and the warm weather will be upon us all too soon. let me see, this is the sixteenth of march. to-day i must take a sail-boat, and go over to skagway for a sled. it's hardly possible that i can return until late to-morrow, with the best of luck." "can we do anything to hasten matters in the mean time?" asked mr. bradford. "yes," replied his brother. "to-day you and the boys might take the axes and hatchets to the cannery and have them ground. it's a great saving of time and labor to have the edged tools sharp. long peter will look after the camp while you are gone. and to-morrow i advise you to hire that indian's canoe again, and take everything but the tents to the cave about three miles above here. peter knows where it is. if the mysterious thirty-six are camped there, you can leave the goods a little this side and cover them with oiled canvas." immediately after breakfast, in pursuance of these plans, the whole party except the indian, made their way along the beach to the cannery, where uncle will was fortunate enough to secure the services of a boatman just arrived in his sloop from chilkat across the harbor. the breeze was favorable, and the little vessel was presently speeding along the south shore, soon passing out of sight around the point. the grinding of the axes occupied an hour or more, after which the three walked over to the indian village, where they were given a noisy welcome by a score of dogs. the houses were rude affairs, built of hewn boards and logs, but affording much better shelter than the wigwams which the boys had always associated with indian life. they had seen a few wigwams near the railroad in the state of washington, but here there were none. in attire, too, these indians seemed to have copied the white people. two or three women who were cooking fish outside of one of the larger houses, wore neat hoods, dresses and shoes, but others had greasy red handkerchiefs tied over their heads, and wore torn moccasins and dilapidated skirts. "i wonder," said david, "if it is true that the indian women do all the work. i have heard so." "no," answered mr. bradford, "the men hunt and fish, and work for the whites on the trails, but the women do all the domestic drudgery, even to the cutting of the firewood. the men have rather the best of it, for they enjoy a variety and are idle about half the time, while the work of the women never ceases. it's a good deal the same, however, the world over. i have been in parts of europe where the wives worked in the fields, and even dug cellars for new buildings, while their husbands, i presume, were engaged in the sterner but less wearing duties of army life. here comes a poor old drudge now." the boys looked in the direction indicated, and saw an old squaw staggering along toward the village, with a heavy spruce log on her shoulder. she had brought it a quarter of a mile from the hillside back of the cannery. while they watched her, they saw her slip on a bit of icy ground and fall, the log fortunately rolling to one side. with one quick impulse david and roly ran to help her. she had risen to her feet as they approached, and was making ineffectual efforts to raise the log. the boys picked it up in a twinkling,--it was not much of a load for them,--and having settled it firmly on their shoulders, they looked inquiringly at the woman, who appeared much surprised at their action, and indeed seemed to fear that they were going to make off with their prize. david, however, motioned to her to go ahead, and gave her to understand that they would follow. in this manner they reached a small cabin a few rods distant, where the log was dropped on a pile of chips near the door. an old indian sat on a stump beside the house, smoking his pipe complacently. he had witnessed the whole proceeding, but had not offered to lift a finger to help his poor old wife, much to the indignation of the brothers. mr. bradford warmly commended his sons when they returned, adding, "i'm glad to see you differed from the old native yonder, who was ashamed to do a woman's work." "we didn't stop to think much about it," said roly, "but i guess we should have helped her just the same if we had." they returned to camp about noon, and mr. bradford prepared the dinner, as long peter was not a competent cook. in the preparation of fish and game the chilkat was an expert, but such dainties as hot biscuits, baked in uncle will's yukon stove, were beyond his powers, and an omelet of crystallized eggs caused him to open his mouth, not only in expectation, but in astonishment. after dinner david and roly were intending to visit the railroad excavation, a quarter of a mile beyond the camp, on the northwest shore of the harbor. a dozen men were cutting through a strip of high land which crossed the line of the proposed road. the work had been going on but a few days, during which the trees had been cleared away, and the snow and earth removed from the underlying rock. it was the intention of the capitalists, so the cannery watchman had informed the boys, to extend the railroad clear to dawson along the line of the dalton trail, but he doubted if they would ever complete it, for a rival road was being constructed from skagway. the excavation was plainly visible from the bradfords' camp. "hurry up, roly," shouted david, who was eager to start. "the workmen are all in a bunch up there in the hole." roly hastily swallowed the remnants of a biscuit, and finished a cup of tea which he had set in a snowbank to cool. then he ran down to the beach where david stood. the workmen were now seen to leave the spot where they had been collected. they walked rapidly to their shanty, which stood not far from the hole, and one man who had not started with the others came running after them. "i believe they are going to fire a blast," said david, and called his father and long peter to come and see the explosion. all the workmen had now taken shelter behind their shanty, and they were none too soon. a great cloud of earth and smoke, mingled with fragments of rock and timbers, puffed suddenly out from the bank, followed by a mighty detonation that echoed from peak to peak of the neighboring mountains. a moment later the bradfords heard two or three stones strike around them. mr. bradford instantly realized that, great as the distance was, they were not out of danger. as he turned to warn the boys, there was a thud and a cry, and roly sank to the beach, pressing his hand to his chest. in a twinkling his father and david were at his side. the poor boy could not speak, but moaned faintly once or twice. his face was white, and he hardly seemed to breathe, but retained his consciousness. they lifted him tenderly and laid him in the large tent, where mr. bradford gave him brandy, felt his pulse, and then unbuttoned the heavy mackinaw overcoat, the inner coat, and the underclothing. as he bared the boy's breast, he could not restrain an exclamation of surprise and pity. through all that thick clothing the stone had left its mark,--a great red bruise on the fair skin, and so great was the swelling that he feared a rib had been broken. such happily was not the case, and mr. bradford heaved a sigh of relief as soon as he had satisfied himself on that point. "it--it knocked the wind out of me," said roly, faintly, when at last he could speak. "i should think it would have," said mr. bradford, with emphasis. "it would have killed you if it had struck you on the other side or in the head. thank god it was no worse!" long peter, who had been poking around on the beach where roly had stood, came up to the tent with a fragment of rock, which he handed to mr. bradford. it was the mischief-maker without a doubt. one side was smoothly rounded, but the other was rough and jagged, showing that it had been violently broken from the parent rock. it was but half as large as a man's fist, and roly found great difficulty in believing that so small a stone could have dealt such a blow. chapter vii camp at the cave uncle will did not return on the following afternoon or evening, and the watchers attributed his tardiness to contrary winds. all the second day as well they looked for him in vain. nor could the little party at pyramid harbor accomplish the work they had planned. roly was in good trim again, excepting a very sore chest, but the indian canoe which had transported their goods was now on the far side of the harbor, and no other was to be had. furthermore, the trail followed the beach, which was free from snow, and unfit for sledding. there was nothing to do but wait for uncle will and the boat he had hired. in the mean time, letters were written in the hope of an opportunity of mailing them. early on the third morning, they saw the little white sail enter the harbor's mouth. breakfast was hurriedly finished, and by the time the boat's keel grated on the stones the tents were down, dishes packed, and everything ready for embarkation. the sloop had a capacious cabin, which took up so much of the available space that it was found impossible to put more than one sled on board. she could carry the other supplies, however, and one passenger in addition to the boatman. uncle will invited his brother to be the passenger, saying that for himself he would be glad of a chance to stretch his legs on shore. mr. bradford therefore climbed into the boat and seated himself on a sack of rice, while the others waded into the water in their high rubber boots, and pushed the heavily laden vessel away from the beach. then they took up their march along the water's edge, dragging their empty sleds after them. in some places it was possible to take advantage of the snow where the ground above the beach was level and clear of trees, but for the most part it was hard travelling, the sleds apparently weighing more and more as they proceeded. roly found himself looking around more than once, under the impression that some one for a joke had added a rock to his load, but he was always mistaken. "whew!" he gasped, as he stopped to wipe the perspiration from his face. "if an empty sled is so hard to pull over these stones, i don't see how we are ever going to draw a loaded one." "it's a good deal easier to draw a loaded sled on the snow-crust," said uncle will, encouragingly, "than it is to overcome the friction of a light weight here. to-morrow we shall be on the ice, which is even better than the crust." "how far are we going to-day?" asked david. "about three miles. we shall not try to go beyond the cave." the attention of the boys was attracted by the noise of a waterfall which they could see imperfectly through the trees. the water dashed over a perpendicular cliff about one hundred feet high, and was almost enclosed by a sparkling structure of ice. all this while the boat was in plain view, sailing on a course parallel to theirs, at a distance of half a mile. it had now outstripped them, and uncle will said it ought to turn in soon toward the shore. it became evident before long, however, that the craft was in trouble. she was well out from the land, but seemed to be stationary. the shore party, slowly as they moved, now steadily gained on her, and at length they could see the two occupants standing on the bow and thrusting oars or poles into the water in different places. "she's aground!" exclaimed uncle will, after a moment's observation; "and the tide's going out. this is a pretty fix!" "can we do anything?" asked david, eager to go to the rescue. "oh! we might as well go on to the cave. it's not far now. we'll leave the sleds there, and then see what can be done. i don't think we can wade out to the boat yet, for there are two or three channels this side of her." so on they plodded once more. the cave was a great hole in the base of a cliff, and would comfortably contain a score of men, being ten feet high, fifteen feet deep, and eight feet wide. the boys wondered if it had ever been the haunt of robbers or pirates,--a fancy which the still smouldering embers of a camp-fire left by the mysterious thirty-six seemed to bear out. indeed, roly examined the interior carefully, half expecting to see the glimmer of gold coins in the darker crevices, but he found only a piece of canvas which might have been part of a money-bag. a closer examination showed that it was plentifully sprinkled with flour, and probably had never been used for anything more romantic. in all directions the snow had been trampled hard, and numerous bits of rope, and a tin can or two which no keen-eyed indian had yet appropriated, showed how recently the place had been deserted. along the beach was a row of crotched poles, most of them still upright, where the numerous tents had stood. david pointed these out to roly delightedly, observing that poles and spruce boughs in abundance were ready cut for them. the receding tide had now uncovered miles of mud flats, and uncle will declared himself ready to try to reach the boat. long peter was left at the cave to cut firewood, but the boys preferred to accompany their uncle, and started off in high spirits. they advanced with some difficulty, for the mud was often adhesive, clogging their boots at every step until they came to sandier stretches. at all the channels, most of which were easily crossed, although the water was running swiftly seaward, uncle will took the lead, prodding the ground carefully with a pole as he walked, to guard against quicksands. in this manner they reached a deep channel a few rods from the stranded sloop. mr. bradford and the boatman had been watching their progress from the other side of this channel, to which point they had brought bacon, hard-tack, and some cooking utensils, in order that dinner might be prepared as soon as they could cross. this being at last accomplished, the supplies were distributed among the whole party, and they made their way to camp. it was late in the evening when the goods were all snugly stowed in the cave, the boat having been brought up at high tide. the boatman sailed away before the water receded, carrying with him a package of letters which he promised to mail at chilkat post-office. hardly had he gone when a damp snow began to fall, with promise of a disagreeable night. roly thought it would be fun to sleep under the rocky roof of the cavern; but the smoke from the camp-fire persistently filled the place, and he was obliged to give up the idea. how strange it seemed to the boys to lie there so comfortably under the blankets in the tent and hear the snowflakes tap upon the canvas! the fitful gusts that swept past their frail dwelling threatened to overthrow it, but the anchor logs were heavy and the tent was strong, and it offered so perfect a shelter that, had the occupants not heard the wind, they would not have known it was blowing. they were too wearied with the day's work to lie long awake, even amid novel surroundings, and soon their regular breathing gave evidence of the deep, refreshing sleep which follows out-of-door labor. chapter viii sledding the following day was sunday, and they rested in camp. saturday night's storm had ceased before daybreak, and fortunately but an inch of snow had fallen,--not enough to interfere with their progress. the tents were brushed clean of the feathery flakes early on monday morning, before being taken down and folded for the journey. breakfast over, uncle will declared that no time must be lost in loading up the sleds. it had been decided that for the first day david should draw a load of one hundred and seventy-five pounds, and roly one hundred and fifty. the remainder was to be evenly distributed between the three long sleds drawn by mr. bradford, uncle will, and long peter, each of whom would have about four hundred and fifty pounds. such a load could only be drawn where the trail followed ice or level snow-crust. in soft snow or on hills, uncle will said they would have to take half a load forward and then return for the rest. the boys were sure they could haul heavier loads than those assigned to them; but their elders preferred not to overtax their strength, feeling that growing lads ought not to go to the extreme of exhaustion. david selected for his load his clothing bag, which weighed fifty pounds, two fifty-pound sacks of flour, a wide flat box of spices, and his rifle and snow-shoes. while his uncle showed him how to distribute the articles to the best advantage, and bind them securely with a lashing-rope passed through the side loops of the sled and over and around the load in various directions, roly proceeded, with the assurance of youth, to load his sled unaided. he first put on two twenty-five pound boxes of hard-tack, then his clothing bag and a sack of flour, followed by his shot-gun and snow-shoes, and tied them all on as securely as he could. when his uncle had finished his instructions to david, he was surprised to find roly's sled already loaded and lashed. "there, uncle will," said roly, proudly, as that gentleman approached, "i've done it alone. you won't have to waste any time on me." "ah!" said uncle will, "so i see." but roly did not notice the amusement in his eyes as he surveyed the work. "now, boys," he continued, after a moment, "there's one thing more, and you can be doing it while the rest of us are lashing our loads. do you see those two iron rings just above the forward end of the sled-runner on the right side?" "yes," answered david and roly. "well, they are intended to hold the 'gee-pole' in place. do you know what a gee-pole is?" the boys had never heard of the contrivance in question. "it is a pole," explained their uncle, "about seven feet long, which extends forward from the right side of the sled, and serves as an aid in guiding. if you should try to guide your sled with the drag-rope alone, you would find that it would swerve on every uneven spot, and slip sideways on a slope, and dig its nose into the sides of the trail where the snow is soft; but with your right hand on a firm-set gee-pole, you will be able to steady your sled and guide it accurately where the trail is rough or rutty. the sled will answer to the lightest touch on the gee-pole. you can cut four of the poles in that thicket on the hillside yonder, and fit them into the rings. i believe long peter has already supplied himself with one." roly and david, after several minutes' search, found four straight saplings of the required length and thickness, and cut them down with their hatchets. the large ends they trimmed to the right size, and inserted them through the rings of the sleds, making them firm by driving chips wedgewise between the iron and the wood. at eight o'clock all was ready, and the procession started with long peter in the lead. behind them lay the mud flats, with the shining water in the distance. before them to the northward stretched a broad and level expanse of snow, with here and there a patch of ice swept clean by the wind. the snow was almost as hard as the ice, and afforded a good running surface for the sleds. on either side of this broad valley of the chilkat rose high, wooded hills, and behind them glittering peaks from which the snow would not entirely disappear even in midsummer, so long peter informed them. for this kind of travelling the spiked "creepers" were a necessity, enabling the feet to obtain a firm hold on the alternate lanes of ice and icy snow. they were worn beneath the rubber shoe-packs, and fastened to the feet by leathern thongs. they had not proceeded far, when they came to a low ridge or bank, so steep that uncle will was obliged to go to the assistance of the indian. when the first load had been forced up the incline, the indian returned with uncle will, and the two pushed up the second sled. mr. bradford and david followed with the third, the former pulling on the drag-rope, and his son pushing on the rear of the load. david was able to draw his own light load up the slope without assistance, and roly came close behind him. unfortunately for roly, he did not attack the ridge directly but diagonally, which brought one sled-runner higher than the other. in an instant over went the sled upon its side. "what's the matter, roly?" shouted uncle will, who had been watching from the other side of the bank. "my sled's upset," answered roly, ruefully, "and the load is all loose." "and why should your sled have upset when none of the others did?" "i suppose it was because i didn't go up the hill straight." "that's only a part of the reason," said uncle will, good-naturedly, as he came up and scanned the pile. "i expected this very thing. don't you see why? you put the cracker boxes, the lightest part of your load, underneath, and the heavy flour sack and clothing bag above. the whole affair is top-heavy. and everything is loosened by the fall, because you did not cinch your lashing-rope. now let us load up properly. first put the two bags on the sled, then the boxes on top of them--so. now the load doesn't _look_ as well as it did, before, nor seem quite so capable of maintaining its balance, but you will find that, as a matter of fact, it will ride much better. "pass the lashing-rope over or around each article separately, and then back and forth over the whole load, cinching it at each side loop as you pass it through. now, should your final knot loosen, it will not affect the whole load, but the boxes on top, and the trouble can be remedied instantly, the cinches holding the rest of the load firm all the while. it is not always a waste of time, my lad, to take instructions when they are first offered, but i wanted you to have a practical demonstration of the results of poor loading. now we shall get along famously." at noon, when they halted for a luncheon of cold salt pork previously cooked, hard-tack, and cold, clear water from a spring on the eastern hill under which they were resting, uncle will estimated that they had covered nine miles,--an excellent morning's work. they had crossed the chilkat river once at least, and possibly several times, but as river and gravel flat were here alike covered with ice and snow, they were unable to distinguish the one from the other. "i couldn't eat such a piece of fat pork at home to save my life!" declared roly, as he took a huge bite from a generous slice. "it would make me sick." "i rather think it would," said david; "but here nothing seems to hurt us. how good and sweet it tastes! my! but i'm hungry." "and i too," said mr. bradford. "i can feel my old-time strength coming back with every breath of this air. in a week or two, will, i shall be as rugged as you are." "i've no doubt of it," said his brother; "and your beard is getting a beautiful start, too. the boys won't be able to tell us apart after a little." "never fear, uncle," laughed david. "unless you give up smoking, or father begins it, we shall have no difficulty. you and your pipe are inseparable." "true enough," said uncle will. "my pipe is home and wife and children to me." he lighted a match, and was soon puffing away with great satisfaction. "how far are we to go this afternoon?" inquired roly, abruptly. "are you tired?" asked his uncle, before he answered. "no," said roly, stoutly. "i could keep on all day, if the country is as level as this." "well, then," said his uncle, "we'll try to make nine miles more. but if you get very tired, don't hesitate to say so." after an hour's rest they proceeded, halting at intervals, as they had done during the morning. while travelling they were too warm to wear the mackinaw coats, and these were thrown across the loads, but at every halt they were resumed to prevent too rapid cooling. at times they saw the "creeper" marks of the mysterious thirty-six, and uncle will said he felt sure that the large party left the cave on the very morning of the day they--the bradfords--had reached it. if that were the case, he thought they could be overtaken soon, for, as a rule, a small party could move more rapidly than a large one. late in the afternoon, the treeless expanse of the river-bottom became narrowed by broken ground covered with a forest which encroached from the west. the trail followed by the indian led them into the midst of this forest, taking the course of a small stream which wound through it. in places, no ice had formed along the bank, and the bottom of the brook could be seen to consist of a rusty red mud. long peter drank very sparingly of this water, and cautioned the others, saying several times, "no good, no good." "why isn't it good?" asked roly, to whom the water looked clear enough. "it may be swamp water," answered his uncle, "or it may be heavily charged with minerals. perhaps it would not hurt you, but it is always best to follow the advice of the natives in such matters. they are careful to choose only pure streams or springs for drinking purposes, and this brook appears to be impregnated with bog iron, so probably the water comes from some stagnant pond." soon after five o'clock, when mr. bradford and the boys were growing very weary, and even uncle will, who was accustomed to the work, had admitted that the march was a long one, long peter gave a satisfied grunt and pointed forward. the others looked, and saw a row of tent-poles on a low bluff. they had reached the spot where the thirty-six had spent the previous night. "good!" exclaimed uncle will. "we've made as long a march as they did, sure enough, though we haven't come more than seven miles this afternoon. we will camp right here, and thank the mysterious gentlemen for the use of their poles and boughs." on the succeeding day, there was a well-defined trail, much cut up by the heavy sleds of the party ahead, for the snow was now deep and rather soft. in spite of the excellent manner in which the three long sleds were loaded, and the care with which they were drawn, upsets occurred quite frequently, and even the light loads of roly and david sometimes overturned in the deeper ruts. re-lashing was seldom necessary, however, thanks to the instructions of uncle will. as the sun mounted higher, the snow became softer, and progress increasingly difficult. to deviate from the beaten path was to sink hopelessly, while to remain in it was to encounter hollows and ruts, from which two men could hardly extricate a single sled. they were constantly obliged to help each other, and at last uncle will gave orders to wait until the snow hardened again in the afternoon. by nightfall, they had covered about nine miles, reaching a point opposite the indian village of klukwan, which lay on the eastern bank of the river. here again they found a deserted camp. chapter ix klukwan and the fords the boys had been too thoroughly fatigued to closely observe the settlement of klukwan by the waning light of the afternoon, but in the morning they gazed with interest at the village across the chilkat. the shore was lined with canoes of various sorts and sizes, and the river at this point was free from ice. they could hear the barking of dogs, and see men, women, and children moving about among the houses, which extended along the shore in a nearly straight line for a quarter of a mile. there were, perhaps, a score of buildings in all, most of them not unlike two-story new england farmhouses, neatly painted and well preserved. "you would hardly believe that such a village contains no white inhabitants, would you?" said uncle will, who, with mr. bradford, now joined the boys on the river-bank. "no," replied david. "how does it happen that the indians own such good houses?" "i'm told," said uncle will, "that this was a russian post before the united states bought alaska in . the russian traders built the houses; and when the territory was sold, they moved out and the chilkats moved in. and not only are the indians well housed, but, through the influence of the traders and missionaries, they have adopted the dress and, to a large extent, the manners of civilization. one of them even owns a horse and cart, which he drives across the flats, carrying on a kind of express business between old village--which is the meaning of the indian word 'klukwan'--and pyramid harbor." roly had been staring at a curious figure directly opposite. it appeared to represent the head and fore-legs of a frog, surrounded by a circle of black paint, the whole being portrayed upon several upright boards which stood side by side. "what in the world is that thing?" he asked, when his uncle had finished. "it reminds me of the african dodger at the circus last summer. a colored man put his head through a hole in a sheet, and if you hit him you got a cigar,--and i did hit him, but the proprietor said i was too small to smoke, so he gave me a stick of candy." the others laughed, and david proposed that roly should throw a snowball at the frog, and see what he would get. "that would hardly do," said uncle will, "even if he could throw so far, for this is no african dodger, but a totem-figure, similar to those on the totem-poles. the ashes of some indian of the family which has the frog as its symbol are entombed in a little house behind those boards, and roly would be more likely to get a bullet than a stick of candy if he injured that image." on turning back from the river-bank, they found long peter looking intently at a group of people a short distance to the north. "white people--two men--two women!" he exclaimed, as they approached. "women?" repeated mr. bradford, incredulously; "this is a queer place for white women." "so it is," said uncle will. "they must have come from that disabled steamer, bound for copper river, which landed her passengers at pyramid harbor a fortnight ago. i met a few of her people on this trail when i came out to the coast, but didn't see this party. they must have camped off the regular trail, and have evidently travelled very slowly. i think they are on this side of the salmon river, which empties into the chilkat opposite the north end of the village." uncle will's theory proved the true one. the bradfords, having made everything ready for the day's march, soon covered the short distance which separated them from the party ahead, which consisted of two young men, a tall and rather slender young woman, and a matronly person whom they at first supposed to be the mother of the others. after pleasantly greeting the new-comers, however, and noting their expression of surprise and interest, the elder woman took it upon herself to offer an explanation. "i don't wonder, gentlemen," said she, "that you are surprised to see ladies in such a place as this, though i do not doubt there are many on the more frequented trails. we were bound for copper river; but our steamer proved unseaworthy, and was obliged to land her passengers at pyramid harbor. there were rumors of gold on this trail, so we determined to reach the spot if possible." "i admire your pluck, madam," said uncle will, gallantly. "but wasn't it a rather rash undertaking?" suggested mr. bradford. "yes, i admit it was. in fact, we didn't let our friends and neighbors back in ohio know what we intended; because if we had, and then failed, we should be the laughing-stock of our town. all our friends thought we were making a pleasure trip to the pacific coast." "well, well!" exclaimed mr. bradford. "and this is a family party, then?" and he wondered what his wife would think of making such a trip. "yes, practically so. i am mrs. shirley. these are my nephews and my niece." "and we are all bradfords, except the indian," said mr. bradford, in return for this information. "but how in the world do you manage to move your supplies with only two men and no indians or dogs?" asked uncle will. "oh, my niece and i help with the sleds. we have to make a good many trips, though, over the same ground, for we have a year's provisions with us. it is very slow work, especially since one of the boys is quite disabled. he cut his foot badly with an axe a few days ago." uncle will looked at the bandaged foot, and asked if it had been properly cared for. "yes," replied the young man, "thanks to my aunt." "very fortunately," said that lady, "i am a physician, and so was able to dress the wound. there was a medical man with a large party which recently passed, who offered his services, but they were not needed." "and how do you expect to cross this wide river?" asked mr. bradford. "oh, my uninjured nephew has been carrying the goods over piece-meal. it is simply a matter of time and perseverance. three days ago, we had stopped at the first of those shallow streams which you must have passed yesterday, when we were overtaken by that numerous company of white men and indians. they made light work of the fording, carrying their sleds over bodily, loads and all, as many men taking hold as could find room; and when their own loads were across, they generously came back for ours. finally a big, strong man whom they called paul, took my niece, my injured nephew, and myself over on his back, one after another,--and they did the same thing for us at the other streams that day; but before we reached this river they were out of sight." "well," said uncle will, "we mustn't let them outdo us. it's surely our turn now, and we shall be very glad to help you, madam." "thank you," replied mrs. shirley, gratefully. "i am very unwilling to cause you extra labor and delay, but in our present unfortunate situation i can not refuse assistance." preparations were at once begun for crossing salmon river. the bradfords took from each of their long sleds half its load. then long peter, facing forward, firmly grasped the front of his sled, while mr. bradford and uncle will, one on each side, held to the ends of a shovel thrust under the forward part above the runners. david and roly took the ends of another shovel similarly placed under the rear end, and the only able-bodied man of the other party, who insisted on doing his share, grasped the sled from behind. in this manner they lifted their load, and started down the snowy bank into the water, which was shallow at first, but grew deeper as they neared the opposite shore. it was quite necessary that all should keep step, but as they entered the deeper water david and roly found it difficult to do this, for the current was very strong, and almost forced their feet from beneath them. the icy water surged and bubbled higher and higher against their rubber boots,--a fact which the boys noticed with some dismay. at length they entered the lowest part of the channel, where the depth of the stream was about two feet and a half. "there!" exclaimed roly, ruefully, as he took a step forward and braced himself as well as he could against the current, "the water came into my boots that time. there it goes again. o-o-h! but it's cold." "aren't you glad you came?" said david, provokingly. "y-yes," stoutly stammered roly, who saw that his brother was also wet, and resolved that he, too, would make light of the wetting. "but i didn't expect ice-water bathing." a moment more and they were out of the river and up on the further bank, where they set down the sled and paused to recover their breath. the men, being taller and wearing higher boots, had escaped dry-shod, but the boys felt anything but comfortable. "never mind the water, boys," said uncle will, cheerfully. "it won't hurt you to get wet in this country. pour the water out of your boots, if there's much in them, for you needn't go back again. just stay right here and load up the sleds as fast as we bring them over." the men swished back through the water, carrying the empty sled for the other half of its load. in half an hour all the supplies of both parties had been brought across. "now, mrs. shirley," said uncle will, with a smile, "have you any preference as to the manner of transportation? i trust i'm as strong as the kind-hearted paul." "i've no doubt of that," replied mrs. shirley, with a slight trace of embarrassment. "but really, if another way could be found, i should prefer it. you have an unloaded sled on the other side,--could you not take us over on that?" "yes," said uncle will, "we can." the sled was promptly sent for, and upon its arrival mrs. shirley requested her niece to go first. the young woman accordingly seated herself upon it, grasped the sides firmly, and was borne lightly over the river by the four men. her brother went next, and finally her aunt. the two parties remained together all that day, as there were other channels to be crossed, and a few miles farther a second great river, the klaheena, also flowing into the chilkat from the west. it was nightfall before the fording was completed and the way lay clear before them. chapter x a porcupine-hunt at pleasant camp as the bradfords were able to travel more rapidly than mrs. shirley and her companions, the two parties separated on the following day. the trail turned to the west, ascending the gradual incline of the klaheena river valley--a valley similar in character to that of the chilkat--to a point called pleasant camp. although the distance from klukwan to pleasant camp was about the same as that from pyramid harbor to klukwan, they were five days in covering it, since for much of the way the snow was soft, and progress correspondingly difficult. there was no more ice to travel upon, and the snow-crust would not bear them during the warmer part of the day. in fact, they could seldom walk upon it at all without their snow-shoes, the use of which the boys learned after a few hours' practice,--not, however, without some of those gymnastic performances predicted by the genial mr. kingsley. they crossed one wide but shallow stream by throwing brush into the water, which raised the sleds enough to keep the loads dry. at another point a considerable delay was caused by a steep hill which the trail mounted at one side of the valley in order to avoid a difficult ford. uncle will pointed out a tree at the top of this hill, the bark of which was worn off in a circle a few feet above the ground, remarking that the mysterious thirty-six had evidently rigged a block and tackle there, and drawn up their sleds by a long rope. after following a rough, wooded ridge for perhaps a quarter of a mile, the trail led down again to the river flats. each day brought them nearer the great range of snowy mountains, at the foot of which lay pleasant camp. there they would turn to the right and cross the mountains, which were in british territory, by the chilkat pass. the boys thought they had never seen a more beautiful valley than that of the klaheena. in every direction were glistening peaks, their bases clothed with green spruce forests, which here and there spread out over the levels near the river, where they showed a sprinkling of bare-boughed poplars, willows, and alders. at one of their camps, where a small stream known as boulder creek flowed into the klaheena from the north, the weather turned suddenly cold, with a bitter wind which the huge camp-fire hardly tempered. it was so cold in the tent that the boys slept in their mackinaw coats, which usually they removed and rolled up for pillows. nestling deep down into the blankets, they were warm enough, except when one or the other turned over, disturbing the coverlets, and drawing a blast of cold air over their necks and shoulders. they did not take the precaution to pull their caps over their ears, relying on the protection of the blankets, but unfortunately, while they slept, their heads became entirely uncovered. both boys found their ears slightly frost-bitten and very painful in the morning. when they attempted to draw on their shoe-packs, which had been left outside the tent, the leather tops and lacings were frozen so stiffly that it was necessary to thaw them out before a fire. mr. bradford's pocket thermometer registered three degrees below zero when they crept out into the crisp morning air and with numb fingers took down the tents and made ready the sleds. "this is about as chilly as we shall have it," said uncle will, as he deftly turned the bacon in the frying-pan; "and it's nothing to what i had on my first trip in. fifty below is a nice bit colder than three. it's too late in the season for any more of that, and i'm not sorry. we shall be unlucky though, if we don't reach the alsek river before the ice breaks up, for cross-country travelling in that region is a hard proposition." "how far away is the alsek?" asked david. "about thirty miles on the other side of the pass." "and where do you suppose the mysterious gentlemen are now?" "oh, they are doubtless working up toward the summit. if they cross first, we can hardly hope to catch them, for i have no doubt the alsek ice is firm yet, and on that they can move as fast as we can." "why is it we haven't overtaken them?" inquired roly. "i suspect they don't stop on sundays as we have." "then it's not a fair race," said roly. "they have an advantage over us." "only an apparent one," observed mr. bradford. "they are likely to wear themselves out with such unremitting labor. we shall see." two days later pleasant camp was reached, and the sleds were drawn up from the river flats to the top of a low plateau covered with a fine forest, mostly of spruce. to the west and north rose the massive white summits of the coast range, like giants guarding the gateways to the interior. a small party of indians who had camped there were about to leave when the bradfords arrived. their household goods, consisting of blankets, kettles, pans, dried salmon, and a gun or two, were packed upon sleds, several of which were drawn by small, weak-looking dogs. there was one very old indian who drew a light load upon a sled, while his wife, who was younger and stronger, bore a considerable burden upon her back. her face was blackened to protect the skin from the blistering glare of sun and snow. the only other woman in the party carried on her back a baby warmly rolled in a blanket. she wore a sort of hood, a skirt which reached to the knees, and deer-skin leggings and moccasins, and travelled easily over the drifts on light, narrow snow-shoes of native manufacture. when these indians had disappeared up the mountain trail, long peter, who had cast admiring glances at david's rifle and roly's shot-gun whenever the boys had removed them from their cases, came forward with a tempting proposal. "you come with me," said he to the boys. "plenty porc'pine here. take guns and snow-shoes. porc'pine much good." the boys were on their feet in an instant at the prospect of a porcupine-hunt. at last they were to have an opportunity to test their new weapons. but first they must obtain permission to go. "aren't you too tired?" asked mr. bradford, when they bore down upon that gentleman. "oh, no!" shouted both together. "well then, you may go; but i think i'll go with you. i've no doubt you've listened very carefully to all my instructions, but you'll be pretty sure to be absent-minded in the excitement of the hunt. do you remember the first rule, david?" "yes," said david. "never point a gun, loaded or unloaded, at yourself or any one else." "correct," said mr. bradford. "what was the second rule, roly?" "never leave a loaded gun where it can fall down, or be thrown down, or disturbed in any way." "right again. it was a violation of that rule which caused lucky to be shot at klukshu lake, as your uncle told us. now, david, the third rule." "unload the gun before climbing over fences, walls, and fallen trees, or entering thickets, or rough or slippery ground." "good," said mr. bradford. "that is a rule which is often disregarded, and neglect of it has caused many accidents. you won't find any fences here, but there will be plenty of rough ground and fallen timber. the fourth rule, roly." "let me see," said roly, biting his lip with vexation as he tried in vain to recall it. "oh, yes! i remember it now. wherever possible, keep the hammers at half-cock." "now," said mr. bradford, "if you will bear those few rules in mind, you need not trouble yourselves about any others at present. get your snow-shoes and guns and a few cartridges, and i'll be ready when you are." the boys started off with high anticipations a few minutes later, led by the indian, and followed by their father. they all wore snow-shoes, for in the forest back of the camp, where the snow had not alternately frozen and thawed as it had in the open valley, there was very little crust over the deep drifts. they wound in and out among the spruces, the indian carefully examining the snow for tracks as he shuffled lightly along at a pace which the others could keep only with the greatest exertion, for their snow-shoes were heavier and wider than his, and they were not yet skilled. they had not gone a quarter of a mile when long peter paused at a fresh track which crossed their course at right angles, and led toward a little gully where there were several young spruce-trees with thick branches. "good," said he, and immediately started on the animal's trail. roly became excited at once, and in swerving to the left to follow the indian, he forgot to manage his snow-shoes with the care that is necessary, stepping upon his left snow-shoe with the right one, so that he could not raise the left foot for the next step. in an instant, carried forward by his own momentum, he plunged head-first into the soft, white, yielding drift, which closed over his head and shoulders. david, who was close behind, struggled in vain to choke a peal of laughter, and was thankful that roly was not likely to hear it with his head in the snow. long peter, who had no scruples, laughed long after roly had emerged. they all rushed to aid the struggling youngster, who was so hampered by the big shoes that there seemed no possibility of his regaining his feet until they were disencumbered. david, after warning his brother not to kick, quickly loosened the moose-hide thongs and removed the snow-shoes, which done, the fallen youth picked himself up, and brushed the snow out of his eyes, mouth, and neck. "whew!" he sputtered; "how did i happen to do that?" "you turned the corner with the wrong foot," said his father. "where's your gun?" the gun was nowhere to be seen until long peter fished it up out of the snow, where it had fallen underneath its owner. "is it loaded?" asked mr. bradford. roly thanked his stars that he could answer "no," and added, "i took this to be rough ground." "you were right, roly," said his father, much pleased. "there was no need to carry a loaded gun here, for you always have plenty of time in shooting at this kind of game. you can readily see what kind of an accident might have happened. now wipe off the gun as well as you can, and let's see where this track leads." they passed down into the gully, where many of the trees had been stripped of their bark and killed by the little animals. after following it a few rods, they turned up the farther bank, where the indian paused at the foot of a dense spruce. all about the base of the tree were the porcupine tracks, but they did not appear beyond. "porc'pine here," said the red man, circling around the tree and gazing intently into its bushy top. a moment later he exclaimed, "i see him! you, dave, bring rifle here." david slipped a cartridge into his gun, and looked where the indian pointed. he could see a dark body close to the tree-trunk among the upper branches. as he raised his rifle to his shoulder, he was surprised to find himself trembling violently. "well, well, dave!" exclaimed his father, noticing his nervousness, "you've got the buck fever over a porcupine, sure enough. hadn't you better let me shoot him?" "oh, no! i'm all right," said david, bracing up mentally if not physically, and pulling the trigger. a few spruce needles and twigs rattled down as the shot rang out, but the porcupine was apparently unscathed. "no good," said long peter. "you no hit him." "you fired too high," observed mr. bradford, "and you shut your eyes. keep at least one eye open, and be sure it's the one you sight with. aim low and don't jerk." roly petitioned to be allowed the second shot; but his father, seeing that david was much chagrined, ruled that he should have another chance. carefully observing directions, david fared better at the second trial. through the smoke as he fired, he saw the porcupine come tumbling heavily down from branch to branch till it dropped into the snow and lay there motionless. it was quite dead, and long peter, with a grunt of satisfaction, took it up gingerly by the feet, taking care not to be pricked by the sharp quills which bristled all over the animal's back. "hurrah!" cried roly, "now we shall have fresh meat." "yes," said mr. bradford, "a porcupine stew will be a welcome change from bacon,--but we ought to get one more at least. long peter here could eat the whole of this at one sitting without any trouble at all, eh, peter?" the indian smacked his lips, and his eyes glistened, for the prickly little animals are considered such a delicacy by the natives, that they will gorge themselves even to sickness when they have the opportunity. a second porcupine was treed not far from the first. roly brought it down at the first shot,--a feat which would certainly have puffed him with pride, had he not retained a vivid remembrance of his late inglorious downfall. they returned to camp in triumph, and found supper waiting. the porcupines were thrown into the fire, that the quills might burn away, uncle will remarking that such chickens needed a great deal of singeing. long peter prepared them for the stew, and they were served up in fine style on the following morning, with rice and soup vegetables. the meat had a distinct flavor of spruce bark, the food of the animal; but it was not at all disagreeable, and the stew was voted an unqualified success. chapter xi the mysterious thirty-six for nearly a week, the little party struggled with the most difficult portion of the trail. at pleasant camp they had reached an elevation of about five hundred feet above the sea, but the rise had been so gradual through the forty-five miles of river valleys that it had hardly been noticed. from that point, however, it was all mountain work, and they had to ascend three thousand feet more in about fifteen miles, to gain the summit of the chilkat pass and the high interior plateau. the trail often led uphill only to lead provokingly down again on the other side, so that the gain was thrown away, and had to be earned all over again. then, too, the snowdrifts increased the roughness of the path. it was out of the question to move full loads under such conditions, and half-loads were taken forward a few miles and cached one day, and the remainder brought up the next. some of the slopes were so steep that even the ice-creepers barely gave the sled-pullers a foothold, and often the sheer weight of the loads dragged them back again and again. [illustration: a curious phenomenon beside the trail] under this terrible strain their feet grew sore, and the frequent dipping of the gee-poles, as the sleds dove into the hollows, gave them cruelly lame backs. to make matters worse, the tugging on the ropes, coupled with the usual dampness of their mittens, caused the skin of their fingers to crack deeply and painfully at the joints. many times the sleds overturned, or jammed against stumps and roots. altogether it was a severe and thorough training for the boys in patience, endurance, and perseverance. "what will become of mrs. shirley's party here, i wonder," said roly, after a hard day's work. "if they are wise," replied uncle will, "they'll stop at pleasant camp. the two young men can make a dash in for claims when the lame one has recovered, but those ladies can never stand this kind of work." david declared that never before had he appreciated the picture in his room at home, of napoleon's soldiers dragging cannon over the alps. he was quite sure he would groan with genuine sympathy when he saw it again. in the mean time, in spite of all discomforts, he was daily securing beautiful and interesting views of mountains and valleys, of camps and the sledding, and of all the unique phases of his outdoor life. at one point, he photographed a curious phenomenon beside the trail. the stump of a tree bore upon its top a great skull-shaped mass of snow, while underneath on every side the flakes had been packed against the bark by the wind, the whole forming a colossal figure of a human head and neck, which appeared as if carved in purest marble. now and then they observed traces of the company ahead. sometimes it was a broken gee-pole, again a deserted camping-ground or fireplace, and frequently bits of rope, empty cracker boxes and tins, or a freshly "blazed" or notched tree to indicate the trail. but the thirty-six themselves were as elusive as if they all wore seven-league boots, and the bradfords never caught sight of them during these days, no matter how hard they worked. in the forest through which they were travelling, spruce gum of fine quality could be picked from many of the trees, and the boys found it useful as a preventive of thirst in a country where open springs were far between. often, too, they carried beef tablets in their pockets, and these served to alleviate hunger as well as thirst,--for so severe was the work, and so stimulating to the appetite the mountain air, that they were fairly faint between meals. once, while on the march, they were startled by a deep rumbling, which seemed to come from the bowels of the earth. uncle will said that this was the sound of an avalanche on the high mountains across the klaheena valley. porcupines were so numerous as to be obtainable as often as needed, but roly one day discovered a new kind of game. he espied a large dark bird sitting on a low branch of a spruce near the trail, and called uncle will's attention to it. "ah!" exclaimed the latter, "that's a spruce partridge, and very good eating. is your revolver loaded, charles?" the guns were packed in their cases on the sleds, but mr. bradford's revolver was loaded and ready. he took careful aim at the partridge and fired. the bird, not thirty feet away, merely cocked its head to one side, and calmly eyed the discomfited marksman. "missed," said mr. bradford. "suppose you try a shot, roly. i've been out of practice too long." "yes," said roly, "let me try. but why didn't the partridge fly away? they're awfully 'scary' at home." "this is not the ruffed grouse, or partridge, of new england," explained his father, "but a different species. it is often called the 'fool hen,' because it is so stupid. you might fire a dozen times without inducing it to fly, and you can go up quite close to it if you wish. it's more sportsmanlike, though, to give the bird a chance." roly accordingly stood where he was, fired, and missed. uncle will then brought down the bird with his revolver, and later, david and roly plucked and dressed it, with some assistance from long peter, and cooked it for their supper. david awoke, one morning, to find his younger brother observing him with a curious expression in his eyes, the cause of which he was at a loss to discover. "what in the world is the matter with your face, dave?" said roly, as soon as he saw that his tent-mate was awake. "matter with my face?" repeated david, sleepily. "why, nothing. what makes you think so?" "you don't look a bit natural," said roly. "oh, come!" muttered david. "what are you talking about? i'm all right, i tell you;" and he gazed drowsily up at the canvas above him, through which the morning light filtered. "oh! you are, are you?" said roly. "well, i advise you to look in a mirror before you go outside, that's all." but david neglected the warning. his appearance, when he crawled forth from the tent, was the signal for a loud burst of laughter from long peter, who was making the fire, and this, more than anything else, convinced the boy that something was really wrong. he retreated into the tent and consulted a small pocket looking-glass, whereby he discovered that his countenance was as black as the ace of spades. "april fool!" shouted the irrepressible roly, with great glee, and dived head-first out of the tent to escape a flying shoe. "my dear brother, permit me to inform you that this is the first of april." this last explanatory speech was delivered with telling effect from a safe distance. [illustration: the camp of the mysterious thirty-six] david was at first much vexed, but having washed his face, he joined at last in the laugh against himself. taking the idea from the blackened faces of the indian women, roly had carefully gone over his sleeping brother's face with soot from the bottom of a kettle. the youngster confessed, however, that, owing to anxiety lest david should awaken first, his fun had cost him half his night's sleep. it brought upon him, too, some words of counsel from his father, who reminded him that practical joking often provoked serious ill-feeling, and it was only owing to david's good sense that it had not done so in the present instance. that day's march was a short one. early in the afternoon they saw a thin blue column of smoke rising through the trees ahead, and a few minutes later, to their unbounded delight, they entered the camp of the mysterious thirty-six, whose tents were scattered through the grove wherever the snow was level, or a tree or bank afforded shelter. such members of the company as they saw greeted them pleasantly, and congratulated uncle will on making so rapid a journey. they could far better afford to be distanced by the small bradford party than the bradfords by them, and showed no trace of ill-humor. uncle will declared, however, as the bradfords were pitching their camp in the edge of the timber, that it was too early to crow yet. "what place is this?" asked roly, as he fetched a kettleful of water from the one open spot in a brook everywhere else buried deep under the snow. uncle will hung the kettle over the fire and answered, "rainy hollow." "ah!" exclaimed the boy, with sudden recollection, "this is where you wrote your letter." "yes," said his uncle, "and the place was well named. it storms here most of the time, consequently the crossing of the summit is usually difficult and often quite dangerous. we are close to the summit now, and this is the last of the timber." "and how far is it across the summit?" "about twenty miles to the timber on the other side." after supper the boys paid a visit to the large camp, having a desire to see how the mysterious thirty-six looked and lived. as they entered the camp the familiar "muck-muck" was shouted from the entrance of a large cooking-tent by a jolly, red-faced man, whose general appearance, together with a big spoon which he waved dramatically above a kettle of beans, indicated that he was the cook. the call was taken up in various directions, and repeated to the farthest tents, and presently white men and indians appeared from every side and took their places indiscriminately in a line before the tent. each carried an aluminum plate and cup, with knife, fork, and spoon. as fast as they were served, the men either seated themselves on logs and boxes, or stood in groups, eating their beans, bacon, and biscuits, and drinking their hot tea with great relish. the boys saw several sly young indians finish their rations almost at a gulp, lick their plates clean, and immediately re-enter the line, by which trick they received a double portion, the cook being evidently unable to distinguish them from new-comers. when all had been served, a white man approached the tent and asked, "do we get a second helping to-night, jack? i'm as hungry as i was before. appetite's just getting whetted." "no, si, my boy, there's nothing left. only one round,--that's the orders to-night." "h-m," said si. "i'll bet those indians didn't go hungry, though. i saw one of 'em go back into the line." "well," said the cook, "the cap'n will have to see to it, then. i can't watch 'em all." "i suppose not," said si. "it's a shame, though." he looked around to satisfy himself that the leader was not within hearing. "i'd have pitched that indian into a snowbank if it wasn't directly against orders. the cap'n says we're to have no rows with the redskins, or they'll leave us, so we've got to be sweet an' nice to the rascals. by the way, jack, has anybody spoken for that kettle?" "you're first on that," replied the cook, handing out one of the bean kettles, in the bottom of which clung some half-burned scrapings. "get all the satisfaction you can out of it, old man." "trust me for that," said si, calling to a friend to come and share his prize. several others came up to ask for a second helping, but they were disappointed,--all except the one who followed si. he received the other bean kettle. "i'm glad we don't have to figure so closely," said david. "it must be pretty tough to go to bed hungry after a hard day's work." "that's what it is!" exclaimed a young man who stood near, and overheard david's remark. "if they doubled our present rations it wouldn't be too much, considering the work we have to do in these mountains. i've had only two really satisfying meals since we left pyramid harbor, and those consisted of porcupine stew." "why don't they give you more, then?" asked roly. "oh! i suppose it's because we can't carry much food on these sleds, and what we have must last until june, when pack trains of horses can bring us more. would you boys like to look around the camp?" "yes, indeed," answered david. "well," said their guide, who, as they learned, came from their own state, "let's have a look at the fireplace." this was near the cook-tent, and consisted of a circular hollow at the foot of a tall spruce. at the bottom of the cavity a bright fire blazed, and several kettles were hung over it by forked sticks suspended from a horizontal pole, which was supported at each end at the proper height by a crotched stake. "there was quite a hole here when we came," said the young man, "and we enlarged it with our shovels, and deepened it until we reached the ground. the heat of the fire has made it still larger. you can get a good idea of the depth of the snow from this hole, for, as you see, the head of the man who stands in there by the fire doesn't reach within a foot of the surface. there's about twice as much snow here as there was in the valley." they next visited the dwelling tents, which were exactly like the diminutive tent of david and roly, each barely accommodating two men; but here in some cases four men had joined, and by spreading their two tents and the two flies over a framework of poles, they secured a sort of canvas hut which was quite roomy, and sheltered the occupants from the wind on three sides, while a fire of logs before the open fourth side made the improvised dwelling comfortable and cheerful, and served also to dry the moccasins, coats, and blankets which had become damp on the march. in the distance they now heard some one calling off a list of names. their friend listened intently. "there," said he, with a woful face, "i'm wanted. i suppose it's my turn on guard to-night." "do you have to stand guard?" asked david, with some surprise. "we never do. what is there to guard against?" "i don't know, i'm sure," said the young man, replying to the latter question. "perhaps our indians would meddle with the supplies, or it may be the rule was made in the interest of the cooks, for the last guard calls them up in the morning. then, besides, there are generally beans to be boiled at night, and the guards do that, and, of course," he added with a grimace and a smack of the lips, "we have to sample those beans to know when they are done. that's the one redeeming feature of guard duty." the boys laughed, and declared the guards were not to be blamed under the circumstances. "how long is your watch?" asked roly. "two hours. we draw lots for choice of watches. there are so many of us that the turn doesn't come round to the same man oftener than once a week, but it is pretty hard then to be pulled out of the blankets in the middle of the night after a long day's labor. well, i must leave you. good-bye!" and he was off to see about the guard duty. the boys returned to their camp, passing on the way the large tent of the indians, who were singing a weird, monotonous native chant, varied by the occasional insertion of religious hymns which they had picked up at haines' mission. uncle will was telling his brother the information he had gathered in the neighboring camp. "they arrived here yesterday," he was saying, "so their leader told me, and to-day they carried part of their goods forward five miles, where they cached them. the men returned from that trip just before we came. to-morrow they plan to take another and longer journey, moving their remaining supplies ten miles and then returning here. that will be a good twenty-mile march, and it will use them up so that i think they'll have to rest one day at least. their leader, who was willing enough to talk about his present plans, said that as soon as possible after they had made the second cache, they would take an early start from here, and try to reach the timber on the other side the same day. you see they'll have virtually nothing to carry except tents and blankets until they reach their first cache, which they will pick up, leaving the second untouched. in other words, they will travel five miles with very light loads, and then fifteen with half-loads,--twenty miles in all. they will return from that advanced camp the next day to their second cache and take that forward." "i suppose," said mr. bradford, "we shall have to employ the same tactics to some extent. we can't carry forward our whole outfit in one march." "that's true," answered his brother. "i think it would be wise to first carry half-loads ten miles. if the boys give out before we get back, we'll draw them. i'm convinced that if we're to beat the big party, we must do it here, and work as we never worked before. one thing i'm thankful for,--our loads are lighter than theirs, for you see we've already taken provisions for myself and long peter as far as klukshu lake, and we two are now moving a share of yours. besides, these fellows have an unusual amount of clothing and other truck in their clothing bags, and a great deal of heavy hardware. what did you learn from their indians, peter?" long peter smiled and looked wise. "injuns say they no go to-morrow. big snow come. white men no keep together; some get lost. no wood for fire. but we go if no wind. me know t'ail [trail]." this was a long speech for long peter, and it meant much. the morrow would decide the race. chapter xii the summit of chilkat pass the prediction of snow was fulfilled to the letter. when the bradfords awoke, they found the air thick with feathery flakes, which came gently and noiselessly down on tent and tree and drift. already the green boughs of the spruces were heavily laden. in mr. bradford's thermometer the mercury stood at twenty-five degrees above zero. long peter noted the direction of the wind, which was so light as hardly to be perceptible. then he examined the snowflakes, which were damp and large, indicating that the cloud currents of the air were not intensely cold. "we can go," said he to uncle will. breakfast hurriedly disposed of, the sleds were loaded with half the supplies, oiled canvas being bound over the goods to keep them dry. uncle will knew that long peter was one of the most experienced pathfinders in his tribe, and would not undertake the march if he were not well able to bring them through in safety. by seven o'clock they were on their way, the indian leading and treading a path with his narrow, turned-up snow-shoes. the others followed easily in his track, all wearing snow-shoes, for otherwise they would have broken through the thin crust of the old snow, and the sleds would frequently have been stalled. as they had camped in the edge of the woods, they were quickly out of sight of the trees, and traversing a barren, snowy waste which presented a gentle upward incline. the falling snow cut off the distant prospect, and in the absence of all landmarks the indian was guided solely by the slope of the ground and the direction of the wind. uncle will, however, verified his course from time to time by a small compass. after travelling thus about a mile, they arrived at the edge of a bank or bluff, which sloped steeply down to a level space fifty feet below. "devil's slide," said the indian to uncle will, in a tone of satisfaction. "yes," replied the latter. "i remember this place and its curious name very well." "i don't see how we are going to get these loads down," said roly. "it's awfully steep." long peter, so far as his own sled was concerned, quickly solved that problem. he drew his load to the edge of the bluff, and then, with apparent recklessness, threw himself upon it just as it toppled over the brink. the others held their breath while man and sled went down, as roly said afterward, "like greased lightning;" but the runners cut through the snow at the bottom of the hill, and the outfit brought up safely. mr. bradford declared that might do for long peter, but _he_ didn't care to risk it. he accordingly let his sled go alone, which it did gracefully enough until half-way down, when it swerved, upset, and rolled over and over, the gee-pole finally sticking in the snow and ending its wild career. it was necessary to repack the whole load. uncle will's sled fared better. as for the boys, they ventured to coast down as long peter had done, and reached the bottom in a whirl of snow without any mishap. near the foot of the slide they entered a narrow ravine,--the bed of a mountain brook now buried deep under the drifts,--and followed it up for a mile or two, emerging at length upon an almost level expanse, which uncle will said was one of the highest places on the pass. "indeed," said he, "we may as well call this the summit, although for many miles we shall continue at about this height. there is a shallow lake in the little hollow ahead, long peter tells me, but you wouldn't guess it to look at this unbroken snow-field." on their right they could now dimly see, through the falling flakes, an abrupt mountain peak, whose lower slopes they were already skirting. its top was cut into several sharp points like saw-teeth. uncle will informed his friends that it was one of the best landmarks on the pass, being visible in fair weather for miles in either direction,--in fact, it was such a steadfast, reliable peak that it had earned the name, "mount stay-there." to the left was a low ridge of rounded hills, beyond which nothing could be seen in the thick air. it was here that the bradfords discovered the first, or five-mile cache of the mysterious thirty-six,--a huge pile of boxes and sacks protected from the weather by oiled canvas. drawing their sleds into the lee of the goods, they seated themselves for a brief and much needed rest, for both of the boys were complaining of their backs, and mr. bradford suffered considerably in the same way. their feet, too, protested with almost equal insistence against the present journey, coming as it did hard upon the excessive strain of the preceding week. no one thought of calling himself disabled, however, and the pain was borne patiently, and for the most part silently. the soreness in their faces and fingers continued too, but that was a minor evil. roly presently turned his head and listened intently. "what is that noise?" he asked,--"that clucking which sounds so near? i can't see anything, though i've heard it several times." "you'll have to look sharp to see those visitors," answered uncle will. "what you hear is the call of the ptarmigan, a bird which in summer is brown, but in winter is white as the snow." "so we're in a ptarmigan country, are we?" said mr. bradford. "i believe that bird is considered quite a delicacy." "there's nothing finer," said his brother. "we shall have plenty of ptarmigan from now on." "what do the birds live on?" asked david. "i don't see anything but snow here." his uncle replied that there were places where the wind kept the ground bare, allowing the birds to pick seeds from the grasses, and buds from the willows. "there!" exclaimed roly, who had been gazing steadily into the storm, "i see two of them on the little knoll yonder. they're not quite as big as the spruce partridge." the boys wished to add them to the larder, but as revolvers were the only available weapons, and it would not do to stray away from the party, mr. bradford vetoed the proposition, saying that they would undoubtedly have better opportunities. "what a funny note they have!" said roly. "i do believe they are calling long peter. listen, now. 'peter, peter, peter; come over, come over.'" the others agreed that this was a very fair interpretation, and the indian exclaimed, "me come over bime-by; make ptarmigan sick,"--whereat they were all amused, and for the moment forgot their pain and discomfort. it would not do, however, to rest too long, for they were becoming chilled, and stiff in every joint. with much limping until renewed exercise had limbered their sore muscles, the little band resumed the march, making brief halts when their breath gave out on the hills, but gaining ground the rest of the time slowly but steadily. long peter turned to the left from the base of mount stay-there, and for several miles followed the northeastern slope of a range of low, rounded hills, descending gradually until he reached the valley of a brook which uncle will said must be one of the sources of the chilkat, since it flowed to the south. the brook was buried under the snow for the most part, but near noon an open place was discovered, to which, with mouths parched from toil, they all rushed, for there had been no water to drink since leaving the brook at rainy hollow, and eating snow was prohibited, owing to repeated warnings from the indian that it would "make sick." had it not been for the beef tablets, they would have suffered more than they did. here they ate a cold repast of salt pork and hard-tack, and never did food taste better than those thick slices of fat meat. the dry, tough crackers, too, now that there was water in plenty, seemed sweeter than the sweetest morsel at home. thus do hunger and hard work transform the rudest fare. after the meal, and a half-hour's rest, the snow became increasingly sticky, clogging beneath their snow-shoes in hard, icy masses, and making those articles extremely heavy, so that it was necessary to halt often and rap off the frozen particles. the boys were getting very tired, and in spite of their light loads were fain, time and again, to pause for breath and a rest. hour after hour hardly a word was spoken, no one having any surplus energy to expend in that way. david was really more exhausted than roly, for though the older, he was the weaker, owing to his rapid growth; but, with an elder brother's pride, he would have dropped rather than complain first. so for the greater part of the afternoon he struggled on in silence, scarcely able to drag one foot after the other, but pluckily dogging his father's sled, though at last his head swam so that he fairly wavered as he walked. poor fellow! he realized, as never before, how light in reality were the tasks of home and school, which had seemed so often distasteful and hard. he thought of his mother and helen by the comfortable fireside, and then of a bright-haired girl waving her handkerchief to him from the wharf,--and then he knew no more. it was a cry from roly which gave the others the first intimation of david's collapse. roly had been close behind him, bringing up the rear of the procession, and had seen his brother pitch forward like a log into the snow and lie there motionless. mr. bradford and uncle will ran back in alarm, and while the former placed a coat under david's head and rubbed his forehead with snow, the other, after feeling his pulse, drew forth a flask of brandy, which he carried for such emergencies, and poured a little between the boy's lips. it was several minutes before he opened his eyes and asked where he was, and what was the matter. seeing that he was reviving, the others held a hurried consultation. it was now about four o'clock. uncle will and long peter, both of whom were well fitted to judge, were of the opinion that in spite of many rests and a snail-like progress, they had fully covered ten miles, as they had planned to do. the return journey with empty sleds was still before them, and must be accomplished before nightfall. long peter moreover looked skyward, and shook his head ominously. "wind come bime-by," said he. "we stop here--make cache--go back quick. too much wind no good!" "that's just what we've got to do," said uncle will, observing the signs of the storm's increase. "off with the goods, and don't lose a minute!" boxes and bags were hurriedly loosed from the lashings, and piled in a high heap, so that the topmost ones would remain visible above the deepest snow-fall. the cache was then covered with oiled canvas held in place by boxes, loose ropes were gathered up and fastened upon the sleds, and all was ready. now came the question of what to do with david, who was sitting up, faint and dazed, but undaunted. he insisted that he could walk in a few moments, but the others would not hear of it, for no sooner did he try to rise than he fell back again weak and dizzy. it was decided that he should lie upon a long sled and be drawn by the three men in turn, at least for an hour or two, until he recovered more fully. in this manner, therefore, they started at once to retrace their steps, mr. bradford taking the first turn at drawing his disabled son. the snowflakes were whirling and driving now before the rising gusts, and the air felt colder. david was accordingly wrapped in the heavy coats of the others, he being the only one who could not keep warm by exercise. the rest and the ride refreshed him greatly, so that at the open brook where they had lunched, he declared, after a drink of cold water, that he would not be drawn any farther. he threw off the coats impatiently, not forgetting, however, to thank his faithful friends, and standing up, found himself strong enough to walk. uncle will now insisted that roly should ride for a while, though that youth, tired as he was, did not think it necessary, and only yielded with reluctance. so wearied was he, however, that no sooner had he stretched himself on the sled than he fell fast asleep, and rode in that manner much farther than he had intended, the others having no heart to wake him. the valleys and slopes were comparatively easy to identify and follow with the aid of uncle will's compass, until mount stay-there was reached, but by that time it was between six and seven o'clock, and darkness was settling down. meanwhile, the wind had increased, and the snow was drifting. it was very evident now why the indians dreaded a storm on the summit. terrible indeed would it be, to become confused in such a place! here was no hospice of st. bernard, sending out its men and dogs to the rescue, but only a howling, uninhabited, frozen waste for miles. for a little while yet, the bradfords were in no danger of losing their way. it was not difficult to find the head of the ravine which they had ascended that morning, and it led them straight to the devil's slide. but the last mile from there to camp lay across the bleak, wind-swept upland. they were never in more need of the compass than now, but, alas! they could no longer see it. with great difficulty matches were lighted at intervals, and though these were invariably blown out directly, they enabled the party to determine their course. side by side and close together they walked, in order that no one might lag behind or be lost in the blinding storm. it was a wild experience, and one which the boys will never forget, nor their elders either, for that matter. suddenly they heard the indian exclaim, "trees!" they had struck the timber line at last, some distance from their camp, but presently, having ascertained their whereabouts, they covered the remaining interval, and with glad hearts flung themselves into the tents. chapter xiii dalton's post the storm continued all the next day, which was sunday, and both parties remained in camp, the bradfords according to their custom, and the others because of the weather. "we stole a good march on them yesterday," said uncle will at breakfast, "and i believe we shall come out ahead. while they are making their ten-mile cache and returning here, we can make a straight march and camp on the other side. we shall be just one day ahead of them then, and i think we can hold that lead. at the same time, we must not overtax the boys. i would rather lose all the gold in the universe than injure their health." the plan suggested by uncle will was carried out, and camp was pitched in due time among the straggling spruces beyond the pass. nothing worth mention occurred on that march, save the discovery of a sulphur spring at a place called mosquito flats, and the shooting of several ptarmigan, from which was concocted a delicious stew with real dumplings and gravy. being far too tired after their long tramp to search for tent-poles and soft boughs in such an unpromising place, the boys decided not to raise their tent. instead they laid it flat upon the snow, spread the blankets and down quilts upon it, and covered the whole with the rubber blanket. they turned in soon after supper, curling far under the coverlets, in which they arranged a small opening for breathing purposes, and slept warmly and well. what was their surprise, when they awoke, to find that snow had fallen during the night and covered them, so that the ptarmigan, seeing only a white mound, were clucking and calling almost within arm's reach. so tame were these birds that even when the boys jumped up and shook the snow from their bed, they only flew to a distance of twenty or thirty feet, where they paused to eye the strangers curiously. the bradfords brought in their cache that day, in spite of violent snow-squalls which evidently prevented the thirty-six from making their final dash across the summit. thus they gained another day in the race. they were now at a place called glacier camp, near the headwaters of the alsek river, which flows first to the north for fifty miles, then makes a great sweep to the west past dalton's trading-post and the village of the stiks, and finally, turning to the south, cuts the massive st. elias range, and enters the pacific at dry bay. they were glad to take advantage of the smooth and level surface of this river, with its alternate patches of ice and firm snow, but there were considerable stretches where, to avoid the windings of the stream, the trail took the shortest course through the woods, in spite of soft snow and the many irregularities of the ground. for a week they travelled in this manner through the varied scenery of the alsek valley, now traversing wide plains, now passing sublime mountains and frowning cliffs, and meeting with sundry new experiences. on one occasion they enjoyed the novel sensation of feeling their high-piled sleds blown merrily over glare ice by a strong south wind. when this impetuous ally took hold, roly longed for a pair of skates, that he might glide easily in front of his sled. as it was, his spiked ice-creepers dug in at every step, the sled was continually on his heels, and all the gliding he could do was in his imagination. david had imprudently neglected to wear his dark snow-glasses, and the sun being now high and the snow dazzling, he was attacked with snow-blindness,--a malady no doubt aggravated by the pungent smoke of the camp-fires. when he sat down to supper one evening, he found it difficult to keep his eyes open. prickly pains darted through the eyeballs, and the vision was seriously impaired. on the following day he could hardly see to walk, in spite of the glasses which now--too late--he wore. fortunately mr. bradford had included in the medical stores an eye-wash for this painful affection, and after two or three days' treatment the inflammation subsided, and normal vision returned. hardly a day passed in which the travellers succeeded in keeping entirely dry. to go to sleep in wet stockings was the customary thing; they were sure to dry during the night from the bodily warmth, and no one thought of taking cold. on one memorable march a damp, clinging snow fell in enormous flakes, which melted upon their coats, soaked through, and finally ran down into their shoes, and it required a roaring fire that night to restore the little company to a fair degree of comfort. none too soon they arrived at dalton's post, one hundred and twenty miles from the coast, for signs had not been wanting that the ice was about to go out of the streams. how novel it seemed to stand under a roof once more! how delightful to sit down in a chair beside a roaring stove and bid defiance to the elements! this little settlement, so far from anywhere in particular, was a very oasis of civilization. the storekeeper, mr. martin, usually called "ike," was a small, wiry man, whose black hair was sprinkled with gray. he was very glad to see the new-comers, and welcomed them hospitably, inquiring whence they came and what was the news in the outside world. for months he had been the only white man at the trading-post, jack dalton, the owner, being absent on a journey to the coast. the advent of prospectors now and then was the only break in his monotonous existence. on entering the substantial log store, the boys surveyed the interior with interest. it was not unlike that of a country store at home, the shelves being piled high with calicoes and ginghams, shoes, hats, tin pans, plates, and cups, while from the roof-beams depended kettles, pails, steel traps, guns, and snow-shoes. ike informed them that he kept a small stock of flour, bacon, rice, sugar, and other provisions, in a storehouse near at hand, and that the establishment traded principally with the stik indians, whose village lay nearly a mile down-stream to the west. the natives paid for the goods, either with money earned by packing on the trail, or with the skins of bears, foxes, and other fur-bearing animals. "what do you charge for your goods?" asked david, after his father and uncle had departed to select a camping-place. he had heard of the exorbitant prices of the klondike. "it depends a good deal on supply an' demand, same as anywhere else," answered ike. "but we commonly give the indians a lower rate than white men. you see, the indians are our regular customers, an' it's for our int'rest to give them the preference. they have to depend on us entirely for many of the necessaries of life, while white men should not come in here without bringing what they need. just now we're running short o' flour,--wouldn't sell a fifty-pound sack to a white man for less than twenty-five dollars. there hain't been trade enough with whites up to this year to make it worth while to carry a big stock, for, as you probably know by this time, it's a hard job to get supplies over the summit." "have you heard about the big party behind us?" asked roly. "yes, al king told me about them the other day, when he passed here." "will you sell provisions to them?" asked david. "they've been on short rations right along." "not in large amounts. they must look out for themselves. if they should want a few sweets to munch on, we might let them have raisins at fifty cents a pound, or candy at one dollar." "candy?" repeated roly, eagerly. "just let me see some if you please, mr. martin." the storekeeper laughed, and produced a cheap, mixed grade,--the best he had, of which luxury the boys bought quite a quantity. while roly was describing how the thirty-six had been distanced on the summit, two indian women entered and addressed the storekeeper in the native language, with which he seemed perfectly familiar. he rose, and going behind the counter, weighed out some salt, answering meantime a number of questions which seemed to have reference to the boys, at whom the women glanced occasionally. "they wanted to know all about you," said ike, when his customers had gone. "they belong to lucky's family. your uncle knows lucky, don't he?" "yes," said david. "uncle will took care of him when he was shot. is he well again?" "oh, yes! off trapping now somewhere in the woods. he's a shrewd one, that lucky. brings in more furs than any other man in the tribe. he's a tall, wiry chap, with big cheek-bones an' little foxy eyes, an' the reg'lar indian virtues an' vices. he's brave, an' he's enduring, an' a splendid hunter, but he's sly an' lazy. little coffee jack, his brother, is going to be just like him." "there's father calling us," said david, presently. "they probably want water. where do you get it, mr. martin?" "you'll find a hole cut in the river ice," answered the storekeeper, "if you follow the path straight out from the door. you can't miss it. you want to be careful, though." having procured kettles at the camp, the boys easily found the path, and the hole to which it led. so great was the combined thickness of snow and ice that the opening was about five feet deep, wide at the top, but narrowing toward the bottom. a sort of shelf or ledge had been hacked out about half-way down, upon which the person drawing the water could stand, and as an additional safeguard a pole had been set horizontally across the hole. so rapid was the current that the water did not rise in the hole, but fairly flew beneath it. "i don't wonder mr. martin told us to be careful," said david, with a shudder. "one slip on that icy ledge, and down you'd go into the dark water and under the ice in a jiffy." "just think," observed roly, "if mr. martin had ever fallen like that when he was here alone, no one would ever know what had become of him. the hole would soon get filled up, and his disappearance would be the kind of a mystery you read about. probably the indians would be suspected." "yes," said david, "i've no doubt of it. but now let's get the water. you stand up here, and i'll do the dipping. you see," he added, concealing with an air of mock pride the real responsibility he felt, "superior age makes it my duty to take the post of danger,"--with which heroic burst he scrambled quickly but carefully down and filled the kettles without accident, though they were nearly jerked from his hands by the force of the current. it is safe to say, however, that had uncle will known the dangerous character of the water-hole, which only long peter had visited on his earlier trip, he would have fetched the water himself. chapter xiv from the stik village to lake dasar-dee-ash the bradfords passed through the stik village early the next day, after leaving letters with the storekeeper to be sent back when opportunity offered. this indian settlement consisted of about a dozen houses, some built of rough logs, others of hewn boards. a few possessed the luxury of glass windows. over the door of one of the more pretentious was nailed a board on which was painted the name of the chief, john kah sha. the indians, many of whom appeared abjectly dirty and ignorant, gazed stolidly for the most part at the travellers, but a few nodded and smiled as they passed, and called away the swarm of curs which yelped or fawned at their heels. beyond the village the trail turned north and left the river valley, ascending eight hundred feet by a sharp ridge to the top of a great table-land. the snow had melted from the ridge, and it was necessary to unpack the sleds and carry up the goods piece-meal,--an operation which required many trips and the severest labor, and occupied the entire day. in the nick of time lucky appeared with his younger brother, and having begged to be allowed to accompany the party,--a request which uncle will granted at once,--he fell to work with such energy and good-will that the boys were inclined to think the storekeeper had erred in calling him lazy. coffee jack, too, struggled with flour sacks nearly as heavy as himself, and won golden opinions from everybody. the truth is, an indian is every whit as ready as a white man to show gratitude for kindness. reaching the brow of the hill breathless and warm after the first ascent, the bradfords threw their loads upon the ground and paused to rest and look back. a wonderful panorama was outspread before them. green spruce forests were sprinkled over the snowy surface of the alsek valley and its bordering plateaus. below them lay the indian village, while to the east in a clearing rose a column of blue smoke from the chimney of the trading-post. they could trace the river for many miles in its great curve to the south, where on the far horizon glittered the mighty summits of the st. elias range. to the southeast, perhaps ten miles away, loomed a grand cluster of unnamed mountains, and another to the southwest, while, to perfectly balance the picture, similar isolated mountain groups appeared over the tree-tops in the northeast and northwest. it was here that a trim, long-tailed bird was first observed, whose plumage was mostly black, and whose note was loud rather than musical. uncle will said it was a magpie, a bird which, in captivity, can be taught like the parrot to imitate the human voice. another bird, of a gray color, made its appearance at dinner-time, and showed a great fondness for bacon rinds, coming close up to the party to snatch the coveted morsels. this was the butcher-bird or shrike, very common in all the northwestern country, and an arrant thief when there is meat in sight. sledding was resumed next morning. the enlistment of lucky and coffee jack had swelled their number to seven, and without increasing the loads to be carried added to the working force, so that in spite of the softness of the snow good progress was made. lucky had brought an old sled, cast aside by some prospector; but as it was too weak to carry a full load, uncle will relegated it to coffee jack with one hundred pounds, while lucky drew the sleds of the others by turns. the boys soon had occasion to observe the shrewdness of their young indian friend. the gee-pole of coffee jack's sled broke on a steep down-grade, and he was obliged to halt for repairs. the indians invariably take much pride in their powers as swift, strong packers and sledders, especially when in the company of white men, and coffee jack was now at his wits' end to maintain his position and keep the young pale-faces behind him. he rose to the emergency, however. "you got hatchet?" he asked innocently, as david approached. "sled broke." "yes," said david, handing over that article and sitting down good-naturedly on his sled while the indian boy went to cut a new pole. he supposed that as soon as coffee jack had secured the pole and driven it into place, he would return the hatchet, without waiting to re-fasten the drag-rope and lashings, which it had been necessary to loosen. this, however, was just what coffee jack did not propose to do. seeing, as he had hoped would be the case, that david had stopped to wait for the hatchet, and roly had stopped rather than make so long a détour out of the trail through the deep snow, he pretended to need the hatchet after the pole was in place, giving a rap here and a tap there, and all the while adroitly fastening the ropes in place again. but yankees have a reputation for shrewdness as well as indians, and david and roly were quick to perceive coffee jack's trick. while the indian boy's back was turned, the two exchanged signals; then david quietly turned out of the trail, passed coffee jack's sled, though only with considerable difficulty, and came into the trail again, closely followed by roly. perceiving that his plans were discovered and frustrated, and realizing that he had met his match, coffee jack laughed and surrendered the hatchet. during the next few days, while they were ascending the comparatively narrow valley of klukshu river, a small stream emptying into the alsek above dalton's post, winter made his last dying effort. it was now the middle of april, and the sun was so high that the snow softened greatly at midday. it had become impossible to make satisfactory progress except by rising at two o'clock in the morning and starting as soon as there was light. for three successive nights the mercury sank to zero, and the air was so keen and frosty that their fingers were nearly frozen when, in the early dawn-light, they removed their mittens to loosen the knots of the tent-ropes; yet by noon it was invariably so warm that the snow was melting and the sleds stuck fast. the klukshu river was not so thoroughly ice-bound as the alsek, and, already swollen with the melting snows, it had broken its fetters in many places, so that it was impossible to follow the stream itself. twice, however, the trail crossed it,--first from west to east by a jam of tree-trunks and débris, and then back again by a narrow span of ice which cracked ominously and threatened to go down-stream, even as they passed over it. here they met grant baldwin, al king's partner,--a young man not much older than david, who was travelling alone to the coast with a sled drawn by two dogs. at length, after many a tussle with hills and willow thickets and stumps and roots and ruts, all of which seemed in league to oppose them, the bradfords reached the lower end of klukshu lake, a long but narrow body of water at the eastern side of a broad valley. except a small spot near the outlet, it was covered with ice and snow. four miles to the west among others rose a peak so perfectly conical as to serve for an excellent landmark, while to the northwest and ten miles away they could see the extensive mountain system in which lay al king's claim. uncle will at once examined the cache which he had left in the deserted indian shack. finding it intact and in good condition, he determined to keep it there for the present, and the whole party pushed on up the lake, which proved to be about four miles long, curving to the east at its upper end. here a long hill was surmounted in the same manner as at the stik village, after which a trail through the woods brought them over a divide to a larger lake called dasar-dee-ash, whose outlet, in contrast to that of klukshu, flowed from the northern end. this lake was solidly frozen as far as the eye could see, its surface being a succession of snowy windrows separated by streaks of ice. the grand mountain chain which they had seen in the distance rose from its western edge, while the opposite shore sloped gently back in wooded hills. mr. bradford estimated that the lake was fifteen miles long, and about twelve broad at its widest part. that evening the bradfords in council decided that the three indians should bring up uncle will's cache on the morrow, they, in the mean time, making a flying visit to shorty creek for the purpose of staking claims. to be sure, the kah sha river and all its tributary creeks, shorty included, would be buried deep under snow and ice, and claims would have to be chosen at random, but even this was better than ignoring a district where gold was known to be. later, when they had visited their principal goal, some thirty miles distant, they could return, hunt for lucky's big nugget, and see what kind of claims they had drawn from the shorty creek grab-bag. chapter xv staking claims a day's delay was occasioned by a snow-storm, but the second morning opened bright, and the indians early departed on their errand. the bradfords started soon afterward, crossing a bay of the lake and making for the western shore at a point near the southern base of the mountains. a valley, mostly wooded and several miles in width, extended straight back in that direction; and after following it about six miles, uncle will, who had previously questioned lucky as to the route, turned to the right toward a deep gap which now came into view. this was the gorge of the kah sha river,--a stream named after the old chief of the stiks. they had made fairly rapid progress, having brought but one sled with food for two days, tents, blankets, cooking outfit, two axes, and a gold-pan. it was necessary, however, to wear snow-shoes the entire distance. this in itself was fatiguing, and rests were frequent. near the mouth of the gorge they came out of the woods into a wide, clear space, which, later in the season, when the snow was gone, they found to be due to an immense deposit of stones and gravel thrown out by the stream through many generations. this open tract led them directly to the gorge, and presently they passed in between high bluffs of sand and gravel, which soon gave way in places to abrupt cliffs of dark, slaty rock several hundred feet in height. the river could be heard dashing impatiently over its stony bed under huge banks of snow, which had drifted in upon it to so great a depth that the water could seldom be seen. it was a wild and wonderful canyon such as the boys had never dreamed of, and they felt the spirit of adventure rise within them as they realized that this was a land of gold. who could tell what treasures lay at last beneath their feet? they could hardly refrain from scrutinizing every rock for the gleam of yellow metal. they gazed long and earnestly at the bare patches of sand on the slopes, till at length they were obliged to confess that it looked quite like the barren sand of new england. their elders only smiled on perceiving their enthusiasm, warning them, however, not to go close to the cliffs; and hardly had the word been spoken when, as if to emphasize the warning, a mass of crumbling rock fell with a roar just behind them. two or three miles of this kind of travelling brought them to al king's tent, which stood to the left of the stream on a small level plot. on the opposite side a rocky wall rose straight from the water's edge a hundred feet and cut off all view, so that it seemed to the boys a rather dreary spot. yet here, as they presently learned, one lone man had passed the entire winter, with no better shelter than a tent. this man was the recorder of the district, tom moore by name, a grizzled veteran of many a hard campaign of mining and prospecting. his tent was near that of al king. on a tree before it had been nailed a slab from a box, bearing the inscription, "recorder, last chance mining district, t. moore." the bradfords received a hearty welcome from al king and the recorder, the latter, by reason of his long exile, taking especial delight in the sight of new faces. king's fine dog "bess" was even more demonstrative in her welcome than the two men, and bounded from one to another of the little group, licking their hands and receiving their caresses. in company with moore and king, who volunteered to guide them, they passed the mouth of shorty creek,--so named from the indian who discovered gold there,--a small brook flowing in from the left. neither of the guides thought it worth while to stop there, for the best claims were already taken. they believed that alder creek, a larger tributary above on the same side, now offered the better chance, and the bradfords were quite willing to take their advice, since there appeared no motive for deception. up alder creek they accordingly went, through a valley wider and less rugged than the kah sha gorge and leading toward a shapely mountain about two miles away, where the valley divided, that to the right being known as union gulch. here they found a discovery claim, located the previous year by the miner who first found gold on that creek. by right of discovery he had claimed five hundred feet of the valley, or twice the length of an ordinary claim, and naturally he had chosen what he believed to be the most promising spot. the stake which marked the upper end of his claim was the stump of a poplar tree which had been cut off about five feet from the ground. it stood on the bank of alder creek just above its junction with union gulch. for a foot below the top it had been squared with an axe, and on the smooth white wood was written in pencil, "discovery claim, five hundred feet, down stream. j. barry, september , ." there was also a stake which marked the lower end of the claim. uncle will looked the ground over carefully. below union gulch was a level expanse of gravel ten feet higher than the stream and covered with snow except along the edge of the bank. this gravel rested upon solid rock at about the level of the water. he took the gold-pan and set out, with mr. bradford, the recorder, and king, on a tour of investigation, bidding the boys cut stakes similar to those on the discovery claim. david and roly would have preferred to go with their elders, but being accustomed to obey orders without question they set off at once on the less romantic quest for straight young poplars. occasionally, however, they paused to watch the gold-seekers down the valley. [illustration: "presently some little yellow specks were uncovered"] the stakes having been cut and trimmed, the boys brought them all down to the discovery claim. they were four in number, sufficient for three adjoining claims. "what luck, uncle will?" shouted roly, as they ran to join the others. "plenty of colors," answered that gentleman, smiling. "i've no doubt i could get more if i had brought a shovel. the gravel is frozen so hard that i can't scrape much together." "what are colors?" asked david. "colors," explained his uncle, "are little thin flakes of gold, as distinguished from heavier pieces called grains or nuggets. look in the pan here, and you'll see what colors are." in the bottom of the pan lay a small quantity of dark sand, which uncle will told them was called "black sand" and consisted mainly of iron. dipping up a little water, he allowed it to wash back and forth over the black sand, and presently some little yellow specks were uncovered. these were the colors of gold, which, being relatively heavier than even the iron, had sifted down to the very bottom. "hurrah!" cried roly, joyfully, as he caught sight of them, adding with more force than elegance, "that's the stuff!" david, maturer and less boisterous, was not a whit less pleased. he expressed a desire to see how the panning was done. uncle will accordingly drew on his rubber gloves to protect his hands from the icy water, rinsed out the pan, and with some difficulty scraped together with the head of an axe a panful of dirt and gravel from the bank as near bed-rock as possible, explaining that the most gold was found as a rule at the lowest possible point. he carried the gravel to the edge of the stream, where he allowed the water to flow in, not too swiftly, upon it. he now rinsed off and threw out the larger stones, after which he took the pan in both hands and shook it vigorously for a few seconds with a circular motion, finally letting the water flow rapidly out, carrying with it some lighter portions of earth and gravel. then with his hands he pushed out of the pan the upper part of its contents to the depth of about half an inch. roly was alarmed at once. "look out, uncle," said he. "you'll lose some of the gold, won't you?" "not a bit," said uncle will, complacently. "when i shook the pan the gold went down, aided by the water. there isn't a single color in the top of this gravel now." so saying, he shook the pan again as before, and pushed off a little more of the contents, and sometimes he allowed the water to flow in and out several times, carrying with it on each occasion the lighter particles. in this way the amount of gravel was gradually reduced, and in less than ten minutes there remained apparently only a quantity of black sand and a few pebbles. the latter, uncle will deftly removed with his thumb. then he proceeded to reduce the amount of black sand, using greater caution than before, and letting the water flow very gently in and out. presently a yellow speck was uncovered, then another and another, to the great delight of the boys; and, best of all, a little nugget of the size of buckshot made its appearance, which uncle will said might be worth fifteen cents. all this was highly encouraging, for the bradfords had not counted on a gold district here when the expedition was planned. it only remained to set up the stakes and write the names and dates thereon. as the discovery claim included only the upper end of the bank where the nugget was found, uncle will took two hundred and fifty feet next below, followed by mr. bradford and david in turn. roly, as we have said, was under eighteen, and had no license. "there," said uncle will, when all was finished and the stakes firmly braced with stones, "i believe we've taken the cream of the creek. the thirty-six will probably stake the six claims next below, then they will have to leave the next ten for the canadian government and begin again below that, and so on. there's no telling what would have been left for us if we hadn't come first." "that's so," said tom moore, with a grin. "i guess ye'd 'a' ben up on the glacier or down in dasar-dee-ash lake." the party camped that night near the tents of king and the recorder, the latter entering the claims in due form and collecting ten dollars per claim, according to law. chapter xvi a conflagration when the bradfords returned to lake dasar-dee-ash, they found lucky, long peter, and coffee jack awaiting them with all the supplies. the course lay across the lake to its outlet, a stream bearing the indian name of "kaska wulsh," but generally known as the north branch of the alsek, since, after flowing north for fifty miles, it turned to the west and south like the other branch, which it joined many miles below dalton's post. after a consultation it was decided to cache a part of mr. bradford's supplies, and all of uncle will's except certain tools, on the western shore, within six miles of kah sha gorge, for they would eventually return to look after the alder creek claims, and it was, besides, advisable to lighten the loads and hasten forward before the snow and ice were gone. uncle will accordingly took lucky and long peter and set out across the bay of the lake with three sled-loads, leaving his brother and the boys to rest after their labors. late in the evening he returned and reported that he had built a strong platform of saplings high up between three trees and enclosed on all sides. there he had left the goods covered with oiled canvas, and felt confident that they would be safe alike from dogs, wild beasts, and stormy weather. it was now thought best to dismiss long peter, since the remaining thirty-five miles consisted of level lake and river, and furthermore it was necessary to husband the provisions. the indian seemed sorry to part with his white friends, but took the matter good-naturedly, the more so, perhaps, since he was confident of finding employment with the mysterious thirty-six, who could not be far behind. he left on the following morning, happy with a present of a fine hunting-knife in addition to his wages. uncle will wished to buy his sled, in order that lucky might use it, but long peter was unwilling to part with it, and lucky was obliged as before to take turns with the sleds of the others and act as general assistant. the surface of the lake proved more unfavorable for sledding than was anticipated. exposed as they were to the uninterrupted glare of the sun, the snowy ridges were soft and slushy except at night. to make matters worse, a north wind blew strongly in their faces. toward noon they descried several black specks on the ice to the rearward, which gained steadily upon them, and were at length seen to be three men, a sled, and a team of dogs. the men proved to be the leader of the thirty-six, a miner named cannon, and a very tall native known as indian jack, the owner and driver of the dogs. the "cap'n," as the leader was called, gave no hint as to his destination, but uncle will surmised that he was going forward to look over the ground upon which he proposed to locate his men. he was willing to say, however, that the rest of his party would turn aside to kah sha river, as the bradfords had done, and that they ought to reach there in about three days. several of his men were sick or exhausted, one was suffering from a sprained ankle, two were snow-blind, another had been cut with an axe, and still another had blood-poisoning in a finger. he thought they might lose a day or two from these causes. without waiting to talk further, he gave the word to the indian, who in turn cried out "chuck!" to the dogs, and away they went as fast as they could walk, much faster indeed than the bradfords could follow. the indian guided the sled by the gee-pole, but the dogs did all the pulling, and tugged vigorously as if they quite enjoyed it,--david meantime catching a picture of the whole outfit as it went by, with the dasar-dee-ash mountains for a background. not more than four miles had been covered when camp was pitched on the eastern shore that afternoon. as the night promised to be comparatively warm and fine, roly proposed to his father that they should make a big canvas hut with two tents as some of the thirty-six had done at rainy hollow. neither mr. bradford nor uncle will objected to humoring the boy, and the hut was set up forthwith on a framework of poles, with the open end to the south away from the wind. the blanket beds of the four occupants were then laid in place side by side upon spruce boughs strewn on the snow. when supper had been disposed of, a roaring fire was built before the open side of the hut, filling the place with a cheerful warmth and glow, and the four reclined comfortably on the blankets, telling stories and watching the curling smoke and crackling flames, until mr. bradford declared that if they did not turn in, they would surely sleep overtime in the morning, for there was neither cock nor clock to arouse them here. something else there was, however, which proved quite as effectual, and roused them long before daybreak. roly was dreaming that he was at home and sitting by the kitchen stove. suddenly, he thought, the lids flew off, and the flames rose in a bright column to the ceiling, while sparks fell all over him and about the room. he tried to rise and alarm the household, but some strange power held him fast, and he could neither stir nor cry out. the next instant he felt a thump in the ribs and awoke with a sense of choking, to hear his uncle exclaiming excitedly, "wake up! wake up! everybody! we're all afire here! quick, quick, charley! take your hat or coat or anything, and beat down the flames. david, roly, get out of this in a hurry!" the boys grasped the situation in an instant. the wind had turned to the south while they slept, and a flying spark had set fire to the canvas over their heads. the dry cloth was now flaming up brightly, while burning pieces were falling on the blankets. they jumped up, seized their caps, and fell to work with a will to help their father and uncle, who were beating away desperately at the blazing side and roof. it was quick, breathless work. not only must they prevent the spread of the flames overhead, but they must also take care of the bedding and whatever clothing was in the hut. david, after extinguishing the fire immediately around him, dropped his cap and pulled both blankets and clothing in a heap out into the snow, where he spread them all out, carefully quenched the sparks, and then ran back to the hut, where the flames were presently brought under control. this was not accomplished, however, until nearly half the roof and all of one side were gone. the fire-fighters, panting and exhausted, gazed ruefully at the ruins. it was too dark now to ascertain the exact amount of the damage, but there could be no doubt it was very serious. no one, however, was disposed to cry over spilled milk; and uncle will, who had known many disasters of various sorts in the course of his rough experience, even laughed grimly and declared that what he regretted most was the singeing of his beard, of which he had lost fully two inches. both men complimented the boys on their efficient work, which contributed to a large degree toward the saving of the contents of the hut, as well as that part of the hut itself which remained. "i believe lucky and coffee jack slept through it all," said mr. bradford, peering through the darkness toward the beach, where the indians had pitched their rude tent. as he spoke, there was a crackling and a flash of light behind the hut. not three feet from the rear of the structure rose a tall dead spruce. fire from the burning canvas had been communicated to a dry vine leading into a net-work of small branches at the foot of this tree, and a tiny flame, silent and unseen, had been stealthily creeping toward this mass of tinder. "down with the hut, boys!" cried uncle will, instantly realizing the new danger. "quick, before it gets too hot! never mind the tree,--you can't put _that_ fire out!" this last was addressed to roly, who had promptly attacked the burning branches with his cap, but only succeeded in tearing that article on the twigs without much effect on the flames. knots were untied with nervous haste, and where they proved refractory they were cut. that part of the canvas nearest the tree was first folded over out of harm's way, and soon the whole was loosened and dragged to a distance, and none too soon. the fire ran up the dry twigs with startling rapidity and a roar that presently aroused those sound sleepers, lucky and coffee jack, who came running up in surprise. the tree quickly became a gigantic torch which lighted up the country for miles, and sent a dense column of white smoke rolling skyward. by good luck there were no other trees close enough to be in danger, and the whole party withdrew to a comfortable distance, as soon as the hut was safe, to watch the brilliant spectacle. the best part of it was soon over, for the branches were presently burned away, but portions of the trunk flamed and smoked for hours. nobody but the indians thought of sleeping any more that night. the boys curled up in their blankets where they could watch the tree; while mr. bradford and uncle will, wrapped in their heavy coats, sat on a log near by,--the former telling stories of adirondack fires, the latter, who never seemed to have smoke enough, puffing away at his pipe. chapter xvii through the ice with daylight it was seen that the tent of david and roly, which had formed the western end of the hut, was almost wholly destroyed; but with the exception of several holes in a corner of the fly, the large tent had escaped injury. this outcome was fortunate, for an extra small tent had been provided. as for the bedding, the fine gray blankets were not harmed in the least, but the down quilts, which had been spread over them, suffered numerous punctures from the falling sparks, so that the feathers flew in clouds whenever the quilts were moved, and it was necessary to sew up the holes before setting out on the day's march. the outlet of the lake, which they reached at noon, was a stream fifty feet in width, and passed at first through a swampy region. here, in the tall dry marsh-grass, there were pools of open water. camp was made on a bluff,--the first high land beyond the swamp. a warm south breeze blew steadily, and uncle will said it was doubtless the wind known in the pacific states as the "chinook." it might be expected to continue without intermission for two or three weeks, and would make a quick end of the sledding. already the southern slopes of the hills were bare, and many of them were green with killikinick, a low plant with red berries and small evergreen leaves, not unlike those of garden box. "i'm sorry for our mysterious friends," said mr. bradford, as he finished pitching the large tent. "they'll be stranded on bare ground pretty soon." "that's so," said uncle will. "they'll cross the lake all right, but i think the ice will go out of this river in two or three days. we're none too soon ourselves. hello! the wild geese have come." he pointed to a dozen great gray birds, flying in a wedge-shaped flock, and crying, "honk! honk!" "they're coming down," exclaimed roly, excitedly. "mayn't i go over there, father? i'm sure i could shoot some of them." "yes," replied mr. bradford; "but i'll go with you, because the ice is treacherous in the swamp, and, besides, you are not quite expert yet in the use of the gun." "bring us the fattest bird in the flock," shouted uncle will, as they departed; "and we'll have a royal supper." so saying, he fell to mending the gee-pole of his sled. with david's assistance, the pole was soon as good as new. "now," said uncle will, "where's your rifle, dave?" "packed on my sled." "go and get it. i saw some ducks in a stretch of open water back here, and maybe we can do a little hunting on our own account." this proposal tickled david immensely. he brought the rifle and a handful of cartridges, and the two set off in a direction not quite parallel to that taken by mr. bradford and roly. a half-mile walk brought them in sight of the ducks, five of them, near the icy edge of a small opening; and by lying flat on the ice, they were able to creep and slide toward them under cover of a clump of tall reeds. at length uncle will whispered to david to take careful aim at one of them and fire. david was already sighting along the gun-barrel--his finger on the trigger--when the report of roly's shot-gun rang out behind a small thicket of willows. the ducks at once took flight, to david's great disappointment, but at the same moment the geese appeared, flying in a confused manner directly toward their ambush. "quick, dave, give me the gun," cried uncle will. david instantly passed it over, and wonderingly watched his uncle as he tossed it up to his shoulder. "bang!" went the rifle, and down tumbled a big bird from the centre of the flock,--as fine a fat goose as ever graced a table. david fairly danced with delight. "there!" said uncle will, with a merry twinkle in his eye; "i'll wager that this was the very goose roly meant to kill." "don't you think he shot any, then?" asked david. "i fancy the chances are he didn't." and so it proved, when the four hunters reunited and compared notes. david described his uncle's marksmanship with great enthusiasm, and mr. bradford and roly were quite ready to admit the brilliance of the feat. in two places, next morning, the stream, on whose frozen surface they travelled, broadened into lakelets, where progress over the smooth ice was rapid and easy, but as soon as these were passed and the stream narrowed again, difficulties appeared. water was beginning to flow over the ice through numerous cracks, and as the day advanced, many openings had to be avoided. often the centre of the river was wholly free from ice, only a narrow strip remaining along each bank. in such cases, they proceeded with great caution. the banks themselves were usually impassable, by reason of thickets and trees, and the ice-strips offered the only highway, but they were tilted at such an angle that the sleds were constantly slipping sideways toward the water. at the worst spots the united efforts of the party were required to move each load safely past. at length a point was reached, where they seemed absolutely blocked. the firm ice on one side abruptly ended on a curve of the stream, and it was necessary to cross to the other side. there was ice in the centre at this point, but evidently too weak to bear a man's weight. the boys could see no solution of the problem, except that of retracing their steps. but the ice in the centre had been weak for a long distance, and nobody wished to go back over such a weary course on the slim chance of finding a crossing. it was mr. bradford who overcame this emergency. "let us build a brush bridge," suggested he. "i believe it would distribute our weight, and make the passage safe." "the very thing," said uncle will, approvingly. "strange i didn't think of so simple a scheme." all hands fell to work at once, chopping down willows and alders. two strong poplar saplings were laid across the weak ice three feet apart, and the brush was thrown thickly over them. the indians tested this rude bridge, and the others followed, all passing over in safety. but they were not destined to unbroken good fortune. it was soon necessary to cross to the east bank again. this time, although there were three inches of water on the ice in mid-stream, the ice itself appeared to be reinforced by a second layer which had been thrust beneath it. coffee jack and lucky examined the situation with care, then crossed with two sleds. roly, david, and mr. bradford followed without mishap. then uncle will, the heaviest of the party, attempted to do likewise; but in the very centre of the river the rotten ice gave way without a moment's warning, and down went man and sled into the cold, muddy water. it was deep, too,--so deep that uncle will did not touch the bottom,--and as for the sled, only the tip of the gee-pole remained above the surface. fortunately, the current here was not swift. "stand back, boys!" commanded mr. bradford, who saw in an instant the thing to be done. rushing to the shore, he cut a long willow with one sweep of his knife, then, running to the edge of the hole, where his brother had managed to support himself by treading water and grasping the broken ice-cakes, he held out the end of the branch. uncle will caught this, and was pulled to the edge of the strong shore-ice, where he was seized by willing hands and drawn forth, his teeth chattering, but his usual undaunted smile still in evidence as he remarked, "they s-say it's a good th-thing to keep c-c-cool in case of accident. n-nobody can say i'm not c-cool!" this unexpected sally drew a burst of merriment from the boys, who, now that the danger was over, were quite ready to appreciate the humorous side of the incident. they admired their uncle more than ever for his happy way of making light of discomforts. but the sled and its precious provisions were still in the water, and no time must be lost in rescuing them. how to do it, was the question. the gee-pole was too far from the strong ice to be reached. if the thin ice, against which it rested, were broken, it would probably sink out of sight altogether. lucky finally fished up the drag-rope by means of a long pole, and thus the sled was drawn toward the shore ice. all now took hold, and their combined strength sufficed to haul it out of the water. its load was quickly unpacked, the sacks of flour were set on end in the sun to drain and dry, as the dampness had not penetrated more than half an inch through the canvas, and the contents of the clothing bag were spread upon a log. a bag of sugar was the only total loss. meantime, a huge fire was built on the bank, in the warmth of which uncle will changed his clothing. further progress that day was unadvisable, and indeed, uncle will declared that if they had covered seven miles, as he believed was the case, they were practically at their journey's end. chapter xviii building the cabin a tour of investigation convinced mr. bradford that frying-pan creek, the stream for which they were searching, flowed into the river from the right, not a quarter of a mile distant. lucky was familiar with all the streams of the region, but he was often unable to identify them by english names, and, in this instance, the white men were obliged to base their conclusions on a description of the district previously given to uncle will. the goods were moved forward overland to a low hill which sloped gradually to the creek on one side, and fronted the river in a fifty-foot bluff on the other. here there was abundance of spruce timber, much of which, though still standing, had been killed by a forest fire, and was perfectly seasoned. nearly a mile to the west, across the river, was a long granite cliff, a thousand feet or more in height, which limited the view in that direction. to the north, as they looked down the valley, they beheld two mountains fifteen miles away, between which the river flowed. the western one rose sharply three thousand feet, the other, much greater in bulk, four thousand. the indians called these elevations father and son, but the western had come to be known among white men as mount bratnober, while the other was soon to be named mount champlain, after a member of the thirty-six who climbed it. from mount champlain on the north, a range of lesser peaks extended clear around to the southeast, bounding the valley on that side, and it was among these mountains that frying-pan creek had its source, five miles distant. with so many landmarks, they felt no doubt about their position. uncle will declared that at the earliest moment they must set off to the headwaters of the creek on a prospecting trip, but to go while ice and snow remained would hardly be advisable, so long as the thirty-six were not in sight. it was therefore decided to begin a log cabin. the boys, who had always cherished a longing to live in the woods in a house of their own building, hailed this project with enthusiasm, while mr. bradford observed that they would now appreciate the situation and circumstances of their ancestors in the wilderness of new england. first a site must be chosen, dry, level, and sheltered from strong winds. several places were examined, but only one of these satisfied every requirement. it was a small plot of level ground, free from trees, near the top of the hill where it sloped to the creek. to the south and west, the hill-top sheltered it, while to the northwest and north stood tall, dense spruce-trees. eastward the country was more open, and creek, valley, and mountains were in plain view. the cabin was to face in this direction. its dimensions on the ground were to be eighteen by twenty feet. so large a structure would hardly have been planned, had it not been for the wealth of light, dry timber around them. the weight of green logs of the required size would have taxed their strength most sorely. lucky and coffee jack were set at work clearing the ground of snow, of which but little remained; while mr. bradford and his brother took their axes, and began to fell the straightest of the dead spruces. the boys trimmed off such branches and stubs as survived. whenever a trunk was nearly cut through on one side, the choppers would give the warning, and, when the way was clear, a few strokes on the other side brought down the forest giant with a crash. to drag the logs to the chosen spot was harder and took more time than the felling. then the ends had to be notched, so that they would join perfectly at the corners of the cabin, each log having two feet of extra length to allow room for the notching. it was thought the thirty-six would not arrive before the fourth day, and the elder bradfords agreed that it would be wise to drop work on the cabin on that day, and stake claims along the headwaters of the creek. but alas for human calculations! about noon of the third day, voices were heard in the direction of the river, and presently six of the mysterious party put in an appearance. they were surprised at finding the bradfords, who, they supposed, had continued northward. "hello!" exclaimed a thick-set man with a reddish beard sprinkled with gray,--"how are you, gentlemen? we heard your axes, and thought we should find strangers. you're doing the very thing we've got to do." "yes," said uncle will, "but how in the world did you get here so soon, pennock?" "oh! we've been working like slaves to get as far as we could before the ice went out. it would freeze a little every night, and we would make a few miles, but in the middle of the day we had to build bridges every few rods. half a dozen of our men have broken through first and last,--sleds too. we left patterson, lewis, colburn, and whitney, on the kah sha claims, and now we six are ordered to stop here and do some prospecting. the rest will try 'to go on." "ah!" said uncle will, much relieved by this last information; "so the rest are going on? well, i'm sorry for them. the ice won't last two days." "that's true as you live," replied pennock. "well, we must get back. we're camped temporarily just below here. maybe i'll see you again this evening." "all right," answered uncle will. "come up any time." "i believe," said mr. bradford, as soon as the visitors were gone, "he wants to join forces, at least, in the building of the house." "i think so too," said uncle will. "it wouldn't be a bad idea either. the cabin is easily big enough for all twelve of us. with their help, we can finish it in no time. i even think it would be well to work with them in prospecting, if they are agreeable. let's see--there are only nine claims to be taken between us. we ought all to be able to get good ones, if there are any." it was accordingly determined that evening, by conference with pennock's party, to combine for the present. to prevent disagreements, the details of the arrangement were drawn up in writing, pennock readily engaging to give the bradfords first choice of claims, for two reasons,--first, because they were first to arrive, and, second, in consideration of the work they had already done on the cabin. next morning, the bradfords went to the top of the bluff overlooking the river, and saw the main body of the thirty-six, now reduced to about twenty-five white men, and half a dozen indians--including long peter--resuming their march. after skirting the shore on a fringe of ice for some distance, they made a short cut across a narrow tongue of land, where the snow was entirely gone and the sleds could only be moved with the severest toil. "flesh and blood can't stand that a great while," said uncle will; "especially on short rations. they'll have to abandon their sleds soon, and carry what they can on their backs. i wish i knew how far those poor fellows are going." "they're making a desperate dash for somewhere," said mr. bradford, "and their pluck is certainly admirable. i wish them success with all my heart." "and i too," added uncle will, emphatically. work on the cabin was resumed as soon as possible, and the walls rose like magic with the increased force of builders. in a few days these were completed. an opening was sawn in the front for a door, and smaller ones in each side for windows, the sawn ends of the logs being held in place by the door-frame and window-frames, which consisted of small hewn strips of spruce wood nailed in place. the roof was now constructed of poles laid side by side from the ridge-logs to the upper logs of the front and rear walls. david and roly gathered great quantities of green spruce boughs, which were laid on the top of the roof-poles. this proved to be a mistake, but in the hurry of building, nobody thought of it. later, as soon as these boughs dried, the needles came rattling down through the cracks upon the slightest provocation, and were a great nuisance when cooking was in progress. a layer of damp moss should first have been spread upon the poles, then the spruce, and finally a thick layer of moss over all. this upper layer was duly applied, and being soft and spongy, contributed in no small degree to the waterproof quality of the roof, which was rather more flat than such a roof should be. as an additional protection against rain, several tents were spread above the moss, and now the cabin was complete, except for the "chinking," and interior furnishings. "chinking" is the filling of the cracks between the logs. the boys soon became skilled in this work, and most of it was left for them to do, while the men were engaged in heavier labors. small dead spruces, slender and straight as bean-poles, were first cut down in large numbers. these were trimmed as nearly as possible to the size and shape of the cracks, and driven firmly into place with the blows of a hatchet. such crevices as still remained were stuffed with moss and clay. the door consisted of a light framework of poles, covered with cheese-cloth, of which pennock had a supply; and the windows were of the same material. though not transparent, it admitted a goodly amount of light, and promised to keep out insects and the wind. within the house, a sheet-iron stove was set up in the opening left for a fire place, which was then enclosed above and on the sides and rear, with poles set close together and chinked, an aperture being left for the stove-pipe. sleds were so arranged as to form a dining-table and seats. the boys had set their hearts on building bunks to sleep in. this was approved of by their father and uncle, since it was undoubtedly healthier to be off the ground, and they suggested that two double bunks be built in the southwest corner, large enough to accommodate the four. the boys were left to exercise their own ingenuity in this work, and they succeeded in turning out two very good berths, constructed wholly of spruce poles, and arranged like those of a steamer's stateroom. soft boughs were spread upon the berths, and then the blankets, in which rude quarters they slept as comfortably as they ever had at home. the upper berth, too, served david as a shelf, upon which to develop his photographs. this nucleus of a city it was voted to call pennock's post. how refreshing it was, as they surveyed the finished product of their labors, to feel that they had reached their destination, that there was no exhausting journey to be resumed on the morrow, and that at all times they could be sure of a warm, dry resting place with a roof over their heads! chapter xix the first prospect-hole it was now the first week in may. the snow was entirely gone from the lowlands, melted by the breath of the chinook. the creek was swollen to twice its normal size, and had overflowed its banks in many places, bursting its icy bonds and stranding the ice-cakes high among the bushes. as for the river, that, too, had freed itself, and its muddy current was rising inch by inch. on the mountains they could almost see the snow-line creep higher and higher each day, and soon on the lesser heights no snow remained except in the gullies, giving to the mountains a streaked aspect. robins and song-sparrows put in an appearance, and ducks were everywhere. on the very first warm day, bees, flies, and a mosquito or two were thawed into life, and hummed and buzzed in the sunshine as if there had never been any winter. in every sandy bluff and bank the ground-squirrels, beautifully mottled little creatures, came out of their holes, and sat up on their haunches as stiff as a ramrod, with their fore-paws demurely folded on their breasts, and sunned themselves and cast curious glances at their new neighbors. purple crocuses blossomed in abundance, and everywhere grass was growing green and buds were starting. spring had come! "what do you think of a prospecting trip?" asked uncle will of pennock, one morning. "i believe we can sink a shaft now." "that's a good idea," said pennock. "the frost ought to be out of the upper soil by this time. if it isn't, we can thaw it with fire." "the one thing i don't like about this place," continued uncle will, "is that the creek seems to be deserted. we heard rumors of extraordinary richness here, and if there's any truth in them, there ought to be some signs of life hereabouts." "that's so," admitted pennock. "it was cannon who advised the cap'n to leave a few men here. he said he sunk a hole last year and found gold enough to make it worth while to explore more fully. what really brought our party into this country, though, was a report of a rich strike up above. that's where the rest of them have gone; but i don't know just how far it is." "well," said uncle will, "the stories i heard may have been misleading. we'll see what there is here anyhow, and take our chances. by the way, there's another creek to the southeast yonder, where you see that gully in the mountain. we might send a party there." to this proposition pennock assented. accordingly mr. bradford and roly, with large, nichols, and the two indians, set off toward the gully, which was about six miles distant, while uncle will, david, pennock, reitz, adair, and johnson started for the headwaters of the creek beside which they had camped,--a journey of four miles. we may as well follow the fortunes of the latter party. there was no trail worthy of the name, but once or twice hoof-marks were discovered, probably made by cannon's pack horse the previous season. sometimes they entered forests of standing spruce and poplar, either growing or fire-killed, and now it was a district of fallen trees, where it was almost impossible to advance, from which they emerged with a sigh of relief into some open grassy meadow near the stream, where walking was pleasant and easy. presently they ascended a clay bluff a hundred feet high, skirting its edge where it was free from timber. from this vantage ground they could see the snowy peaks of the dasar-dee-ash mountains, thirty miles to the south, on the other side of which lay the claims they had taken in april. uncle will examined the fine clay of the bluff, and gave it as his opinion that it would make excellent bricks and pottery. in an hour and a half, they came to the foot-hills, where the stream fell noisily over a bed of boulders in a pretty glen. a sharp lookout was kept, but no signs of cannon's work were seen. at length it was decided to sink a hole on the south bank where a bed of gravel had been deposited by the water. from the nature of the rocks about them, they concluded that bed-rock was not far below the surface. picks, shovels, and a gold-pan had been brought, and the men took turns at the digging. it was hard work, for many large stones were encountered frozen into their places, and these could only be pried loose at risk of a bent pick. when a depth of twelve inches was reached, pennock filled the pan with a sample of the gravel, and took it to the stream, while the others, except adair, who was swinging the pick, gathered around him, eager to know the result of the test. not a color was found, but there was black sand and in it two small rubies. the discovery of the rubies did not seem to offset the disappointment of the men at finding no gold,--a fact at which david wondered, until his uncle informed him that those gems were quite commonly found in the northwest, and such small ones were of little value. david resolved, however, to look about for himself, and, in a mound of sand thrown up by ants, he found a dozen or more, some of them a little larger than the ones in the pan. these he carefully picked out, and put in his match-box for safe keeping. meanwhile, the work in the prospect-hole went steadily on. at a depth of two feet a small color was found, by which time it was noon, and work ceased for an hour. by the middle of the afternoon the hole was three feet and a half deep, and solid rock was gained, though toward the last so much water entered that digging was difficult, and bailing had to be resorted to. at the bed-rock, where all their hopes rested, were found a few insignificant colors,--nothing more. uncle will, usually so cheerful, was quite downcast at this result. he had heard the rumors of gold from men whom he trusted, and was obliged to conclude that they had themselves been misled. indeed, it seemed to be one of those instances in which a very small tale, by long travelling and frequent repetition, becomes strangely magnified and distorted. the thirty-six had detached few men here because the story, as they had heard it, had located the wealth in a different place. still there might be a good deal of gold on this creek, for a single hole is usually not enough to determine the character of a gulch. at least one more shaft must be sunk where the gravel was deeper, before all hope need be abandoned. even if worst came to worst, there still remained the alder creek claims, and lucky's nugget. it turned out that the other party, under mr. bradford, had met with even less success. rubies they had found, but not a single color of gold. however, they had not reached bed-rock at the end of the first day. uncle will and his companions returned to the cabin a few minutes before the others. seated on the ground outside the door, they found an indian family, consisting of an old bent squaw, two young women, and a thin, weak-looking young man. the old squaw, evidently the mother of the others, waved her arms in token of welcome as soon as she saw the white men. then, touching the young man's breast she exclaimed, "him sick, you savvy?" "sick, is he?" repeated uncle will, looking at the pinched features and wasted frame. "sick--yis--you savvy [understand]?" said the squaw. "consumption," said uncle will to david. "it's very prevalent among the indians, and carries off hundreds." then turning to the old indian woman he added, "i savvy,--very bad, very sick. have some tea?" "tea! yis, yis," answered she, eagerly, for tea is considered a great luxury by the indians, and this family, dressed in ragged, cast-off clothing, seemed too abjectly poor to buy anything at the trading-post. indeed, the only food they had was dried salmon, though the man carried an antiquated shot-gun. uncle will made some tea, and the natives drank it delightedly in the cabin, which they entered without invitation as soon as the door was opened. it must be explained here that the door was fastened by a sliding pole which ran some distance along the inner side of one of the front logs, and was held in place by wooden pegs. the pole was shoved across the door by means of a knife-blade inserted from the outside between two logs at a crevice left for the purpose five feet from the door. in this manner the door had been locked that morning when the two parties set off. doubtless the indians had tried the door; but finding it secure, and seeing no means of opening it, they had not ventured to break in, but waited for the return of the miners. both uncle will and pennock realized the desirability of keeping the secret of the lock from the visitors, and this they attempted to do when the door was opened, uncle will attracting the attention of the indians, while pennock softly stole up to the crevice and pried back the bar. but though the natives did not see the door opened, they intended none the less to know how it was done, and that was why they so promptly entered the cabin with the others. however, the white men thought it best to say nothing, for it might be that they would drink their tea and go out without noticing the door. pennock, who was a colorado man and had no liking for the "redskins," kept an eye on them from the moment of their entrance. the old squaw, after a quick inventory of the contents of the cabin, glanced furtively toward the door, and at once discovered the long bar, but she did not know exactly how it was managed. so presently she shuffled unconcernedly up to the front of the cabin, and, turning about, faced the centre of the room. to all appearances, she was idly leaning against the logs, but both pennock and david noticed that her hands behind her back were busily fumbling with the bar, and moving it cautiously back and forth. the "game was up." knowing the existence of the bar, and its height from the ground, she would easily discover from the outside the crevice through which it was controlled. "the rascally old witch of an injun!" muttered pennock through his teeth; but he knew it was of no use now to make a fuss. he broke out violently, however, when the visitors were gone and it was discovered that a nearly empty butter-can outside the house had disappeared with them. "they're all sneak-thieves, every one of 'em," he declared angrily; "and the worst of it is that the old squaw learned the secret of our lock. i saw her fumbling round. now we've got to leave somebody here every time we go away. i'd just like to--!" this sounded very much like the preface to a dire threat; but mr. bradford, who had arrived some minutes previously, interrupted it by observing that the indians would not be likely to take food or clothing. "no," said uncle will. "they'll make off with empty cans, or any little thing they think won't be missed, but they wouldn't take goods of value. that's too dangerous in this country. besides, we've treated them well, and they're pretty low-down creatures if they steal from us now." "all the same," said pennock, "there was half an inch of good butter in that can, and i was intending to make a coffee cup of it as soon as it was empty. they're a shrewd lot, if they are dirty and ignorant. i hope they've gone for good." it was a vain hope. a little later, a column of smoke half a mile up the trail northward showed that they had camped. chapter xx roly goes duck-hunting for many days, no game of any kind had been secured in abundance, and uncle will, who saw the pork and bacon disappearing too rapidly, cast about for some means of eking out the supplies. with this end in view, he prevailed upon his brother to let roly spend a day in hunting, knowing full well that nothing would please the lad more. roly had been careful with the shot-gun, and had fairly earned this privilege. the days in that high latitude were now so long that, even at midnight, there was a twilight glow over the summits of father and son in the north. at three in the morning, it was broad daylight, and roly, as he awoke into delightful anticipations, heard the "quack, quack" of big brown mallards, and the whistling wings of smaller ducks, as they flew to their feeding grounds. he was out of the bunk in an instant, and slipping on his jacket and long rubber boots, which, with his cap, were the only articles needed to complete his attire, he snatched a hasty breakfast, put a piece of corn-bread in his pocket, and then, gun in hand, softly opened the cabin door, and stole out into the fresh morning air. the joy of youth was in his heart, and a sense of freedom and adventure came with the thought of hunting all alone in that great wide valley, and made the blood tingle to his finger-tips. there were ponds and marshes in every direction, but roly decided to cross the river and walk southward, for he observed several ducks flying that way. he therefore made his way down the face of the bluff, through the sliding sand to the river-bank, where a raft of three logs had been moored. loosing this unwieldy craft, he laid the unloaded gun upon it, then seized the long push-pole, and sprang on board. it required considerable effort to free the lower end of the raft from the mud, but finally it swung out into the stream. roly pushed and paddled lustily for some moments before he succeeded in urging the heavy affair to the farther shore, for the current was strong and carried him down the stream fully two hundred yards. he fastened the raft to a clump of alders, picked up the gun, and set off up the stream to the south, keeping a sharp lookout for any kind of game. after penetrating a tangled thicket, he saw that he was coming out upon a long, open swamp. there might be ducks here, and he paused to look carefully at two or three pools which gleamed at some distance. seeing nothing, however, he skirted the edge of the swamp to the higher wooded land beyond, where he was startled by the sudden chattering of a red squirrel in a spruce over his head. he could have shot the squirrel easily, but felt it would be unmanly to kill any creature wantonly. the little animal was too small to have much value as food, and, besides, cartridges were precious. so he passed on, in the hope of seeing larger game. on every sandy bank the ground-squirrels sat, and while they were larger than the red squirrels, they were very lean after their long winter sleep. they were plentiful near the cabin, and roly thought he could catch them with traps or snares, as soon as they were in better condition. for the present, therefore, the ground-squirrels were also left in peace. everywhere were traces of rabbits, but no rabbits were to be seen. lucky had explained this one day by saying, "rabbit come bime-by--plenty rabbit--all gone now,"--which mr. bradford interpreted to mean that the animals migrated from place to place, and at some seasons would, no doubt, fairly overrun the country, while at other times they would be very scarce. at length roly caught a glimpse of a long, swampy pond between the trees ahead, and on its smooth surface, near the centre, he could see three ducks, one small, the others larger and of a dark-brown color,--doubtless mallards. hardly had he made this discovery, and paused to consider how he should approach, when up flew two little ducks, one variegated, and the other an even brown,--the male and female,--from a near arm of the pond which had escaped his notice. the boy trembled, lest the other three should also be alarmed; but they went on dipping their bills under the water quite unconcernedly, while the small one occasionally dived. near the bank stood a green spruce, the branches of which came thickly down to the ground on the side toward the water, forming a splendid cover. roly thought that if he could only reach this tree, it would be an easy matter to bag a duck or two, so he started cautiously on tiptoe, keeping the tree between himself and the birds. but there were many dry twigs and little bushes in the space over which he had to pass, and the two mallards--most wary of alaskan ducks--presently took alarm at the almost imperceptible crackling on the shore. up they flew, quacking loudly, and making a wide sweep in roly's direction, so that he felt sure he could have shot one of them on the wing. indeed, he would have tried it, had not his father given strict orders to the contrary. cartridges were too precious here to be spent on experiments. roly had never practised wing-shooting, and his father knew he would waste a great deal of ammunition before acquiring the knack. where sport was the object, not food, and ammunition was plentiful, mr. bradford would have advised his son to shoot only at birds on the wing, that being more sportsmanlike, and giving the birds a chance. but here it was simply a matter of food, and every cartridge must count. roly, therefore, after one longing look at the now distant mallards, crept up under the tree, and, kneeling on the moss, took aim through an opening in the branches at the small duck, which seemed much less timid than the others, though it had paddled a short distance toward the farther shore. there was a puff of smoke, and the report rang out sharply on the still morning air. the duck flopped once or twice, then lay motionless on the water, on perceiving which, roly executed an immediate triumphal war-dance under the tree. it was now a question whether the pleased youngster could secure his prize. the wind was too light to blow it ashore, and the longest pole he could use would not be long enough. the water looked dark and deep, but at least he would try it; so, pulling up his rubber boots to their full length, he stepped carefully out into the pond. to his surprise, he found that the mud on the bottom was solidly frozen, and the water was nowhere more than two feet deep. the duck was therefore quickly reached and brought back to the tree, where the young hunter ambushed himself again to await developments. he now bethought him of the empty shell in his gun, and had hardly thrown it out, preparatory to snapping another into place, when two fine mallards appeared from the southward, and plumped heavily down upon the water, not thirty feet from his hiding place. alas that, of _all_ times, the cartridge should stick at _that_ golden moment! but stick it did, refusing to go in, or even to come out again. roly fairly bit his lips with vexation, and tugged with nervous fingers at the mechanism of the breech, keeping an eye on the ducks all the while, and trying to be as quiet as possible. it was all to no purpose. a bit of dirt had found its way in somewhere, and he had to shake the gun violently before the cartridge would move. the mallards could not be expected to turn a deaf ear to this commotion. they raised their heads, and then with one impulse fluttered up and away, and poor roly nearly cried, as the obstinate cartridge slipped easily in, ere the birds were fairly out of sight. it was yet early, however, and the lad knew that he had only to wait patiently, to find another chance. he could occasionally hear the whistle of wings as a flock flew past, and sometimes he could see the birds from his covert. he had watched and waited a half hour, when four ducks settled down at the remote end of the pond. they were out of range, but soon began to come closer. two were like those he had first frightened from the narrow arm of the marsh, small in size, the male brightly plumaged, the female a smooth brown. it was a male of this species which he had shot. the other two seemed much larger, but in other respects almost exactly like their companions. they kept quite near each other, and splashed or dived unconscious of danger. roly watched his opportunity, hoping they would bunch together, so that he might kill more than one at a shot. he had not long to wait. as they came in range, the two larger birds and the smaller female were exactly in line, one beyond another. it was the favorable moment. he aimed at the middle one and fired. the small male duck, which had been out of the line, seemed bewildered rather than frightened by the noise. he dived, came up at a distance, and paddled away without taking flight. the two larger birds were instantly killed, while the small female beyond was crippled, and fluttered around in a circle. roly felt justified in using another cartridge at once to put her out of suffering. then he waded out and brought in his prizes, the fourth duck having escaped into the swamp-grass. he wondered if the others back at the cabin had heard the shots. it was not unlikely, for they would be stirring by this time. having seated himself again, he fell to thinking over the strange life he had been leading for the past two months, so different from that at home. his reverie was interrupted by the arrival of a fine mallard, which was bagged without delay. no more ducks visited the pond, though he waited until the middle of the morning, when they ceased flying. he therefore prepared to return. the legs of the birds were tied together, and they were slung over the barrel of the gun, which he then raised to his shoulder, and found he had something of a burden. but he was destined to carry still more. he had not proceeded far when he heard the clucking of a ptarmigan in the woods to his left, so leaving the ducks where he could easily find them, he stole softly in the direction of the sound. the clucking soon seemed very near,--so near that he did not dare to go a step farther, for fear of frightening the bird, but, look as he would, he could see nothing of it. he scanned the ground for a glimpse of white, forgetting entirely that the ptarmigan becomes brown when the snow disappears, and was just giving up in despair when he sighted the bird perched on the dead branch of a tree across a little glen. and, what was better, there were two in the tree. roly manoeuvred till he had the birds in line, and it was such an easy shot that both fell stone dead at once, amid a shower of feathers. "well done, roly, my boy!" said mr. bradford, heartily, when the prospectors returned late that afternoon and found roly's bunch of birds. "let's see, here's a mallard, two golden-eyes, two little butter-balls, and two ptarmigan,--seven birds in all. and how many shots did you fire?" "five," said roly, with pardonable pride. "there were no large flocks to fire into, but i meant to make every shot tell." "yes," said his father, "and you've done very well, especially for a beginner." "and how many did you get, johnson?" asked uncle will. johnson had been on a similar errand for the other party. "five ducks and a white rabbit," was the reply. "on the whole, roly has carried off the honors, for i fired six shots." so the campers obtained fresh meat, and all were very glad to abstain awhile from bacon. both roly and david went duck-hunting often after that, and always with good success throughout the migrating season. chapter xxi last days at pennock's post the indian family hung about the premises more or less, hoping, no doubt, for more tea or another butter-can. they set steel traps in the neighboring sand-banks, and caught many ground-squirrels, some of which they offered to the white men for twenty-five cents a pair; but while ducks, ptarmigan, and occasionally a wild swan or rabbit could be shot, no one was inclined to buy. david and roly thought, however, that it would do no harm to catch ground-squirrels for themselves, and they set about making snares. these were simple, and consisted of a strong but slender willow branch, fixed firmly in the bank high above the hole in a nearly horizontal position, a stronger stick similarly set between the other and the hole, and a piece of string with a slip-noose at one end. the other end of the string was tied to the extremity of the upper willow branch, which was then bent down until the noose hung over the hole. a small loop, slipped over the point of the lower stick, held the noose in position. all being ready, it was expected that mr. squirrel, coming out to take an airing, would run his head through the noose, carrying it along with him until the loop slipped from the lower stick, thus releasing the elastic upper stick, which would jerk poor mr. squirrel into the air, and hang him for no greater fault than his ignorance. the theory was perfect, but in practice mr. squirrel displayed more cleverness than he had been given credit for. sometimes he pushed the noose aside, and again he would slip through it, and though occasionally a snare was sprung, the denizens of the sand-bank always managed to get away. the boys therefore decided to try to buy two traps from the indians; and one day, when the whole family was present, david gave them to understand by signs what was wanted. he shut his hands together with a snap, then held up two fingers. the old squaw quickly nodded her head, and jabbered some unintelligible gutturals, which might have been taken for a fit of choking, but it was evident that she was willing to sell two traps, and on the following day she brought them. "probably," said david, as he gave her two fifty-cent pieces, "she is giving me the oldest and rustiest she has." "yes," said pennock, "you can depend upon that. better see if they'll work, before you buy 'em." the boys therefore snapped them once or twice, to make sure that they were in order. "now," said roly, "we must get her to show us how to set them in the holes,"--whereupon he made a number of signs, which she quickly comprehended. she took the traps to the nearest hole and placed them in the entrance, covering them with dry grass, so that the animals would not hesitate to walk over them. the traps proved so old and worn that very few squirrels were caught at first, but mr. bradford doctored them one day with a file, after which they were quite effective. not many days later, the old squaw fell ill, and her consumptive son and one of her daughters came down in haste to the cabin, in the hope that the white men would aid them. it chanced that no one was at home but pennock, he who most of all detested the indians. the young woman, by signs and the few english words she knew, made known the state of the case, and urged the white man to come in person, while her brother, with a sweep of the hand toward the east, repeated the word "gold" over and over. he well knew what white men most covet. pennock, however, did not believe the indian knew any more about gold than he did. furthermore, he was not a medical man, and felt that he could do no good by visiting the patient. but he made out that the trouble was a cough, and so without more ado he looked over his slender stock of medicines and picked out a mustard plaster, which he gave to the young woman, showing her by signs to dampen it and lay it on her mother's chest. the two indians appeared genuinely grateful for the plaster, and offered fifty cents in payment, which of course pennock refused. so they went off with light hearts, to try the white man's remedy. "ah!" exclaimed uncle will later, when pennock related what he had done; "for all your blustering the other day, you've a soft spot under your waistcoat, i see. that's what i call returning good for evil." "maybe it was," said pennock. "i couldn't refuse the poor wretches." whether the mustard plaster proved effective or not, the dwellers in the cabin never knew, for a day or two later the indians disappeared, probably continuing their journey toward hootchi, a stik village fifty miles to the north. for a time nothing was learned of the fortunes of the large party which had toiled down the valley in april, beyond the fact that they had not been able to drag their sleds more than three miles. this news was brought by one of their number, who said that the sleds and most of the goods had been cached, and he had been left in charge. the others had taken from fifty to one hundred and twenty-five pounds, according to their size and strength, and had pushed ahead. a few small bands of indians visited the cabin, but as they came from the south they had no news of the gold-seekers. with one of these bands were two dogs of moderate size, staggering under loads of forty and fifty pounds, while their lazy masters carried absolutely nothing but the clothes they wore. another party brought fresh whitefish, which they bartered for flour and coffee. four cups of flour and a pound of coffee were accepted in exchange for seven fish, and both parties seemed pleased with the bargain. this incident prompted the bradford boys to fish in the creek and river, but they met with no success, and concluded that it was yet too early. coffee jack, however, made a most welcome contribution to the larder one day, by coming in with his hat full of duck's eggs, which he had found in a swamp. at last, on the fifteenth of may, the leader of the thirty-six returned with five white men and four indians. some of them were so worn with hunger and fatigue as to be hardly recognizable, and all were utterly discouraged. their hopes were dispelled; they had found no gold. the big party had advanced more than fifty miles with their heavy loads, and had built two cabins to serve as starting-points for further explorations. the men who had remained there would have to draw on the cache near pennock's post very soon, and the leader had given them orders to raft these supplies down the river twenty-five miles to the point where the stream turned westward from the trail, and there establish a storehouse. meanwhile, those with the captain were to go to the kah sha river claims and help the four who had been originally left there. the captain himself intended to go to pyramid harbor with the indians, and bring in a fresh supply of provisions on pack horses, as soon as there was grass enough along the trail for the subsistence of the animals. the men were given a hearty supper at pennock's, for they sorely needed it. indeed, they declared it was the first "square meal" they had enjoyed in two weeks. after a good night's rest and breakfast, they resumed their journey in better spirits. five days later came a startling piece of information. mr. bratnober, a mining man well known on the dalton trail, with a young man named onderdonk and two indian packers, stopped at the cabin on his way north. he said that war had broken out between the united states and spain in april, and that admiral dewey had won a great victory at manila. as may be imagined, this news wrought david and roly up to the highest pitch of excitement. "just think," said they,--"war for a month, and we didn't know it!" for a moment, they almost regretted that they had come to such a far country, and they thought longingly of the stirring times at home. their father and uncle were also much moved, and their first impulse was to drop everything and hasten back,--the one to protect his family, the other to enter the army or navy. but as they talked the matter over, they saw there was little likelihood that the spaniards could effect a landing on the american coast; and as to uncle will's enlistment, though that would have just suited his roving temperament, he decided, upon his brother's urgent request, to await fuller information. all agreed, however, that it would be wise to return at once to the kah sha river, a distance of thirty-five miles. there were several reasons for this move. the first and most imperative was the fact that their provisions at pennock's would last but one week more. in the second place, they had demonstrated to their entire satisfaction that there was no gold worth mining in that vicinity, and the thirty-six had found none farther north. thirdly, there certainly _was_ gold on their alder creek claims, and lucky's nugget was probably now uncovered. finally, they would be within thirty miles of dalton's post, and likely to hear more news from incoming prospectors. chapter xxii a hard journey preparations for departure were begun that evening. the bradfords overhauled all their belongings, and decided what they would take and what they would have to leave. there was even less food than they supposed,--barely enough for three days,--but tents, blankets, cooking utensils, tools, guns, ammunition, clothing, and various small articles promised to load them heavily, and it was seen that a part of their goods must be abandoned. the sleds, of course, were no longer of any use. most of the mackinaw clothing was now too heavy. the ice-creepers and snow-shoes would not be needed, and the former were thrown out at once, but david and roly could not part with their snow-shoes, which they desired to take home and hang upon the walls of their room. the rubber shoe-packs were nearly worn out, and were discarded. david regretfully abandoned the two steel traps, which were heavy, and not so necessary as some other things. the down quilts which had served them so well were too bulky to be taken along, though not of much weight. so they went through the whole list, retaining this, rejecting that, until they were ready to make up their packs. next morning, nichols, a bostonian who usually cooked for pennock's party, obligingly prepared breakfast for the bradfords, who were busily completing their packing. large, a tall, gaunt san diego man,--whose initials were a. t., so that, as he was fond of pointing out, he was always "at large,"--gave them useful hints about binding the packs. he was a veteran of the civil war, and remembered his travels with knapsack and blanket. reitz and adair, also from san diego, and pennock and johnson, assisted in various ways. after several failures, the boys acquired the knack of making up and binding a pack. to accomplish this, they first arranged their goods in the least possible space, and rolled them in tent or blankets,--for david had the latter, and roly the tent,--thus forming a flattened cylindrical bundle. a lash-rope from a sled was wound once lengthwise and twice widthwise around the pack, the latter windings being about ten inches apart. the bundle being set on end, a strong canvas pack-strap two inches wide and three feet long was inserted under the lower winding at its junction with the lengthwise rope, and the ends were made fast to the upper winding about ten inches apart, leaving the two lengths of the strap somewhat loose, so that the packer could thrust his arms through these loops. thus the straps passed over his shoulders and under his armpits. to prevent them from slipping from the shoulders, they were bound together by a cord passing across the chest. by means of the long, loose end of the pack-rope, brought over either shoulder and grasped by the hands, the load could be shifted a little from time to time if it became painful. at seven, all was ready, and the bradfords took leave of their friends and cast a last look at the little cabin. "i guess you'll see some of us before long," said pennock, as he bade them good-by. "there's no sort of use in our staying here. remember us to the boys, and leave us some of the gold." uncle will motioned lucky and coffee jack to lead the way, and off they started through the open timber to the main trail, which passed but a few hundred yards from the cabin. the hoofs of horses and cattle, travelling to dawson the previous season, had clearly defined it, and one would have thought it a cow-path in a pasture, had it been in new england instead of the northwest territory. for two miles it was smooth and hard, and the walking was excellent, except that sometimes a tree had fallen across the path. each of the three men carried a load of seventy-five pounds, though lucky would have thought nothing of one hundred and fifty, being trained to the work from childhood. david had fifty pounds, and roly and coffee jack forty each. before they had gone half a mile, the boys realized that the journey they had begun would be a severe test of endurance. the pressure of the straps caused pain in their shoulders, and soon their arms and hands tingled with the prickly sensation which arises when the blood cannot circulate freely. they were obliged to avoid sticks and stones with great care, for a sprain or bruise might easily result from stepping upon them so heavily. even uncle will, who had done a good deal of packing, was quite ready to rest when pain compelled the boys to halt. they secured temporary comfort by seating themselves in front of a fallen tree so that the packs would rest upon it, and the prickly sensation in the arms was relieved by loosening the straps a little. fortunately all had been well rested and strengthened by their stay at pennock's post, and were fortified to endure both pain and fatigue. mr. bradford was as strong now as his rugged brother. david had grown muscular, and gained in weight. roly looked much as usual, but his muscles were certainly harder than they had ever been at home. following the east shore of the river, they came to the mouth of the creek whose headwaters mr. bradford had explored. it was crossed by a single narrow log twenty feet long, a rude and dangerous bridge for any one who had not a clear head and steady nerves. the water, six or eight feet below, was still and deep and muddy. to fall into it with a heavy pack meant almost certain death, if assistance were not at hand. lucky and coffee jack, however, crossed unhesitatingly, and uncle will performed the feat without betraying dizziness; but when mr. bradford's turn came, he looked somewhat doubtful, declaring that he had done no tight-rope walking since his boyhood days, and he feared that if his head swam, the rest of him would soon be swimming too. on the whole, he thought it wise to remove his pack and carry it in such manner that he could drop it if he fell. he then advanced over the log slowly and cautiously, for its upper surface, hewn level and smooth, was but four inches wide. the boys carried their packs across in the same manner, for though they were good at balancing and had no fear of dizziness, yet to transport a top-heavy, swaying load was very different from making the passage unencumbered. beyond the creek the land was swampy, and travelling more difficult. they circled one of the small lakes which they had crossed on their northward march, and came at length to a hill two hundred feet high. this was climbed slowly and with several pauses, for they found themselves out of breath the instant they left the level ground, and the perspiration fairly dripped from their faces. at the top, david threw himself down before a log with his pack resting upon it, but roly thought he could improve on this arrangement by sitting on the trunk itself and letting the pack come against the great upturned roots. unfortunately, in the act of seating himself, he leaned too far backward, and instantly his load overbalanced him. over he went on his back on the other side of the tree, pack down and heels up, to the amusement of his friends and his own discomfiture, for, try as he would, he could not move. "roly seems to have come to anchor," observed uncle will, with a most provoking twinkle in his eye. he and his brother had seated themselves at a little distance. "yes," said mr. bradford, smiling as he contemplated roly's fruitless efforts to turn over; "and perhaps it's just as well. we shall know where to find him." "i should think you would," said poor roly, laughing in spite of himself. "i can't get up till somebody helps me, and i did want to look at the valley." "oh, no!" put in david, with exasperating composure; "the sky is far prettier. just see those beautiful white summer clouds sailing along." "let them sail if they want to," said the prostrate youth, impatiently. "i don't care. have you all conspired against me? give me your hand, dave, you're nearest." "oh, i don't know," answered david, without moving. "do you remember a certain april fool's trick, young man?" "yes," groaned roly. "don't you think you ought to be punished?" "not any more than i am. my pack will punish me enough for twenty tricks before the day is over." "true enough, youngster," said david, with swift repentance, as he thought of his own sore shoulders and the growing pain in his back. "here's my hand. you had my forgiveness long ago." "that's right!" said mr. bradford, who had been on the point of going to roly's assistance when this dialogue began. "don't lay up resentment, my lad." so roly came up smiling, and they all took a good look at the valley of pennock's post, the whole length and breadth of which lay spread before them. there in the blue distance northward were the father and son, with the narrow pass between. nearer was the granite cliff to the west of the cabin, and even the sandy bluff that fronted the river was distinguishable. but the little house was hidden in the forest. soon after the march was resumed, a small and beautiful lake was skirted, lying east of the trail. beyond it towered a mountain, upon whose green slope gleamed a white waterfall, while near the hither shore emerged an islet crowned with trees. uncle will looked particularly at the ice, which had melted away from the margin of this lake, but still appeared firm in the centre. "there's about an even chance," said he, "that we can cross dasar-dee-ash, instead of going clear around it. we must make the short cut if possible, for our food is almost gone. i think the ice will bear us, if we can only get upon it." with every step, the packs became more painful. shoulders and hips grew sore, backs ached, and feet grew lame. it was now necessary to rest every quarter of a mile. they passed another lake, along whose shores the trail was rough and swampy. wooded ridges rose on either side of them. in some places they found small berries of the previous season, which, being pleasant to the taste and harmless, were eagerly eaten. the indians at length left the trail and turned through a cleft in the hills in the direction of lake dasar-dee-ash, which lay three miles to the west. only here and there could the white men distinguish faint signs of an old path which lucky and coffee jack followed with wonderful acuteness. on reaching the lake, the bradfords estimated that they had carried their loads at least fourteen miles, and it was with a great sense of relief that they threw their burdens to the ground and proceeded to pitch the tents with what little energy remained. at this spot an old indian and his family were fishing. they were evidently well known to lucky and his brother, whom they entertained that evening with a supper of salmon and whitefish,--a fortunate circumstance, since the provisions of the bradfords were running so low that they barely had enough for themselves. the second day's march was even more severe than the first. it was needful to hasten, for the old indian could spare no fish when the bradfords offered to buy, and even lucky could procure but half a dozen small ones for himself and coffee jack on the journey. rations were therefore reduced, for it was plain that it would be well along in the third day before they could reach uncle will's cache, even should it prove possible to cross upon the ice; while if the crossing should seem too dangerous, it would require a fourth day to go around by the rough, wooded south shore. at the old indian's camping ground, the outlook was anything but favorable. it was now the twenty-second of may, and so warm that the green buds were swelling in every tree. as far as the eye could see, the ice had retreated from the beach, leaving a strip of open water from fifty to a hundred feet wide. there was nothing to do but follow an old trail along the eastern shore in the hope that somewhere conditions would be more encouraging. the heavy packs were strapped on once more, and off they tramped across a wide marsh, now jumping as well as they could from hummock to hummock, now wading through water knee-deep. beyond the marsh they had a bad trail, or no trail at all, for the remainder of the day, sometimes forcing their way through thickets, sometimes clambering through a region of fallen timber, where the great trunks were piled in such intricate confusion that a passage seemed utterly hopeless, and again crossing a newly burned woodland where dry dust and ashes lay several inches deep, and rose from beneath their feet in stifling clouds. a river a hundred feet in width was crossed by a convenient jam of logs and trees. late in the afternoon they took to the beach, where the rough cobblestones offered the lesser evil, and after a mile of this painful walking came to a little cove where at last was a sight so welcome that the boys gave a glad shout. a narrow spur of ice was seen, bridging the strip of blue water. chapter xxiii the lake affords two meals and a perilous crossing while the bradfords were pitching the tents, lucky set off to try the ice preparatory to the morrow's attempt to cross. coffee jack, instead of accompanying his brother, made roly understand that he wanted a line and a hook. "going fishing?" asked roly, eagerly. "yes," said the bright-eyed indian boy. "big feesh--yes." so roly dove into his pack, which lay unbound on the shore, and presently produced a fish-line wound around a chip. a small hook was already attached. coffee jack took the line and examined it doubtfully, as if he feared it might not be strong enough. young as he was, he had learned many tricks of hunting, fishing, and woodcraft from his brother; and as roly was glad to acquire such knowledge, he watched the indian boy carefully. first about thirty feet of the line were unwound and then doubled, so as to give a length of fifteen feet for the double line. [illustration: children of the wilderness] "cut?" asked coffee jack, drawing his finger across it, to represent a knife. "yes," said roly; "you can cut it." so coffee jack cut the line and handed back to roly the part he did not need. he now took one of the small whitefish which he had obtained from the old indian that morning, and cut off the rear half of its body with the tail attached. this he cut open, and trimmed down with his knife until it resembled a large shiner. the whole hook was then placed inside the body, and the opening sewed up with a needle and thread supplied by his friend. the indian boy was now ready to set his double line in place. accompanied by roly, who was warned by his father to be extremely careful, he warily crossed the ice-bridge to the firmer ice beyond. in places this ice was a foot thick, but it was so honeycombed by the sun's rays as to be very treacherous. there were numerous openings of various sizes to be avoided, as well as places where the ice had been reduced to an unsafe thinness. coffee jack walked out to a point several hundred yards from the beach, having first cut a long pole and a slender stick, the latter about three feet in length. he selected an opening in the ice two feet in diameter, the sides of which were thick and safe to stand upon; and having tied the small stick firmly across the centre of the pole, so that a foot of it was on one side, and two feet on the other, he notched the short end and made the line fast to it. the pole was then set across the hole, and the bait allowed to sink down through the clear water. it was evident that if a fish swallowed the bait and attempted to swim away with it, the pole would hold him prisoner, while the short stick would tip up and announce the capture. roly had seen the pole and pointer used in new england, but the idea of sewing the hook inside of the bait-fish was a novel one. "good!" said coffee jack, as he contemplated his contrivance a moment, and then turned back toward the shore. "big feesh--to-morrow!" roly was inclined to wait for developments, but as the call to "muck-muck" was now heard on the shore, he also withdrew. it was a very frugal supper which the tired trampers ate, ere they threw themselves into their tents for a long sound sleep. the morning broke cool and cloudy. mists trailed low along the sides of the dasar-dee-ash mountains across the lake, and hid their snowy summits from view. there was a dampness in the air which betokened rain, and that quickly. roly gave little thought to the weather, however, when he awoke. his first glance, as he peered from the tent, was directed toward the little stick away out on the ice, and great was his excitement when he saw that it was pointing straight up. without waiting to arouse any one--not even coffee jack, who, he rightly reasoned, cared much for the fish, but very little for the sport of catching it--he walked as fast as he dared, out over the surface of the lake. a south wind was rising, and now and then he felt a drop of rain on his cheek. how his fingers tingled with anticipation when he grasped the taut double line! there was certainly something heavy at the end of it. in another moment the boy could dimly see a great fish coming slowly toward the surface. presently it took alarm and struggled to swim away in various directions. fearing that the line would be sawn in two against the icy edges of the hole, roly hauled in as fast as he could, hand over hand, and now up came the big fish, and out it flopped upon the ice, to be hurriedly dragged to a safe distance. as the bait was in good condition, it was dropped back into the hole. roly immediately set out with his prize for the shore, where he raised the camp by a series of whoops which would have done credit to the whole stik tribe. nobody knew the name of the fish; but lucky and coffee jack, the moment they caught sight of its long head and body, and mottled brown and yellow skin, looked disappointed and said, "no good." "that may be," said uncle will; "but, good or not, we're going to eat it, for we've precious little else," and he gave it to coffee jack to clean. when it was cut up and sputtering in the frying-pan, the odor was certainly appetizing, and the indians made no objection to receiving their share in the distribution which followed. the bradfords found that the skin was full of a strong--almost rancid--oil, but the flesh, though rather flavorless, was not bad. "this reminds me of the candle-fish," said uncle will, "which runs up alaskan rivers. it's a small fish, the most oily variety known, and it is said that if you set one on its head, and strike a light to its tail, it will burn like a candle until consumed." "oh, come, will!" exclaimed mr. bradford. "do you expect us to believe that?" "well," said his brother, "salt and fish generally go together, and in alaska even a fish-_story_ must sometimes be taken with a grain of salt." "evidently," said mr. bradford. exclamations from david and coffee jack, who sat facing the lake, now caused the others to look that way. the little stick was pointing up again. roly dropped everything, and ran out to the hole. again he felt a heavy weight, and this time found a gamy customer enough, for the fish darted violently, around as soon as it was conscious of the tug on the line. the young fisherman had his hands full, but hauled in as steadily as he could, and out came the fish at last,--a magnificent six-pound lake trout. the hook had caught so deeply that it had to be cut out, and the bait had mostly disappeared, so the line, hook, and fish were brought ashore together. "him good!" said lucky, as pleased at this capture as he had been disappointed at the other. "i should say so!" exclaimed mr. bradford. "we shall have a royal dinner at least, and by supper-time we ought to reach the cache." "yes," said uncle will; "and the sooner we get across this lake the better. it's coming on to rain and blow, and the ice may break up. we've not a minute to lose." mr. bradford looked anxiously out over the storm-swept expanse. "it would be the height of folly," he declared, "to try to cross that rotten ice with packs strapped on our backs. we ought to be free to swim if worst comes to worst. i don't like the looks of things." "nor i either," uncle will agreed. "i think each of us had better cut two long poles, fasten his pack near one end of them, and drag it over the ice. then, if any one breaks through, his load won't sink him, and the poles will be handy for his rescue." this plan was approved by all. small poplar trees were quickly felled in the neighboring forest, and their branches lopped off. two of these poles being laid flat on the ice about a foot apart, the load was made fast near one end, and the owner, stepping between them at the other end, grasped them with his hands. a rope passing loosely across his shoulders from one pole to the other took a part of the weight. it was also found advantageous to trim the ends of the poles where they came in contact with the ice. all being ready, they started, but progress was slow, both for caution's sake, and because in the absence of ice-creepers their feet could obtain little hold upon the slippery surface. not far out lay a chain of small islands, around which were stretches of open water, now lashed into foam by the wind, and lapping hungrily at the weakening edges of the ice. it was necessary to go between two of these islands where the ice was not to be depended on, but this dangerous passage was made in safety, and all breathed more easily when they reached the firmer ice of the broad, open lake. the rain now fell, or rather drove, in torrents, and the travellers were wet to the skin. four miles away lay the shore they sought, at the southern base of the dark mountain slopes. at the head of the company went lucky, his black, narrow eyes, almost mongolian in shape, keenly fixed on the ice, and the rude drag scraping along behind him. then came coffee jack, then uncle will with the lake trout slipping after his load, and finally roly, david, and mr. bradford. it was hard work,--hard upon hands and arms,--though the lame backs and shoulders were somewhat relieved by the new mode of travel. after an hour and a half, the party approached the southwest shore. here the ice became more treacherous. sometimes they could feel it settle beneath their feet, as if an upper layer had been pressed down upon an underlying one. there were many little cavities a few inches deep and filled with water, at the bottom of which were slender green plants like seaweed, which seemed to possess the power of melting the ice immediately around them. strict orders were given that no one should approach within thirty feet of another, lest their combined weight should prove disastrous. and now lucky stopped and pointed toward the shore. "water!" he exclaimed. consternation was depicted on every face. "it's too true," said uncle will, as he made out the dark line all along the beach. "looks as if we couldn't get off the ice now we're on it." "we've got to get off," declared mr. bradford, decisively. "there's nothing else to do. we can't go back. very likely the ice-bridge is gone by this time." "can't we chop out an ice-raft?" suggested david, who recalled certain youthful adventures upon the mill-pond at home. uncle will nodded. "we'll do that very thing," said he, "if we can't find a crossing. first, however, let us explore a little." contrary to all expectation, as they rounded a rocky point, they discovered beyond it a narrow ice-strip not more than fifty feet wide, similar to the one they had crossed that morning, but much weaker, spanning the hundred feet to the beach. one at a time they passed across in safety and stood at last, with a great sense of thankfulness and relief, upon the solid ground. and now the rain ceased, and the cheerful sun broke through the masses of clouds. chapter xxiv david gets his bear-skin the cache was reached after a half-hour's walk along the pebbly beach, and as provisions were now plentiful once more, the lake trout was served for dinner in bountiful style with applesauce, desiccated potato, and bannocks,--the latter baked in tin plates before an open fire. the remainder of the day and the night were spent at the cache, since all were in need of rest, and some changes would have to be made in the packs before proceeding to alder creek. not far away two men were encamped with a large outfit. they said they had come in with sleds and had taken claims on the kah sha river; but by the time they were ready to continue toward dawson city, the ice of the lake was too treacherous for heavy sledding, so they had decided to build a boat. this boat was now finished and lay bottom up on the beach. it was constructed of spruce boards whip-sawn with great labor from dry tree-trunks, and was tightly calked with oakum and putty, but lacked paint because the builders had brought none. they were confident, however, that the craft would prove water-tight and seaworthy. it was to carry one mast, and they were making a sail out of the fly of their tent. it was also provided with seats, rowlocks, and a rudder. by the time the ice broke up, the two voyagers would be ready to begin their cruise of over fifty miles by lake and river, to the point where they must take the trail. one of the men asked david if he had any map of the region, and david hunted up a railroad folder which contained a map of alaska. but on examining it in the light of his own experience he found many serious errors. klukshu lake, for instance, had been confused with some lake farther to the east, and appeared under the name of lake maud. its outlet, instead of flowing from the south end and emptying into the alsek just above dalton's post, was represented as flowing from the north end and reaching the alsek thirty miles below. then instead of lying within four miles of lake dasar-dee-ash, as he knew to be the fact, it was placed at least twenty-five miles to the east. lake dasar-dee-ash appeared of a decidedly wrong shape, and its outlet was made to flow almost directly west, instead of northward, as it did for many miles. as for all the smaller lakes he had seen, the large stream flowing into dasar-dee-ash from the east, which they had crossed on the jam of logs, and the kah sha river and its tributaries, they were nowhere to be found,--all of which went to show how little was known in the outside world of the region into which they had penetrated. david therefore drew a rude but reliable map of the trail, to which he added from time to time as his travels warranted. toward the middle of the afternoon, when the boys had finished cleaning the rifle and shot-gun, coffee jack, who had been roaming through the woods for no apparent purpose, came running breathlessly into camp, shouting, "beer! beer!" and pointing straight behind him. "beer?" said roly, with a laugh. "what in the world does he mean? there can't be any beer in this neighborhood." "i'm sure i don't know," said david, much puzzled. "come here, coffee. what have you found?" "beer!" repeated the indian boy, excitedly. then, seeing that he was not understood, he gave a low growl and dropped on all fours. "bear!" exclaimed the bradford boys, in one breath, as they jumped to their feet. "yes, beer, beer!" insisted coffee jack, unable to improve on his first pronunciation, but delighted to perceive that they understood him at last. david and roly were in a flurry at once. they felt that not a moment must be lost or the prey would escape. it is not unlikely they had a vague idea that their elders would veto a bear-hunt if they knew of it; at any rate they did not stop to summon their father and uncle from the beach, but hastily snatched up the guns and some cartridges and set off through the woods, coffee jack leading, armed only with a hunting-knife. lucky was absent, having gone with a load of provisions to alder creek. it must not be supposed that the boys were entirely foolhardy in thus setting off alone. the indian knew from experience, and the white boys from previous inquiry, that the grizzly, the fiercest of bears, which will attack human beings without provocation, was not known in this part of the country. what coffee jack had seen must have been a black bear or a cinnamon, the latter being considered by some authorities as nearly identical with the former. such a bear, they had heard, always preferred to run away, and was not much to be dreaded unless cornered or wounded. with a rifle and a shot-gun they were sure they could defend themselves effectively. after forcing their way through thick willow bushes, they came into an open patch of woods, where coffee jack motioned that they were to make no noise. they were now in view of a bare spur or ridge jutting out along the lake from the lofty mountains behind. coffee jack paused in the shadow of a tree and examined the open ground ahead with extreme care, but seeing no sign of the bear he looked up on the ridge. the others followed his motions, and now at the same instant they all saw a large dark animal and two smaller ones scrambling up the steep slope. the old she-bear was cuffing first one cub, then the other, with her great paws to make them move faster, and butting them along with her head in a comical manner. the boys noticed that one of the cubs was dark brown like the mother, while the other was a cinnamon cub. coffee jack rushed across the open space with david and roly at his heels, and did not pause until he reached the foot of the slope, from which point the bears were in range of both guns. "shoot little beer," said he, breathlessly, "then ol' beer stop." "you take the cinnamon, roly," directed david. "all right," said roly. "blaze away." the two reports rang out together, and as the smoke rose, the boys' faces grew very long. all three bears were still going and apparently untouched. and every moment they were increasing the distance between themselves and their pursuers. "we must get closer," cried david, as he charged up the hill, followed by the others. "did you take buckshot cartridges, roly?" flashes of recollection, enlightenment, and dismay succeeded one another in roly's face. "no," he admitted in a doleful tone, "i never thought of it at all in the hurry. i'm afraid i've got nothing but bird-shot." and such proved to be the case. "well, then," said david between breaths, as he struggled over rocks and logs, "there's no use in your firing except at the very shortest range, and then only at the cubs. i'm going to try again now." so saying, he stopped, took careful aim at the brown cub, of which he had a clear view at that instant, and dropped it in its tracks. the old bear thereupon turned to see what was the matter with her offspring, and it was some time before she concluded that the cub could go no farther. meanwhile the boys had closed up a part of the distance. "here, roly," said david, taking pity on his younger brother, and handing him the rifle, "perhaps you'd like a shot at the cinnamon." but roly was not accustomed to the rifle, and though the cinnamon, which had advanced but slowly since the old bear stopped, was not far distant, he only succeeded in breaking its leg. david supplied another cartridge, and at the second shot roly brought down the game. the old bear now displayed anger and defiance, and sat up on her haunches with a growl that made the boys look instinctively around for cover. there was none to be had, however,--not a tree or large rock to which they could escape. they had but one effective weapon. furthermore, they now realized their inexperience as never before, and almost wished themselves well out of the scrape. it was evident that the old bear had made up her mind to defend herself and the cubs to the last extremity. she would be still more dangerous if wounded. all this passed in an instant through david's mind. as the oldest of the three, he felt responsible for the safety of his companions. the battle could not now be avoided. he had no doubt that to retreat would only bring the enemy upon them at once. in spite of himself, he trembled with the excitement and danger of the situation. however, his mind was quickly made up. he remembered a little friend back in seattle to whom he had promised a bear-skin. it had seemed easy enough to make the promise. to fulfil it, now that he was facing the bear, did not seem quite so simple. but he was no coward. "roly," said he, quickly, as he took the rifle, "you and coffee jack go back. you can't help me. shout as soon as you reach the woods, and i'll take care of the bear." "not much!" declared roly, promptly and decisively. he had also been considering the situation, was likewise trembling with nervous excitement, but had resolved that, come what would, he would stand by his brother. david looked at the lad's sturdy figure and saw in his face, usually so round and smiling, a look of resoluteness which he could not but admire. "you're the right stuff," said he, quietly. "here goes." he raised the rifle to his shoulder just as the bear sat up again, and aimed at her breast. unfortunately in his excitement he jerked the rifle when he pulled the trigger. the ball just grazed the bear's side. with an angry growl of pain the great beast came down upon all fours and charged the little group. "kneel, dave!" cried roly. "it'll steady you." david dropped on one knee as the bear came on, while coffee jack clutched his knife convulsively. "bang!" went the rifle the next instant. through the smoke they saw the bear plunge to the earth within a dozen yards of them with a bullet through her head. the battle was won. "well, well, what's all this?" they heard shouted in mr. bradford's voice from the foot of the hill. presently he and uncle will appeared breathless upon the scene. "you can see for yourself, sir," said david, pointing to the fallen game. "a bear and two cubs, as i'm alive!" exclaimed uncle will. "you've done a good piece of work, boys." "at close quarters, too!" observed mr. bradford. "they must have stood their ground like spartans." and nothing would do, after the game was skinned and the supper of tender bear-cub meat eaten that evening, but the boys must tell, to the least detail, how the bears were killed. "all i have to say," said uncle will, as he re-lighted his pipe when they had finished, "is that you deserve great credit for pluck, but very little for prudence. next time, my lads, just let us know when you start out after bears." chapter xxv moran's camp it required a week of hard work to transport the contents of the cache at the lake by frequent trips to the claims ten miles away. the tents were pitched on the grassy top of the bank from which uncle will had panned the gold in april. in the kah sha gorge there yet remained a few old drifts of snow which dwindled day by day, but under the influence of the almost incessant sunlight, vegetation was everywhere springing fresh and green. there were now seven members of the thirty-six--no longer mysterious--encamped in the gorge hardly a mile above its entrance, under the leadership of moran, a gray-haired veteran of the civil war, who was the only practical miner among them. the rest, like the majority of men who entered alaska and the northwest in the great rush of , were drawn from other walks of life. one had been a railroad brakeman, another a railroad clerk, a third an ice-man, a fourth a travelling salesman, a fifth a farmer, and the sixth a steamboat man. the occupations represented were still more numerous when pennock's men arrived several days behind the bradfords, pennock himself having gone out to the coast. one of these had been a grocer, another a foreman employed by a gas company, and another a journalist. still further accessions were made from time to time, as men were sent back from the camps beyond pennock's, till moran's camp became a bustling and populous place. a log cabin was built for a kitchen, dining-room, and storehouse, and half a dozen tents were set up for sleeping quarters. this little settlement was situated in a wild and rugged spot, bounded in front and at the sides by the roaring, foaming torrent of the kah sha river. directly at the rear rose foot-hills, and beyond them a high mountain, while from the water's edge across the stream frowned an enormous perpendicular cliff of dark rock three hundred feet high, from which not infrequently a mass of crumbling débris came crashing down. the sun now rose over the mountain to the east at about nine o'clock and set behind this cliff at four, after which the gorge was always chill and damp. the thirty-six had located their claims along the river and on alder creek. they had found numerous colors of gold in the gravel of the hillside which they had levelled for the cabin, and operations for taking out the gold were actively begun. as soon as the cabin was finished, the men turned to whip-sawing boards from spruce logs, nailing the boards together in the form of sluice-boxes, and digging prospect-holes here and there along the streams to find the most promising spot. they were still hampered by an insufficiency of food, but as the captain had sent word that he had bought supplies from several discouraged prospectors at dalton's post, a party of six was detailed to go to the post with an indian guide and bring back as much as they could carry. they returned six days later, footsore and lame, with loads of from fifty to eighty pounds. there was no late news of the war at dalton's, they said. the alsek was very high and running at least ten miles an hour. ike martin, the storekeeper, had onions already sprouted in his little garden-patch, and he had sown some barley. one of the men told with much relish how he had found enough dandelions for a "mess o' greens." this meagre batch of news was eagerly seized upon, the least item possessing no little interest to men so long shut away from all the world beyond their own camps. the bradfords, having heard it all as they passed the cabin, imparted every scrap faithfully to moore and king and the latter's partner baldwin, who had recently returned, and so every one in the district soon had the latest information from the post. early in june the gorge became almost impassable by reason of the rising waters. the snow in the mountains was melting rapidly, and every brooklet grew into a flood. to ford the main river was no longer possible, for the heaviest man would have been swept off his feet in an instant. all but three of the dozen trees which had been felled across it at various points were carried away like straws. one of those which remained was an enormous spruce about ninety feet long, spanning the stream directly against moran's camp. this tree had been raised at the farther and lighter end, so that it barely touched the water in mid-stream, and was braced with rocks and logs. at its heavier end it lay firmly against its own stump. every precaution had been taken to insure its safety, for at no point was a bridge more necessary. furthermore, it would be no easy matter to find and drag to the spot another tree so tall. owing to its great length, this rude bridge swayed dizzily in the centre, hence a rope was stretched tightly above it as a hand-rail. it was with no small dismay that the campers, late one afternoon, saw a giant tree-trunk as solid as a battering-ram come thumping down the swollen river. it crunched along over the rocky bed of the stream and showed no sign of stopping until within a hundred and fifty feet of the bridge, where it lodged rather insecurely against a shallow. as it was the habit of this glacial river to rise during the afternoon and evening with the accumulation of the day's meltings and fall more or less through the morning, it was tolerably certain that if the big log stuck through the night it would come no farther. the thirty-six watched and waited, and speculated upon the threatened disaster. about the middle of the evening, when it was still broad daylight and the mountain summits were yet flushed with the lingering sunbeams, the log betrayed symptoms of restlessness. it began to roll a little in the violent current, which steadily rose around it. then one end swung out, and at last the great mass was free, launched full tilt against the very centre of the bridge, which at that point dipped slightly into the water. was there room for it between the bridge and the river-bottom? could the long tree-trunk withstand the shock? were the braces firm on the opposite shore? these were the questions moran and his companions asked themselves, for there could be no doubt that the bridge would be struck. it was an exciting moment as that great bulk came on, its tons of sodden wood backed by the impetuous forces of the torrent. there was a tremendous thump as the opposing masses met. the bridge log trembled from end to end and all but gave way; but it stood the strain. the battering-ram had met its match, and seemed to appreciate the fact as, with a sort of bow to its sturdy antagonist, it ducked beneath, and after much scraping and bumping swung clear and headed down the stream, while the bridge-builders drew a deep breath of relief and turned away to their tents. the bradfords had by this time finished the transportation of their goods from the lake, and fortunately, for there was no passing through the gorge. when the water was at its normal height there was a passage on one side or the other, and the stream had to be frequently crossed by ford or log; but now that the river in many places filled all the space between its rocky walls, the traveller must needs scale treacherous slopes of loose gravel where a slip would carry him over the cliffs and into a river whose waters were icy and whose bed was not composed of feathers. sometimes he must toil to the very top of the precipices to avoid the more dangerous spots. so for some days the party on alder creek lived in seclusion, seeing no one but king, moore, and baldwin, whose tents were well above the worst portions of the river. they busied themselves by constructing a saw-pit where lumber could be turned out for sluice-boxes and a rocker, not deeming it practicable to build a cabin where available trees were so few. chapter xxvi how the great nugget nearly cost the bradfords dear the lump of gold which lucky had declared was as big as his head had not yet been secured, and the likelihood that many prospectors would come in as soon as the rivers were fordable caused uncle will to undertake this excursion at an early day. the stik indicated that the treasure lay in the valley of the kah sha river above its junction with alder creek. as the creek was the principal stream above that point, just as the missouri river carries far more water than the upper mississippi, it seemed probable that there would be little difficulty, even at this season of flood, in ascending the upper river-valley. it was a cool, invigorating morning on which the bradfords began their quest. the mountains about them wore below the snow-line the soft green of spring vegetation, while round their summits a few fleecy clouds vied with the snow in brightness. the indian boy was left in charge of the camp,--an arrangement which he accepted without visible disappointment,--and the gold-hunters proceeded down the brawling creek, walking with difficulty over loose pebbles of quartz, granite, and slate. occasionally uncle will picked up a stone and examined it through a magnifying-glass for traces of the precious metals. having reached the river after walking nearly a mile, they turned to the left up its valley, and soon, owing to the boulders below, were obliged to clamber along the hillsides. few trees were to be seen, but there was a profusion of low bushes and plants on every sunny slope. often in shaded places they crossed old snowdrifts which promised to last the summer through. lucky led the way, picking the best path by a sort of instinct. the hills became more and more precipitous. great bluffs of gravel alternated with rocky walls, and often it was difficult to maintain a foothold. while crossing the face of one of the bluffs, mr. bradford met with an adventure which, as he afterwards declared, almost turned his hair white. the rest of the party had passed the declivity near its top by digging their feet and sticks into the soft gravel, while he had lingered to secure a blue forget-me-not which grew below him. when he turned to follow the others, they were out of sight around the shoulder of the hill, and he could see nothing to mark their path across the bluff. he had descended fifty feet or more, and since there appeared no reason for scrambling up again, he began to advance at that level. perhaps a third of the bluff had been crossed slowly and carefully when, without warning, he encountered a gravel of different character. instead of being soft and loose, it was now compact, firmly bedded, and so steeply inclined that it offered not the slightest foothold. the moment mr. bradford's foot struck this hard gravel he slipped and fell, but as he did so he drove his staff firmly into the slope. by this means he was able to stay himself temporarily. he now felt carefully about for a support for his feet, but the crumbling pebbles rolled away with every movement. however, he discovered a projecting stone which seemed able to bear some weight, and this relieved the strain upon his hands and arms. and now he shouted as loudly as possible, hoping that his friends would hear. it was a perilous situation. below him for a hundred and fifty feet the gravel was of the same hard, deceptive consistency. he could see that it ended abruptly at least fifty feet above the little stream, and rightly conjectured that this interval was occupied by a perpendicular precipice of rock. what lay at the bottom he shuddered to imagine,--boulders, sharp rocks, at best a rough gravel-bed! and he could move neither hand nor foot; while, as if in mockery of his plight, the pebbles kept bounding and rattling merrily down the terrible slope below him, leaping out into space at last as if it were a pleasant pastime. again and again he shouted, and now he was gladdened by an answering shout, and saw his brother hastening along the bluff above, followed by lucky, david, and roly. "quick, will," he cried; "i can't hold out much longer." uncle will grasped the situation in a twinkling. "has any one some twine?" he asked. "i have," answered david, quickly producing a small ball of it from his pocket. "tie the walking-sticks together, then, and don't lose an instant. roly, run to the top of the bluff and see if you can cut a tall poplar." with these words uncle will hastened to work his way down the face of the bluff toward his brother, while lucky ran down to the point where mr. bradford had found the flower, and thence followed his course as far as he could out across the bare gravel. he was able to approach much nearer the imperilled man than was uncle will, who came upon the hard surface before he had covered half the distance, and could go no farther. indeed, the indian was within a yard of mr. bradford and kicking one last foothold in the treacherous bank preparatory to reaching out for him when, to the horror of all, the stone upon which the white man stood gave way. the sudden wrench tore the stick also from its place. having thus lost all support, the unfortunate man at once slipped and slid and rolled toward the brink of the precipice. he was beyond human aid. another moment, and, in spite of his frantic efforts to clutch at the shelving bank, he dashed over the edge of the rock and passed out of sight amid a shower of small stones dislodged by his fall. there is something indescribably frightful in the sight of a strong man thus powerless to avert his own destruction, and when the victim is a father or brother the horror is intensified a hundred-fold. uncle will groaned and shut his eyes. but he was a man of action, and quickly recovering himself he ran back along the hill with lucky and david until they could descend to the stream, up which they made their way with reckless haste. lucky was the most nimble; and as he scrambled to the top of a boulder which had obstructed his view ahead, his usual stolidity gave way to a glad cry. mr. bradford lay at the foot of the cliff upon a great bank of snow. but he lay there so still and lifeless that the rescuers anxiously hastened to his side. they were immediately joined by roly, whose face was pale with dread. mr. bradford had either struck the cliff in his descent, or had been struck by one of the stones which fell with him, for blood was flowing from a cut in the forehead, and he was unconscious. uncle will washed the blood from the wound, and wetting his handkerchief in the cold water of the stream, soon coaxed back the life. "well, charley," said he, in a tone of intense satisfaction as he saw his eyes open, "that was the closest call you ever had, but you're coming through all right." and mr. bradford did. he had been stunned and shaken, but not seriously injured, and after an hour's rest was able to proceed. they had not much farther to go. lucky, who had keenly observed all landmarks, soon halted in the rocky river-bottom and began to search carefully among the boulders. a few minutes later he called out, "big nuggit here!" and pointed to a sort of knob projecting from a large rock in the stream. uncle will hastened to the spot and saw at a glance that this knob was an almost solid mass of yellow metal. but he was too careful a man to accept first appearances, and brought the microscope to bear. "ah!" said he, and his face grew long, "it's fool's gold, after all,--just a big chunk of iron pyrites." "why, it looks just like gold!" declared roly, coming up. "i never saw iron of that color." "very likely not," said his uncle. "this isn't iron in its pure state, but combined with sulphur. look through the microscope and you'll see that the metal is crystallized. you won't find gold in that shape." lucky did not comprehend this explanation, but he read the disappointment in the faces of the others. to make him understand, uncle will tapped the blade of his knife and said, "iron--no good,"--a simple form of expression which the indian easily interpreted. he too showed genuine disappointment, for he had intended to do a kindness to uncle will. "well," said david, with at least a show of resignation, "i suppose there's nothing to do but retrace our steps." "i don't care to retrace all of mine," said mr. bradford, whose pale face wore a smile beneath its bandage. "oh!" exclaimed his brother, "but those weren't steps! you didn't take a single step in the whole two hundred feet! the first fifty you slid, the next hundred you rolled, and the last fifty you flew, and we won't ask you to do it over again." indeed, they were all so thankful at mr. bradford's escape that the nugget was hardly given a thought, and on the whole it was a happy party which returned to alder creek that evening. chapter xxvii an indian cremation "we're nearly out of sugar and salt," uncle will announced a day or two later. "the water spoiled a good part of what we had when my sled went through the ice. do you feel like taking a walk down to dalton's, charles, while i finish up these sluice-boxes?" "yes," replied mr. bradford, "and i might take along one of the boys." so it was decided that roly and his father should go to the trading-post with coffee jack for guide. they set out early in the morning to take advantage of the lowest stage of the river, which, owing to the coolness of the last few days, had fallen considerably. they were thus enabled to make the fordings without undue danger, and found themselves in about three hours at the mouth of the gorge, having stopped but a moment at each of the camps. directly opposite them across the valley, which extended, with a uniform width of about four miles, from lake dasar-dee-ash on the east toward a range of lofty peaks far to the west, loomed a fine cluster of mountains ribbed with melting snow. by skirting the eastern slopes of these mountains over a new trail made by prospectors, they would come upon the dalton trail at klukshu lake, and this was the route mr. bradford preferred, but coffee jack was not familiar with it and desired to follow the old indian trail to the west of the mountains. accordingly, they passed out of the gorge along the great dry gravel deposit, which they followed in its turn to the right, having first exchanged their rubber boots, with which they could now dispense, for the stout shoes which they had slung across their shoulders. the boots were hung in the forks of a clump of willows, where they could easily be found on their return. mr. bradford called roly's attention to the long stretch of treeless gravel curving to the west. "it is evident," said he, "that the kah sha river once flowed in this westerly course, but having choked itself up by successive accumulations of gravel and boulders ejected from the gorge in its spring floods, it now takes the opposite direction and empties into lake dasar-dee-ash." "that's something i never should have thought of," said roly, with interest, "and it's plain enough, too." "you can read a good deal of geological history," observed his father, "by keeping your eyes open and noticing simple things. every boulder, cliff, and sand-bank has a story to tell of the forces of ice, flood, or fire." at length coffee jack left the low ground, which had become swampy, and followed a line of foot-hills, where the trail could sometimes be discerned by mr. bradford and roly, but more often not. the young guide walked silently, with his head bent and his eyes fixed upon the ground. "no white man would be content with a trail like this," mr. bradford remarked. "the white man blazes the trees and looks up for his signs, while the indian relies upon footprints, faint though they may be, and looks down. i imagine that by their manner of following a trail you may gain an insight into the characteristics of the two races,--the one alert, hopeful, business-like, brainy; the other keen of instinct, easy-going, stealthy, and moody." "but what signs does coffee jack see?" inquired roly. "there are plenty of places where i can't see any path, but he goes right along." "the marks are various," said his father. "it may be that the grass is matted or less vigorous or of an altered hue where it has been trodden, or a twig may be broken, or a mouldering tree-trunk rubbed a little, but i presume that in such a place as this the boy is guided partly by his knowledge that the trail follows the side of these hills at about this height." coffee jack discovered footprints of the moose and the caribou in several places, and took delight in pointing them out to his companions, whose powers of observation he evidently did not rate very high. he gave them, too, a glimpse of a large lake to the northwest which was not on the map. late the second afternoon they circled a small lake, swung around the southern slopes of the mountains on their left, and entered the main trail on the summit of the great hill above the stik village. how changed was the valley of the alsek since last they looked upon it! where before were snow and ice now smiled a landscape of rich green. below them clustered the indian houses in a grassy clearing by the river. the sound of voices and the barking of dogs came plainly up. it was difficult to realize that they were not looking on a white man's village, yet not until they reached the trading-post, now surrounded with the white tents of incoming prospectors, would they see any members of their own race. ike martin received them cordially, and after the sugar and salt had been weighed out he suddenly exclaimed, "by the way, here's something more for you!" and took from the drawer of an old desk a batch of letters, which he handed to mr. bradford, remarking that an indian had brought them in with mail for the thirty-six. to say that these were received with delight would be putting it mildly. the wanderers repaired in haste to their tent, where the missives from home were eagerly read; and although the latest letter was just a month old, yet so long had they been exiled that all this news seemed fresh and recent. at home all were well and in good spirits. knowing how anxious her husband and sons would be for accounts of the war, mrs. bradford had sent many clippings from newspapers, which mr. bradford and roly devoured with hungry eyes, reading and re-reading them far into the night. early next morning, before his father was awake, roly, acting on a hint from ike, stole over to the klukshu river where it joins the alsek, and with red salmon-roe supplied by the obliging storekeeper coaxed forth half a dozen handsome brook trout. these he supplemented with some of the fresh dandelion leaves which grew abundantly near the storehouse, and the three had a most enjoyable breakfast. "better stop at the stik village," advised ike, as they were preparing to return. "there's going to be a cremation, and it'll be worth seeing." so mr. bradford, roly, and coffee jack, with their light packs on their backs, walked leisurely down the trail in company with several prospectors. among their companions were the two nephews of mrs. shirley, whom they had assisted at the fords in march. "so the ladies gave it up, did they?" said mr. bradford, in the course of the conversation. "yes," answered one of the young men. "they came as far as pleasant camp, but found it best to stop there while we two went in and located claims. we've just been out to the coast with them, and now we're going back to work the claims." at the village ike joined them, and others came at intervals until the entire white population of the trading-post was present. the body to be burned was that of a young indian who had died of consumption. before the house in which he lay, the natives and the white men assembled and awaited the appearance of the family, while dogs of all ages, sizes, and degrees, attracted by the concourse, ran restlessly about the place, barking or quarrelling as their dispositions prompted. at length the door opened, and the female relatives of the deceased issued, both young and old, all bareheaded, and attired in their best, though faded, calico dresses. they grouped themselves before the door, and were followed by the men, also evidently dressed in their best. some of them had wound bright blue or red ribbons around their dark felt hats. the body was borne out of the house on a rude litter covered with a blanket, and its appearance was the signal for an unearthly chorus of wails and lamentations from the women, who continued to howl until the procession was well on its way to the graveyard, the men, meanwhile, preserving countenances of the most unruffled indifference. the graveyard was a grassy level containing a row of miniature wooden houses with glass windows and sloping roofs, which looked for all the world like children's playhouses. they were raised about three feet above the ground on stout wooden supports. the storekeeper informed mr. bradford and roly that the ashes of the dead were deposited in boxes in these houses. as the procession reached the cemetery, four rifle-shots were fired into the air by those about the corpse, which was then placed within a pyre of dry spruce logs, made ready to receive it. fire was applied to the pile, and soon the logs were blazing fiercely. and now into the midst of the flames, to roly's great surprise, was thrown all the property of the dead indian, including a good rifle and a watch. however wasteful this custom might appear to the white men, they could not but respect the feelings which led these poor children of the wilderness to part with treasures to them so valuable. the dead man would need his blankets, his rifle, and his watch in the happy hunting-grounds, and some morsels of food for the journey were not forgotten. meanwhile the women wailed and moaned with the tears streaming down their dark faces, as they sat upon the turf and watched the curling smoke and leaping flames. when mr. bradford turned away toward the hill, it was with a feeling that grief is very much the same thing all the world over. chapter xxviii the plague of mosquitoes having learned that he would find upon a tree near klukshu lake directions for following the new trail to shorty creek, as the district was popularly called, mr. bradford determined to return by the dalton trail to the lake, as the relief party of the thirty-six had done. here and there along the way they saw traces of the winter's travel. broken sleds and gee-poles, stumps of trees, and the ashes of camp-fires recalled the memory of labors amid the ice and snow which now, in the heat of summer, seemed like a dream. up to this time the mosquitoes had been rather large, but neither numerous nor aggressive. but now on a sudden came myriads of small ones, evidently a new crop, voracious, persistent, overwhelming. they swarmed up from every marsh until their combined singing made a continuous murmur in the trees, and the travellers, who were without head-nets, were forced to protect their necks with handkerchiefs, and their faces with small branches, which they must needs wave to and fro incessantly. camp was pitched near the klukshu river, where two ancient and abandoned indian houses stood, in a level valley mostly free from trees. the low bushes in the neighborhood allowed the breeze free play, and it was hoped that here the mosquitoes would be less numerous. there was no getting away from them entirely, however, and a fire was speedily built in order that the smoke might aid in discouraging the pests. the two houses, which they had noticed as they passed in april, were constructed of hewn boards gray with age. such a wealth of ready fuel in a spot so poor in timber had proved irresistible alike to prospectors and indians, and the entire roof of one hut and much of the roof of the other had gone up in camp-fire smoke. mr. bradford was averse, however, to further despoiling either structure, and directed roly and coffee jack to gather up only such loose boards and odd pieces as were lying about on the ground. while roasting several red squirrels brought down with a revolver, they were startled by a sudden snort in the bushes near by, followed by a crackling of twigs as some heavy animal made off precipitately. the three jumped to their feet and searched through the thicket in that direction, but could see nothing of the beast which had caused the alarm. there could be little doubt, however, that it was a bear. "if we're going to have visitors of that kind," said mr. bradford, as he returned his revolver to his belt, "we'll pitch the tent in one of the houses. i don't anticipate any trouble, but bears are brimful of curiosity, and it's just as well to put ourselves and our belongings out of their reach." this suggestion pleased roly, whose imagination, boylike, seized eagerly upon the idea of converting the better of the two houses into a fort and barricading it against the enemy. he collected an abundance of soft shrubbery and spread it upon the floor of the hut, while mr. bradford, keeping a sharp lookout for the unwelcome prowler, cut some tent-poles on a distant hillside. when all was ready, the tent was set up within the hut, and, being mosquito-proof, it promised a complete refuge from at least one foe. a sufficient number of boards was now appropriated from the other cabin to cover the portion of the roof above the tent. then the packs were brought in, and finally roly arranged a door of boards. this done, the fort was declared impregnable, and the tired travellers turned in, well assured of complete security. coffee jack had brought no tent, and as there was no extra space in that of his companions, he rolled himself in his blanket, head and all, till he seemed to invite suffocation, and lay down on a bed of leaves in a corner of the cabin, where he slept comfortably enough, except that his breathing was heavy and labored for lack of air. the mosquitoes were even more numerous next day, and the travellers were obliged to keep in motion. flowers were springing up on every side. there were strawberry blossoms, which awakened great hopes. there were violets and forget-me-nots and yarrow, and almost touching elbows with the flowers of spring flamed the autumnal golden-rod, so brief in that high latitude was the season of warmth. the indian boy pointed out with delight a large-leaved plant with a hollow, juicy stalk, which grew abundantly in shady places, exclaiming, "muck-muck! good! make strong!" seeing him eagerly stripping the stringy fibres from the stalks and eating the soft inner part, mr. bradford and roly followed his example, and found that the flavor was of a medicinal sort, but sweet and not unpleasant. the leaves were shaped somewhat like those of a maple tree, but were of lighter green. coffee jack could give no name to the plant. "its flavor reminds me a little of celery," said roly. "yes," said mr. bradford; "but in some respects the plant more resembles rhubarb, and as that is, i believe, a native of asia, this may be a variety which has crossed behring strait. if the taste were sour, i should be pretty certain of it." camped at the foot of klukshu lake on a pleasant knoll east of the river, they found reitz and johnson, two of their friends of pennock's post. reitz said they were stationed there to catch salmon for the main party on the kah sha river, and from what they could learn from the natives the fish ought to come up-stream very soon. a family of indians were quartered on the low ground west of the river near the cabin in which the wounded lucky had been left in the winter. they also were awaiting the salmon, which constitutes the chief food of the alaskan tribes. "how would you like to spend a week with us, roly?" asked reitz, as the three were about to continue their journey. "you enjoy fishing, don't you?" roly answered that he would like to stay very well, and his father readily consented. "you can take this tent," said the latter. "it's only ten miles to moran's camp, and i guess you can find your way there when the week's up." "oh, yes!" declared roly, without hesitation. "i'll get along all right." he added, as he counted a score of mosquitoes killed at one slap, "if you get a chance to send my head-net down, i guess i can use it." "we'll try to," said mr. bradford, as he and the indian boy re-crossed the river on a mass of débris. no sooner had coffee jack exchanged a few words with the indian family than he fell into a fit of the sulks. he cast more than one fond glance at a little indian girl of about his own age, and mr. bradford heard the father of the family repeat the word "potlash" several times. as this term signifies a feast, it was clear that coffee jack had been invited to dine. mr. bradford had determined to push on a few miles in order to reach the kah sha gorge early next morning before the time of high water. but when he undertook to find the trail, which was here invisible across a level deposit of small stones, he found himself baffled. "where's the shorty creek trail, coffee jack?" he asked. "shorty kick t'ail?" said coffee, with well-feigned innocence. "i dunno." now, coffee jack had been uniformly treated with kindness, and was certain to be so long as he deserved it, but when he said, "i dunno," mr. bradford had every reason to think he was stretching the truth and presuming upon his own good-nature. in view of the falsehood he resolved to teach the boy his duty. it would never do to let him override the will of his employer. "you don't know?" repeated mr. bradford, with the frown and voice of a thunder-cloud. "tell me where that trail is, quick!" as he said this, he raised his stick so threateningly over coffee jack's head that the boy, fearing instant annihilation, produced the information with incredible speed. "shorty kick t'ail there," said he, pointing to the edge of a grove of great balm-of-gilead trees, to which he led the way without another word. at the first stream, perhaps two miles beyond, coffee jack declared that there was no more water for five miles. he had evidently obtained information regarding the new trail from the indian at the foot of the lake, and as mr. bradford did not believe the lad would lie again, he halted for the night. the white man all the while had a tender place in his heart for the young indian lover, and when the boy asked permission to go back, he readily gave it. so coffee jack, delighted, ran swiftly down the trail toward the dusky little maiden and the "potlash." chapter xxix lost in the mountains for several days after roly's arrival at klukshu lake all efforts to catch fish were unavailing. the weather was now warm and dry, and the thick, smoky atmosphere indicated an extensive forest fire at no great distance. the salmon had not appeared, and there was no sign of brook trout in this part of the klukshu river, consequently the energies of the campers were directed toward the lake. a raft was built, by the aid of which lines were set in deep water near the outlet, the hooks baited with raw bacon,--but not a fish was caught. a small party of canadian mounted police--fine, stalwart fellows--appeared at this time on their way to five finger rapids, and the hearts of the exiled fishermen were rejoiced. their arrival meant that horses could now come in from the coast, and reitz and johnson began to look eagerly for the first instalment of supplies for the thirty-six. several prospectors with small pack trains followed the police, and invariably camped on a dry meadow at the foot of the lake. the tinkle of the bell of the leading horse sometimes floated up to the knoll where the tents of roly and his companions stood, and conjured up memories of pastures far away. had the prospectors only known it and cared to take the trouble, they would have found far better pasturage on the hillsides above the timber line, where the grasses grew tall and luxuriant. a happy thought on the part of roly was the means of solving the fishing problem. bacon was evidently worthless as bait, there was not an angle-worm in the country so far as he knew, and grasshoppers were seldom seen; but he had noticed shoals of young fish like minnows in the outlet, and thought that if they could be caught they would make excellent bait. the others thought so too, and reitz contrived an ingenious scoop-net out of a willow branch and some mosquito netting, which proved very effective. roly's week would be up on the following day. it was agreed that in the morning a supreme effort should be made by the three, and as moran's camp lay directly in his path, roly volunteered to carry the fish if they should be successful. at an early hour he rolled his tent and blankets into a pack and set off with his friends, who had provided a luncheon and a plentiful supply of minnows. the main trail followed the east shore, but there was another along the western which connected about half-way up the lake with the new trail to shorty creek. at the junction of the two was the tree upon which the directions had been written. the party passed this tree and continued along the lake, their objective point being a certain rocky shore where they hoped to find deep water. having reached this spot, they lost no time in cutting slender poles of poplar and attaching the lines. floats, or bobs, were made from bits of wood, and the baited hook was allowed to sink ten or twelve feet. it was some time before the finny inhabitants of the depths discovered the tempting morsels thrown out to them, but at last roly's float began to tremble in a way that could not be attributed to the wavelets, and the next instant down it went under the clear water. now was the time to strike, and the boy raised his pole with a quick firm jerk. the fish was securely hooked, and proved both strong and gamy; but as soon as it tired, it was drawn gradually toward the shore and up near the surface of the water. it was a four-pound lake trout and a beauty. roly landed the prize with the assistance of his friends, and stowed it safely away in the shade of the rocks in an empty flour sack. at the very next nibble, however, fortune turned against him. the fish broke the line and carried away his only hook; and as his companions had but one hook apiece, he was forced to abandon the sport. before the fish stopped biting, the two men had caught four trout, all of about the same size. having lunched, and dressed the fish, the three agreed about two o'clock that roly ought to start, especially as the first thunder-storm of the season was growling and threatening in the mountains to the east. with fish, tent, and blankets, and david's camera, which he had carried upon this excursion, he had a load of about thirty pounds, which reitz carried for him as far as the guide-tree. the inscription on the tree was written in pencil on a space freed from bark, and stated that by holding a course two points north of west for a mile a clear trail would be found. "have you a compass, roly?" asked johnson. "yes." "well, then, strike off here and keep the direction carefully, and you won't have any trouble. there's a stretch of burnt and fallen timber where the trail has been wiped out, but beyond that it's a plain path." "and remember to keep the trout you caught," added reitz, as he said good-by. roly started off in good spirits. he had his uncle's revolver with him, but there was little reason to apprehend danger from wild beasts. if he let them alone, they would be pretty certain to return the favor. as to finding the way, he knew the general direction in which the kah sha gorge lay, for he could occasionally catch a glimpse of the dasar-dee-ash mountains eight miles to the northwest. nearer, not more than two miles away, loomed the familiar conical mountain, and to the right of it another summit, the two forming the northernmost elevations of an extensive mountain system running far back toward dalton's post. from the directions on the tree the boy conceived the idea that his route lay between conical mountain and its right-hand neighbor, in a narrow pass which he could see very distinctly. so, without depending longer on the compass, he fixed his course at once toward this gap, struggling through a new growth of bushes and stepping over or crawling under the fallen trees as best he could. a fresh breeze along the lake had kept away the mosquitoes while he had been on the rocks; but here it was more sheltered, and the little pests, attracted by the smell of the fish, swarmed about him and nearly drove him frantic, for he was still without a head-net and gloves. an hour of this slow and difficult travel brought him into the growing forest, and he kept his eyes open for the path. denser and denser the woods became until it was hardly possible to force a passage. in a little swampy glen he found the prints of a bear's great paw on the moss, but what caused him much more anxiety was the sight, welcome as it was, of a little brook. reitz had told him that for nearly five miles from the guide-tree there was no water on the trail. yet here was water! plainly, then, he had made some error and had lost his way. roly was not easily frightened, but the thought of wandering through that lonely forest longer than was absolutely necessary was anything but pleasing. to be sure, he would not starve, for he had the fish, but it was disquieting to be off the trail. he would have liked to sit down a few minutes to consider the situation, but the mosquitoes would not let him rest. he could only pause long enough to take a deep draught from the brook, then on he must go again, and do his reflecting as he walked. he now came upon a path fairly well defined, which led, without a doubt, straight into the pass before him. this was probably the trail he sought. at any rate, its general direction was assuring, and he reasoned that it must bring him out on the other side of the mountains in plain view of the kah sha gorge, which he could then reach by crossing four miles of valley. so he followed the path, which appeared little used, and presently came to the brow of a high, shelving bank. the steep side of conical mountain, patched with old snow-banks, towered on his left, while the end mountain of the chain rose to the right. before him in the hollow was a level, grassy amphitheatre, on the farther side of which opened out a narrow passage, also grassy and treeless. the absolute seclusion of the place made it an admirable retreat for wild game and, indeed, for robbers, and the imaginative roly looked carefully around before he ventured to descend into it. there was not a living creature to be seen. the path crossed the circular meadow and followed the narrow pass beyond, and as it was level, firm, and unobstructed, the boy walked rapidly. he had proceeded in this way nearly a mile between the slopes of the two mountains, when he came upon a beautiful lakelet whose placid waters filled the valley--now somewhat wider--from side to side. in the shallow water near the shore he could see several small fish basking just below the surface. as for the trail, it had disappeared, and there was no trace of it along either side of the water. indeed, the steep ridges looked quite impassable, from which he concluded that the path had been made by indians or wild game, or both, whose objective point was the lake. there could be little doubt that he was the first white person who had penetrated here,--a thought which quite tickled his fancy, so he photographed the lake in proof of this bit of original exploration. he was now obliged to return through the defile, fully convinced that the new trail passed around the outer mountain. goaded on by swarms of mosquitoes and compelled to wave a leafy branch continually across his heated face, he struck the trail at last, and soon afterward found a sparkling brook at the foot of a high hill. if this was the water mentioned by reitz, he had come only half the direct distance, in spite of his long, tiresome tramp. he drank, then pressed forward through a region of bogs and woods, crossed a muddy stream on a log, and set off across the four miles of valley. here the walking was good. the gorge was now plainly in view, and he thought his labors nearly at an end. unfortunately, it was the wrong time of day to ford the kah sha. it had been warm for a week, and the water was high again. besides, the stream was now swollen with the meltings of the day. roly could hear an ominous roar long before he could see the river. he encountered it first in the woods, where it spread out into so many channels that each was comparatively shallow. some of these he crossed on logs, and others he waded without getting very wet, but when he came out upon the open stretch of gravel the outlook was far from encouraging. compressed into one or two principal channels and filling its banks to the brim, the river was thundering madly down from the gorge. not a log was in sight, and yet the stream must be crossed three or four times to reach moran's camp. roly's heart sank as he gazed on the hurrying torrent, but he resolved to make the attempt. he therefore returned to the edge of the woods and cut a stout pole with which to try the depth of the water and brace himself against the current. his rubber boots, if his father had left them in the willows, were on the other side of the stream, so it was useless to think of keeping dry. carefully selecting a point where the stream ran in two channels, the boy waded into the first and smaller of the two. the water came to his knees, but with the assistance of the pole he crossed in safety. on trying the other, however, he found the volume of water much greater. the current almost whirled his feet from beneath him at every step. the icy water surged higher and higher till it was far above his knees, and now it was wellnigh impossible to hold the pole firmly down to the bottom. he felt the stones roll against his feet as the flood swept them along, and, worst of all, the deepest part was not yet passed. the bed of the stream shelved plainly down. to go on would be folly. it was nearly as difficult to go back, but he managed to turn slowly and dizzily and reach the shore he had just left. tired and wet, he longed to rest, but even here his insect tormentors had followed. there was but one thing to do. he must climb the hills on the side of the gorge and work his way along at a height of three or four hundred feet until he could scramble down to the camp. it was a rough ascent through bushes and over fallen timber, and the boy was utterly spent when at last he caught a glimpse of the little cabin and the white tents of the thirty-six far below. he had been steadily tramping from two o'clock in the afternoon, and it was now nine in the evening. but he had obstinately clung to the fish with which he had been intrusted, knowing how welcome they would be to the dwellers by the river. it is needless to say that roly was received with open arms by moran and his men, who gave him dry clothes and a hearty supper, and many compliments on his pluck and perseverance. a place was cleared for his blanket-bed in one of the tents, and nothing would do next morning but he must share with his friends a delicious breakfast of fried trout before setting out for alder creek. chapter xxx washing out the gold "hello! you've brought us a trout, have you?" cried uncle will, cheerily, as he untied roly's pack. the boy had succeeded in reaching alder creek during the morning period of low water. "yes," said roly, and related his experiences to the interested group. "you got along better at this end of the journey than i feared you would," said his father. "i expected you yesterday, and when i saw how high the water would be, i went down to the mouth of the gorge to help you, but there were no signs of you at seven o'clock." "you must come and see the rocker and sluice-boxes as soon as you're rested," said david. "we've not been idle here since you went away, i can tell you." accordingly, after dinner roly, armored at last with head-net and gloves, went out with david and uncle will to inspect the mining operations at the foot of the bank beside the creek. we have already described panning, the crudest manner of separating gold from gravel. the appliances which uncle will and his helpers had now constructed were capable of doing much more work than the pan in a given time, yet required the expenditure of comparatively little labor. uncle will first called roly's attention to the rocker, which at that moment was standing idle at the side of the stream. "the rocker, or cradle," he explained, "consists of a deep box set upon rounded rockers so that it can be swayed from side to side. within the box are several inclined planes at different heights, covered with canvas and so arranged that water and gravel flowing down the upper one will pass from its lower edge through an aperture to the top of the one below, and from that to the next, until finally the stream issues near the bottom of the machine. across these planes at intervals are nailed small strips of wood called riffles. a sieve is fitted to the top of the box, its bottom being made of a sheet of tin punched with numerous holes half an inch in diameter. now let us see it work." so saying, he placed the rocker under the end of a wooden trough set in the bank at a height of three feet. a ditch had been hollowed along the bank to this trough from a point higher up the stream, and david now lowered a similar trough into the water at the upper end. this allowed a stream to come into the ditch from the creek. as soon as the water began to pour into the sieve of the rocker, coffee jack, whom uncle will had summoned, threw into it a shovelful of gravel from the bottom of the bank. "now you see," said uncle will, as he gently rocked the machine from side to side, "the water carries the sand and smaller pebbles, including the particles of gold, down through those holes and over the riffles on the inclined planes. the gold is so heavy that it lodges against the riffles, but the water, swashing from side to side as it flows down, carries most of the sand and gravel over the riffles and out at the bottom. the operation is almost instantaneous in the rocker, and gravel can be shovelled in quite rapidly, whereas it would take perhaps ten minutes to wash out a very little in a pan. when the sieve becomes choked, it is lifted up and the stones thrown out." coffee jack shovelled mechanically, as if all this fuss about the yellow metal were quite beyond his appreciation. in a few minutes uncle will released him and sent him back to help lucky at the sluice. "now we'll take a look at the results," said uncle will, as he removed the sieve, picked out the riffles, which were loosely nailed, and carefully took up the canvas which covered the inclined planes. all the sand and gravel which remained upon the canvas he rinsed off into a pan and proceeded to wash it out at the stream after the usual method of panning. roly was delighted to see two little yellow nuggets appear, besides many small flakes and grains. "there," said uncle will, as he finished, "you see we have here the yield of several panfuls, and it has taken but a few minutes to secure it. the rocker is a handy machine to carry from place to place wherever, by panning, we find the gold most abundant." "but what would you do without the ditch?" "we should pour in water from a pail. now let us examine the sluice-boxes." uncle will led the way down the stream to the point where lucky and coffee jack were at work. a second ditch, similar to the first, had been prepared for the sluicing; and the boxes, three in number, were set in the lower end of it, each consisting of a bottom board about twelve feet long and a foot wide, and two side boards of the same dimensions. the lower end of the first or upper box was reduced in width sufficiently to allow it to fit into the upper end of the second box, the latter fitting in like manner into the third, which extended slightly over the creek. all the boxes were inclined enough so that the water from the ditch would flow through them quite rapidly. instead of transverse riffles, two sets of poles were laid lengthwise in the bottom of each box, each set having a length of about five and a half feet and consisting of three poles held an inch apart by pieces of wood nailed across their ends. into the upper end of the upper box lucky was shovelling gravel, which was immediately swept through the three boxes by the strong current of water. coffee jack, shovel in hand, kept the larger stones moving when they threatened to choke up the boxes. at the lower end a stream of muddy water and gravel was constantly discharged into the creek, the impetuous current of which bore it instantly away. "sluicing," said uncle will, "is another step forward in placer--or gravel--mining, since the sluice will handle more material than even the rocker. it is the favorite method on a claim of this character." "and how is the gold caught here?" asked roly. "it falls down between the poles, and is held there by its own weight and the cross-pieces." "you must have had to do a lot of whip-sawing to make so many boards," observed the boy. "indeed we did," replied his uncle. "that was the hardest part of the work. we built a saw-pit--that raised log platform over yonder--and there we did the sawing, lucky standing on top of the log and holding the saw from above, while i was under the platform to guide it on the down stroke. i rather had the worst of it, for the sawdust came into my eyes. when your father returned from dalton's, he took a turn at it, which gave me time to make the rocker." "how often do you take the gold out of the sluice-boxes?" asked roly. "we may as well clear the boxes now," answered his uncle. "it's three days since we began operations." accordingly, the two indians were sent off to cut firewood, and uncle will and mr. bradford, having despatched david to the head of the ditch to shut off the water, shovelled out of the boxes the stones and gravel which had lodged above the poles. then, removing the poles, they scraped and washed into a pan at the lower end all which remained. there was a heaping panful. uncle will washed it out at a quiet eddy of the creek, while the others gathered around with suppressed excitement, for estimates of the value of this claim could be based upon the results. little by little the gravel was reduced until the black sand and yellow particles alone remained. a portion of the sand uncle will was able to wash away by careful manipulating, but when he could safely continue the operation no longer, he brought a magnet into use, which quickly gathered up all the remaining specks of iron. a goodly mass of yellow metal shone in the bottom of the pan, which, when weighed, was found to be worth about sixty dollars. among the little gold nuggets were discovered two larger ones of pure native copper. on the surface they were of a greenish hue, but when whittled with a knife their true character appeared. "that isn't exactly klondike richness," said uncle will, as he held up to view the pan and its contents, "but i doubt if we've found the richest part of this claim. we've been working in what is called bench gravel on the rim-rock. i wish we could get down to the low bed-rock near the present channel of the stream. we might find a first-rate pay-streak there." "can't we do it?" asked roly. "i fear not. we've tried it, and the thirty-six have tried it; but the minute you go below the level of the stream, the water comes through the loose gravel faster than you can throw it out. for this reason the thirty-six are working almost entirely in the gravel along the hillsides in former channels of the river. they've begun two tunnels through the gravel on the rim-rock about fifty feet above the present stream." "well," remarked mr. bradford, cheerfully, "even if we can't make more than twenty dollars a day, we can pay a good part of the expenses of our trip before the end of the season." "that's true," said his brother. "and, besides, we've only to make another set of sluice-boxes to double our income. lucky and coffee jack can work this one profitably, and you and i can take care of another, while the boys can work with the rocker almost anywhere. i haven't a doubt that we shall do far better than thousands who are now crowding over the white and chilkoot passes. why, i feel amply repaid for all my labors by just looking at you, charles. i never saw you in better health." mr. bradford laughed and rubbed his arm doubtfully. "maybe i _look_ well," said he, "but what a place this is for rheumatism! evenings and mornings when the air is chill i can hardly move." "yes," said uncle will, "i can sympathize with you there. i feel it more or less myself, and i understand that two or three of the big party are fairly laid up with it. but i don't think we shall carry it home." chapter xxxi david makes a boat-journey late in june, when the leaves were full-grown and the grass and flowers luxuriant, there came a storm of rain which turned into a damp snow. about two inches fell, and remained on the ground several hours. the hardy vegetation seemed to suffer no injury, and indeed the storm proved quite a godsend, for it discouraged the mosquitoes, and they were unable to rally again in such numbers and with such vigor as before. by the middle of july the bradfords had two sluices in operation, and were taking out from thirty to fifty dollars a day. the thirty-six were working with varying success on the hillsides. their first supply train of horses had arrived with provisions and the mail, including a few seattle newspapers only three weeks old. about this time the leader of the thirty-six invited david to join a small party which he was going to take north on an exploring trip. he needed a young fellow, he said, to take charge of a cabin at champlain's landing, twenty-five miles north of pennock's post, for a week or two, until one of moran's men could be spared. david begged to be allowed to go, since he was not imperatively needed at alder creek, and his father consented, believing that the experience would be valuable as a training in self-reliance. he warned his son, however, that he might be very homesick and lonely. as david had never been homesick in his life, that malady had no terrors for him, and he declared that he was quite willing to take the risk. thus it happened that he found himself one afternoon starting down the gorge from moran's camp in company with the captain, a civil engineer named dunn, who had recently arrived, and greenwood, who had been a cook in the army. three others had already set out with horses to make the journey overland, while the captain's party was to proceed by boat down lake dasar-dee-ash and its outlet river to the landing. there the parties would unite and continue the journey by land, leaving david at the cabin. at the shore of the lake paul champlain was encamped. he was that member of the thirty-six who had selected on the north branch of the alsek the landing place called by his name, and had built the storehouse there, while pennock's party and the bradfords, on the same stream, were building pennock's post. he was a michigan man of french descent, possessing a thorough knowledge of woodcraft and a magnificent physique. by the captain's directions he had hired and brought up the boat which had been built near this point earlier in the season. hardly had the tents been pitched on a gravelly open space overlooking the water, when a cold and drenching rainstorm came on. a fire was kindled with difficulty, around which the shivering party gathered to cook and eat their evening meal. rubber blankets and oiled canvas were pressed into service to protect them from the storm, but there was no keeping entirely dry in such a downpour. around the small tent which had been assigned to david, the ground was so level that the water was presently standing an inch deep, and only by hastily digging a ditch was he able to prevent it from being flooded. as it was, he found a comparatively dry spot along the centre of his blanket-bed when he crawled in out of the rain, and having rolled up his damp coat for a pillow, he went to sleep in a twinkling in spite of all discomforts. by morning the sky cleared, tents were struck, provisions and goods of all kinds were put aboard the little craft, and soon they were sailing merrily northward before the wind, the captain at the helm, champlain holding the sheet in his hand that he might let it go instantly in case of a squall, mr. dunn on the centre seat, and greenwood and david sitting forward near the slender mast. occasionally they were obliged to bail, but considering the fact that there was not a drop of paint on the boat, she was remarkably seaworthy. it was a glorious morning. a fresh, bracing wind blew from the south. the cloud-flecked mountains loomed sharp and blue around the lake, and the great range on the western shore was especially grand and imposing. david discovered beneath one of its glaciers, several thousand feet above the lake, what appeared to be a yawning cave as big as a house, and the captain's glass brought it out more distinctly. here was a natural wonder fairly begging to be visited, and right well would david have liked to explore its mysteries; but time was precious to the voyagers, and they held their course steadily to the north, crossing the mouth of a great bay which extended several miles eastward. there was a similar bay to the west, but the lake narrowed again as they approached the outlet. at noon they landed for dinner in a little cove, which they named shelter bay, and there, the wind deserting them, they had recourse to the oars and rowed the short distance to the river, after which the current assisted them. the water was here so clear that they could see the fish as they darted away from the shadow of the oars. several yellow-legged plover were shot along the banks, but no attempt was made to bag ducks, as it was their breeding season. early in the evening they reached the sandy bluff near pennock's cabin and moored the boat to a tree. the cabin was now deserted by human beings, but when david opened the door a fat ground-squirrel scurried across the floor and ran out through a hole under the side log. it seemed too bad that such a stanch dwelling should be given over to neglect, but such is often the case in a new country. the travellers did not sleep in it, for the mosquitoes were in possession. they pitched their insect-proof tents by the side of the river and passed the night in comfort. but before they turned in, champlain and david took trout flies and lines and sauntered down the stream to try to discover what kind of fish they had seen. they cut rude willow poles and fished carefully but in vain until they came to the mouth of frying-pan creek. here the current of the brook cleared for a space the now muddy river water, and champlain had a rise almost immediately. a few seconds later he landed a delicately spotted, gamy fish about eight inches long, which he recognized as a grayling. the sport became exciting at once, and david soon had half a dozen catches to his credit. when the anglers could no longer induce a rise, they marched back to camp in triumph with a handsome string. the voyage was continued next day. champlain entertained his companions with an account of his successful moose-hunt a few weeks previous, which had relieved the hunger of the northernmost party of the thirty-six. then he told of the difficulties he and others had overcome in rafting the goods from their great cache and pennock's post down to the landing. he had shot an otter on one of his journeys along the stream, but said he had seen hardly a trace of beavers. the river now became extremely tortuous. greenwood wondered how it could make so many loops without tying itself into a knot, and expressed a decided preference for walking as a means of getting to the landing. as he was taking his turn at rowing at that moment, it was easy to account for his sudden feeling in the matter. by skilful use of helm and paddle champlain guided the boat through a number of rocky stretches in safety, but he was not to be invariably so successful. david, who had been intently gazing forward, suddenly shouted a warning. five or six boulders lay in the stream so nearly submerged that they could hardly be discerned from a distance, while others just below the surface betrayed their position only by eddies. champlain put all his strength into the paddle, but in that current the heavy boat could be swerved but little. a dangerous eddy was barely avoided, but beyond and directly in their path a ragged rock appeared. how the paddle flashed! and how the rowers struggled! but in a moment it was evident that the boat must strike. crunch! went her side against the rock. she careened as she stopped, and the current piled up against her, while her passengers fully expected shipwreck and instinctively measured the distance to the shore. but the force of the stream, instead of swamping the stout little craft, swept her past the obstruction, and all breathed freely once more. by great good fortune not the least damage had been sustained. early in the afternoon they passed between father and son, otherwise known as mount champlain and mount bratnober respectively. the pass was about a mile wide, with perpendicular cliffs several thousand feet high on either side. in this wild place they found the forest recently burned, and in one spot near the base of mount bratnober smoke was still rising. it was this great conflagration, covering thousands of acres, which had filled the atmosphere with smoke a few weeks before and caused the sun to look like a blood-red ball as it sank in the west. champlain related how, in company with a canadian government surveyor, he had climbed the mountain which had received his name. he was sure they could have seen mount st. elias in the west had not clouds obscured the view. they noticed a flock of mountain sheep, but did not get near enough for a shot. the voyage was presently enlivened by a race with a brood of little ducks which mother mallard had taken out for an airing,--or "watering," as david put it. there were a dozen of the little fellows not two weeks out of the shell, and what a splashing they set up when they saw the strange, oared craft bearing down upon them! the mother duck quacked anxiously from the rear of her flotilla and urged the youngsters forward at the top of their speed, which proved just about equal to that of the boat. the little ducks could not fly, and the river was so narrow that at first they dared not swerve toward either shore, but flapped and paddled and splashed straight down the river. not until they became utterly exhausted did they seek the bank. then one by one, as a convenient log or hole appeared, they dropped away from the others and hid themselves while the terrible monster went by. the old duck paid not the slightest attention to these stragglers, but continued with that part of her brood which was still in danger, turning her head from side to side and talking vigorously in duck language to her terrified children. finally only one duckling remained in the middle of the river, probably at once the strongest and most foolish of the brood. he did not know enough to follow the example of his brothers and sisters, but kept splashing along until he could flee no longer. then he too sought the friendly bank. and now, having seen all her brood safely disposed, the brave mother-bird made use of her wings, rising in a graceful sweep and turning back up-stream to gather her scattered family. chapter xxxii champlain's landing it was well into the evening, though before sunset, when champlain assured his fellow-voyagers that the landing was near. soon afterward, they saw two men appear on the brow of a sandy bluff ahead. these proved to be hovey and herrick, who were in charge of the camp. they had heard voices and the plash of oars, and had hurried out to see who was approaching, waving their hats and shouting a welcome as soon as they recognized their friends. the boat was brought close to the narrow beach, and the captain, dunn, and greenwood disembarked, leaving champlain and david to row around to the other side of the bluff, where the craft could be more securely moored. david was now accustomed to the interminable windings of the river, and took it quite as a matter of course that the stream, after flowing a quarter of a mile to the left or southwest from the bluff, turned capriciously back to within fifty yards of the spot where the three had landed. the bluff itself was thus a narrow, high neck of land connecting a low, wooded point with what we may call the mainland east of the river. [illustration: rafting down the north alsek] with oars and paddle, the crew of two soon rounded the point, and approached the bluff once more. here the river turned abruptly northwest, and in the bay formed by its curve lay a flotilla of log rafts. to one of these the boat was made fast, and the occupants sprang ashore and made their way up the slope. david looked with interest at the place which for a fortnight was to be his home. the top of the bluff was about thirty feet wide, and covered with short grass. it was as level as a floor, except along its southeastern edge, where a ridge of sand six or eight feet high, and fringed with spruces, offered a natural protection for a cook-tent and a sleeping-tent. champlain, who had discovered this spot, took pride in pointing out to david its advantages. "it's the finest place in this valley for a camp or a fort," he declared, with a frenchman's enthusiasm. "every time i look at it, i almost wish there was an indian war, and i had a good garrison here. you see, it's defended on three sides by the river, which is too deep for fording, and can only be crossed with canoes or logs, or by swimming. from the top of the bluff we have a clear view for an eighth of a mile both up and down the stream. if the enemy came down the river, the ridge of sand behind the tents is a natural breastwork for riflemen; while if they approached from the other direction, the defenders would simply lie down a little back from the edge of the bluff on that side, and give them a good peppering." "and what if they came from the land side?" asked david, who began to wonder if an attack were within the bounds of possibility. "we should put a stockade of logs across the neck of land on that side," answered champlain. "already i have built a strong log house. come and see it." he led the way landward from the narrow part of the bluff to a point about a hundred yards up-stream, where david now beheld the neat little cabin in which the supplies were stored. it had a door of boards, evidently constructed from the material of a coffee-box, but there was no window, either because no more boards were to be had, or because the cabin was less vulnerable with but a single opening in its heavy walls. the door was fitted with good hinges and a padlock. forest enclosed the cabin, except on the side from which they had come, and toward the river; and off among the trees wound a path which joined the main trail about fifty rods away. "you won't have to fight indians, my lad," said champlain, who was aware that his imaginative talk might cause david some uneasiness; "and as for bears, you don't seem to mind them much, judging from what i've heard." "i think i can take care of the bears," said david. [illustration: a herd of cattle.--yukon divide in the distance] champlain eyed the lad with evident approval. "i like your pluck," said he; "but let an old hunter advise you to leave such beasts alone, when you're not in reach of help. you see, we should never know where to look for you if you should meet with an accident off in these woods. better stick pretty close to the cabin." on their way back to the cook-tent champlain pointed out a pile of saddles and blankets near the embers of a fire. "must be a pack train somewhere about," he observed. "i wonder where the men and horses are. it's too early for ours to be here." the explanation was quickly forthcoming. a large herd of cattle, convoyed by five or six horsemen, had arrived on the previous day on their way to dawson, and had been halted for a day's rest at the landing. the men were now rounding up their charges into an open meadow half a mile distant, preparatory to an early start in the morning. "and you'll be very glad they came when you know what you're to have for supper," added hovey, with a twinkle in his eye, as he bustled about the sheet-iron stove in the cook-tent. "oh, we live high at this hotel!" herrick chimed in. "how would fried liver strike you,--and hot biscuits and butter,--and tea with cream and sugar,--and a custard by way of dessert?" "what's this you're talking about?" cried the captain, who had overheard the last few words. "cream and custards? i'll believe when i see and taste!" "all right, my sceptical friend! come in. supper's ready. muck-muck!" no second call was needed, for the travellers were ravenous. they entered the cook-tent at once, and took their places on empty boxes around a small improvised table. "now then," said hovey, who, with herrick, had finished supper some three hours before, and now presided gracefully over the cook-stove in the interest of the guests, "pass the plates." these much battered articles of aluminum were promptly presented, and as promptly filled with the savory contents of the frying-pan, which proved to be real liver, after all. herrick meanwhile told how they had secured it. it appeared by his narrative that one of the steers had driven a sharp stick into its foot in such a way as to lame it badly. on noticing this, he had strongly represented to the cattlemen that it would be cruel to drive the animal farther, and that they ought to kill it then and there. aided by several expressive winks, the cattlemen had seen the point of his remarks, and having found the two campers pleasant, sociable fellows, they killed the steer, and made them a present of a considerable portion of the carcass. the cream and custard were accounted for by the presence of a milch cow in the herd. "to-morrow," said herrick, as he finished his tale, "we shall have roast beef with brown gravy; and if they can catch the cow, we may get a drink of milk all around." "what would the boys at shorty creek say, if they heard that?" asked greenwood, smacking his lips. "they'd mutiny," replied dunn. "but is this the only cattle train that has come along?" "no," answered hovey. "this is the third big one within a couple of weeks, and they all belong to one man. there have been some smaller herds, too. over a thousand head must have gone over this trail this season, and they're in prime condition. they ought to sell high in dawson, for the yukon steamers can't carry cattle to any great extent, and there must be thousands of people there by this time." next morning, previous to their departure, the cattlemen made an attempt to milk their solitary cow. obviously the first thing to do was to catch the animal, but for some reason she was particularly contrary, and refused to be either coaxed or coerced. at last one of the men mounted his horse, and set out with his lariat to lasso the refractory beast in true cow-boy style. the poor cow, frightened out of her wits by the shouts and the turmoil, rushed frantically through thickets and over sand-banks, closely followed by the horseman, who, after several throws, succeeded in roping her and checking her wild career. it now looked as if the drink of milk might materialize, but alas for human expectations! the cow had been wrought up to such a pitch of excitement by the events of the morning that she could not be made to stand still, and it was with great difficulty that the milking could be commenced. the man who essayed this task had all he could attend to with her kicking and plunging, and finally, losing all patience, he threw pail, milk, and all at her head, accompanied by something very like an oath. so faded the dream of the drink of milk. hovey and herrick, who had been informed that they were to take the boat and a moderate cargo and start for moran's camp, where they were to sign certain papers connected with their claims, now made ready to depart. they appeared to relish the idea of joining their comrades on the kah sha river, but david thought, as he watched them pull away against the current, that long before they could hoist their sail on lake dasar-dee-ash, they would wish themselves back at the landing. the cattle train started toward dawson about the same time, and champlain's landing was left to the captain's party. the following morning he, too, made ready to leave. the horses, which had now arrived, were loaded with the necessary provisions from the cache in the cabin, and david was given final directions about the camp. "shep," an indian dog which had accompanied the horses, was left with him as his sole companion, and then the captain, champlain, dunn, greenwood, and the three packers bade him good-by and disappeared in the woods. chapter xxxiii alone in the wilderness david had not realized what it meant to be alone in the wilderness. when he had agreed, back in the camp on alder creek, to take charge of a cabin for a fortnight, he had looked upon it as rather a novel and pleasant undertaking, in spite of his father's warning. now, as he watched his friends ride away, and whistled back the dog, who showed a desire to follow them, it must be confessed that he felt quite differently about it. but he was a stout-hearted lad, and sensibly decided that the best way to forget his loneliness was to keep busy. fortunately work lay ready to his hand. his predecessors had carried away their sleeping-tent, but they had shown him in the cabin some large pieces of canvas which, with a little ingenuity, could be transformed into quite a comfortable shelter. they had built a raised bedstead of poles inside their tent, and this structure remained in place. above it was a sort of ridgepole, which had supported the tent. with some difficulty david flung an end of the largest piece of canvas over this pole, and found, on drawing it into position, that it would quite reach the ground on both sides and completely cover the bedstead. having made the corners fast to small spruces, he set the other pieces of canvas in place across the rear of the tent; and though they could not be made to fill the whole space, they contributed materially to the shelter. besides, that end was protected by the ridge of sand with its fringe of trees. the front of the tent was entirely open and faced northwest upon the beautiful stretch of the river where it flowed away from the bluff. beyond, and perhaps ten miles distant, was a long range of mountains bounding the valley on the north, which champlain had said was the yukon divide. the waters on its farther slope flowed into a tributary of the yukon, while those on the nearer side reached the pacific much more directly. when the tent had been made as snug as possible, david brought heavy blankets from the cabin and spread them upon the poles of the bedstead. so interested did he become in arranging his quarters that he quite forgot that he must get his own supper; and when hunger at length compelled him to think of the matter, his watch informed him that it was after six o'clock. by good luck, he found, on examining the larder, that there were odds and ends of one kind and another sufficient for a meal. after supper he cut dry wood for the little stove and piled it in the cook-tent. hardly was this done when a thunder-storm, which had been brewing in the north, drove him into the new tent. the sky grew dark, the lightning flashed over the northern mountains, the wind arose and howled in the forest, and the rain beat down on the frail canvas roof. david lay on his rude couch, with shep curled up on the ground at his feet, and watched the storm, and thought, with a longing he had never known before, of his far-away home in new england,--of his father and brother and uncle in their camp on alder creek,--and more than once, it is certain, of the fair-haired little girl at seattle. but at last, in spite of his loneliness, having carefully arranged his head-net over his face and settled down among the blankets, he dropped off into oblivion, and only awakened when the morning sun was smiling warmly down on the valley. it was indeed a fine morning. a few gray clouds curled about mount bratnober and mount champlain and an unnamed peak to the west. red squirrels were scampering and chattering in the trees, a fat ground-squirrel was sitting up demurely on the point of the bluff like a small brown statue, birds were singing in all directions, and the feeling of isolation which had oppressed the solitary youth in the evening vanished like magic under the bright influence of day. having fetched a pail of water from the river, david performed his toilet, and then set about getting breakfast. he had helped his uncle more or less and could fry bacon to a turn; but he was rather tired of bacon, and cast about for some more appetizing dish. picking up a can of baking-powder, he read the recipes printed thereon, but without finding just what he wanted. then he bethought himself of a rule for johnny-cakes which hovey had written out for him. johnny-cakes would be an excellent breakfast dish, he said to himself. with the aid of a few dry twigs a fire was quickly kindled in the little stove, and a kettle of water set on to heat for coffee and for dish-washing, while the young cook measured out the flour, corn-meal, crystallized egg, baking-powder, and salt which were to compose the cakes. when he had stirred sufficient water into this mixture to moisten it thoroughly, he greased the frying-pan with a bacon rind, and as soon as it was hot he ladled out the batter. how deliciously it sizzled in the pan! he could hardly wait for the cooking to be done; but at length there were nine nicely browned johnny-cakes begging to be eaten. a little sugar and water heated on the stove served for syrup, and canned butter was also at hand. david found not the slightest difficulty in disposing of the nine cakes, and thought them by far the best he had ever eaten. they were much too good for shep, who was offered some canned corned beef instead; but to david's surprise, the dog refused to eat the meat and declined all invitations to join his master at breakfast. indeed, for nearly a week shep would eat nothing; but as he seemed in good condition, david came to the conclusion that he had found the carcass of the steer which the cattlemen had killed, and was living by preference on that. but if the dog would not partake, at least the birds would. they fluttered fearlessly about the tent--magpies, butcher-birds, and others--and carried off every stray scrap; while two tiny song-sparrows, most fearless and friendly of all, actually hopped into the tent and over his feet and upon the table while he was at meals, and picked up the crumbs as fast as they fell. with a little practice david became a competent cook. his johnny-cakes had turned out so well that he made them every morning. he also had biscuits, omelets, baked beans, rice, dried fruits and vegetables, bacon, squirrels, and grayling to choose from, and lived very comfortably. the biscuits were as successful as the johnny-cakes, with one notable exception,--that was when he conceived the idea of adding a pinch of nutmeg spice. all might have gone well had not the cover come off unexpectedly and allowed half the contents of the can to go into the batter. when he had removed all the spice he could with a spoon, there still remained so much that the biscuits turned out a dark pink color; and as for eating them, it required a pretty strong stomach. the grayling could sometimes be caught quite plentifully from the rafts or from the sandy curve on the other side of the bluff. as for the squirrels, he could not find it in his heart to kill those which chattered so sociably around his dwelling; so when he needed fresh meat, he strolled down the trail with shep and shot squirrels with which he was in no wise acquainted. one evening he shot an animal which was swimming in the river. it proved to be a musk-rat. he remembered reading that some indian tribes relish the flesh of this rodent, and, having cooked it experimentally, he found the meat both wholesome and palatable. he early set himself to the task of bringing order out of chaos in the cabin, where boxes and cans of provisions were indiscriminately mixed with clothing bags and snow-shoes. cutting down two straight young trees, he contrived a shelf across the rear of the building upon which a portion of the goods could be disposed, thus leaving much more room upon the floor. after the first two or three nights he slept in the cabin, because the mosquitoes were less troublesome in the comparative darkness of the building, and also because he felt more secure there against the larger inhabitants of the forest. presently he found himself almost reconciled to this mode of life. he was his own master. he could go or come with absolute freedom. in the intervals of his work he could hunt or fish, read or dream, or study nature in the animal and plant life about him. there was a sort of charm in it, after all. but as often as evening came around, he heartily wished he might have some one besides the dog to talk to. day after day he saw no human face and heard no voice but his own. if a regiment had passed on the main trail he might never have known it, had they gone quietly. how many pack trains actually went by in that lonely week he never knew. once he heard a rifle-shot and the bark of a dog, and running down his own path to the trail, he found fresh hoof-prints, but the travellers were out of sight. he happened to meet no one on any of his hunting excursions, nor did any indian visit him. for seven long days he was alone. chapter xxxiv raided by a wolf the third evening after the departure of the captain's party david was sitting in the cook-tent watching the last embers of the sunset and the varying lights and shadows on the river. shep stood near the edge of the bluff. suddenly the dog's ears pointed forward attentively and his whole body quivered. it was clear that something unusual had come in sight. no sooner had david reached the brow of the bluff than he saw the cause of shep's excitement. a black animal was lapping the water where the river curved to the northwest, about three hundred feet distant. the semi-darkness and the heavy mosquito net over his face prevented david from seeing clearly, but he instantly formed the conclusion that it was a dog belonging to some pack train on the neighboring trail, and whistled to see what it would do. on hearing the whistle the animal raised its head, gazed a moment at the two figures on the bluff, resumed its drinking, and then, having satisfied its thirst, turned and started up the slope. as it did so, david was conscious that it had a slinking gait unlike that of a dog, and for the first time he thought how queer it was that shep had not offered to run down and make friends with the stranger. "it's a small black bear," flashed into his mind. instantly he ran with all speed to the cabin for the shot-gun, which he kept loaded with buckshot. the captain's party had carried off the only rifle, and david was now sorry he had not brought his own. he caught up the shot-gun, however, and slipping a few extra cartridges into his pocket, ran back to the bluff where shep stood guard. the strange animal had disappeared. for a moment david was disconcerted. he had not thought the bear could get away so quickly, nor could he be sure whether it had gone into the fringe of trees and bushes along the river-bank or continued up the slope. he hesitated, too, before setting out to attack such an animal with only a shot-gun for a weapon and a dog of doubtful courage as an ally. the next instant, however, he had decided to track and kill the beast if possible, and calling shep to follow, he hurried down to the river's sandy brink to examine the tracks by the waning light. he was quite puzzled at finding that they were almost identical in appearance with those made by shep, but at length the truth dawned upon him. he had to deal, not with a young bear, but with a full-grown wolf! he now endeavored to make shep take the scent, but shep was not trained to such work and sniffed around indiscriminately without attempting to follow the animal's trail. there was nothing for it but to track the wolf himself. he accordingly traced every track as far as it would lead him. one proceeded from the fringe of bushes to the point where the animal drank, while another led straight up the face of the bluff. the latter he followed as far as the sand continued; but the top of the elevation was grassy, and in the growing darkness the trail was quickly lost. keeping his eyes and ears alert for the slightest sound, david penetrated some distance into the open woods, but without discovering further signs of the animal. satisfied that nothing more could be done, he returned to camp, and took unusual pains to fasten the frail cabin door securely when he turned in for the night. nor was he destined to sleep without an alarm. a noise of rattling tin awoke him with a start. the interior of the cabin was quite dark, since, as we have said, there were no windows; but the nights were not yet without some light, and feeble rays outlined every chink as david sat up, threw off his mosquito net, and looked around. again came the rattle of tin. it evidently proceeded from a pile of empty cans just outside the cabin. he brought himself to a kneeling posture and pressed his face close to one of the widest chinks. presently he distinguished an animal nosing among the cans and making the noise which had awakened him. it was shep. david spoke to the dog, and having seen him walk away with a somewhat shame-faced air, he settled himself once more among the blankets and was soon asleep again. seven days had passed when the monotony of his existence was broken by the arrival of strangers. it was in the afternoon that he heard voices and the sound of horses from the direction of the trail, and a minute later saw two young fellows ride up, followed by a dozen pack animals. "hello!" exclaimed the foremost rider as he saw david, "this place has changed hands, i guess, since we was here last. how d'you do? hovey and herrick gone away?" "yes," answered david. "they left for the kah sha river a week ago. you've been here before?" "oh, yes! we're packing back and forth between pyramid harbor and five finger rapids for the owner of these horses. we always like to put up here for the night, for it's pretty lonesome on this trail." "that's so," said david, feelingly. he, too, was not a little pleased at the thought of company, and the more so in the present instance, because the new-comers were near his own age. the elder was slender, with dark hair and a rather sparse growth of beard, and might have been twenty-two or three, while the other was a ruddy, plump lad of about seventeen. "my name's close," said the dark-haired one, as he dismounted and proceeded to unsaddle his horse. "we're from wisconsin." in return for this information david gave his own name and residence. the wisconsin boys took the packs from their horses and turned them loose to graze. "now for supper," said close. "you'll find a stove and dishes and a table, such as it is, in the cook-tent yonder," said david, hospitably. "i guess you know your way around. just make yourselves at home, and i'll have the fire going in a jiffy." it took the strangers but a short time to cook their evening meal, and as soon as they had finished with the stove david prepared his own supper, and the three sat down together. "can you spare us enough butter for our bread?" asked close. "we're all out." "yes," said david, passing it over, "help yourself." he knew there were but two more cans in the cache under his charge, but he felt certain the captain would wish him to extend such hospitalities as lay in his power; and he would much rather have gone without butter himself for a time than deny it to his guests. they, however, had no intention of trenching on david's slender stock without returning an equivalent. "you don't seem to have any condensed milk," observed the younger of the two. "no," said david. "there isn't a drop. i've looked the whole cache over for it." "well, here! you just take what you want out of our can. we've got milk if we haven't got butter. try some of that dried fruit, too." having thanked his friends, david inquired if the trail was in good shape. he was thinking that before long he would be tramping back over it. "yes," answered close, "most of it's good; but there's some bad bogs where the horses get mired. those cattle herds have cut it all to pieces where the ground is soft. we haven't had much trouble, though." "no," put in his companion, "when we get started we can go along well enough. the worst of this packing business is ketching the horses in the morning. the critters are as sly as foxes. they'll stand so still in the thickets when they hear you coming that you can go within ten feet of 'em and never know they're there." "they keep pretty well together, though," said the other, "and the tracks are generally plain. besides, there's a bell on one of them." "if they were my horses," declared david, "i would bell them all." "and it wouldn't be a bad idea," said close, with a laugh. by david's invitation the wisconsin boys slept that night on the bedstead in the tent. they breakfasted early and then set out to round up their horses, which they accomplished in a couple of hours after a long tramp through the woods. having loaded the animals, they bade david good-by and rode away toward the trail, presently shouting back, "better call the dog; he's following the horses." david whistled shep back and ordered him to lie down. it was no wonder he thought every one his master, he had changed owners so often. he now lay down quietly enough on the ground before the cook-tent and appeared to have forgotten all about the pack train. an hour later david finished his wood-chopping and suddenly noticed that shep was gone. at first he thought little of the matter, supposing him to be somewhere in the neighborhood, but when another hour passed without him, he feared shep had followed the horses, after all. he whistled again and again, but no dog came; and now he was perplexed to know what to do. by this time the pack train was six or eight miles away. the dog would overtake it easily, but _he_ could not hope to do so before it halted for the night; and he did not like to leave so long the property of which he was in charge. the wisconsin boys might send the dog back, or, failing in that, they would doubtless deliver him up to the captain, whom they would probably see before many days. so, however much he regretted the loss of his only companion, he concluded to let the matter drop. a little later, from the sand-ridge back of the tents, he perceived a column of white smoke above the trees near the river, a quarter of a mile to the southeast. it indicated the presence of either white men or indians on the trail, and shep might be with them. david lost no time in locking the cabin door and setting out rapidly in the direction of the smoke. on his hunting excursions he had noticed an indian canoe bottom-up near that spot, and naturally supposed that the dusky owners had now arrived. he found, however, that two white men had kindled a fire against a fallen tree for the purpose of cooking their midday meal. their two horses were grazing near by. the strangers were men of middle age, with thick, grizzled beards and sunbrowned faces. they seemed surprised to see david, but greeted him pleasantly. "camping near here?" they asked. "yes," answered david, seating himself sociably; "at champlain's landing." "oh, yes!" exclaimed one of the men, "i saw the sign-board on the tree where your path turns off, but i didn't know any one was there." "have you come from dawson?" asked david. "yes; we left there nine days ago." "any new strikes?" "no, none recently; but the people keep swarming in over the other trails." "what are they paying in wages?" "seven to ten dollars a day." "i've heard it was very unhealthy there." "yes, there's a good deal of scurvy and pneumonia." "any starvation last winter?" "no, but it was a tight squeeze for some of them." "does a man stand much chance of a fortune who goes there now?" "not if he expects to dig gold. the paying ground is all taken up and a good deal more. there's a better chance now in trading. in fact, that's what my partner and i are going into. we've discovered that some things are mighty scarce in dawson, and people will pay almost anything for them, so we're going out to the coast to bring in a stock of goods. we shall try to be back before cold weather." david had kept his eyes open for shep, but seeing nothing of him, he asked if they had met two young fellows that morning and had noticed a black and white dog. the men remembered the pack train well enough, but neither had any recollection of seeing the dog. so david went back to the landing more mystified than ever. with shep away, he felt instinctively that the wolf would pay him another visit; nor was he mistaken. that night he slept deeply and heard no sound, but when he arose and went out to the cook-tent, he rubbed his eyes in astonishment. wolf-tracks were everywhere, dishes were scattered about, a five-pound piece of bacon had disappeared, and the butter can, which had stood in a pail of water on the top of the rude sideboard five feet above the ground now lay on the grass, where the wolf had ineffectually tried to get at the contents. strange to say, the pail from which the can had been abstracted stood unmoved in its accustomed place. david picked up the scattered utensils and smiled rather grimly to think how he had slept for two nights in the open, unprotected tent, exposed to this midnight prowler. chapter xxxv a long march, with a surprise at the end of it as the time approached for david to be relieved from duty, he began to watch for the expected traveller and to conjecture as to who would be sent. two weeks had passed since he had left the camp on alder creek. it was now near the end of july. about noon of the day following the departure of shep and the midnight visit of the wolf, as he was cooking his dinner, he saw davidson, a young bostonian, swinging rapidly up the path. the two exchanged cordial greetings, and david immediately prepared to give his friend a hearty meal. "how did you leave the people in the shorty creek district?" asked the young cook when the new-comer had removed his light pack and seated himself in one of hovey's rustic chairs. "everybody was well when i left," answered davidson, "except old tom moore, the recorder. he's down with scurvy, but i guess our doctor will fix him up. they've sent him a lot of dried fruit and vegetables, and that diet ought to help him. i don't believe he had eaten much but bacon for a month, and he hardly ever stirred out of his tent. it's no wonder the scurvy caught him." "i should think so," said david. and then he asked abruptly, "how long did it take you to get here, davidson?" "two days and a half from reitz's tent on klukshu lake," was the reply. "that's quick time. you must be a good walker. i just wish my legs were as long as yours. how far do you think it is?" "about sixty-five miles by the trail. you'd better allow three days if you carry anything." "i shall have about forty pounds," said david. "the men at moran's gave me a list of things they wanted out of their clothing bags, and i sent all i could by the boat; but in the hurry i couldn't find everything. is reitz catching any salmon yet?" "oh, yes; plenty of them. humphrey is with him now, and they're having all they can do." next morning david gave his friend such directions regarding the cache as had been given to himself, and surrendered the key of the padlock on the cabin door. then he cooked three days' rations of bacon, biscuits, and rice, to which he added some pieces of jerked beef which davidson had brought and kindly offered him. finally he made up his pack, and an hour before noon was ready to start on the long, solitary tramp. if he had stopped to think much about it he might well have shrunk from so lonely a journey through the wilderness, for he was armed only with hunting-knife and hatchet, but the thought of getting back to his friends was uppermost and made him light-hearted; and, besides, if davidson had made the journey, he was sure he could. "hold on!" exclaimed davidson, suddenly, as he saw the lad taking up his pack. "i'm going with you a few miles. i'll carry the pack." "oh, no indeed!" said david, whose pride was touched. it seemed almost effeminate to surrender his burden to one who had hardly yet rested after a long journey. "i'm perfectly fresh, and you must be tired. it's mighty kind of you, but i can't let you." "you don't feel the need of a lift now," said davidson, kindly, "but you may at the other end of the day's march. and it's only at this end that i can help you." "but surely i can carry that load all day. it isn't heavy,--and it really belongs to me to take it." "then i won't go with you, dave." david instantly perceived that if he refused the generous offer of his friend he would hurt his feelings, and that he ought to yield. "well, then," said he, "rather than lose your company, i accept your conditions, and please don't think me ungrateful." so davidson fastened the pack upon his own shoulders, and having locked the cabin, the two set off down the path to the trail, which they followed till they had covered about five miles and were near the entrance to the pass between mount bratnober and mount champlain. they now sat down beside a brook, and david proceeded to eat his dinner, which he insisted his companion should share. this davidson was reluctant to do, since he knew the lad would have to calculate closely to make his food last. he was finally prevailed upon to accept a piece of bacon and half a biscuit, but would take no more. "if i were you," said davidson, "i should divide the journey into three parts as nearly equal as possible. from the landing to pennock's post is about twenty-five miles. you'd better try to reach there to-night. then it's twenty miles to the river that flows into dasar-dee-ash from the east. you'll have to wade it, unless there's somebody there with a horse. i was lucky enough to find a pack train at the ford. the water won't come much above your waist." "h-m!" said david, laconically. "ice-water, i suppose." "very likely. then on the third day you can make the remaining twenty miles to reitz's camp, and go over to moran's any time you like." "thank you, davidson," said his young friend. "that's just the way i'll plan to do it." they parted with mutual good-will, and david, with the pack now on his own back, soon found himself traversing the recently burned district within the pass. the mighty cliff of mount champlain towered on his left, while across the river rose the hardly less stupendous crags of mount bratnober. on every side the country was bright with the purple fireweed, which had sprung up from the ashes as if by magic. there were scattered patches of forest which the great conflagration had spared, and in the midst of one of these david was suddenly aware of a crackling sound ahead. the next instant he caught a whiff of smoke and saw it rising in a dense cloud through the trees. a few steps more and he found himself in a shower of sparks which a sudden gust blew toward him. forced to beat a precipitate retreat, he made a détour to the windward of the burning area, from which side he was able to make a closer examination. plainly some careless traveller had allowed his camp-fire to get beyond his control, or else had neglected to extinguish it when he moved on. the flames had crept through the moss and communicated with several dry spruces, which were now blazing fiercely. it was utterly beyond david's power to check the spread of the flames, but he reflected that the whole country around had been burned over, and the fire could not extend past the limits of the oasis-like grove in which it had originated, so he continued on his journey. in an open stretch of meadow he came upon a white horse and a mule grazing contentedly. the animals raised their heads in mute inquiry, and then resumed their feeding. david looked about for the owners, but seeing no one, came to the conclusion that these were waifs from some pack train, and might now be appropriated by any one who could catch them. it was a great temptation to try. riding was certainly an improvement on walking; and if he could not do that without a bridle, he could at least lead the horse with a bit of rope and make him carry his pack. on second thought, however, he abandoned the idea. perhaps the animals were not lost. the owners might be somewhere in the neighborhood. if this were the case, and he were seen leading the horse away, he might be accused of horse-stealing,--a very serious charge on the trail. it was better to let them alone, and he plodded on. a little later he caught sight of a black animal among the trees ahead, and it must be confessed that a lonely, creepy sensation ran up his back at that moment. he loosened the hatchet in its leather case as he walked, but soon saw that the beast was not a bear, but a large black dog which, having even more respect for him than he had felt for it, turned out of the trail and gave him a wide berth. a few minutes afterward he met two men with a small pack train, and concluded that the dog was theirs. the men nodded pleasantly as they passed; they were the only persons he saw on the trail that day. by mid-afternoon he found himself getting tired. a great many trees had fallen across the path, and the labor of stepping over them contributed materially to his fatigue. there were bogs, too, so cut up by the passage of horses and cattle that it was difficult for a pedestrian to cross without becoming stuck fast. usually, however, a sapling had been cut down and laid over the ooze, and david crossed all but one of these rude bridges successfully. the one exception nearly cost him dear. he made a misstep, and his right foot slipped into the mud beside the log. the mud and water offered no support, and the sudden lurch having thrown the weight of his pack to that side, his foot sank deeper and deeper without reaching solid ground. by good fortune his other foot was still on the log, and, better still, there were stout bushes on the other side. these he grasped desperately as he sank, and by a violent effort restored his balance and drew himself back upon the log. in the early evening he waded frying-pan creek and caught the first welcome glimpse of pennock's post. "now," thought he, "i shall have a good night's rest in my own bunk,"--for he had brought no tent; so with a light heart in spite of his weariness, he turned toward the cabin. but he was doomed to disappointment. what was his astonishment at finding an enormous padlock and a heavy chain upon the door! and hardly had he touched the contrivance to determine whether it was locked, when there was an angry growl and the rattle of a chain within the building, and he knew by the sound that a fierce dog had sprung toward the door to oppose his entrance. if he had been surprised at seeing the padlock, it was nothing to the burning indignation which now possessed him. he passed around to the north window. someone, probably an indian, had loosened one of the wooden bars and torn a hole in the cheese-cloth in order to look into the interior. he took advantage of the rent to do likewise. in the southeast corner of the cabin he could see a great pile of goods. the dog, a huge and savage-looking beast, was chained to the corner post of pennock's bunk, and there was a dish of water and another of meat on the floor. david was locked out of his own house, and it was garrisoned against him. chapter xxxvi how david met the offender and was prevented from speaking his mind having satisfied himself that the owner of the cache was not about, david threw off his pack, and sat down upon it with his back against the log wall to consider what he would do; and the more he thought about it, the more his anger rose. it was the custom on the trail to cache provisions anywhere. both indians and white men respected the unwritten law which held the theft of food in such a region to be worthy of death. no one but a starving man or a desperado would violate that law, and there were few such. indeed, david had never seen any indication that this chance of loss was being reckoned with. but here was a man who apparently distrusted all his fellow-men,--who suspected every traveller on the trail,--who not only confiscated a cabin for the storage of his goods, but took contemptible measures to protect his property. david felt instinctively that he had to deal with as mean, sour, and selfish a person as it had ever been his lot to meet, and had not the slightest doubt that the character of the master, as is often the case, could be accurately surmised from the temper of his dog. the latter still growled and barked viciously at every sound. at last he rose and went to the rear of the cabin, thinking to enter by way of the fireplace. he knew he could easily loosen and remove two or three of the stakes which had surrounded the stove, and once inside the cabin, he could sleep in his own bunk, which was situated diagonally opposite the corner where the dog was chained. but no sooner had he begun to carry out this plan than the savage animal became furious, and it was perfectly evident that he would have no rest in the company of such a brute. "if i only had my rifle," he groaned. it is entirely safe to say that with it he would have made an end of the animal without a moment's hesitation, flung its body into the creek, and taken possession of the cabin, which his own hands had helped to build. to be sure, he might kill the dog with the hatchet, but such butchery was repugnant to him, and he quickly dismissed the idea. on the whole, it would be best, he decided, to spend the night under the open sky, where there would be no distractions other than the wind in the trees and the continual singing of the mosquitoes. so he picked up his pack, trudged off into the grove of spruces to the south, and selected a dry, level, sandy spot near the edge of the bluff which fronted the river. here he ate a frugal supper, then spread his blankets on the ground, and so passed the night, though the assiduous musical insects which swarmed upon his head-net robbed him of nearly all sleep. after an early breakfast, he resumed his march, fully resolved, in the event of their meeting, to tell the owner of the cache exactly what he thought of him. this part of the trail was familiar, and he walked briskly, only pausing at the foot of the first small lake to catch two or three grayling, with which to eke out his scanty rations. these he roasted before a fire at noon, and, rudely cooked as they were, they proved very palatable, accompanied by small berries of a bluish color and black moss-berries, which grew there in abundance. he had passed the point where in may the bradfords had left the main trail to turn toward the lake, when he descried a pack train approaching across an open meadow. as the caravan came nearer, david was convinced that he saw before him the owner of the cache and the canine. at the head of the procession leaped five or six dogs of fierce aspect. following them came a round-shouldered old irishman, riding on a big gray mule, and behind him was a string of mules loaded with sacks and boxes. the dogs set off toward david with a rush, as soon as they saw him, and it was all their master could do to check them. as it was, david made sure that his hatchet was free before he encountered the pack, and even had he brought that weapon into play, he would have been overwhelmed in a twinkling had not the dogs been in evident fear of the old man. having jumped about david noisily, but without offering violence, they passed on in obedience to a gruff command. the rider of the mule now drew up and eyed david in silence a moment. "where'd ye come from?" he asked, in a rather impertinent tone, as david thought. "champlain's landing," said david, shortly. he was not in a mood to be trifled with. "how far may it be to pennock's post?" asked the stranger, still eying him suspiciously. "all of fifteen miles," said david. "fifteen miles!" exclaimed the man, in anything but a pleasant voice. "i wouldn't have said 'twas that far,--an' it's there i must be to-night." suddenly he glared again at david. "an' where'd ye stay last night?" "at pennock's post," said david. "stayed at pennock's, did ye?" snarled the old fellow. "didn't ye find something there, hey?" this was just what david had been waiting for. another moment, and he would have uncorked the explosive phials of wrath, but hearing a light footstep he turned, and the next instant, without a single angry word, set his lips hard. it was neither fear nor irresolution which occasioned this remarkable change on david's part, but a delicate, chivalrous sense of the consideration a man always owes to the gentler sex. on turning his head, he became aware, for the first time, of the presence of a woman. she was slender, gray-haired, and gentle-faced. she was neatly dressed in black, and had been walking behind the pack train. it flashed through david's mind instantly that this was the old man's wife, and he was conscious of a feeling of pity. furthermore, she was the first white woman he had seen for many months. it was a delight just to look at her. quarrel in her presence he could not, nor add one jot to the burden which he felt sure she must bear as the consort of such a man. it was the sight of this elderly woman which had sealed his lips, and now, to the astonishment of her husband, david turned and walked away without a reply. the woman spoke to him kindly as he passed, and he touched his cap respectfully. hardly had he cleared the pack train before he heard the old man belaboring the mule on which he rode, and swearing roundly at the other animals. he wondered if the poor wife would have to walk those fifteen long miles while her husband rode. not long afterward he met a second section of the train, in charge of a tall, broad-shouldered fellow, who evidently preferred not to overtake his employer. david pressed on with all possible speed, but since noon his left foot had been giving him pain, and he now became more crippled with every step. whether it was rheumatism or a bruise or strain he did not know, but by the time he reached the river he was ready to drop. to his delight, a large tent on the hither bank indicated the presence of some one at the ford, and he had no doubt he could cross dry-shod on the morrow. on reaching this tent he was surprised to find no one within, but, confident that the owner was near, he threw off his pack with a sigh of relief, and stretched himself wearily on a pile of canvas coverings. an hour or more had dragged by when david saw a slender young man, with a bushy brown beard, leading a bony horse toward the opposite bank of the river. he mounted at the ford, and, having crossed, took off the saddle and turned the steed loose. "how are you?" said the stranger cordially, as he noticed david. "been here long?" "about an hour," answered david. "i thought you wouldn't mind my resting here." "not at all. make yourself at home. didn't see anything of a stray mule round here, did you? i've been hunting that mule all the afternoon, but i can't find the critter." "no, i didn't see it." "i s'pose you met the old man? he owns this outfit here." "oh, ho!" exclaimed david. "is that so?" a sudden light came into his eyes, and traces of a smile appeared at the corners of his mouth. "what sort of a man is he?" he asked. "well," replied smith,--he had informed david that such was his name, and yonkers, new york, his home,--"he's different from any irishman i ever saw. hasn't any more sense of humor than a cow, and he's the worst-tempered man in this whole country. look at that sick horse and you'll see how he treats his animals, and he don't treat his wife and us men much better. he's going to winter on a claim of his near dawson, and wants me to work for him up there, but i don't know about it. i'd never have started with him if i'd known him. he hasn't paid me a cent of wages yet, and i don't believe he intends to." david saw that he had a friend and sympathizer in smith. "i'll tell you what i'm going to do," said he, "provided you're willing. i'm going to sleep in the tent to-night. if a man ever owed me a night's lodging, he's the man." and david told how he had been locked out of his own house, and cheated out of his rest. "well, well!" exclaimed smith, when he heard the tale. "i just wish you could have put some lead into that dog. you'd have been perfectly justified. i guess you're entitled to rather more than a night's lodging. if the miserly old fellow had left me anything to eat, i'd see that you had a good supper and breakfast, but he took every scrap of bacon with him, and i've only flour and coffee to live on till he gets back." "i've a pretty good chunk of bacon, but no flour," said david. "we'd better join forces. i'll contribute the bacon if you'll make some flapjacks." smith gladly assented, so it was not long before david was eating a supper partly at his own, but largely also at the disagreeable packer's expense. doubtless because it is human nature to enjoy levying a just tax on a mean man, he swallowed those flapjacks and drank that coffee with peculiar zest. the meal was no sooner finished than smith caught sight of the truant mule on a distant hillside and set off to capture it, while david spread his blankets within the tent and presently turned in. he slept soundly till broad daylight, when he awoke with a start and found a fat ground-squirrel sitting comfortably on his breast, and eying him complacently. it ran out as soon as he stirred, and then amused itself by running up the roof of the tent on one side, and sliding down the other. altogether it was the most lively ground-squirrel he had seen. this day was sunday, and aside from the principle of the thing, david would have liked to rest on account of his lameness, but circumstances were against him. it was clearly necessary that he should make an exception to the usual rule of the bradfords, and travel throughout this sabbath. smith's stock of food was running as low as his own. breakfast over, he himself had only a piece of jerked beef and two biscuits for a luncheon. his only course was to proceed. smith caught and saddled the poor horse, which had been a fine animal, but was now so weak with overwork, starvation, and sickness that it could hardly stand. david mounted with misgivings as to whether the tottering beast had strength to carry him, but they crossed the ford in safety. dismounting on the farther bank, he turned the horse back into the water, and headed him for the point where smith was standing; then shouting his thanks and a good-by, he limped off along the trail. twenty miles on a foot which could scarcely bear the touch of the ground! he set his teeth hard and plodded on until the pain compelled him to sit down for a brief rest. every mile was earned with suffering. all day long the struggle continued, and it required all the grit he possessed to keep him going. not a person did he see, though he caught sight of several horses grazing, and heard distant shouts of men who were probably searching for them. at seven in the evening he threw himself into reitz's camp utterly spent. chapter xxxvii homeward bound the condition of david's foot obliged him to remain two days at the fishing-camp with reitz and humphrey, who feasted him royally on fresh-caught salmon. under the teaching of reitz he soon acquired the knack of using the long gaff, tipped with an iron hook, with which the fish were caught. standing on the bank beside one of the deeper pools of the klukshu river, which here was little more than a brook, he would poke about the bottom with the gaff until it struck against a salmon, when by a quick and dexterous jerk the fish would be hooked and drawn up out of the water. often the salmon were so heavy that they had to be dragged out rather than lifted, for fear of breaking the pole. the finest variety was the king salmon, very large and with flesh of a deep pink tint. then there was a smaller kind whose flesh was red. not infrequently a fish was caught which, in its long journey from the sea, had been bruised and gashed on the sharp rocks. such were unfit for food, but the healthy salmon were split and dressed and hung upon a frame of poles to dry, a smoky fire being built underneath to promote the curing and keep the flies from laying their eggs in the meat. the stik indians across the stream caught the salmon not only with the gaff, but also by a weir of poles which they constructed in the brook. in this trap hundreds were ensnared, and the natives were able to take a sufficient number to supply them with food throughout the winter and spring. one of the indian women in this family was noticeable for a spike of wood or bone set in the flesh of her chin by way of ornament. on the third day david proceeded to moran's camp, accompanied by humphrey, who carried a load of fresh salmon. almost the first question asked of him there was, "where are hovey and herrick?" "why," replied david, in astonishment, "i supposed they were here long ago. it's a little over two weeks since they left champlain's landing in the boat." this intelligence caused a flutter of alarm in the camp of the thirty-six, and a searching party would undoubtedly have been despatched on the following day had not the missing men turned up that evening, weather-browned and hungry, with a remarkable tale of obstacles encountered and overcome. they had been several days in forcing their heavy boat up the river to the lake, and there they had met with such continuous head-winds and rough water that progress had been difficult and dangerous,--often, indeed, impossible. they had camped for days upon the shore with little to eat, waiting for a chance to proceed, and were almost despairing when the wind providentially changed. "hurrah!" shouted roly, when david appeared on alder creek. "you're just in time, dave. now we can go out with the next pack train." david failed to grasp his enthusiastic brother's meaning until later, for he was immediately surrounded and made to sit down and relate all his adventures up to that moment. this done, he begged roly for an explanation of his remark about going out. "why," said roly, delightedly, "we're all ready to start for home. father or uncle will can tell you more about the reasons." the boy seemed as eager to go out of the country as he had once been to come into it. "yes," said mr. bradford, corroboratively, "the leader of the thirty-six wished to control the whole of the river and its tributary creeks, and instructed mr. scott, his second in command, to make us an offer for our claims. we thought the offer a fair one, and as we can not well winter here nor look after our claims another season, we have accepted his price." "good!" said david. "i'm glad to hear it." uncle will added that they had made arrangements to accompany the next pack train of the thirty-six when it returned to the coast. "do you mean that we shall ride out on horses?" asked david, incredulously. the thought of such luxurious travelling after his recent hardships surpassed his wildest dreams. "no," answered his uncle. "the horses will carry our loads, but it isn't likely we shall ride except in fording the rivers. i understand it's extremely perilous to try to cross the alsek, the klaheena, and the salmon rivers without horses, and several men have been drowned this season in the attempt. even horses are sometimes swept away. you must know that in summer these streams, fed by the melting ice and snow in the mountains, become swift, muddy torrents of far greater depth and force than in the winter. streams which a boy could wade last march would now give an elephant a tussle. it's most fortunate that we can have the use of the pack train." two days later, on the fifth of august, word came that the horses had arrived at moran's and would leave there the following evening on their return. several of the animals were brought up to alder creek and loaded with the goods of the bradfords, who of course had very little to carry out, compared with what they had brought in, since their provisions were nearly exhausted and they were to leave their tools and surplus goods of all kinds with the thirty-six. lucky and coffee jack were also to be left behind in the employment of the larger party. on their way down the river the bradfords paused at the tent of the scurvy-stricken tom moore to leave him some delicacies and wish him a speedy recovery. here also they exchanged farewells with king and baldwin. not far above moran's camp david discovered a gray boulder thickly studded with fossil trilobites, which he would have liked to present to the museum at home, but its great weight made its removal impossible. having taken leave of the thirty-six, and of lucky and coffee jack, who had served them so long and faithfully, the bradfords followed the horses to the valley below, where they were to spend the night. the pack train was in charge of a tall, lean, brown-whiskered man known as bud beagle, and two assistant packers, one of whom, a big, thick-set, good-natured missourian, went by the name of phil. the other, a gray-haired man named joyce, had once kept a bookstore in one of the eastern states, and now, after a life of varied fortunes, found himself a packer and cook on the dalton trail. phil made an important find soon after the camping-place was reached. he came upon some bushes loaded with ripe red currants not far below the mouth of the gorge, and, having gathered a heaping panful, brought them to joyce, who gladly set about making some currant preserve in the most approved style. he boiled the currants over a hot fire, added an extravagant amount of sugar, and at length produced the most delicious mixture imaginable. as the night was fair, no tents were pitched. the blankets were spread on the grass under the open sky, and the party would have spent a comfortable night had not the weather turned frosty. so cold was it that a skim of ice formed in a pail of water which was left uncovered. "gentlemen," said bud, addressing the elder bradfords at breakfast, "if you take my advice, you'll start right away as soon as you've finished. it'll take us an hour or two to round up and load the horses, but there's no need for you to wait. it's close on to thirty mile to dalton's, and it would be late afore you got there if you was to start right now." accordingly, the bradfords were on the march before eight o'clock. they paused for a salmon dinner at reitz's camp, where the pack train overtook and passed them, then plodded on again. it was the longest day's march in their experience, and without special incident save the meeting with a large herd of cattle and a flock of sheep bound for dawson. near the trading-post a party of mounted police were building a cabin. they hospitably invited the tired four in to supper, treating them to roast mutton, for which the recently passing flock had evidently been laid under contribution. during the meal mr. bratnober strolled in and entertained them with an account of a long journey to the headwaters of white river, from which he had just returned. he had been accompanied by jack dalton and a tall native called indian jack. their object had been to find copper, and they had been successful. mr. bratnober exhibited several rough slabs of the pure metal as big as a man's hand, and said that he had brought back about thirty pounds of it, and could have picked up tons if there had been means to carry it. he naturally would not tell the exact locality where these riches were discovered, but said it was in a region never before explored by white men. they had not remained in the copper district as long as they had wished to do, because of a band of indians, armed only with bows and arrows, who had made hostile demonstrations. from the police the bradfords learned that dalton's store had been robbed of several thousand dollars a few days before, while ike martin was temporarily absent, and that about the same time two prospectors had been held up by highwaymen on the trail and relieved of considerable gold dust. search was being made for the robbers, who were supposed to be two tough-looking characters who had been seen around the premises, and ike martin had started for pyramid harbor to put the authorities there on the watch. ike, imprudently, as the police thought, had taken quite a sum of his own money with him, which he purposed to send to a seattle bank. "have you any idea who the robbers are?" asked uncle will of the police captain. "yes," replied that officer; "we think they are two of 'soapy' smith's gang. the suspicious characters seen here answered the description of two of 'soapy's' men." "and who is 'soapy' smith?" asked mr. bradford, who had heard the name, but could not recall in what connection. "why," explained the officer, "he's that chap who organized a gang of toughs at skagway last winter and terrorized the place. finally he insulted the wrong man, and received a quieting dose of lead; after which the citizens drove his followers out of town, and they scattered over the various trails." uncle will said nothing, but the boys noticed that he puffed with unwonted vigor on his pipe and seemed to be thinking deeply. he was, indeed, thinking that it would be a serious matter to encounter those two desperadoes in a lonely part of the trail. chapter xxxviii a caribou, and how it was killed a day was spent at dalton's, as it was found that several horses needed shoeing, but the following morning the pack train forded the alsek and clattered off along the trail, while the bradfords were ferried over the swift stream by a stik indian in a dug-out,--a canoe which consists of the trunk of a single large tree hollowed by fire and the axe. the trail led through the woods, and mr. bradford and uncle will agreed that in such a region the little party of four should keep together, since the two robbers, if they were concealed anywhere in the neighborhood and still had lawless intentions, would hesitate to waylay and attack an armed party of twice their numbers. the three packers were also well armed. the forest was left behind at noon, and they gladly ascended to the top of a range of treeless uplands where there was no cover for an enemy. here a small pack train of oxen and horses, in charge of five or six new englanders, was met. they had seen no suspicious persons since leaving pyramid harbor. when questioned about the fords of the klaheena and salmon rivers, the travellers laughed and pointed to one of their number whom they called mr. green, as being most likely to have a vivid recollection of his experience. "yes," said mr. green, good-humoredly, "i shall not soon forget the ford of the klaheena. you see, our pack animals are loaded down with about all they can carry, and i'm no feather-weight. consequently, instead of mounting one of the already overburdened beasts, i crossed the two fords of the salmon river by wading. the water was cold, but i didn't mind the wetting much, and took the precaution to hold fast to the tail of the largest ox. this plan succeeded so well at the first two fords that when we reached the klaheena i felt no hesitancy about crossing in the same manner. i stripped off most of my clothing, took a firm hold of the tail of the big ox, and we started. "well, gentlemen, if you've ever seen a pickerel spoon whirl round and round when it's dragged behind a boat, you will have some idea of the motions i described when i struck that deep and rushing current. i was off my feet in a twinkling and thrashing about in the wildest manner imaginable; and if i hadn't gripped the tail of that ox with the strength of desperation, i shouldn't be here to tell about it. even the ox was forced down the stream quite a distance, but his heavy load enabled him to keep his feet, and he hauled me out at last on the opposite bank, more scared than hurt. but next time, gentlemen, i'm going to ride." mr. green's droll recital was listened to with much amusement. he now wiped from his brow the perspiration which his exciting reminiscences had induced, and added a last item of advice. "my friends," said he, with a serio-comic expression on his round face, "don't you try swimming, either. we saw a young fellow do that, and--i swan! if he didn't go down-stream like a chip. he would reach the shore time and again and try to get hold of something, but there was nothing but loose gravel, and it gave way as soon as he touched it, and away the current would hustle him. it kept that fellow moving for a mile, and he might be going yet if he hadn't been washed up on a gravel bar." these tales of the dread klaheena were anything but reassuring to the bradfords; and in the imagination of the boys that river began to assume the form of a ravening monster. what with mountain torrents and highwaymen, they felt that they would be the most fortunate of mortals if they reached the coast in safety. they discovered, as many a brave man has done, that the terrors of anticipation are often far more unnerving than a real and present danger. about the middle of the afternoon they crossed two deep ravines, each the bed of a noisy brook, and soon afterward found themselves on the highest ridge of the bleak uplands. it was not thought necessary here to keep together, and uncle will and roly were fully a quarter of a mile in advance of mr. bradford and david, who had paused to make pannings at the streams in the ravines. "keep a sharp lookout for our pack train," cautioned uncle will. "i think they've camped somewhere here, and we don't want to miss them." as he spoke, he and roly were approaching the crest of a low hill. suddenly uncle will, who was leading, stopped, then threw himself at full length on the ground. "down, roly, quick!" he whispered. "there's a caribou coming. don't make a sound." roly dropped instantly, and the two lay there, quiet but excited, gazing at the crest of the hill not more than forty feet ahead, uncle will meantime drawing his revolver. roly had no weapon but his knife, and the only kind of a shot he could take was a snapshot,--for he happened to be carrying david's camera. even that might not be possible, for the sun was almost in line with the game. fortunately the wind was blowing from the caribou's direction, and without scenting danger he trotted briskly along the trail. after a moment of thrilling suspense the two watchers saw first his antlers and then his head and body rise above the sky-line, until the magnificent animal stood full in view. he paused an instant as if to reconnoitre, which gave uncle will his opportunity. the report of the revolver rang out sharply. the caribou started, looked about without seeming to discover the two crouching figures, then circled slowly off to the right as if to get the scent from the point of danger. uncle will fired again and with better effect, for the caribou stopped and wavered. meanwhile roly, camera in hand, was manoeuvring for a position from which he could take a picture. before he had succeeded, a third shot brought the caribou to his knees. he rose, struggled forward a step or two, then sank never to rise again. all three bullets had struck him, and it was found that the first, which appeared to have so little effect, had gone clear through his body, from front to rear. "we've got him!" exclaimed uncle will, delightedly, as he ran toward the fallen game. "it's queer for an old hunter like me to have buck fever, but i had it that time. did you see my hand tremble, roly? didn't think i could hit the side of a house. did you get the picture?" "no," said roly, "not the one i wanted. the sun was right behind him." shouts were now heard, and three men and a horse were seen approaching, while some distance behind them in a cloud of dust galloped a party of mounted men. they all arrived on the scene together. the mounted men proved to be a squad of police in charge of a sergeant and accompanied by jack dalton and an indian, all bound for pleasant camp; while the three men on foot were mr. bradford, david, and phil. the new-comers gathered around the caribou and plied the successful hunters with questions. "you went clean by our camp," said phil. "didn't you see the horses off to the left of the trail about half a mile back?" "no," said uncle will, "and we looked out for them too." "i saw you go by," continued phil, "and shouted, and when you didn't seem to hear i started after you. then i heard your shots and saw the caribou, and concluded you had gone ahead because you had seen the game, so i went back for a horse." uncle will and phil set to work to cut up the carcass, first removing the hide, which the former wished to preserve. a generous portion of the meat was given to dalton and the police, who had always shown unfailing hospitality to the bradfords; while the indian received permission to take certain sinews and cords which are utilized in the manufacture of the native snow-shoes. the remainder of the dressed carcass was placed upon phil's horse and taken back to the camp, where the cook took charge of it with much rejoicing. "venison!" exclaimed the old man, again and again, as if it were too good to be true. "no more bacon for the rest of this trip! now we'll live like kings!" chapter xxxix dangers of the summer fords two more days were occupied in ascending the valley of the alsek to its headwaters. the trail crossed many tributary streams, through which our pedestrians were obliged to wade, and twice it was necessary to cross the alsek itself. although the stream was here much narrower and shallower than at dalton's post, its current was still so turbulent that on each occasion the bradfords took advantage of the pack train. not infrequently they saw the bodies of horses and cattle which had either become hopelessly mired or had broken a leg among the rocks, and been shot and abandoned by their owners. beyond rainy hollow the summer trail was quite independent of the winter one, and led across a bleak summit now devoid of snow save the grimy remains of a few old drifts. here they were startled by a sudden deep booming and thundering which seemed to proceed from nowhere in particular. the boys thought it an earthquake, but uncle will said he had no doubt the noise was similar to those they had heard in that vicinity in march, and was occasioned by a tremendous avalanche or the disintegration of a glacier on the lofty peaks across the klaheena. on the highest point of the pass they met an inbound pack train belonging to the thirty-six, in charge of one paddock. "is this the bradford party?" asked paddock, as he came up. on being assured that it was, he continued, "i was on the lookout for you. i met bud beagle's outfit about an hour ago, and he said you was close behind. i've got some mail for you." he fumbled in an inner pocket of his coat, which was tied to the pommel of his saddle, and presently extracted a little bundle of letters, which he handed to mr. bradford. "mebbe there ought to be more," he said with a trace of embarrassment, "but the fact is, we lost a hoss in the klaheena river. he carried one o' the mail-bags, besides all our cooking outfit and consid'rable provisions." "lost the horse?" said mr. bradford. "how did that happen?" "well, you see, sir," explained paddock, "that hoss got sep'rated from the others when we crossed the river, and he struck a deep hole. his load was jest heavy enough so he couldn't swim, and away he went. we follered along the bank for two good miles, but didn't find him." after eagerly reading their letters, they descended the steep mountain-side and soon found themselves at pleasant camp, where they discovered that the mounted police had built two snug log cabins with real shingled roofs, and a corral for horses; and a roving sutler had set up a store-tent where one could buy almost anything, though the articles most in evidence were bad cigars and "tanglefoot" whiskey. this being the boundary station of the police, they recorded the names of the bradfords and the packers, the number of horses in the train, and various other items. since the establishment of the station all incoming travellers had been obliged to pay customs duties at this point. there was one person at pleasant camp whose arrival a few days before had awakened no little curiosity. this was a young woman introduced to the bradfords by the police sergeant as miss macintosh. she appeared to possess a fun-loving, yet quiet and ladylike disposition, while her flashing black eyes revealed unusual determination and spirit. she was travelling independently, with saddle horse and pack horse, with the object of reaching dawson city; but her progress had been so slow and the season was so far advanced that she had abandoned her original idea, and was now intent only on reaching dalton's post. owing to the difficulties and dangers of the way, she had found it advisable to travel in company with pack trains or the police, and intended to proceed with the next inbound party. she had many questions to ask about gold-mining and the klondike, which gave uncle will the clue to the business upon which she was engaged. "'i know the breed,' as kipling says," declared uncle will. "i used to be a reporter myself, and i'll wager miss macintosh is performing this feat in the interests of some newspaper. she's going to write all about it when she gets home." "it's a foolhardy adventure, though," said mr. bradford. "i should have looked for more scottish caution in the girl." "on the contrary, charles, i think she's to be admired for her pluck. she believes a self-respecting woman may go anywhere without fear, and if she travels with pack trains or the police, so as not to meet rascals like those robbers, i'm sure her confidence will be vindicated. miners and soldiers and packers may be rough, but they all respect a lady." the bradfords began the descent of the klaheena valley on the following morning, keeping to the hillsides on the left through forests far more varied than those of the interior. this part of the trail had been extensively improved by men in dalton's employ, and in place of the narrow and uneven path over which they had picked their way, they now gloried in a smooth, hard trail almost wide enough for a wagon. hills had been cut through, hollows filled in, small bridges thrown across several of the brooks, and corduroys of logs laid through every swamp. [illustration: fording the klaheena] at length they came down to the gravel flats and beheld, some distance below, bud beagle and phil sitting on a log and evidently awaiting their appearance. two saddle horses stood near. they had reached the dreaded ford of the klaheena. "we thought you wouldn't care to wade this here river," said bud, with a twinkle in his eye, as the four approached. "right, bud," responded uncle will; "your thinking apparatus is in perfect order. i trust you got the pack train over safely." "well," said bud, slipping his quid into the other cheek, "i don't see no drownded horses anywhere." with this reassuring remark he mounted, and invited david to climb up behind him and clasp him tightly about the body,--a performance which required some agility, owing to the restiveness of the horse. meanwhile roly had scrambled upon the other prancing steed behind phil, and off they started, mr. bradford and uncle will watching their progress intently. several side channels not more than a foot in depth were crossed before the main river was reached, but presently the horses stood at the edge of the mighty flood. the stream was not more than two hundred feet wide, but it filled its gravelly banks to the very brim with an impetuous current so impregnated with glacial silt that it looked like a mixture of coffee and milk. it was impossible for the eye to penetrate much more than an inch beneath the surface, and as the horses stepped cautiously over the crumbling bank the boys had no idea how deep they would go. the water proved to be shallow at first, rising only to the knees, but a moment later the bottom shelved abruptly down, the current surging higher and higher on the animals' sides till they began to yield before it, and it became necessary to head them up-stream a little. they stepped slowly and carefully, picking their footing, yet now and then stumbling on some unseen boulder. the nearness of the rushing water made the boys fairly dizzy. but just when it seemed as if they must be overwhelmed, the river grew shallower, and soon, with much scrambling, they mounted the bank. "that wasn't so bad, after all," said roly, as he slipped to the ground. "no," said david, "it's easy enough on horseback, but no wonder mr. green performed gymnastics!" and the nervous tension being now relaxed, they laughed heartily at the recollection. bud and phil turned back and brought over mr. bradford and uncle will. "the worst o' these fords," said bud, as he landed his second passenger, "is that the river-beds are all the while changing. we may hit on a good place like this, one day, and the next time we try it we'll slump into a hole that'll raise the mischief. the bottom drops out in a single night." in the next few miles the trail crossed the watershed separating the valley of the klaheena from that of the salmon river, and near the latter, camp was pitched for the night. on the march thither the horses were almost thrown into a panic by a bear which went crashing off into the bushes near the trail, but so precipitately that no one was able to take a shot. the two fords of the salmon river were essayed next morning. the first was for some distance of the same general character as that of the klaheena, but it was necessary to ride with the stream a few hundred feet to round the base of a high cliff. near these crags the water became so deep that it nearly covered the backs of the horses, but fortunately at that point the current slackened. the second ford was reached soon afterward. this was not a crossing; the horses were forced to take to the river-bed because, for a quarter of a mile, no trail had yet been cut through the dense thickets of the shore. here at last our travellers were destined to experience the treachery of an alaskan river. at uncle will's suggestion they did not mount behind the riders as before, but climbed upon the backs of those pack horses which carried the lightest loads. these horses had no bridles, but as they always willingly followed the packers, no trouble was anticipated. all being ready, bud, phil, and joyce rode into the stream with the whole bunch close behind. at first the river divided into so many channels that none were deep, and the cavalcade proceeded merrily down the valley, now high and dry upon the gravel, now wading a muddy runlet. the packers came at length to the point where they were to turn back toward the shore. there remained but one stream to cross, but it was a very considerable one, formed by the reunion of several channels. beyond it rose the steep, curving bank, on which the trail was corduroyed to the water's edge. as the packers had experienced no difficulty here on their previous passage, they rode confidently into the water, heading for the trail. before they were half-way across they found that the stream had deepened; and as they neared the shore, first joyce's little white mare and then both the other horses were carried off their feet and compelled to swim, while the rapid current hurried them all down-stream. "stop!" shouted bud to the bradfords, as soon as he realized the danger. "don't try it there!" but the warning came too late. the pack horses, with one impulse, had entered the water close behind their leaders, and among the rest those bearing the bradfords, who had no effectual means of checking their steeds or guiding them. in two minutes every horse in the train had gone beyond his depth and was snorting and floundering in the current, or vainly trying to gain a foothold on the steep bank, while some of the more heavily laden ones, including those to which the bradfords were clinging, borne down by their loads and the pressure of their neighbors, sank beneath the surface more than once. several became entangled in submerged tree-roots, but cleared themselves. the whole mass of frightened, splashing, struggling animals was presently going down the stream as the steeds of the packers had done. in the midst of this confusion the bradfords, drenched and helpless, could only hang desperately to ropes and packs, holding themselves ready, however, at a moment's notice, to abandon the horses and swim out independently. in the mean time the packers by shouts and kicks had urged their animals close to the shore, where they succeeded in dismounting, and then pulled the exhausted beasts out of the water almost by main strength. this done, they turned their attention to the pack horses, grasping the heads of all which came near, and guiding them down to a point where the bank was lower. some of them struggled out unaided, and all were at last brought safely to the solid ground. but blankets, packs, and men were thoroughly soaked. "speakin' of the bottom droppin' out," said bud, with a dry smile,--the only dry thing which remained to him,--"this was one o' them cases." chapter xl sunday in klukwan the salmon river was crossed on sunday, the packers wishing to reach a good feeding-ground in the woods two miles below the indian village of klukwan, and not more than ten miles below their previous camping-place. this short march was accomplished before noon, and by dinner-time clothing and blankets had been dried before a huge fire. the boys thought a visit to klukwan that afternoon would pass the time agreeably, so having obtained permission they set off through the woods toward the gravel flats. they had some doubts as to how they should cross the chilkat river, but upon reaching the first channel of that deep stream they found themselves within hailing distance of the town, and easily attracted the attention of the red-skinned inhabitants, who promptly despatched two canoes in their direction. one was manned by a thin old native whom they had never seen before, while the navigator of the other proved to be a short, thick-set young indian known as tom williams, who had been a guide to the mysterious thirty-six. tom recognized the two lads also and appeared glad to see them. he was a convert of haines mission, and could talk fair english. "what will you charge to take us across and back?" asked david, presently. in the native gutturals tom consulted the old indian, and then answered, "fifty cents apiece." this being a reasonable price, as prices run in that country, the bargain was closed. as the boys were without rubber boots and several small channels separated them from the canoes on the main stream, the indians readily agreed to carry them on their backs to the point of embarkation. once in the village, david and roly looked about them with interest. most of the houses had been erected by the russians and straggled in an irregular line along a narrow foot-path, facing the river. tom williams with his wife and family occupied one of the neatest of these dwellings, and his name appeared prominently painted near the door. children and dogs swarmed everywhere. "there's your african dodger, roly," said david, as they approached the curious totem figure which had attracted their attention in march. "we must have a picture of that." the next instant the click of the shutter in the camera announced that the prize was secure. a little farther on, an indian whose black hair was sprinkled with gray was sitting on his doorstep. as they approached, he beckoned and made signs that they might enter the house,--an invitation which they gladly accepted, since they were curious to see something of the home life of these natives upon whom civilization had thrust at least its outward form. the large living-room into which they were ushered had a bare wooden floor and contained several chairs, a good stove, a chest of drawers, and a table at which two women, dressed in gingham, were sewing. one was evidently the wife of the host, and the other, a plump girl of about fourteen, his daughter. they looked up as the boys entered, but said nothing, and indeed no member of the family seemed able to talk much english. ancient chromos of various subjects hung upon the walls, and david discovered a curious brass plate, about four inches square, bearing a figure of saint peter in relief with a large halo around his head. this would be an excellent memento of klukwan, he thought, so turning to the indian and pointing to saint peter he asked, "how much?" the indian understood this simple phrase, consulted his wife and daughter, and answered, "four dollars." this was more than david cared to pay; and as the owners did not seem very desirous of parting with their patron saint, he pressed the matter no further. the incident appeared to remind the indian that he had another interesting treasure. going to the chest of drawers, he took out a large, time-stained document and spread it before them. it was printed in russian, but david easily made out that it was a certificate of their host's membership in the greek church,--the national church of russia. it contained his name, which was utterly unpronounceable, and at the bottom appeared the signature of the bishop at sitka. only a brief call was made at the house of this kindly disposed man, for it was impossible to carry on any conversation. continuing their walk, they came upon a group of young fellows seated on the ground around a checker-board and very much engrossed in that diversion, while just beyond was a similar group playing some card game which they had learned from the white men. near the end of the village the boys found several old iron cannon lying on the ground near the path. evidently they had once been mounted there by the russians for defence against the chilkats. stirring scenes no doubt these old pieces had witnessed, but however loudly they had spoken in times past, they were now mute, telling no tale of pioneer and savage, of stealthy attack and sturdy defence. while they examined the cannon, a large sailing canoe had been slowly coming up the river against the strong current, and now made a landing near them. the occupants, men, women, and children, came up into the village, bearing cans full of berries, which seemed to constitute the cargo. perhaps it was the sight of the berries, which looked like new england huckleberries, or possibly it was the display of loaves of bread in a window, which aroused a sudden appetite in the boys, and they made inquiries by signs where they could obtain something to eat. being directed to a neighboring house, they knocked on the door, made known their wants, and were ushered by a tall, bony native into the kitchen, where they were given seats at a table. a fat indian woman whom they took to be the tall man's wife set a tea-pot on the stove and brought out some old blue crockery,--the first they had seen in many months. all the while these preparations were making, a young man was sitting on the floor near the stove with his back against the wall and his hat down over his eyes, a picture of unambitious indifference. whether he was a visitor or a member of the family, an invalid or only lazy, the boys could not determine. the tall man and his round spouse now set forth the supper. there was real yeast bread which had a wonderfully pleasant home-like taste, there was prune pie, and cake, and tea with sugar and condensed milk, and canned butter for the bread. for this meal, which they thoroughly enjoyed and for which they would willingly have paid a larger sum, they were charged but twenty-five cents apiece. it was now time to think of returning to camp, and, having hunted up tom williams and his companion, they were soon across the river, accompanied by a third native, who paddled over apparently out of curiosity and continued with them across the small channels. david and the old indian were now considerably in advance of roly and tom, but when roly had been carried over what he thought was the last channel, he paid tom fifty cents, as he had agreed. no sooner had he done so than he beheld david being carried over another some distance in advance. tom was a christian indian, but he was no more averse to getting the best of a bargain than some christian yankees. he saw his advantage instantly and made a motion as if to return to his canoe. roly scented trouble, but not having a mind to take a wetting when he had come so far dry-shod and paid for that comfort, he called tom's attention to the channel ahead. "two bits," said tom. now if there was anything the good-natured roly hated, it was to wrangle over a paltry matter like that. he knew quite well that tom was consciously taking advantage of the situation, but he preferred to act as if the indian might really have misunderstood the original terms. he rather liked tom on the whole, and even felt something like admiration of his shrewdness and unblushing nerve. besides, he would never see him again, nor have any more dealings with him. the result was that roly paid the twenty-five cents without so much as raising a question. no sooner, however, had the coin changed hands than the other indian, who had been watching the course of events with simulated indifference, broke into a loud, triumphant laugh,--a laugh which grated harshly on roly's ears, for it showed him that neither indian had really expected success in so flagrant an extortion, and that instead of regarding him as a generous friend they doubtless thought him an easy victim. he heartily wished then that he had stood firmly for the agreement, or, failing to secure his rights, had taken the wetting. the question of his proper course in the emergency was discussed pro and con around the camp-fire that evening, for roly frankly told the story. there was very little pro and a great deal of con in the comments. the packers, who, on general principles, wasted no love on the indians, were unanimously of the opinion that roly should have gone through fire as well as water, rather than pay one extra penny. david was guarded in his opinion, since he had narrowly escaped falling into a similar trap. on the whole, however, he agreed with the packers. mr. bradford, whose sense of parental responsibility was aroused, emphatically declared that his son should have held strictly by the agreement. it would make the indians tricky and overbearing, he said, if they thought they could outwit the whites so easily. roly should have maintained his rights. as for uncle will, he seemed highly amused by the affair, but offered no views on the subject. poor roly, seeing the weight of argument so heavily against him, cast about desperately for some ground of justification, and fell back at last upon the scriptures. "doesn't the bible say," he asked, "'if any man will take away thy coat, let him have thy cloke also'?" this defence hugely delighted uncle will. "there, charles," said he, "you're answered now." mr. bradford laughed. "well," he responded, "i'll not only consider myself well answered, but i'll give roly a gold watch and chain if he thought of that verse when he paid that quarter." honest roly sighed. "no," he said, "i didn't think of it until this minute." chapter xli the robbers at last bud announced next morning that if two of the bradfords would like to ride that day and were willing to help phil with the pack train, he and joyce would go down the river by canoe, as he had a mind to examine a likely ledge of rock on the other side of the stream. he had noticed its appearance, he said, from the trail on his journey in, and thought it might contain gold-bearing quartz. this proposition was very welcome to the trampers, and they immediately drew lots, fortune favoring mr. bradford and roly. uncle will and david accordingly set off on foot directly after breakfast, while bud and joyce departed toward klukwan, and the other three went into the woods to find the horses,--a task which proved both long and tedious. roly, who had taken an easterly direction, came out upon the open gravel, where he found plenty of hoof-prints, but no horses. he looked carefully over the whole broad expanse and listened for the tinkle of the bell, but in vain, so he turned back into the woods toward the trail, encountering swamps and thickets which greatly impeded his progress. mr. bradford had no better luck, returning tired and alone. phil, with a born packer's instinct, finally discovered the animals in a swamp in the densest part of the forest, and soon afterward brought them into camp. mr. bradford and roly, it must be confessed, were of nearly as little assistance in loading as they had been in rounding up. they knew absolutely nothing of the diamond hitch, which every up-to-date packer uses, and phil would tolerate no other. "you just bring up the horses and packs sep'rate," said the latter, good-naturedly, "and i'll put 'em together." so one by one the horses were led up. the blankets and pack saddle were first placed in position, and the canvas band under the breast tightened until the animal fairly grunted. then the packs were set in place on each side of the saddle and secured by many windings of the cinch-rope, all being finally made fast by the famous hitch, tightened by the united efforts of phil and mr. bradford. "there!" exclaimed phil when the work was done, "now they'll pass muster." "they may buck, they may roll, they may rub agin a tree, but their loads will stick like--" "like your poet-ree," roly suggested, after a pause. "haw! haw!" laughed the big missourian. "yes, that's it. i was going to say, 'like a bad reputation,' but that wouldn't rhyme. no matter how well i get started, i'm always floored by the second line." the pack train was now put in motion, phil directing his companions to ride in the rear and keep the animals from lagging. their way lay through a wild, mountainous region. there were ascents and descents so steep that the riders were forced to dismount and lead their horses with the utmost caution, but wherever the nature of the trail permitted, the animals were urged to a gallop. roly and his father found it no easy matter to do rear-guard duty. there was a speckled horse called "pinto" who made it his especial care to keep them busy. he had started in the van of the train, but, being a confirmed shirk, had gradually fallen back until there remained only a meek little white horse between him and the hindmost riders. having gained this position, he dropped into a walk at every opportunity and was soon far behind the other horses, all efforts on the part of the amateur drivers to reach him with a switch or strap being futile. no sooner did he see them spurring up than he would jump ahead just out of reach, while the punishment intended for him--the clever rogue--fell upon the poor little white horse, whom he would not allow to pass him on the narrow trail. at the first wide clearing, however, pinto got what he deserved, and, being thoroughly convinced that his new masters would have no trifling, he was as well behaved for the rest of the day as could be desired. now let us follow the fortunes of uncle will and david. while the horses were being rounded up and loaded, the two pedestrians had obtained a good lead, walking as rapidly as the nature of the ground permitted, and pausing only to drink at a sparkling brook or to admire for a moment some scene of unusual beauty. they had covered several miles, and were ascending a wooded slope on the other side of which lay a deep and narrow ravine, when david broke a shoe-string and stopped to tie the ends, his uncle continuing over the crest and into the hollow beyond. a moment later, hurrying to catch up, david also mounted the slope, and had almost reached the top when a gleam of light caught his eye, coming from the opposite edge of the ravine and a little to the right. looking there to discover the cause, he halted abruptly. the sun had glinted on the barrel of a rifle in the hands of a man who, at that moment crouched beside a large rock, was facing away from him and motioning to some one in the woods beyond. the stranger wore fringed buckskin breeches and a red flannel shirt, and his broad-brimmed felt hat lay on the ground beside him. there was something in the appearance and stealthy movements of this man which at once aroused david's suspicions. instinctively he threw himself flat on the ground behind a young spruce which grew on the top of the bank, at the same time unslinging his rifle and laying it beside him. as he did so, he watched the gaudy stranger intently through the branches of the tree and tried to recall the description of the men who were suspected of robbing dalton's post. with every detail which he could remember, this man tallied exactly. he glanced also to the bottom of the ravine, where he was amazed to see his uncle bending over what seemed to be a man's lifeless body. startled and wondering, david dared not long avert his eyes from the opposite bank. the stranger had turned, and now, kneeling behind the rock, raised his rifle to the shoulder, pointing it at the stooping figure of uncle will, who was all unconscious of his peril. he did this, however, with cool deliberation, since he had no idea he was watched. there could no longer be the slightest doubt that murder had been done here, and that in another instant uncle will would be lying beside the first victim. david no sooner perceived the outlaw's cowardly intent than he aimed at the red shirt, and fired. at almost the same instant the other rifle was discharged, but its aim was spoiled. david had fired just in time. jumping to his feet with an involuntary yell, the lad saw the robber's rifle fall to the ground and the man sink backward. his confederate, hitherto unseen, immediately rushed forward, caught him, and dragged him back out of sight before david had collected himself sufficiently to fire again. meantime uncle will, in the bottom of the ravine, startled by the sudden reports on each side of him, drew his revolver instantly, wondering how it happened that he could have been fired upon so closely without being even scratched. with the resolute look of a brave man at bay, he turned first toward one bank, then toward the other, not knowing how many his enemies were nor where they lurked. he caught only a glimpse of the robbers, but he saw david plainly enough as he shouted and leaped to his feet, smoking rifle in hand. the next moment uncle will was at his side. "shall we follow them?" cried david, excitedly. "how many were there?" "only two, and i hit one." but now they heard galloping hoofs, and conjectured that the uninjured man had lifted his wounded companion upon a horse and was hurrying him away to avoid capture. "the birds have flown," said uncle will. then with a quick impulse he added, "david, you have saved my life. thanks seem very small at such a time, yet i must thank you with all my heart for a most prompt and courageous act. give me your hand." and the two understood each other better by that silent, hearty hand-clasp than they could have done with any number of words. they now crossed to the other bank, where david picked up the rifle as a prize of war, and the hat as an additional means of identifying the robber. bloodspots showed that the wounded man had been dragged through the woods a distance of several hundred feet to the trail, where fresh hoof-marks confirmed the flight. "did you recognize that man in the ravine?" asked uncle will as they returned. "no," answered david. "do i know him?" "it's ike martin, dalton's storekeeper." "ike martin!" exclaimed david, in an awe-struck voice. "is he dead?" "yes, with a bullet through his brain." it was true. they examined the body, and found that poor ike must have been instantly killed. his money, watch, and revolver were missing. it was probable that the crime had been but just committed, the murderers not having had time to hide the body. indeed, they both remembered hearing a distant shot. somewhat shaken in nerve, the two sat down to await the pack train. upon its arrival a half-hour later, mr. bradford, roly, and phil were quickly made acquainted with the events we have narrated, and it was decided to carry the body of the storekeeper to dalton's toll-tent a few miles beyond. the two toll-gatherers had seen nothing of the robbers, who had doubtless taken refuge in some mountain fastness away from the trail. they were not a little alarmed to learn that they had such dangerous neighbors, and declared that but for david's wounding one of them, the toll-tent would almost certainly have been their next object of attack. as it was, there would be time to send the toll-money to pyramid harbor and take all proper precautions. they promised to see that martin's body received decent burial. by nightfall the pack train had clattered down from the mountain trail to the upper tide-flats, where camp was pitched within eight miles of the harbor. with his usual predilection for fruit, phil went off and picked a quart of marsh-berries. they were of a yellowish-pink color, and contained a large pit which made the eating of them awkward, but when boiled with sugar they produced a sauce of very agreeable flavor. bud and joyce had already arrived at the rendezvous. they had but little to say about the ledge, and the bradfords could not make up their minds whether they had been disappointed, or had found good prospects and wished to keep the matter quiet, though the former supposition seemed the more probable. the canoeists had heard the rifle-shots, and the story of the adventure on the trail was related again for their benefit and discussed around the fire until late in the evening, david coming in for enough praise to have turned the head of a less sensible youth. all had a good word for poor ike, too, for there was not one present for whom he had not done a good turn. chapter xlii pyramid, skagway, and dyea.--conclusion in the morning, when the tide was out, the travellers crossed the long, level, sandy waste and rounded the northern point of the harbor. there lay the settlement on the farther shore at the foot of the mountains, but how changed! where the bradfords had pitched their first camp in march there was now an enormous tent with the word "hotel" in large black letters on its roof, while just beyond stood a commodious frame structure which, upon closer scrutiny, proved to be a stable for dalton's pack horses. the cannery was now in full blast, and the tall iron stacks belched forth columns of black smoke. a full-rigged ship lay at anchor in the bay. beyond the indian village stretched a row of frame buildings interspersed with tents, containing, as they soon discovered, a grocery, a storehouse, a post-office and store for general merchandise, and a saloon. the latter was already demoralizing the indians, who in their cups had more than once threatened to exterminate the whole white population. thus, like a mushroom, had sprung into existence the nucleus of the future city of pyramid,--for even the name had undergone a change, growing shorter as the town grew longer. [illustration: "salmon by the thousand"] at the cannery scores of chinese laborers, brought from san francisco and other coast cities, were busily cutting up and packing the salmon, which were collected by the thousand from the indian villages of the neighborhood by the company's steamer. a few days later the "farallon" entered the harbor on her way north, and the bradfords embarked, glad of the opportunity of seeing skagway and dyea, then only two years old, both of which were wonderful examples of american push and enterprise. skagway owed its size and importance largely to the fact that the white pass trail, at the entrance to which it lay, had been completely blocked by the rush of klondikers, who, with pack animals and hundreds of tons of supplies, had crowded upon it in the previous year without any knowledge of its difficulties. balked in their purpose of taking up claims in the gold-fields, a great number of these people returned and staked out town lots instead, and built log cabins upon their claims. then enterprising merchants of seattle and tacoma, hearing of skagway's sudden boom, erected wooden storehouses and business buildings, and sent up complete stocks of merchandise of every description. saloons, dance-halls, and theatres sprang up as by magic. toughs and gamblers poured in, and united states troops were quartered there to keep the peace. so the town grew, and mainly for the reason that the original settlers could not get out of it. finally, as if to hold their own against dyea, whose chilkoot trail, though rough, had remained all the while open, the skagwayans projected and immediately commenced a railroad which should make their town, after all, the gateway to the klondike. skagway was almost deserted when the bradfords arrived, for gold had been discovered in the atlin region, distant only a few days' journey, and a stampede had taken place. they walked through the gravelly business streets and out into the suburbs, where log cabins alternated with tents. several streets, already lined with buildings, were thickly studded with stumps which the citizens had not yet found time to remove. mr. bradford bought a copy of the skagway newspaper, in which he presently discovered among the advertisements an announcement that the misses---- would give piano lessons at reasonable prices. "look at that!" he exclaimed. "piano lessons in a place where a little more than a year ago there was nothing but a saw-mill and a few dirty indians." "yes," said uncle will, "you can get anything here now from a first-class shave to a parlor stove. just look in at that fruit-store window,--peaches and apples and plums, and even roasted peanuts! we're in civilization again, sure enough. why, i even noticed a bicycle on the wharf!" dyea, which they visited next day, was similar in most respects to its sister town. it, too, lay in a narrow valley between rugged mountains at the head of a deep inlet. its wharf had not been completed to the high-tide line, which, owing to the flatness of the ground, was half a mile or more inland. the town itself was about a mile back from the landing. "we shall have to make a flying visit or the tide will cut us off," observed mr. bradford, as they left the steamer. "it has turned already." the sight-seers accordingly made all haste, and, having tramped through the sandy streets, taken a few pictures, and found the town to be somewhat smaller than skagway, they retraced their steps and none too soon. the water was already flowing around the uncompleted end of the wharf, but they jumped the rapidly widening stream. a young woman, a fellow-passenger on the "farallon," arrived soon after. she was obliged to wade through, but escaped a serious wetting by walking on her heels. ten minutes later the water-line was far up toward the town. of the voyage to seattle, where they learned that spain had sued for peace; of how david delighted flora kingsley with one of the cub bear-skins, reserving the large one for his mother and the other for helen; of the homeward journey by way of salt lake city, where the boys and their elders--for uncle will accompanied them--saw the old mormon tabernacle and the great new temple, and floated like corks in the buoyant brine of the lake,--space forbids an account. suffice it to say that all four, bronzed and healthy and happy, alighted from the train at their home city one beautiful afternoon in september, and were received with open arms and great rejoicing by mrs. bradford and helen, who declared that they were bountifully rewarded for all their anxiety and loneliness by seeing their dear ones come back so strong and well. "it has been a wonderful and profitable journey," said mr. bradford that evening, "in more ways than one. we are not millionaires, but we have gained in health and stored our memories with treasures." "yes," put in uncle will, "and we've turned out two as fine lads as there are in the country. if there comes another war, here are soldiers ready-made." "soldierly qualities," said mrs. bradford, with a pleased look in her eyes, "are useful also in peace." the end transcriber's note -obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected. [illustration: cover art] tillicums of the trail being klondike yarns told to canadian soldiers overseas by a sourdough padre. by george c. f. pringle chaplain in the field with the cameron highlanders of canada. mcclelland & stewart publishers * * toronto copyright, canada, by mcclelland & stewart, limited printed in canada to my wife _contents_ chapter i. the fan tan trail chapter ii. down the yukon on a scow chapter iii. a klondike christmas dinner chapter iv. some klondike weddings chapter v. wolf dogs chapter vi. lost on the divide chapter vii. a strange meeting chapter viii. ben--a dog chapter ix. a trail sermon chapter x. how cheechako hill was named chapter xi. the lost patrol chapter xii. an edinburgh lad chapter xiii. last chance chapter xiv a moose hunt chapter xv. an old prospector chapter xvi soapy smith, the skagway bandit foreword pte. clarke of the orderly room staff told me how my coming as chaplain to the rd in was announced to the men attached to battalion headquarters. they were "killing time" off duty in one of the cellars under the brick-piles on the flats facing avion. i give it in his own words as well as memory recalls them. "we knew," he said, "that d. t. macpherson had some news by the hurried way he slithered down the muddy dug-out steps. he came with bent head over to the candle-light where a bunch of us were resting after a few hours "running" and "mending wire" with explosive hardware dropping around us. 'well,' said mac, when he got over near us, 'i've got a new job and it's a cushy one. no more listening-post for me or walking around in a front-line trench asking for a blighty. nay, nay! the new chaplain has arrived and i'm his batman. after this i'll have to work only one day a week. on sundays i'll pass around the hymn-books, lead the singing, and see that none of you fellows miss church parade.' 'you'll last about two weeks, mac,' said jesse elder. 'the chaplain will have to get rid of you if he wants to make good. otherwise you'd handicap him, corrupt him and kill his influence. but what's his name and where is he from?' 'his name is pringle, capt. george pringle. i heard him tell the o.c. that he had spent years in the klondike goldfields in early days.' 'well,' elder replied, 'that sounds good. he ought to be able to give us some rex beach-jack london stuff. see what sort he is, mac, and when you get better acquainted sound him about coming under-ground here to give us some stories of the north.' the proposition sounded all right and macpherson said he'd try for it." when mac put the request to me i welcomed the chance it gave me to talk to ready listeners about a land i love, to me the fairest under heaven. the men were always eager to listen, eager because the stories were about canada and they were home-sick. also because in every man there is something that stirs responsive to tales of the mystic northland, vast, white, and silent. then besides, the mad years of the great stampede had their own appeal, when the golden treasures were found and adventurers from the seven seas rushed to the discovery. what days those were, filled with tragedy and comedy, shameful things we would fain forget but can't, incidents too of heroism and comradeship that will live in our memories forever, and through it all, bad and good, an intense, throbbing life that was irresistibly fascinating. little wonder that my soldiers, out themselves on a great adventure, would listen to stories of the yukon and its adventurers in those glorious stampede days. many an hour have i spent with my men off duty spinning these "sourdough" yarns, and i know very often we forgot for the time the dugout and the trench, hardly hearing the boom of the guns or bursting shells. the incidents are true both in prologue and story. in "the lost patrol" and "soapy smith" i am indebted to my good friends staff-sergt. joy of the r.n.w.m.p. and mr. d. c. stephens of vananda, for inside information not otherwise obtainable. mr. george p. mackenzie, gold commissioner for the yukon, has given me data i needed from government records. i am very grateful to my former "o.c.," lieut.-colonel h. m. urquhart, m.c., d.s.o., now commanding the st battalion canadian scottish, for arduous work done by him in getting my manuscript into shape. the preparation of these sketches, as they now stand, came about largely through the kindly encouragement and expert advice of dr. haddow of the _presbyterian witness_ in which journal some of them were published. the stories are put down pretty much as i told them. i have had, of course, to make some changes to suit a written narrative offered to a larger circle. the language and style are homely, for the stories were first given in simple words and i have tried to reproduce them. some names have been changed for obvious reasons. probably i seem at times to speak much about myself; where this happens i couldn't avoid it in telling my story. for the rest i make no excuse. there is one advantage about a book, if you don't like it you can shut it up! if these pages serve to keep alive old friendships and pleasant memories among my "tillicums" of the trail, and the men in khaki to whom i ministered, i shall be content. george c. f. pringle. vananda, texada island, b.c. tillicums of the trail _i._ _the fan-tail trail_ a night in june found me under one of the brick-piles on the avion front in a safe little cellar that the hun had fixed up for himself and then turned over to us. i was seated on some sand-bags set against the wall, with a "capacity house" to hear a klondike tale. a few candles gave a dim light hazy with thick tobacco smoke, making it easier for fancy to have free course. there were no interruptions except the occasional call from the top of the dug-out stairs for some man to report for duty. the sound of shells and guns came dully to our ears and seemed unheard as, in imagination, we travelled afar to fairer climes and by-gone days. * * * * * i'll tell you to-night of my first trip to the north and my first attempt to travel with a dog-team on a winter trail. in i was a missionary in the back-woods of minnesota learning to preach, practising on our american cousins out of consideration for the feelings of my fellow-canadians! i was quite contented in my work, preaching at little country schoolhouses with long distances to drive between, but getting everywhere the best they had of hospitality. one day in the winter of - a telegram came to me from dr. robertson our canadian superintendent of missions asking me, if agreeable, to report at winnipeg that week for duty in the yukon. i couldn't resist "the call of the wild" and i wired acceptance of the appointment. two weeks later i was on the c.p.r. headed for vancouver. there i got a berth on a little steamboat named the _cutch_, bound for skagway, alaska, the great gateway to the "golden north." i'll not easily forget that trip. the boat was crowded beyond what seemed possible. every berth was twice taken, one man sleeping at night the other in the daytime. the floors of the cabins were occupied as berths night and day. they slept under the tables and on them and in the gangways and on the decks. meals were "on" all day in order to get everyone served. there were some wild times aboard and plenty of discomfort, but the greatest good-feeling generally prevailed for the boat was headed north and every hour brought them nearer to the land where fortunes were made in a day. amazing stories, and all the more amazing because they were true, had come south telling of the richness of the new gold-fields. gold-dust and nuggets lay scattered apparently without known limit in the gravels and schist of the creeks. it was a "poor man's diggings" too. a stout back, a pick, a pan, a shovel and a little "grub" were all you needed. after two or three days' work it might be your luck to strike the pay-streak and have your secret dreams of sudden wealth come true. why not you as well as those other fellows? there was lippi who had already cleaned up a million out of a part of his feet on eldorado, macdonald "the klondike king," otherwise, "big alec the moose," who had been offered in london five million for his interests, dick lowe who owned a -foot "fraction" on bonanza that some said had almost as much gold as dirt in it. johannsen and anderson, the "lucky swedes" and "skiff" mitchell who worked no. on eldorado. these all had been poor men and there were hundreds of others that had done nearly as well. besides, the claims were mostly just being opened up and nobody really knew what more marvellous finds might yet be made. aboard the boat were all sorts of men from all parts of the world but all alike were filled with high hopes. keen they were to try their luck in this big gamble where such alluring prizes were going to fortune's favorites. so nobody was looking for trouble. they had no lasting grievance against anyone who didn't interfere with their one great object of getting to dawson. the only growling was at the slow progress the boat made, but an "ocean greyhound" would not have been fast enough to satisfy their eager haste. it was a glorious trip in spite of all we had to put up with. most of us were seeing for the first time the beautiful scenery of the western canadian coast. our boat sailed straight north for a thousand miles in the pacific yet with land always close in on both sides. it is the most magnificent combination of ocean and mountain scenery in the world. it is more majestic than the fiords of norway, nor can the inland sea of japan have anything more lovely, and here there is a full thousand miles of it. the ocean has inundated a great mountain range. for days we sailed through winding channels broad and narrow, and among giant mountain peaks that dwarfed our boat. sometimes the trees came right down to the water's edge, or we steamed between precipitous cliffs where the tide-rip ran like a mighty stream. as we got further north glaciers glistened within rifle-shot and we could see plenty of little ice-bergs around us that had toppled off into the water. it was mountain-climbing by steam-boat! our voyage ended at skagway, a typical "tough" frontier town that boasted the last and worst "gun-man" of the west, soapy smith. but that is "another story." i spent a night there and then took the narrow-gauge railway over the white pass to log-cabin, where i left the train. from log-cabin, a lonely-looking, huddled-together group of a dozen small log buildings, i was to start on my first trip on a northern trail in mid-winter. the fan-tail trail it was called, running over these wind-swept summits seventy-five miles to atlin on atlin lake, one of the great lakes that feed the yukon river. i was to go with a dog-driver or "musher" named stewart who had been commissioned to bring in the new sky pilot "dead or alive." it was afternoon before i reached log-cabin but stewart decided not to wait until next day but to start right away. he wanted to make it over the summit, eighteen miles, to the tepee, the first roadhouse on the trail, and there put up for the night. this would break the journey and enable us to do the rest of the trip to atlin--sixty miles, before nightfall the next day. it all sounded vague to me, seemed indeed a very big proposition, but i agreed, being green and not wishing to display my ignorance by discussing it. moreover i was young and ready to tackle anything. stewart was experienced, knew the trail, and was as hard as nails. he had a team of six dogs hitched tandem to a sleigh about eight feet long and two feet wide on which he had lashed a high built load of freight. i trotted along bravely enough after stewart and his dogs and for a few miles held my own, but when we got out into the drifts i commenced to lag. he tried me sitting on top of the load but that made it top-heavy and we had several upsets. twice we had to unlash the load, get the sleigh up on the trail again and reload, all the time working in snow up to our waists. it showed that plan worse than useless. then he suggested that i try if i could guide the sleigh holding the handles, like plough-handles, that projected behind. to hold these gave me help and it would have been fine if i had been able to keep the sleigh on the trail, but that is learned only by long practice. after several bad mishaps i had to give that up. then stewart told me to go ahead on the trail and make the pace according to my strength. but that wouldn't work either, for, in the drifts my feet could not find or keep the trail, and the dogs following me were continually getting into tangles in the deep snow. there was nothing for me but to follow as best i could. when within five miles of the tepee we left the wind-swept plateaus and entered a forest. there the trail slanted down to the gulch where our night's journey was to end. among the trees there were no drifts and while it was easier going for me so it was for the dogs. they knew well enough where they were, that there was rest and dinner for them at the end of that five miles, and nothing could hold them. i was pretty well "all in" but i struggled on trying to keep up until a sort of partial unconsciousness came over me. i seemed to see only the two moccasined heels of the musher ever disappearing before me. all i seemed to know at last was to keep my eye on them as they slipped away, away, ever away, from me into the darkness. stewart could hear me coming and of course didn't appreciate the situation. i hadn't trail-sense enough to tell him to go on and i would follow slowly for now the trail was comparatively easy. i heard the timber wolves howling but there was no danger from them that winter as long as i kept going. i know this now, but i was a "tenderfoot" then. stewart knew my brother john as the best musher on the teslin trail and thought, no doubt, that i'd be able to stick it without trouble. when we got near enough to hear the dogs at the roadhouse howling, ours quickened their pace and i was left hopelessly in the rear. i grew faint and sick with my efforts, staggering along, running into the trees and off the trail, to crawl back again and go a few yards on hands and knees. at last, stumbling like a drunken man, i ran into the roadhouse yard and right into my brother's arms! he had reached the tepee that night on his way out from atlin to log-cabin. i could eat no supper, slept not a wink all night, for every nerve and muscle in my body seemed on fire, nor could i touch breakfast, except a cup of tea. as long as i live i shall never forget my first hours on the trail. even now i can close my eyes and see again those moccasined heels slipping away from me into the snow-white darkness and feel again something of the sick exhaustion of those last few gruelling miles. in the morning our teams lined up again. my brother headed for log-cabin, thence vancouver, then eastern canada and home. i to travel wearily on for another day towards a mining camp with all its unknown problems for me as a green missionary. i was homesick, anxious, and physically felt almost useless. maybe i had some unshed tears in my eyes as we stood together a moment before saying good-bye, for john said, "well, george, you're just at the present moment the 'wateriest-looking' preacher i think i've ever seen." it was "good medicine" for it made us all laugh and so we parted. the rest of the trip was luckily easy for me. stewart had left part of his load at the tepee and i was able to ride on the sleigh whenever i wished. by noon my appetite asserted itself with redoubled force. we stopped at the half-way house and had a satisfying dinner. by the time we came within sight of atlin, across the five miles of frozen lake, the clouds had cleared away and i felt the zest for adventure and love for my work, that had brought me north, coming into their own again. it was a week before i got the stiffness of that run over the "fan-tail" out of my muscles. my memory will ever hold a clear-cut and painful recollection of it. _ii_ _down the yukon on a scow_ sains-en-gohelle is a neat little mining town not far from lens where the canadian camerons on several occasions put in their short "rest" periods after their turn in the trenches. i remember the place more distinctly because it was there i first donned the kilts. the quartermaster, medical officer, and chaplain were attached to the battalion for rations and duty only, and on such matters as uniform were not under the authority of the battalion commander. so i had never changed from the usual khaki dress. but our new o.c., lt.-col. urquhart, was keen to have us all in kilts so that on parade we three would not look, as he put it, "like stray sheep." the m.o. and the q.m. (both named mackenzie) were willing enough. they were stout built fellows. i hesitated. i am of the grey-hound type, built for speed not beauty, and feared that i would look a spectacle in kilts. indeed, i was apparently not alone in my opinion for major tommie taylor advised me if i put them on not to go out too much when it was getting dusk. "the police might arrest you, padre," he said, "for not having any visible means of support." the o.c's wishes prevailed at last and macpherson and i went over to see henderson, the regimental tailor. we picked out a good kilt from the stores, my measurements were taken and next day i had a try on. it took quite a while before everything was right and i was ready for the road. i walked down the little village street that first time in kilts with something the same unpleasantly self-conscious feeling you have when in a dream you find yourself in a front seat at some public gathering with only pyjamas on. i saw two french peasant girls coming. i blushed all over and felt like "taking to the tall timber." but i faced the music with a fearfully conscious bravado. my fears and self-conceit fell in ruins together for they never gave me so much as a glance as we passed. of course i might have known that "kilties" were a common sight to them and that they had seen many better legs than mine! at dinner i had colonel urquhart look me over and he decided i was first-class (said so, anyway!), a little white about the knees but the sun would mend that. i soon felt quite at home in the kilt on parade and off it, and in the six months i wore them nothing happened to justify tommie taylor's warning. i recollect that one day during a "rest" i happened in to one of the huts where they were discussing for the "nth" time the famous naval battle of jutland fought the year before. someone had picked up an old newspaper, a _sunday observer_, giving a critical account of the whole engagement, and they were talking it over again. all were agreed that it was a real victory for our navy, for while the action was costly and the german fleet was not destroyed, yet the glorious fact remained that the huns had had to "beat" it. we patted our navy on the back again in several different styles and gloated over the return of the enemy's fleet to its compulsory hermitage at kiel. then someone started to talk about the relative merits of land and sea fighting from the standpoint of discomfort and danger to the fighting man. "smiler" mcdermid was all for the navy. "those big battleships are just floating fortified hotels," he said. "every man has his own bunk, blankets warm and dry, regular hours, good grub, and no pack to carry. they don't average a fight a year and then the scrap is over one way or the other in an hour or two. besides they're always getting in to port to coal up or be dry-docked and then there is shore-leave every night in dear old blighty. no long marches, no mud, no trenches, dirt or vermin. give me the navy for a cushy job every time." "shorty" montgomery didn't think it would be as good as it sounded--"you would get fed up with the ship after a few months. it would be your prison for weeks at a time. there would be nothing to look at but the ocean, nowhere to go but walk around your own limited quarters. on the other hand, we are constantly moving from one front to another and in and out of the line and seeing new towns and villages. it's a sort of free government tour through france and flanders. our life, although hard, is not so monotonous nor the discipline so strict as it must be in the navy. in a scrap, if the ship goes down, you go with it, while on land you have a fighting chance to save your own life anyway." others had gathered in and took part. preferences were pretty evenly divided, the general opinion being that it would be more comfortable to live on board a battleship but more agreeable to do our fighting on land. the talk drifted to personal experiences on ships and when i said that i had once been "a sailor before the mast" on the yukon "the fat was in the fire," and it was up to me to tell this story of my first trip on a scow four hundred miles down the yukon river to dawson. before i started clarke asked me to wait a few minutes till he rounded up the fellows in the other huts. when i began our hut was full. * * * * * i had been nine months in the atlin gold camp at the head waters of the yukon and had gone out in the fall of to kingston, where i spent the winter. next spring the command-request came from dr. robertson to go to the yukon again, this time to the creeks back of dawson city. i had got a taste of the north in atlin and i was eager to go. i followed the usual route from vancouver to skagway, then over the pass to white horse, a relay camp just below the rapids. it was early in june, but the ice was not yet out of lake lebarge, an expansion of the river some miles below white horse. i had to wait ten days before it was clear. this forced stay used up my funds so that i couldn't pay steamboat fare. the only other method practicable for me was to work my way down to dawson by getting a job as one of the "sweep-men" on a scow. i heard that mike king had three twenty-ton scows ready to load and was looking for a crew, so i applied and was taken on as an "able-bodied seaman." there were eighteen of us in all, including the cook who was a southern darky. we were a queer mixture. you didn't ask too many questions of chance acquaintances in those days but i know that in our crew there was a doctor, a gambler, a sky-pilot, a mormon, and a carpenter or two. the others i couldn't figure out. my profession wasn't known at first for i wore no clerical uniform. sweater, rough pants, and heavy boots served my turn, and the others were dressed much the same. each of us had to sign an agreement not to mutiny against the pilot, to obey his orders, and to accept fifteen dollars at dawson, with our food on the way, as full payment for all we might have to do, loading, unloading, and on the river. first we had to get our cargo aboard, baled hay and sacks of oats, sixty tons in all, so the first work i did in the yukon was longshoring. we were ready to go about ten in the morning and shoved out into the current. we had no self-propelling power, simply floated with the stream using "sweeps" to keep in the main channel. these "sweeps" were about fourteen feet long, heavy, roughly-shaped oars, two at bow and stern of each scow. we stood up to work them at the command of our pilot. he was a good river-man from ottawa, and i can hear him yet singing out his orders as he looked ahead and with practiced eye noted shoals or eddies that we could not see, or if we saw, did not know their meaning. it was "hit her to starboard forrard," "starboard all," "port all," and "steady all," when we got into good water again. we made a good get-away and soon were floating swiftly and silently onward in mid-stream. this great river, five hundred yards wide twelve hundred miles from its mouth, was brimful from the spring thaw and the three big, heavily-laden scows lashed side by side were carried along like a feather. you could feel the rhythmic surge and heave of the mighty flood almost as if the swell of some far-off ocean storm had crept up-stream to us. so in very truth a great river has a throb of life in it, a pulse beat in unison with the deep life of the universe. we didn't need to tie up at night because of darkness. there is no darkness there in june and you could hear the singing all night long of innumerable birds among the trees on either bank and see them flying about. i wonder when they slept! on the scows we had an easy task. it wasn't constant work. after getting safely past some shoal or rocks we would pull our sweeps in and lie down beside them for sleep or rest until aroused by the captain's voice. when we tied up to the bank it was usually that all hands might be assured of a right good sleep and not because of darkness or exhaustion. by morning we had reached lake lebarge and were towed across to the outlet where our scows were soon again in the grip of the river. this part was called "thirty-mile," a rough, rapid, winding stretch, dangerous even to steamboats, demanding skill and vigilance. our pilot took a long chance in risking the three scows abreast. we nearly made it, but, when there was only another ten miles to go and travelling at a tremendous pace, he gave the order to "put her to starboard all" at one of the curves a trifle too late. we all saw the danger, a jagged bank angling into the stream, and put every ounce we had in us on the sweeps. it was in vain. the port scow crashed against the rocks. we held for a few minutes, barely time to get a line ashore and round a tree when the current caught us again and commenced to swing us out into mid-stream. the tree bent, held a moment, and then came tearing out by the roots. things were looking bad. two sweeps were broken and we were circling round with the broken scow filling fast. we had to try for another landing or it would mean a complete wreck, with loss of the cargo and some of the crew as well. the next ten minutes were extremely interesting, to put it mildly, but fortune favoured us in the shape of a back eddy, these strange currents that circle up-stream near shore. we worked furiously towards it and at last made it although the momentum of the almost unmanageable scows crashed us again on the rocks, there was no strong current to drag us off. we got a line ashore to a good stout tree and so made fast. the injured scow was settling and the only thing to do was to unload it as quickly as possible, and then seek to repair the damage done. otherwise the owners stood to lose heavily with hay and oats selling at one hundred and twenty-five dollars a ton. we had a strenuous time emptying that scow. first the twenty ton of fodder had to be taken out a bale and a sack at a time, averaging dry over one hundred pounds each, and every minute getting wet and wetter. they had to be carried on our shoulders across a rickety make-shift gang-plank of sweeps to the rock shore and there stacked up somehow. next we rigged up a spanish windlass and dragged one corner of the scow into the shallows and worked up to our knees in ice-cold water at what seemed an endless task of baling. at last, with baling and the pull of our windlass, we got the broken part clear so that it could be mended. only two or three could work handily at that job so after a rest several of us climbed the bank and went into the woods to explore. there were evidently miles of good spruce timber on extensive mesas running back to the low rolling mountains. the ground was sprinkled with flowers among the blueberry and cranberry bushes and we found several clusters of very pretty wild orchids. but what surprised us most was to literally walk into numerous coveys of willow grouse. they were so unafraid that we easily knocked over a good score of them with sticks. when we got to the scows with our "poultry" our story of the tame grouse would hardly have been believed if we hadn't been able "to deliver the goods." when sambo, our cook, saw us, his eyes rolled and all his ivories were displayed in a full-sized grin of welcome, and we surely did have a feast of fried grouse next day in which "all hands and the cook" took leading parts. during our absence one of the carpenters was nearly drowned. we noticed when we returned that his face was scratched and that it had an unusual thoughtful expression. in examining the extent of the damage from the inside of the scow, to get a better look he poked his head down the splintered hole, lost his balance and slipped through to his waist, with his head under water and unable to move further in or out or to shout for help. he would soon have drowned had not someone happened to notice the frantic waving of his feet in the air. one of them said they had seen dumb men talking with their hands but they had never seen any man make such an eloquent speech with his feet. when he was got out he had imbibed about all the yukon river he could accommodate. it wasn't long, once the scow was made water-tight, before we had it reloaded and were on our way again. after we passed the mouth of the hootalinqua (indian for "home of the moose") we had very little work to do. the river was so straight, broad, and full that our pilot simply kept mid-stream and had no trouble. shooting five finger rapids was exciting but not specially dangerous at high water if you knew the right channel. we swept through into smooth water in fine style. the men for'ard were soaked with spray but they soon dried out in the plentiful sunshine pouring down on us from a cloudless sky. before noon on the third day we came in sight of the white-scarred mountain-dome at the foot of which, unseen by us yet, was the famous mecca of gold-hunters, dawson city. in an hour or two we were floating round the cliff in bad water where the klondike river rushes into the yukon. a few minutes of hard work to keep our course and not be carried away over to the far shore and then we were through and everyone was pulling to edge in close to the right bank where our journey was to end. now we could lift our heads and pause to look ashore and see this mushroom city of cabins and tents, and the outlines of the hills and valleys behind it where fortunes were hidden for the lucky ones. at last we found a place to tie up about four scows out from land. there were dozens of scows and hundreds of boats and rafts of every shape and sort, and the whole place, waterfront and streets, stores and cabins, swarming with men night and day. we got in about noon, had our dinner and then wandered about in the crowds sight-seeing. after supper we started to unload and worked all night at it. about midnight we knocked off for an hour, had a bite to eat, and then went over by the invitation of the owner of the cargo, a dawson man, to have drink at one of the many waterfront saloons. i was young, inexperienced, and didn't want to go at all but "the bunch" wouldn't leave me behind. so i went. we all lined up at the bar and were asked in turn what we'd have. it was "whisky" all down the line till it came to my turn and i confess to a strong desire to be "one of the boys" and say the same. it was, i think, a "toss-up" what my decision would be, but somehow i managed to say in a timid, apologetic voice, "lemonade!" i had an idea that they would jeer at me, for my order had to my ears, in those circumstances, a very effeminate sound. i was surprised to hear one or two others after me follow my lead and i didn't feel so much "out of it." six months afterwards i received a letter from a fellow i'd got chummy with on the scows. his name was dolan. he was young and fair-haired and i remember we nick-named him "the yellow kid." he had gone on down to mastodon gulch and had struck fair pay there. i quote from his letter, which i still have after these twenty years. "some rich pay has been found here and the usual camp has sprung up with road-houses and 'red-lights'. all night it surely is 'hell let loose'. i've cut out the 'hootch'. it was getting me at white horse. your call for lemonade at dawson that night we landed showed me that a fellow can be in with the boys and yet not drink." this sounds to some of you perhaps a little "fishy," or like a conventional sunday school yarn. but, honest, that is just as it happened and dolan hadn't the faintest resemblance to a "sissy." it simply showed me that the laws of influence work on the frontier the same as elsewhere and that a man doesn't need to haul down the flag of self-respect or principle to get into the right kind of good fellowship. i needed just that lesson to put backbone into me for the days of fierce temptation that were immediately before me. we went back and finished our job as longshoremen, lined up for our fifteen dollars and parted with handshakes and sincere good wishes all round. i hunted up dr. grant's cabin and there got a right royal welcome. we breakfasted together and then i rolled in to one of his bunks for a sleep and heard nothing more until i was roused for dinner. _iii._ _a klondike christmas dinner_ all canadian soldiers who got to france will remember what we called "the hospital" at st. pierre in front of lens. this "hospital" wasn't a hospital as we understand the word. it had been a pretentious roman catholic children's school. now it was a massive ruin, a great heap of bricks, mortar, splintered beams and broken tiling, with parts of the stout walls here and there left standing. it became the customary battalion headquarters on that section of the lens front. it was only yards away from no man's land and so was convenient as a centre for directing operations. in the ruins a cellar-door had been discovered by which entrance was obtained to a vaulted brick tunnel running underground the whole length of the building crossed by another at right angles. further exploration had found three small rooms above on the ground floor that could be used. they were covered by such a depth of rubble that they were practically secure from ordinary shell-fire. the o.c. and officers took up their quarters in these rooms while the men attached occupied the tunnels. it was dry there and warm, altho, dark and too low to permit one to stand erect. this last was of little importance for our usual attitude when off duty was a recumbent one! altogether it was one of the most comfortable "forward" headquarters i have ever been in. it happened that on christmas day, the rd and th were holding the line on the th brigade front. the th had established its orderly-room in a cellar under a ruined brick house not far from the hospital. i chanced to drop in about noon. they made me stay for christmas dinner. the hospitality and good fellowship were perfect. the dinner was a feast. we had soup, roast turkey with all the fixings, vegetables, pie and pudding, tea and cake. we were crowded closely but there was room to work our "sword-arms." the turkey had been roasted and the whole dinner prepared in a corner of the cellar-stairs by one of the men. how he managed to serve such a delicious hot dinner is beyond me. these men that did the cooking in the line for the different groups of officers were most of them simply miracle-workers. they were continually doing impossible things with army rations, shaping up appetising and varied meals cooked under heart-breaking and back-breaking conditions on primus-stove or brazier in a three-foot corner of dug-out or pill-box. they did it regularly, kept their dishes clean, and their tempers sweet. i salute them. after dinner officers and men all crowded in as well as they could, we sang a christmas hymn and lifted our hearts in prayer to god. then i read the story of the birth of jesus. as i read the familiar words in those strange surroundings memories were stirred, and i think we were all picturing scenes in the land across the sea. other days and the faces of loved ones came before us and we were back home again and it was christmas time in dear old canada. i gave a simple message in few words and then left. i spent the afternoon tramping around the trenches seeing all the men i could to give them christmas greetings. the exercise was also almost a necessary preparation for our own headquarters officers' dinner at six. there we had two roast chickens and everything good to go with them, all cooked in his best style by our "chef," pte. buchanan. in the evening i went downstairs into the tunnels where i planned to have a christmas service with the men. col. urquhart and major chandler came along. we were the only ones who had seats for we each had a folded-up overcoat under us. the rest of the "congregation" sat or lay on the floor of the narrow tunnels with candles here and there for lights. i sat at the junction of the two tunnels with my men behind, to right, left and in front of me. i read, prayed, preached and pronounced the benediction sitting down, for the roof was too low for standing. the only thing that was conventionally "churchy" was the use of candles for lighting, and of course my church was cruciform in its ground plan! but there was the message, there were reverent worshippers, and surely the unseen presence also, and these are all you need anywhere to constitute a christian church. after the benediction and when the two officers had disappeared up the ladder, i was assailed by a chorus of voices with "tell us a yukon story," as the refrain. i stayed, sat down again, and there with my men gathered round me in attentive silence i told my klondike story of a christmas day years ago. in fancy we travelled far from france, forgot the war, and moved for a little while amid snow-clad mountains and silent valleys in a vast and weirdly beautiful land. i named my tale a klondike christmas dinner. * * * * * it was in the winter of . a week or two before christmas, jas. mcdougal had invited me to have dinner on christmas day with him and his wife. their cabin was half-way up the mountain side on the left limit of hunker creek, six miles below gold bottom camp where i lived. you need have no fear of having a "green christmas" in the yukon with its eight months of solid winter with anywhere from to degrees of frost. it was "fifty below" that morning. every nail-head on the door of my cabin was white with frost. my little stove had its work cut out, after i lit it and hopped back into my bunk again, before it had warmed the cabin enough to make it comfortable for dressing. i remember how that fall my top bed-blankets had got frozen solid to the logs at the back of the bunk while i was out on the trail one week and they never loosened up until the spring, so that my bed rarely got disarranged and was very easily "made." when i took out some food for my dogs they crawled out of their kennels stiff with lying for warmth all night in one position. the exposed parts of head and shoulder were coated white with frost from their breath. they bolted their breakfast and got back quickly to the comfort of the nests they had left. the gulch was filled with the white mist which developed in extreme cold. it hid from my view the few cabins on the other side of the creek. then i came in to get my own breakfast. as a special treat i had sent to dawson twenty miles away for a pound of beefsteak for which i had to pay a fabulous price in gold-dust. it was real beefsteak but it had been "on the hoof" too long and it was like the camp, "tough and hard to handle." not so tough though as the steak mccrimmon told me he had got in dawson by rare good luck in when he had been feeding on bacon and beans for months. "that bit of steak," he said, "lasted me off and on for a week. i got away with it at last but it was a long, hard fight. honest, parson, that steak was so tough the first time i tackled it i couldn't get my fork into the gravy." breakfast finished and the dishes washed i put on my parka over my other clothes and with fur gauntlets and moccasins i was ready for the road. the parka, by the way, is a loose-fitting, smock-like garment that slips over the head and comes down below the knees and has a hood. it is made of "bed-ticking" usually and so is light to walk in but keeps the heat in and the cold out. first i went across to bill lennox's cabin and asked him to feed my dogs at noon. then i hit the trail for mcdougal's. i followed it along the bottom of the narrow valley among miners' windlass-dumps and cabins. at most of them i stepped in for a few minutes to wish my friends a merry christmas and also to tell or hear the news. there was always something of living interest to gossip about in those glorious, exciting days. men were finding fortunes ten or twenty feet below the surface of the ground or even in the grass roots. fortunes too they were in the alluring form of gold-dust and nuggets, fascinating, raw, yellow gold lying there just where god made and dropped it. i've seen it so plentiful that it looked like a sack of corn-meal spilled among the dirt. it drove men crazy, and how could they help it. a wild, glorious gamble it was, with the thrill of adventure, temptation, and novelty always present, and a wonderfully beautiful land, new and interesting, as its setting. it was towards noon before i turned out of the main trail, taking one that wound its way up the mountain side for half a mile until it came out on a flat stretch of snow. i was now above the frost-fog and could see, a few hundred yards away, a small straight plume of white smoke rising out of what looked like a big shapely snowdrift. the trail ran straight to it and soon i could see a log or two of the little cabin showing between the comb of snow hanging from the eaves and the snow banked up against the base. the door was low and when it opened in response to my knock i had to bow my head to get in. i entered without ceremony for they were expecting me. i heard a cheery voice with a doric accent tell me to "come right in." i could hear the voice but could see no one for with the opening of the door the warm air meeting the cold immediately formed a veil of mist. but it was only for a moment for in the north in winter you don't keep the door open long. you either come in or get out, as the case may be, without lingering on the threshold. but what a hearty welcome when the door was shut behind me from mcdougal and his good wife! no delay either, no shuffling your feet in the hall until the maid takes your card to mysterious regions in the inner chambers of the house, and comes back to lead you into a waiting room where you may sit down. betimes the hostess graciously appears and with formal greeting and conventional smile gives you a hand to shake that has on occasions as much welcome in it as the tail of a dead fish. but this welcome was real, immediate, and unmistakable. i was right at home as soon as i stepped into the cabin for in so doing i came into the parlour, dining room, bed-room, and kitchen. they hadn't even a "but and a ben." there was something special about their welcome too, even in the hospitable north. to the miners generally i was known as the "sky-pilot," or "parson," or by my first or last name. but to these two true-blue presbyterians with their scottish traditions i was always "the minister," and so in my reception there was a respect and courtesy that gave their greetings a rare fineness of tone. sometimes it is good for you to have people place you on a pedestal. you usually try to measure up to expectations and in that country self-respect was often the sheet-anchor that kept you from drifting to the devil. it was only a one-room cabin eight feet wide and twelve feet long, log walls chinked with moss, rough board floor, roof of poles covered with a foot of moss and a half foot of earth on the top. the only place i could stand upright in it was under the ridge-pole. there was one window of four panes, each about the size of a woman's handkerchief. the glass was coated an inch deep in frost, but some light came through, though not enough to dispense with candles. under the window was a table, simply a shelf two and a half feet wide and three feet long. at the end of the cabin opposite the door was the bed and to my left the stove, a sheet-iron one-chambered affair with an oven in the pipe, a simple, small klondike stove which was not much to look at but capable of great things when rightly handled. after taking off my parka it was to the stove i went first. it's a habit you form in the north any way, but if you have a moustache, as i had, the heavy icicles formed by your breath on a six-mile walk in that extreme cold need to be thawed off near the stove, and that by a gentle, careful process, the reason for this gentleness only experience would make you appreciate. once this is done there is no need to sit near the stove. indeed you can't get far away from it if you stay in the cabin. but i must describe my host and hostess. mr. and mrs. mcdougal looked more like brother and sister than husband and wife. they were both small of stature and resembled each other. both were well past middle life. their hair was growing grey. they had no children, but his pet name for his little woman was "grannie." mcdougal had graduated from a scottish university and after his marriage decided to leave the old land for america. they settled in california. as the years went on they found themselves getting within sight of old age without enough money laid by to save them from dependence on others in their declining years. then came the news of the gold discoveries. it appealed to him for he saw in this adventure a chance to lay the haunting spectre of poverty. grannie stayed behind in their pretty cottage home in the sunny south. a year or at most two and they hoped he would be back with enough to put their minds at ease. in he set out and after a trying journey reached the klondike in . he managed to find and stake this shelf of pay-gravel far up the mountain side. it had ages ago been part of the bed of a stream. he worked with eager haste to get enough to go back to his home and loved one. but the run of "pay" was poor and uneven, water was scarce, and his "tailings" required continual "cribbing" to keep from coming down on claims in the creek below. it all meant enforced delay in the realization of his hopes. the summers came and went with "clean-ups" good and bad but in the aggregate not quite enough for the fulfilment of his plans. grannie was wearying for him and at last after six lonesome years she could stand it no longer. she heard that there was a railway now over the white pass and steamboats on the river, and so in the spring of she bravely set out for the north-land where she could be with her man again. nearly two years she had been among us, a dear little lady with a heart so kind and pure and motherly that she became the patron saint of our creek. men fiercely tempted in those strange days have found strength to save their souls because of the ministry of grannie's life and words. but we were just sitting down to dinner at the little table in front of the window. now boys, i feel guilty in describing this dinner to you here knowing the simplicity of your army fare, but perhaps it will be a sort of painful pleasure for you to feast with us in imagination. first i said a simple grace thanking god for our food and asking a blessing upon it and us. we had soup to begin with, thick hot scotch broth it was, then roast ptarmigan, two each of these plump, tasty little birds which the old man had shot from the cabin door, native cranberry sauce, parsnips and potatoes. these were good "cheechako spuds" shipped in from the south. we had home-grown potatoes in the klondike sometimes, but in a summer which had one or two nights of nipping frost every month it was hard to ripen them. they were usually small and green, and so "wet" that the saying was "you had to wear a bathing-suit to eat them." also of course there was home-made bread and excellent tea. but the dessert was the masterpiece of the meal. it was a good, hot, canadian blueberry pie about as big round as the top of a piano-stool. it had a lid on it and the juice was bubbling out through the little slits. it certainly looked delicious and it tasted the same. it was cut into only four pieces. i maintain that no self-respecting pie should be cut into more than four pieces except perhaps in the case of a very large family. grannie gave me one piece, mcdougal one, and took one herself. that left one over and when i was through with my piece i was urged of course to have the other piece. what could i do? what would you have done in my place? courtesy, inclination to oblige, and my palate all said take it. my waist-band said, "have a care," but it was awfully good pie and i cleaned the plate! then mcdougal lit his pipe. grannie cleared up the table but left the dishwashing until after i had gone as she wanted to share the conversation. what a jolly three hours we had! not a great deal there to make us happy, you would say; a lonely log-cabin in a far land and in the depth of an almost arctic winter with no other human habitation within sight or sound. yet we forgot the fierce cold that circled us, for the little place was comfortable, and better still our hearts were warm with love and friendship. mcdougal was finely educated and had travelled, so the cabin was neither small nor lonely. its walls expanded and took in many guests. a goodly throng was there for we wandered at will among a world of books and men. he loved a good, clean joke, and let me tell you when we got going the stories both grave and gay were worth your hearing. grannie was with us heart and soul in it all. her face beamed with cheeriness and good will. sometimes, however, a far-away look came into her brown eyes. i knew what it meant. she longed to get away from the north and back again to the sunshine of her southern home. she was getting on in years and our extreme winters were very trying to her. whenever she got half a chance she would tell us something about their home in california, the warm, bright summers, the lovely gardens she and her neighbours had, and the flowers growing in profusion, especially the roses charming the eye and filling the air with their perfume. dear wee grannie, she never lived to go back. one winter the brutal cold gripped her and in spite of all we could do it took her life away. it was a sad day when we placed her body in the grave on that hillside. all the creek assembled to show their affection, and in deep sorrow. it was her last request that she should be buried there. she didn't want to be far from the man she loved even though it meant a lonely grave in a lonely land. the klondike is for mcdougal his homeland now. fifteen years have passed since then and he still lives in that cabin on the mountain slope where the woman he loves best lies buried. but there was no thought of sorrow that christmas day. nowhere in the world was there a merrier party, and when it came time for me to go, (i had a wedding at last chance roadhouse), it was with a feeling that the cabin had been a sanctuary of friendship, happiness and hospitality. when i went out into the darkness and the bitter cold i was hardly conscious of it for my heart was aglow. all through these years filled with many vivid experiences that day has kept its brightness. nor will it ever fade away but seems to shine more clearly in the halls of memory as the years go by. _iv._ _some klondike weddings_ in the fall of , a month or two across from canada, i was posted for duty at shorncliffe military hospital, major c. reason of london, ont, commanding. i was billeted for a few weeks in a sandgate private house where the landlady used to do a little cheap profiteering on our coal allowance. she gave me mostly cinders for my grate, mixed with a modicum of coal. the room was altogether too large for the fireplace, and anyway i was fresh from canada and wasn't inured to the rigorous climate that prevails inside english homes in winter. i used to write my letters in bed. it was the only way i could keep warm in my room for any length of time. major reason soon arranged a place for me in the officers' quarters and there i was quite cosy and happy. the medical officers were congenial and made my initiation into army life a pleasant experience. the style of men they were can be judged by the fact that by common consent we decided to read aloud a portion of some worth-while book four evenings a week in the mess after dinner. we chose "the professor at the breakfast table" by holmes, and that winter we read it through and no one played truant. is there another officers' mess that has that record? the officers were all strangers to me except captain ferris of edmonton, president of the mess. i knew him in my toronto university days in the class of ' , as "buster ferris," when he was one of the scrimmage bunch on the varsity senior rugby team. those were the days of "biddy" barr, counsell, hobbs and mcarthur on the football field, and hamar greenwood, mackenzie king, arthur meighen, tucker, billie martin, and eddie beattie in the literary society. in the students boycotted all lectures because of the senate's action in regard to tucker and prof. dale. we were all wild "bolshies" for a few weeks and those i have mentioned were our leaders. i wonder if they still remember those revolutionary meetings in the spadina ave. hall! the nursing staff under miss urquhart gave their services in a wholehearted spirit that was beyond praise. indeed, throughout the whole hospital staff "one unceasing purpose ran" and that was to serve the patients in every possible way. the hospital was finely located on a slope running down to the sea. it looked south over the straits of dover, where we saw the destroyers and transports crossing and recrossing continually, with usually a "silver queen" or two floating overhead on the watch, their sides glittering in the sunshine. on a clear day we could faintly discern the cliffs of france where great deeds were being done, and whither, some impatiently awaited day, it would be our good luck to go, if only the war lasted long enough! i quickly learned my duties in the hospital and liked them. we had an officers' hospital, also large surgical, venereal, and medical divisions, usually full. there was work for me in great plenty and variety. apart from the regular parade services there were communion services and informal evening meetings at convenient times and places. nearly every day i walked through all the wards and as it seemed opportune would sit down by a bedside to chat, write a letter, or get directions for my errands. how varied these requests were! one wants me to look after his mail which he thinks is being held up somewhere; some ask for a new testament or a recent book; this one has a roll of films to be developed; another wants me to find if a certain battalion has arrived safely from canada and where it is stationed for his brother is in it; another asks me to buy two xmas cards, "real nice ones," one for his mother and one for his "next-best-girl." this one wants a money-order cashed; a homesick fellow wonders if i could possibly get him one of his home-town papers; another gives me his watch to be mended, or would like some good stationery, or a fountain pen. in every case i promise to do everything i can and all that the law allows. then there are those, always some, who are passing through the valley of the shadow who want to hear again about jesus and his love and power. nothing else will do. also there are men, not many, who are downhearted, sad, or bitter. you wonder indeed how certain of the poor fellows can smile at all. ask them how they are and they would say through clenched teeth and pain-drawn lips, "all right." what plan did i follow in dealing with these numerous needs? i had no plan, except to place all my resources of body, mind and heart freely at their disposal. you would have done just the same, you couldn't help yourself. they repaid me a thousand-fold with welcomes and friendship, intimate confidences, and marvellous stories of their experiences. apropos of the variety of a chaplain's opportunities to serve, here's a story that was current around the wards. it was told to me as a good joke on the padre. a wounded australian soldier had been taken to one of the big imperial hospitals in the north. none of his own chaplains were near and so a fine old english padre took upon himself to visit him. for days the chaplain's best efforts to get on friendly footing failed. one evening, however, after a very satisfying dinner at the mess the clergyman felt he would make a special try, and with his bible in hand went into the ward and sat down by the bedside. "now, my boy," he said, "i am going to read you a few verses of scripture, and i hope they will impress you." the soldier shammed sleep and said nothing, seeming as unresponsive as ever. after a verse or two, however, he opened his eyes and sighed deeply. the chaplain stopped reading and looked at him in pleased surprise. he smiled and said, "go on sir, it is good." thus encouraged he read on through the whole chapter, hearing many deep-drawn sighs of satisfaction from the bed. when he was finished the soldier assured him the reading had done him a world of good, it had been just what he needed to make things look brighter, and he asked the chaplain to draw his chair up as close as he could and do him the favor of reading it again. this was getting on with a vengeance, and the padre was highly pleased with himself. when he ended and was warmly thanked he was curious to know what there was in the chapter that had benefited the soldier, and so asked him. "well sir," said the tommy, "you're a good sort, and i'll be honest with you. it wasn't what you read that did me good, but all the same you've made a hit with me. they've kept me on the 'water-wagon' ever since i came to this hospital, and, sir, your breath has been just like a taste of heaven to me." collapse of the padre! my first attempt to tell klondike stories in public overseas was in an entertainment given by the sergeants' mess at which i had been asked to be the speaker. that day i had married one of our convalescent patients named pte. trainer to a devonshire girl. my thoughts were running in matrimonial channels and so i decided to narrate some incidents connected with two or three of my klondike weddings. * * * * * nearly sixty miles into the hills back of dawson a new run of gold had been discovered on the dominion creek flats, a district that looked so unpromising to prospectors that it had been so far left untouched. some claims had been staked on it but no prospecting done. ole tweet, a norwegian, had taken over one of these claims as all he could get out of a bad debt. he sank a hole on his ground and found first-class pay. the inevitable stampede followed and soon cabins, windlasses, and dumps commenced to show in all directions. tweet's cabin was the first to be built and so many stampeders had to be sheltered, that he turned temporarily from his mining, got out logs, and built a good roadhouse. it was a profitable business, for he ran a clean place where you could get plenty to eat and a comfortable bunk, and it became the popular resort of the miners. he hired a cook, an unmarried woman of middle-age, whom he had met in dawson. she was a good woman in a country where women of the right kind were scarce, so she soon had many admirers. of all the suitors for her hand there were two whom she favored, one a scottish canadian, whose first name was archie, and the other ole tweet. as time went on she became worried because of her continued inability to decide which of these two men she would marry. both were equally pleasing to her and they were both worthy fellows. she spoke to her heart and no clear answer came back. yet she knew she could not rightly keep them in suspense any longer. sitting one summer day by her open window, wishing for something to help her to come to a final decision, it chanced a little bird alighted on the sill, looked up at her and said, "tweet, tweet!" the bird's chirp settled it. her difficulty was solved and she accepted ole tweet. that was his real name, not "fixed" for the story. i married them in that same roadhouse on dominion. it is said, but i cannot vouch for the truth of this, that archie was missing for a day or two after the engagement was announced, until someone found him in his cabin with a number of little birds he had caught and caged, trying to teach them to say, "airchie, airchie." but it was too late! one of my friends, (call him jones if you like), a miner on hunker creek, had been having such heavy clean-ups one spring that he determined to write to his sweetheart in tacoma announcing his intention of coming out before the freeze-up that fall to marry her. sensible woman that she was, she wrote back to tell him not to come. she would come north instead, he could meet her in dawson and so save the expense of his trip out and back. she had her way, and i was asked to tie the knot at the third avenue hotel in dawson. i shall not attempt details of the affair, only to say that i never came so nearly disgracing myself at any sacred ceremony as on this occasion. the little room was crowded with guests, standing around the walls, sitting on chairs, on one another's knees and on the floor, closing in around the little six-foot space in the centre reserved for the wedding party. the room grew very warm and close. i knew jones was nervous for he had privately and very earnestly pleaded with me to "make it short." he and his best man had been standing in front of me for full ten minutes expecting the bride and her attendant momentarily. ten minutes is a long time for a man to wait in such circumstances and we were all on pins and needles. by the time the door opened to admit the bride the atmosphere had become electrical, and when in entering, her dress caught in the doorway and something ripped, there were little outbursts of choked-back laughter, and i could see poor jones fidgetting more than ever. i hardly dared look at his anxious face for it took me all my time to keep my voice at a proper reverential pitch. as i went on i heard, whenever i paused, a low, persistent, irritating noise that seemed in the room and yet was hard to place. i thought it must be either the humming of the wind through a window crack, or the distant buzz of a gasoline-saw making fuel for dawson's homes. i located it at last. it was the subdued chattering of the bridegroom's teeth, as if he had a severe chill! it is an absolute fact. it almost floored me for a moment and i thought i could not go on. i paused to regain my composure. the silence made the noise more distinct and explosive gurgles of laughter here and there told me that others had noticed it. the perspiration ran down my face in streams. there was nothing for it but to struggle on, and in an abnormally sad voice i continued without pause, until i came to the question asked of the groom, where i had to stop for his reply. if jones had stammered his answer i could not have held in any longer, but would have burst into nervous laughter. i am thankful to say he said "i will" with never a tremor, and i was able to finish without disgracing "the cloth." my last story is of a creek wedding held in last chance roadhouse on hunker. it was christmas day. i had just come down the mountain trail from mcdougal's where i had my christmas dinner. the wedding party was waiting for me when i arrived. the roadhouse was a low, log building about fifty feet long and twenty wide. there were no partitions. the bar was at one end, the kitchen at the other, and the part in between was a sort of "anyman's land." it was dining-room, parlor, and gambling room in one. the bunkhouse was separate. things were "humming" from kitchen to bar, for remember it was christmas at a roadhouse on a main creek trail in the klondike in early days. not the most suitable place in the world for a wedding. for all that, it went through in fine style. we stood up beside the table and the place grew quiet. a blanket was hung up by the roadhouse man in front of the bar--done because of his innate sense of the fitness of things. there was no bothersome noise, except the opening and closing of the doors as people came in and went out, and the stage-whispering of a few men in the bar who had got too far along with their celebrations for their fellows to control them completely. the names of the bride and groom, their true names, were, jensine kolken and john peczu kazinsky. she was a norwegian lutheran, he a hungarian roman catholic, married by a canadian presbyterian minister in a klondike roadhouse. rather an unusual combination but it turned out splendidly. they loved one another sincerely and all these years have lived happily. they are prosperous and have several children. after the wedding many toasts were drunk. i drank mine in soda-water. before the toasts mrs. kazinsky had gone to the kitchen and was there busy about supper. she was the roadhouse cook and had a lot of work to do preparing and serving meals to the holiday crowd. i said good-bye, put on parka and mitts, and set out on my seven mile tramp to gold bottom, where we had arranged a camp christmas tree entertainment for that night. it was cold, bitter cold, the roadhouse thermometer said below zero, and yet it was a grand night. we had seen no sun night or day for weeks, but for all that it was clear as day with a light more beautiful than that of the sun. the whole broad, snow-white gulch around me was flooded with light. i looked up to the sky and there my eyes beheld a wondrous sight, magnificent beyond imagining. the dome of heaven, from east to west and from north to south, was filled with an iridescent misty glory, glowing with strange light in which gleamed lovely, delicate shades of green and gold. you could see this luminous mist and yet see through it as if it weren't there at all. it was almost uncanny, like seeing the invisible. in the midst of it floated the moon at the full, ablaze with abundant light, spilling it down in wasteful abundance mixed with the aurora, coming to the silent earth to change it to a glistening, white fairy-land of unrivalled beauty. far, far beyond in the clear depths of the cloudless sky a thousand, thousand stars sparkled intensely like well-set jewels. as i gazed the misty glory disappeared as if by magic and in its place i saw great arrows of witching light shooting in masses back and forth through the air. i stood, as many times i did those winter nights, spellbound and reverent in the presence of god's handiwork. fancy took wing. perchance this fair light was from the shining pinions of angels as they flew hither and thither on heavenly errands. perchance it was the gleaming from a myriad spears, as the armies of the lord of hosts marched and countermarched in some grand parade. or were these the wild, elemental forces of nature playing at games that the creator had taught them and that they had played from all eternity? apart from these dreamings, i know i shall never see anything, with my mortal eyes at least, so startlingly and mystically beautiful as these canvasses which god hangs out night after night in the far north for all to see who will but lift up their eyes to the heavens. my talk was ended. captain ferris, my old friend, was in the chair and after the usual courtesies he brought us down to "terra firma" with a joke on the padre. "now, captain pringle," he said, "those were wonderful sights you saw after you left the wedding in that roadhouse where you took only soda-water in the toasts. we know you so well that you didn't need to tell us what you took. we know you are a teetotaller. but, padre, for the sake of the strangers here, and in view of the amazing things you saw after leaving the roadhouse, say again to the crowd distinctly, that it was "only soda-water." i "said it again," we all had a good laugh, and dispersed. _v._ _wolf dogs_ i had been with the rd about two months and during that time we had been out in "rest" twice, once at villers-au-bois and once at camblin l'abbe. they were very interesting french towns, especially to one who had always lived in western canada, and although they had been pretty badly knocked about by shelling they were havens of refuge, rest, and comfort to us after the trenches. but my man macpherson wouldn't grow enthusiastic with me over these two places. "wait till you see auchel, sir, that's the place for us. why it's the french 'home' of the rd. that's a real town and fine people, and they think there's no other battalion quite as good as ours." i heard the town often spoken about in the same way by others and was delighted when i learned one day that we were to move back to auchel. i wasn't disappointed in my expectations. the place had been a prosperous farming village until the discovery of coal nearby had developed it into a fine little town. it had retained much of its former quaintness, and the mines had brought it in contact with newer ideas by which it had benefited, and the town was vastly cleaner, better lighted, had better stores, and was generally more up-to-date than the old village had been. as in all the many thousand french towns and villages, the roman catholic church edifice was by far the largest building. at auchel it was located in the market square without any enclosing fence, and on the weekly market-day when the square was crowded with stalls many of them would be placed against the buttresses of the church. auchel was unique among the towns we knew in france in having a neat little protestant church as well, called "l'�glise evangelique." it was a plain building seating perhaps people and built after the style of our own small country churches. on the wall at the right of the platform was the verse in french, "your iniquities have separated between you and your god," and on the other side, "he was wounded for our transgressions and bruised for our iniquities." high on the wall behind the pulpit was inscribed the verse, "dieu est amour," and just behind the speaker were the words, "god bless our sunday school." their pastor gladly gave us the use of the church. we held our communion service in it on sunday and turned it into a reading-room during the week. it was in this protestant church at our own sacrament service that capt. jack verner was baptised and took his first communion. he is buried overseas. it was in auchel, when our battalion had been warned to be ready to move at an hour's notice, that the padre gathered a dozen camerons who were not on duty, got a lorry and driver, and went off with his men to a town twenty-five miles away to get a supply of books, magazines, writing-paper and benches for his reading-room. i needed the men to load and unload the equipment. we were away all afternoon. when we came back, the adjutant, a conscientious scot, gave me what, from a military point of view i richly deserved, a right good scolding. no orders to move had come, but if they had, there would have been a serious reprimand coming to somebody. "all's well that ends well." we didn't move for a full ten days and in the meantime the men had their reading-room. our parade services were held in the ramshackle building which had been a cinema before the war. the most inspiring part of our worship was the singing. there was a piano to give us the right pitch and tempo, the congregation did the rest. it would have thrilled you to stand on the platform and hear those eight hundred men singing the grand old songs of zion. it was glorious. i was "lifted," and when the time came for the sermon i couldn't help preaching with heart as well as voice. it gave me an idea of the great loss we may sustain in over-modernizing our church services. the congregation often doesn't sing, or sings feebly. its voice of praise is frequently drowned out by the pipe-organ or choir. we obtrude these latter so much upon the eyes and ears of the people that we seem almost to merit the observation of a critical roman catholic, that he would rather bow before an altar and a crucifix in church, than before a showy, loud-voiced pipe-organ and choir, performing in front of an audience which apparently took little part in the service except to listen. it was in auchel, too, that our battalion received its great gift from the women's canadian club of seattle, washington. on may th, the consignment reached us. it was, as far as i know, the biggest present in kind that was ever given a canadian battalion in france. how such bulky stuff got through at all and in such prime condition is a miracle that someone else will have to explain. but there it was. six big wooden boxes each half as large as a piano-box and packed full. there were many kinds of things and practically enough of every kind to give everybody in the battalion a good share of it all. i had to have a parade (voluntary), and macpherson and i handed out the stuff, which we had unpacked and arranged, to the men as they lined up. there were great quantities of fine candies in bulk and in many small fancy boxes, lots of chewing-gum and tobacco, hundreds of cigars and thousands of cigarettes. there were a score of immense homemade fruit cakes. then there was a generous abundance of dates, raisins, figs, writing-paper, pipes, pencils, fountain-pens, safety razors, snuff, vaseline, soap, tooth-brushes, wash-rags, socks, sapadilla, handkerchiefs, tooth-paste, shaving-soap, medicines, joke-books and many odds and ends in smaller quantities. most of the smaller parcels were tied up in pretty ribbon and white tissue-paper with christmas cards in them and ornamented with christmas labels, for the boxes had been due three months before. it was in auchel that i talked to my men about northern dogs. one evening we gathered in l'�glise evangelique and i told them some stories about wolf-dogs i had known or handled. * * * * * one winter i heard that a group of men were prospecting on duncan creek about two hundred miles farther out than my location at gold bottom. i decided to take a month or two away from my regular circuit on the creeks around me and pay a visit to these new diggings, take along some reading matter, tell them the news, have some services, and bring back their mail. i needed a dog-team for the trip. my own dogs were not then old enough for a long journey nor were they properly broken, and so i picked up an odd dog here and there on the creek until i had a string of six. they were of mixed sorts but all had been broken to the sleigh, and their owners, who had no work for them, were glad to have the dogs taken off their hands, fed and cared for. i'm not going to speak of them all but only of three that had more distinctive characters than the others. when we travel with dogs in the north they are hitched up tandem (usually) to a sleigh about two feet wide, a foot from the ground, and eight or nine feet long, and are guided by voice and gestures only. there are no reins. of course you carry a black-snake whip to urge the lazy ones on. this whip is about ten feet long with a heavy loaded butt needed for protection if a refractory husky should turn on you. the leader is the all-important dog. the others have only to keep their traces taut and follow on, but the leader has to use his head with all his wolf and dog senses and instincts. he must find and keep on top of the old trail if there is one buried under the drifts, know whether new ice is safe enough or not, and avoid the serious peril of water under the snow, for at very low temperature, with creek channels frozen solid, water is squeezed out and runs under the snow. it of course freezes very quickly, but if you and your dogs get into it, while still liquid in extreme cold weather, it means an immediate camping to save your feet and those of your dogs, and dry wood may not be near just then. this may well mean death, for death soon comes to the crippled man or dog away from help in the sub-arctic winter if he cannot build a fire. your leader too, must respond to all the few words of command. these are "mush!", a corruption, through the old french-canadian coureurs-du-bois of "marchez!"; "whoa!", the whole team knows that welcome word; "gee!" to turn to the right, and "haw!" to swing to the left. now this pick-up dog-team of mine was strange to me and i to them, so the introduction was a fight or two until they knew i was boss. then i had to "learn" my dogs and place them in the string so that they could work properly, and also see that they all did work until they became a real team where each dog was doing his share. i first picked on a big grey-muzzled malemute named steal as a likely fellow to lead. dogs' names there don't usually indicate their character, but his did. all malemutes are born thieves, some men think. i don't agree, but in this case i had a thief by nature, education, and name. he would break into your "cache" if it could be done and steal what he fancied. his owner claimed he could read labels on canned goods, for he would carry away bully-beef tins but not canned-fruit. it was his keen nose, not his eyes of course, that told him the difference. once you knew of this failing it could be easily guarded against on the trail. it would have been of little moment if steal had done his duty as leader. he knew all the tricks of the trail and would have made a fine leader if he had tried to do his bit. but i hadn't gone far before i realized that he wouldn't work away from the whip. running behind the eight-foot sleigh i had it and the five dogs between me and steal. his traces were always trailing. he would rarely quicken his pace no matter how fiercely i shouted "mush on, you malemute!", nor for the crack of the whip. i had to run along beside the team on the narrow trail, throwing them partly off, before i could reach him with the whip. then he would dig in for a few hundred yards but soon commenced to slow down, continually looking back to see if i were coming at him again. this performance was demoralizing to team and driver, so some change had to be made. i put a smaller dog named mike in the lead and hitched steal up next the sleigh as my "wheel-dog." he worked there. he knew perfectly that his game was up and put his shoulder against the collar from that on. he was that sort of dog that works well under the lash, although as a fact i never had to strike him now. i simply cracked the whip above him if he showed signs of shirking and he would get right in and pull, at the same time emitting a series of howls that could not have been more woeful if he were being killed. anyway, i could see that the dogs in front took it as a warning of the punishment awaiting the laggard and would pull so hard i would sometimes have to slow them down. do not think i was cruel, or drove the dogs at their top speed always. in the north there is more real kindness and expert care used by dog-mushers in handling their wolf-dogs than in the way pet-dogs and house-dogs are treated in our cities. a dog doesn't appreciate having its nose kissed by human lips, and it is gross unkindness to let unthinking impulse lead you to over-feed them, or give them wrong food and make them sick and weak. it is cruel to keep your dog chained up for days at a time alone in your back-yard, varied only by taking him out for a walk usually on a leash. our trail-dogs are almost always healthy, hungry, and happy. each day they have, what every dog really needs and loves above all else, a long run in the wilds with other dogs, satisfying the old, inborn, "pack" instinct. they are carefully fed, not much in the morning, perhaps a chunk each of dried salmon and the same at noon. a good feed at dawn or during the day would mean a sick or "heavy" dog along the trail. but at night the first meal prepared is for the dogs, a good, big, hot feed of boiled rice, cornmeal, or oatmeal, with a liberal allowance of fat bacon cut up and mixed in and perhaps a couple of dog-biscuits each to crunch for dessert. every toe of every dog was examined daily and any sign of sensitiveness would mean a salve, or, if expedient, a soft moccasin small enough to fit the foot and protect it from the trail. the dogs were felt carefully all over to see if they were sore anywhere. too much depended on his dogs on the trail for a man to be careless, or harsh, or ignorant, in their handling. mike was a dandy little dog and served me well the whole journey through. he wasn't as knowing on the trail as steal and got us into a tumble that might have had troublesome results. travelling along a ledge running about fifteen feet above the bottom of the gulch, he took the team too near the edge and got on the "comb" of snow which broke off with him and he dragged the whole team, sleigh, and driver over the brink, to roll in a confused heap to the bottom. it took me an hour, when daylight was precious, to get straightened out and going again, but otherwise we were none the worse. i found that mike had one other fault. it took me two or three days to notice it. he had the knack of keeping his traces straight but not tight. he rarely pulled more than enough just to keep them from sagging. no matter how hard the going mike was only a "leader." he never got down and pulled. i hesitate to criticize him, for at least he did do his work as leader when without him i'd have been in a fix. he did his own part, carried his own harness, and willingly. that's a great, good quality, in dog or man. often, though, i wished he would forget being a leader, drop his dignity, and just be an ordinary work-dog, especially in deep snow climbing a steep bank when the other dogs and the driver were pulling and shoving with all our strength to make the grade. at duncan i found a hearty welcome and spent ten days visiting around the cabins. before i started back an old-timer named brodeur came into camp limping behind his dogs. his axe had glanced while felling a tree and gashed his foot. first-aid was given, but it was evident that he should be taken to dawson where he could get expert surgical treatment. we arranged that he should come back with me. before we left he sold his dogs and sleigh for thirty-five ounces of gold, about five hundred dollars. the dog he wouldn't sell was his leader, named shep, the best sleigh-dog i have ever seen in the north. brodeur refused to sell him for any money, not, however, because of the dog's usefulness, that would have had a market value, but for what you would call sentimental reasons. to put it simply, they loved each other. of course there was only one place in the team for this king among dogs and mike now came second in the string. what a grand dog shep was! i can't tell you half his fine qualities. i don't know what noble dog breed was mixed with the wolf in him, but he was master of the team, in harness and out of it, from the start, and they seemed to sense it and not resent it. the first night steal tried to dispute it by leaving his own pile of hot rice to snap some from the far-side of shep's. before you could think steal was down half-buried in the snow yelling in his accustomed way, while shep nipped a few little slits in his ears. it wasn't a fight. it was corrective punishment properly administered, in the same spirit in which you spank your little boy. a dog can travel quite as well with a few healthy cuts in his ears as without. was it shep's way of boxing his ears? shep was no bully, but he wouldn't allow any fights among the dogs. he had, too, the rare art of "jollying" the team along the trail. this was seen when the going had been hard all day and the dogs were growing weary. then he would talk to them as he travelled in his whining, malemute way, and it would seem to brighten them up. perhaps he told them funny dog stories, or pictured the joys of a good supper when they got to dry timber and camped. whatever your explanation, shep was the cause, and the effect was seen in a brisk and willing lot of dogs going strong at the close of the day. always he pulled his best. whenever it was heavy sledding he would get right down dog-fashion, with his belly close to the trail, tongue hanging out, and do all he knew to keep things moving; heart, lungs, muscles, toe-nails and teeth were all enlisted in his effort to serve the man he loved who was riding under the robe in the sleigh behind. how did he use his teeth? this way--climbing up a bank through the brush, making around an overflow on the creek, we were nearly being stalled; shep, not content with his usual efforts, had managed to grip with his teeth a stout branch that stretched conveniently near, and was using teeth and neck-muscles to add to his pulling power! do you wonder that brodeur loved the dog? shep never knew the feel of the whip in punishment. at night when the team was unharnessed his first move was to the sleigh where he shoved his muzzle into the old man's hand and looked into his face asking him, i suppose, if everything was going well. we reached dawson in good form and soon had brodeur comfortably located in the "good samaritan" hospital. shep made his bed, the first night, in the snow a few yards from the door, but he discovered which window was brodeur's, and he camped under it against the logs of the hospital until his master was well. the foot mended rapidly and soon the old trapper and his noble dog were back in the hills again. _vi._ _lost on the divide_ in march and april, , the canadians were lying along the low ground beyond vimy ridge, facing the germans who held the lens-mericourt-arleux front. the rd was entrenched about a mile forward from the base of the ridge. we had taken over from the "yorks and lane's" who had done a lot of excellent engineering in the sector they had been holding. the trenches had been deepened and well drained. the dug-outs were numerous, large, and mostly safe. the months of their tenure had been quiet, and everything was in good repair. no man's land was wide, a quarter mile in places, smooth, covered with grass, and inhabited by colonies of larks. apparently no raiding had been done, for that always brings some artillery retaliation showing in parapets and barbed wire knocked about, and ground torn by explosives. when the canadians commenced raiding, the hun still held himself well in check, in spite of the loss of a few men killed or taken prisoner every night or two. he had a tremendous surprise developing for our fifth army away to our right flank, and he didn't care to "start anything" with us that might disarrange his plans. not that we were left severely alone, for it was on this same comparatively quiet front, on wednesday afternoon, april rd, that i saw more enemy shells drop on one particular spot in a limited time than i ever saw happen in any other sector. our regimental aid post was a spacious comfortable place underground off "vancouver road," and there some rd field ambulance "bearers" had taken up their quarters along with our medical section. the dug-out had only the one defect of not being any too deep for safety. well, it so happened that something had aroused the enemy's suspicions about our post. maybe the fresh earth thrown out from a little trench-improvement work near us had attracted the notice of the german air-men. whatever the cause they evidently had come to the decision that it would be wise to "shoot us up," which they did with a vengeance. captain mackenzie and i were coming down the sunken road when the fusilade opened. at first we thought it was the usual stray shell or two, but for three hours we couldn't get within fifty yards of the place. the hun gunners lobbed them over unceasingly. the dust of an explosion was still in the air when you could hear the hum of another shell coming. we were held up and just had to wait for the "strafe" to cease, anxiously wondering if the roof was holding and our men were safe. it stopped at last and we ran down the road. one of the entrances was smashed in but the other still held up. we went downstairs to find our men crowded into one small portion of the post that remained intact. all around was evidence of their miraculous escape. i shuddered to think what would have been, had a shell penetrated the roof there and burst among them. mcclymont told me that their lights were blown out seventy-two times by the concussion of shells exploding near the entrances, and that when they went out about the twenty-fifth time macpherson started them singing some music-hall choruses to relieve the strain. about the fiftieth time, by mutual unspoken consent, they changed to hymns! i'd have changed long before that; indeed i doubt if i could have found voice steady enough for song! the foregoing facts i glean from an old notebook in which at the time i further jotted down that "the hun threw " . " shells on and around our r.a.p. in less than three hours. one entrance was crumpled in and dirt and bricks heaped on our beds. twenty men there but no one hurt. the shelling represents a waste of twenty-five thousand dollars, and our cosy home gone." that night we moved across the road to a deeper dug-out, one that had been built by the germans, located by sergt. sims. talking in the evening after supper about the day's event, our conversation naturally went afield to other adventures, and i was led to speak of a narrow escape from death i had in very different circumstances in a distant land. * * * * * in nearly eleven years of the yukon trails, living on the creeks among the mountains in early klondike days, i could not fail to have my share of memorable experiences, some of them with more than a spice of hazard. i lived just the regular life of a "musher"--a man on the trail--and while that mode of life assuredly held nothing of monotony, yet i grew so accustomed to it that it all seemed part of the usual, familiar course of things. after the summer, beautiful but brief, there came the eight months of grim, relentless winter. then we had to face the long darkness and the deadly cold; to travel vast, white valleys filled with an almost terrifying silence broken only by the ugly howling of the wolves; to battle through deep and drifting snow along miles of lonely summits, with blizzards blinding and bewildering. but against each problem or task that nature set us we matched, with zest, our wits and skill. there was the joy of conflict in it. experience made us self-reliant and we learned to love the life, so free and clean, so full of stirring incident and victorious combat with the elements. only now am i commencing to get the true perspective of those yukon days, and by comparison with the soft conventional life of these later years, recognizing how unique and interesting they were. there comes to my mind a very unpleasant time i had one winter night, when i lost my way, broke my word, and spoiled a happy gathering. if it were a sermon, my text would be, "let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall." the christmas festivities in the yukon long ago usually continued for about a month. the weather was so frosty that work on the windlass was both disagreeable and risky, so it became customary for the mid-winter weeks to be occupied in visiting or entertaining neighbours and friends. small "parties" were held in a sort of rotation at the larger cabins up and down the valleys. everybody was merrymaking. hospitality knew no artificial bonds, for in those golden days, there was neither prince nor peasant, rich nor poor. don't think from this that we had no right social standards. i know that much of the fiction about the north is built on the theory that the men in the klondike diggings practically adopted the moral code of the brothel. that assumption may make a novel "spicy" and increase its sale, but nevertheless it is quite untrue. we, of the creeks, had worthy moral standards, simple but definite, and rigidly enforced. our social grading, however, was not based on the length and value of a man's "poke," nor on his grandfather's record. if he lived an honest, decent life among us, he was barred from nothing. in addition to the many smaller affairs, each gulch, where there were miners, would have one big evening for all, church or roadhouse being requisitioned for the occasion. these were called christmas tree entertainments, or simply "trees" for short. it was one of my duties to name the members of committees to have charge of all arrangements, and i was also expected to be chairman at all the "trees." to meet this last requirement each creek had to choose a different date so that i could make the rounds. in the winter of we had carried through our entertainments at last chance, gold bottom, and gold run. sulphur creek was the last, and they had been working to make it the best of all. it was to be held on dec. th. one of the sulphur men, robertson, had come over to gold bottom to "size up" the programme there and report to his committee. he told me that sulphur's tree would easily eclipse the others, and that i must on no account miss it. "you can depend on me, robertson," i said, "and i'll see whether you sulphurites can make good your boast. i'll have to 'mush' across from gold run that afternoon, but i won't disappoint you." at noon dec. th a very happy party of six old "tillicums" were gathered in jordan's cabin on gold run. his partner jim prophet was there, coldrick the londoner, macgregor the australian, bousfield and myself. prophet had been lucky enough to get a moose that had strayed into the valley within rifle-shot and it lay partly cut up on some poles by the "cache." so he had invited his friends in to help eat some of the choicest parts, moose-steak in ordinary being, of course, too common for a special feast. i shall forbear entering into details of that meal, but our meat-dish was young moose-heart stuffed, roasted, with fresh klondike river grayling as an entree. grayling are caught in the fall when slush ice is running in the river. they are sluggishly heading for deep water. you fish for them with rod and line baiting with raw meat. when you pull one out he freezes stiff almost before you can get him off the hook. you catch what you need, take them home, and stack them up like firewood in the cache where they will remain frozen. there you have your winter's supply of absolutely fresh fish. we were sitting at the table when there came a knock on the door, and in response to jordan's hearty "come in," it was opened and the form of our good friend corp. haddock, of the north west mounted police, emerged through the mist. he sat down a minute or two but wouldn't stay. he was calling at all the cabins giving orders that no one was to attempt to leave the valley until the weather moderated. the barracks thermometer registered ° below zero, and a dense fog had formed. under these conditions it was perilous to attempt any journey away from human habitations. no one spoke of my intended trip, (although i found out later that haddock knew my plans), until he had gone, when coldrick said, "that puts the finish on your mush to sulphur, pringle." "no," i replied, "i gave my word i'd be there and they will be looking for me. i have crossed that divide fifty times. i know every flake of snow on it. unless the corporal catches me and puts me in the 'cage,' i'll be chairman at the sulphur church this evening." this sounds boastful and foolhardy, but as a fact it was neither. i realized perfectly what i was facing, and knew that, barring accidents, i could keep my promise. i had fifteen miles in all to go, and only one mile of it difficult travelling through deep snow on the low summit, and for that i had my snowshoes. true, it was extremely cold, but i was suitably clothed and knew how to take care of myself, surely, after six years constantly on the trail. so jordan went out to get my snowshoes. he came in with the unexpected news that my snowshoes, and likewise their two pair, had disappeared from their pegs. it was plain that haddock was "wise," and had taken them along with him down creek in a well-meant effort to make me stay indoors. i would have to go six miles down the trail and back to get another pair, and they also might not be there. that was out of the question. i hesitated only long enough to picture the trail. there was only that one mile on which i used the shoes, and though the snow there was deep i could wade through without them. it would mean perhaps an hour longer, but it wasn't two o'clock yet and i had a full six hours to travel fifteen miles. i decided to go. i set out and made fast time until i struck the drifts on the summit. the short spell of gloom we called day had ended, and it was rapidly growing dark. before i got over that mile there would be no light, and this unpleasant white fog would be blindfolding my eyes as well. with it all i didn't worry. this was a difficult job that faced me, but i was in my own workshop, had my own tools, and was working at my own trade. fate, however, had decreed that i should botch things this time. somehow, unwittingly, i turned a gradual quarter circle to the right in the drifts, and was then travelling along the low, undulating divide instead of across it. laboriously but confidently i kept on through the darkness and the fog, unconscious of my error, until, after three hours, i found myself at the foot of a grade that i had thought was the slope down into the sulphur valley. i soon found my mistake. it must have been some large cup-shaped depression on the divide, its bottom strewn with a fearsome tangle of fallen trees carried down by a snow or landslide. for two testing hours i fought my way through that piled up brush and snow. when i got clear i felt myself on an up-grade. it was a long climb out of that hateful valley and i knew now that i was lost. to try to retrace my steps would have been suicide. i had given up all hope of reaching sulphur in time for the tree and was growing a trifle anxious. it was terribly cold and dark. i had been working extremely hard for hours and i was getting hungry. i didn't dare to stand still or rest. my moccasin thong had come undone and i had to take off my mitts to fix it. so sharp was the frost that my fingers grew almost too stiff to do the work and i nearly failed to tie the lace. they were white and numb when i thrust them into my fur gauntlets, beating them against my chest as i went on. my whole body sensed the chill and threat of that momentary stop. it told me that if i were forced to take my last chance for life and try to build a fire, i would almost surely fail; to find dry wood, to prepare it, to light it, and wait nursing it into a flame sufficient to warm me would be a succession of almost hopeless chances, too desperate to take now unless there were no other way. my climb brought me at last out above the frost-fog, and i thanked god i could see his stars and get my bearings. far away to right and left in the darkness i knew the valleys of gold run and sulphur lay, but between me and them stretched impossible miles of rough country. puzzled a moment my anxious eyes caught the flicker of a light, low down in the north, hardly to be distinguished from the stars on the sky-line. this was indeed my "star of hope." it meant warmth, and warmth was life to me. i fixed its location and with new heart headed for it. for six hours i travelled straight away like a hunted moose. i was young, lean and fit as a wolf. i was tired but not at all exhausted. in wind and limb i was good for miles yet. but i was becoming exceedingly hungry, and felt the clutching, icy fingers of the frost getting through my clothes, and i knew there was no time to waste. hunger and ninety-five degrees of frost on the trail combining against you with darkness as their ally, will soon club you into unconsciousness. however the game isn't lost or won until the referee blows his whistle. i was determined to fight it right out to the finish. the light was my goal and i forgot all else. i must get to it even though i might have to crawl at last with frozen hands and feet. in the hollows i lost sight of it, picking it up again on higher ground, until, when i knew i hadn't much time left me, it glimmered clear, down hill, not a hundred yards away. i'll tell you the lights in paradise will not look so beautiful to me as did the jo-jo roadhouse bonfire that night, for they had a big fire outside under an iron tank melting snow for water and it was the flame of this i had seen. my fumbling at the latch roused swanson, the owner, from his sleep. he opened the door and pulled me in and i was safe. i had been beaten in my endeavour to get to sulphur in time for the tree, but i was victor in a more serious contest. i had won a game against heavy odds in which the stakes were life, or death, or maiming. they told me later at sulphur, that at half-past eight the crowd at the tree got uneasy, and by nine o'clock the concert was declared off and a well-equipped search-party set out with dog-teams. they went the round-about but well-trodden trail down to the mouth of gold run, and up that creek, until they found my solitary tracks turning off to the divide. they sent their dogs back to the gold run cabin with one of the party, and followed my trail all night on snowshoes, making the jo-jo late next morning an hour after i had left on swanson's shoes for sulphur. i arrived at that camp by an easy route early in the afternoon. i had made their tree a failure, i had broken my word, i had disobeyed police orders, but i didn't get a scolding even, from anybody. _vii._ _a strange meeting_ the german high command had a big surprise to spring on the british army in france early in . their preparations culminated in the smashing attack they made in march on the fifth army commanded by general gough. the canadians lay facing mericourt beyond vimy at that time. to our right, covering arras and beyond, the third army, under general byng was holding, on their right lay the fifth army. before and during their great effort the germans refused to be "drawn" at mericourt into any serious retaliation, no matter how often we raided them. we knew why later when general gough's line went to pieces. the huns were going to "get us," they believed, in another and more thorough way than by counter-raids. it looked for some weeks as if they might realize their hopes. the fifth army's formation was broken, and in confusion, they were driven back and back for miles, until with reinforcements they managed to hold only a short distance in front of amiens. in a few days the british lost, in prisoners alone, , men. to save themselves from being outflanked the third army had to withdraw from a portion of their former line and swing their right wing back facing out. they completed the difficult movement with brilliant success, and presented to the enemy an unbroken front of fighting men, well-munitioned, and supported by an effective artillery fire. this move saved the british forces from what looked like imminent disaster. byng's men used arras as their pivotal sector. it was only a few miles from us, and it was with anxious hearts we heard, those days and nights, the ceaseless thunder of the guns on our right, as the terrific struggle continued. it was dismal news too, that came from belgium. there mt. kimmel had fallen, and the british had been strategically forced to evacuate all the ground we had won at such enormous cost around passchendaele; and this, remember, was the fourth year of the war. those were fateful days for the canadians. our front was quiet, but we were nevertheless in an extremely perilous location. vimy ridge was behind us, and behind it again was lower ground which would be hard to hold in a flanking attack by our enemy. many additional batteries had been crowded in on the ridge with their silent guns trained on arras lest the third army, which still occupied that town, should be broken and the germans get through. in that event the canadian corps would probably have been cut off by the enemy's advance through the valleys behind us, and our career, as a corps, would have ended. certainly we would have sold our lives and freedom dearly, but with lines of communication cut our position would have soon been untenable, and successful retreat probably very nearly impossible. don't dream that the front-line men were panicky. we knew that millions of brave men were still facing our common enemy and that back of them and us was the indomitable will of our empire and our allies. in this connection i recall a conversation between our col. urquhart (a thorough scot), and a visiting officer, in which they referred to the situation at arras. "it is very serious indeed," said our guest, "for if the british break there, we canadians are in for our biggest tussle with the hun." "do you know," asked urquhart, "what troops of ours are engaged there?" "yes," was the reply, "the th division." "well," said the colonel, "that is a scottish division, and i can assure you, sir, there will be no break at arras." nor was there. those scottish lads stood firm. repeated and determined attacks by the finest german troops could not break their front, nor drive them from their ground. the critical days passed, the enemy's progress was everywhere effectually and permanently stopped. then when we were thoroughly prepared we took the initiative, and in august, the same year, commenced that grand victorious advance which ended the war. those days we often keenly discussed the situation from many angles. i was in "a" company's dug-out one time when we were giving our opinions as to the relative merits of some of the different units of the british army. we got away from the present war into history, and were recalling other famous campaigns and the exploits of the troops engaged in them. someone said that while canada, since she became a dominion, had not had much chance until now to become illustrious in war, yet for forty years she had maintained the finest force of military police in the world, the royal north-west mounted. i was proud to mention that my brother had served in that crack organization for thirty years, and from that remark i was eventually entangled in the yarn which i here unravel. * * * * * i am the youngest of ten. my two brothers, john and james, were grown up and away from home before i had got beyond infancy. john visited us frequently after i had reached boyhood. james enlisted with father's consent in the north-west mounted police, went west and never returned. that force was organized in and my brother joined them in . when i was a young lad there was no doubt in my mind which was my favorite brother. john was a minister, and ministers were an unknown quantity to a youngster of my age, and so i wasn't much taken with my preacher brother. but it was different with james. he was a soldier and a specially interesting sort of soldier. his business was chiefly, so i thought anyway, to go galloping on horseback across the prairies of our wild west, chasing bad indians and horse-thieves, and having all kinds of real adventures. how i longed for him to come home! i pictured him, in fancy, riding down our main street in police uniform, with pistols in his belt and perhaps a knife too, his carbine slung by his saddle, and handling easily a spirited horse! i would then point him out with pride to the other boys as my brother, and maybe, when he saw me, he would come riding over to the sidewalk and speak to me in front of all the other fellows. my boyish heart used to glow as i imagined what might possibly soon come true. the prairies were undoubtedly a very long distance off in those days. there were no rail-ways on them, none indeed to carry you to their outer-boundaries in canada. parties of police recruits went down through the united states to fort benton or other suitable points, and then came north, mostly by trail, to the canadian plains. it was a long journey, i knew, but on the other hand mother used to get letters from him, and he would say in them that he might be home for christmas, a treasured hope. nearing christmas mother would be busier than ever in the kitchen, making the cakes and other good things we always had in abundance at that festive season. i liked to be on hand then for there were bowls, in which tasty confections had been mixed, that required scraping out and it was my delight to attend to them. she would often talk to me then about her soldier boy, and i was an eager listener. "maybe your brother james will be home this christmas," she would say with a glad note in her voice. then there would come the letter containing the unwelcome news that he couldn't get a furlough this year, they were so short of men and had such a vast territory to patrol, but we would surely see him next year. mother would go into her room for a while with the letter, and when she came out she would take me on her knee, hug me up to her and kiss me, then would go about her work strangely silent. her soldier boy never came home. he went farther west and north, and my story is of the first meeting i had with my brother, the first anyway i had any memory of. it occurred in the yukon in a roadhouse on eureka creek. i visited that creek regularly about once a month. to reach it i had to "mush" down the indian river valley, ten miles from the mouth of gold run, and then cross the river to eureka which flowed in from the opposite side. five miles up eureka was the first cabin. above that on both forks of the stream there were miners. in summer i could cross indian by a shallow ford and in winter on the ice, but for a trip or two in the spring it was a tumultuous flood which i had to navigate on a make-shift raft. it was in the spring of when making this trip i found the river, as i expected, in spate. i was prepared with axe, rope, and a few spikes, and in an hour or two had a small, rough float constructed. i made and launched it a hundred yards above the point i sought to reach on the other bank, for i knew the rapid current would carry me down that distance at least before i could effect a landing. on this side of the river there was no one nearer than ten miles, for this was the "back-entrance" to eureka, (bonanza and dawson lying off in another direction), so i always wrote out a note stating what i was attempting to do, dated it, and put it up on a tree by the trail. thus if anything unexpected happened, some "musher," coming by within a week or two, would know the circumstances. then i pushed out into the water with my rough paddle. i had a light pack on my back holding my shoes, a dry pair of socks, and other trail accessories. that time i had made my raft rather too small. i had to stand in the centre or it would tip me off, and it wasn't easy to keep my poise in rough water with the logs mostly out of sight under my feet. when within a few yards of the other side, my frail craft caught for a moment on a hidden snag which tore some of the lashings loose, and the two outside logs showed signs of getting adrift. if that occurred i would shortly be swimming for my life in the surging, ice-cold water. the raft was only about seven feet across and to save it from breaking up i "spread-eagled" on it, catching the rope ends with each hand and thus holding it together. i had to lie almost flat to do this, and for the next five minutes was giving a life-like imitation of a submarine about to submerge. luckily my raft struck the bank, i caught the limb of a tree and swung myself ashore. i made the five miles to macmillan's cabin in double-quick time and stayed the day there in the bunk, with my clothes drying out around the stove. during the next two days i went around the cabins visiting, and "ringing the church bell" for a meeting in the roadhouse. there we gathered in the evening, not a man absent that could come. the roadhouse became a church, with the bar-counter my lectern. on it i had a lighted candle which i had to hold in my right hand, the book in my left, when i read or we sang, so that i could see the words distinctly. the business of the place was practically suspended except the cooking at the kitchen end, and at odd times when a traveller came in for a drink or a meal he would be served quietly, and then go on his way or stay as he was minded. the stools and benches were filled and some men were sitting on the floor around the walls. in the middle of my sermon two "mounties" entered at the door behind me. they closed the door and stood near it listening. i turned my head for a casual glance at the newcomers, stammered, stuck, and couldn't go on. i turned from my congregation, and, taking the candle in my hand, stepped nearer. there before me was the man whose face i had so often gazed at, with silent admiration, as i saw it in the photograph in my mother's room. it was indeed my brother james, the hero of my boyhood days! our hands clasped as i spoke his name. i turned to the crowd, told them what had happened, and that i couldn't go on with the address. they understood. we sang a hymn and ended the service forthwith. the talk i had with my new-found brother can be better imagined than described. he had been sent from the upper country, the tagish post, to the eureka detachment, had arrived that evening and had heard that a "george pringle" was having a meeting on the creek. he had come over confident that it was his "little" brother, for he knew i was in the klondike. we spent a day together, one of the never-to-be-forgotten days of my life. then the next morning i started back on my circuit. he came with me to indian. we built a good raft together, and he watched me safely over and until i was out of sight in the trees. then i took down my "notice" and hit the trail for gold run. george earsman, living in the first cabin i came to on that creek, was a sympathetic listener while i told of the strange meeting. but he could not forbear humorously remarking that i had in a sense, "turned the tables" on my brother. back in gait, he said, no doubt james had often put me to sleep, and when next we met i was trying to put him to sleep! i saw my brother only once more. ed. blanchfield brought me a letter from dawson some weeks after marked "urgent." it was from jim, stating that orders had been received requiring him to leave the yukon for police headquarters at regina, saskatchewan. he had to take the first up-river boat, the _casca_, which sailed the next day. i made record time over the twenty miles from gold bottom next morning. john came in nine miles from bonanza, and i spent a happy afternoon with my two "big" brothers before the steamboat pulled away for the south. after those many strenuous years serving canada in wild and dangerous days on the prairies, and among the forests and mountains of the northland, he now takes his rest. his is a lonely grave near one of the outposts of settlement on the northern reaches of our prairies. _viii._ _ben_ one of the pluckiest deeds i have ever seen done by any airman i witnessed in on the mericourt front. on a line two or three miles behind us, and stretching roughly from arras along vimy ridge to the souchez valley, we had our usual complement of observation balloons. these were held by long wire cables and contained two observers each. one fine clear day five of these balloons were up, high in the air, watching movements behind the german lines. macpherson and i were tramping along through one of our deep communication trenches on some errand, when the sound of distant, anti-aircraft shells bursting in the air, reached our ears. we climbed out at the beehive dug-out to see what was up. far above the balloon nearest arras there was appearing, against the blue sky, many little white clouds of smoke caused by exploding shrapnel, while near the ground we saw two open parachutes descending, the observers had "jumped for it." from the smoke above there emerged an aeroplane darting straight down on the balloon. almost quicker than i can tell it, a volley of incendiary bullets from the plane had ignited the big bag, and it fell to the earth like a twisted torch in smoke and flame. the german never swerved, but headed away for the next balloon. the observers from that one by this time were nearing the ground under their parachutes, and in a few minutes the observers of all five were either on the ground, or floating gracefully to the earth beneath their big "umbrellas," seeking safety from this nervy hun. by this time everything along the ridge that could reach him was turned loose. there was a perfect storm of shrapnel, machine-gun and rifle-fire. hundreds of shells exploded around him and thousands of bullets sped towards him, and it seemed impossible that he could continue. but he didn't even try to escape. he went right on through that deadly fusilade, courting death every second, until he had reached the souchez and had burned every one of our five balloons. then and not till then, did he turn towards hun-land. in spite of our irritation at his complete success, we could not deny the pilot's great bravery. the recognition of his courage was heartier because he really put none of our men in actual jeopardy, although he offered himself and his machine-gunner as an absurdly easy target to our guns throughout the whole affair. no doubt his mate, he himself, and the plane were hit a good many times but not enough to bring them down or stop their work. in all probability the plane would have to go to the repair sheds and the men into hospital after they landed. the whole show, which we had seen clearly from start to finish, was over in ten minutes, and we went down to tell the fellows in the dug-out what we had just seen. the description called up memories of other deeds of bravery, and some stirring stories were told. i offered one about my dog ben who, i claimed, had a place by right in the world's list of heroes. * * * * * it is hard to believe that dogs do not think along much the same lines as we do in the simpler relations of life. i find it impossible to disbelieve in affection existing between dogs and men, and in a marvellous readiness on the part of the dog to go the whole way in laying down its life for the man it loves. i do not know how to interpret their actions otherwise. one winter, among my dogs i had a half-mastiff, half-wolf, that i had raised from a pup. he was my favorite, a big, awkward, good-natured fellow who wanted to follow me everywhere, and when i left him at home would cry, in his own way, with vexation. he would go wild with joy when i returned. he also seemed to take upon himself the guarding of the cabin. strangers might come and go for all the others cared, but ben would always stop every man he didn't know at the cabin door, not in an ugly or noisy way, but as a matter of duty, until i opened the door and welcomed the stranger in. he never interfered with those who had been once admitted to the cabin should they come again, noticing them only to give a friendly whine and wag of the tail. i suppose you can all match my story thus far, but let me go on. one hard winter in the yukon, when the snow was very deep on the hills, and there had been a prolonged spell of unusually extreme frost, the wolves commenced to come down at night into the valleys close to the cabins to hunt and devour stray dogs, or anything else they could get. one night i was roused from sleep by the very unpleasant noise of a howling, snarling, wolf-pack fighting over something not far from my cabin. i wrapped my fur robe hastily about me, and opening the door peered out. they were gathered in a circle round what was apparently a crippled wolf, doing it to death. i shut the door and hurried into my clothes. i wanted to have a shot at them, for there was a bounty on wolves, and their furs were worth something. as i slipped out of the door after dressing, it occurred to me to see if my dogs were secure under cover. they were whining and uneasy, but i found them wisely keeping safe in their stout log kennels, all but one of them. ben's kennel was empty. instantly i knew what the brave young dog had done. here was a band of strangers, suspicious looking characters, coming towards the cabin. he went out to meet them alone. he must have known by instinct, as the others did, that savage death would meet him in those dim, gray, howling forms. maybe he trembled with fear, but he went out for my protection to engage in a hopeless fight against a pack of ravenous timber-wolves. immediately i grasped the situation i fired at the edge of the pack. they commenced to run, disappearing like ghosts in the moonlight on the white mountain-side, but not before i got two of them. poor ben was badly torn. i carried him in my arms into the cabin, lit the fire, and in the candle-light dressed the great, tearing gashes. a few minutes more and they would have had him killed and eaten. for two days i worked as best i knew to save his life. but he was suffering agony, and at last i decided it would be more merciful to put an end to his pain by having him shot. i went up to the n.w.m.p. post and got corp. "paddy" ryan to come and do it for me. we carried him a little distance from the cabin, and laid him at the side of the trail. i confess i turned my head away while ryan shot. ben rolled down the hill a few yards through the snow, until he stopped against a bush. we watched to see if there was any move. "he is dead," we said, but to be sure i gave my whistle. for a minute nothing happened, and then i saw his faithful, battered head moving up very slowly out of the snow, and swaying to and fro. ryan shot again. ben's head dropped and he died. i think i did what was best in the circumstances, and maybe i'm imagining motives that weren't there, but all the same there comes an ache in my heart whenever i remember that last shot. in his death-throes, blind and broken, his controlling impulse was to come to me when i whistled. perhaps he thought i needed him. i believe there are dogs in heaven. because the bible says there are dogs kept out, it is not accurate exegesis to assume that there are none let in. and if i meet ben i feel as if i'll have to try to explain it all and ask forgiveness. but i don't think he will bear any grudge. he was too big-hearted for that. i gave him a good grave on the hillside near my cabin door. it was all i could do for him then. _ix._ _a trail sermon_ in october, , orders came to join in the big push on the flanders front in what proved a vain attempt to cut the enemy lines of communication with the belgian coast held by the germans and used as a resort for submarines. the canadians were asked to take passchendaele ridge which rose abruptly about feet above the miles of mud flats its guns dominated. these muddy fields had been captured by australians and new zealanders after desperate fighting, but it was almost impossible to hold them without terrible punishment from the concentrated german artillery fire, bombing, and machine-gunning because of the enemy's position on the ridge. no trenches could be made in the mud for the sides would slip back in, and there was practically no protection for our men outside the few small concrete blockhouses or "pill boxes" the huns had built. so we had either to withdraw or go on and chase the enemy off the ridge. the th brigade of the famous third canadian division was chosen for the post of honour. this was the task of capturing the almost unassailable german positions on bellevue spur which was a part of the passchendaele heights lying immediately in front of us. of the brigade, the rd battalion (the "camerons" of winnipeg) and th were to make the attack, with the nd in close support. the th, junior battalion of the brigade, was employed as a labour battalion, and a dirty, dangerous job they had, "packing" ammunition and "duck-walks" at night through the mud up to the attack area, doing pick-and-shovel work, and afterwards carrying back wounded men under shell-fire. friday, october th, was the fateful day. someone suggested that friday was unlucky and was twice , but this was countered by the seven letters in october and the lucky number at the end of ! it wasn't luck in sevens or thirteens that won the battle, but simply that we had men and officers with an unyielding determination to carry on in spite of all obstacles, unless wounded or killed, until their objective was gained. contributing causes there were in training, equipment, and leadership that helped our men to do the impossible, but the deciding factor, the real cause of victory, lay in the brave hearts of the soldiers who faced the spur that chill october morning. the ground had been reconnoitred by lt.-col. grassie, our o.c., who had to leave for canada before the attack took place. our operations were carried out under the skilful direction of major chandler. in one of my old note-books i find a description of the affair scribbled oct. th during a leisure moment in waterloo pill-box. "from banks farm we moved up to within striking distance of bellevue spur taking over from a battalion of wellington new zealanders. headquarters occupied the concrete blockhouse near the foot of the spur and about yards away from the enemy lines. we were under direct machine-gun fire and sniping from their posts on the crest of the hill we had to capture. our blockhouse was continually shelled. the enemy guns had its location to a nicety and kept it under almost constant fire. twelve men in all were killed at the door at different times during the few days we stayed there. "in the attack yesterday morning, fifty of our men in the centre were able to make and hold their objective, but the battalion on our right was forced to fall back to the edge of the hill after being exposed to a fire which cut it down to ineffective strength. one of our companies on the left ran into a murderous fire from a group of german posts opposed to them. we withdrew to the brow of the hill and sent word back for re-inforcements. our centre still held but their position was precarious and before nightfall would have become untenable if these germans to their left were not dislodged. the nd were ordered to reinforce our left wing and renew the attack. this time we were successful, prisoners were captured in half-an-hour and the whole front cleared. the th were enabled to advance and we had no further trouble in consolidating our position." two v.c's were won that day. bobby shankland, a subaltern in the rd, under enemy observation with its consequent machine-gun and rifle fire, made the trip from one of our advanced platoons back to battalion headquarters and out to his men again. he brought accurate information at a critical time when prompt action properly directed meant victory; the lack of it meant defeat. the renewed attack on the left wing with the definite objective he advised saved the day for us. he was recommended for the highest award and it was duly awarded him. lt. o'kelly of the nd won the coveted honor by the gallant and effective way in which, regardless of personal risk, he led a company of the nd against a group of pill-boxes filled with machine-gunners. many other gallant deeds were done on the hill that day of which there was no one left to tell. during this time a stream of wounded had been coming back past waterloo pill-box where our battalion medical aid post was at work. the floor of the blockhouse was a foot deep in mud and water. the stretchers were almost submerged and the back of the man was almost always in the water. at times the stretcher-cases were lying in three rows outside in the cold, the rain, and the mud. there they were constantly in danger of death from shelling. twice shells burst among them, killing and wounding again a dozen men on each occasion. half the cases never got into the dressing station. they were given a look-over, fixed up as well as we could, and sent hobbling off over the "duck-walks" to safer areas farther back. only the most severe cases were held for the attention of the overworked m.o. the long stretcher journeys to the rear were terrible experiences for both bearers and wounded. they had to pass through shelling, gas, and bombing. the carrying parties often became stretcher cases themselves on the way back, and the wounded in that rough journey must have suffered tortures of both mind and body. the outstanding memory of it all is that of the mud. it would seem impossible for a sensible man to develop a bitter hatred towards an inanimate and apparently harmless thing like mud. but it was "the very devil" to our minds. we walked in it for endless miles. it held our feet and wore us out. if you fell sideways you would probably break or sprain your ankle. we sat down in the mud, slept in it, fought in it. it clogged our rifles and machine-guns. we cursed it with intensity. we ate rations that tasted of mud, wore clothes that were loaded with it, carried with aching muscles stretchers and wounded that were made heavy with mud. many wounded were lost in it, and many of our dead, that we never found, were swallowed by it. hindenburg in his memoirs considers passchendaele the most terrible affair his armies had anywhere engaged in. it was bad for them but it was worse for us attacking, and the thing that made conditions almost unbearable for both sides was that omnipresent vampire of those rain-soaked flanders' fields. on the th we were relieved and moved back and, in a day or two, found ourselves in tents in the mud of a ploughed field near nine elms back of poperinghe. we had done nobly, so they told us, added fresh laurels to our fine record, fought a fight and won a victory, the praises of which would resound throughout the empire. needless to say we were glad we had not failed but for all that there was much unspoken sorrow in the men's hearts. so many of our comrades had been killed. what a remnant our men looked when the battalion paraded to hear some fine words of heartsome praise from our brigade commander, gen. hill. on the sunday morning we had a parade service. it lasted altogether only fifteen minutes. it was a prayer for the mourners at home, a hymn of thanksgiving, and a word of cheer to ourselves. towards evening sergt-major lowe told me that some of the men wanted me to come over and talk to them. in one of the tents, i found thirty or so crowded in to hear a story of the yukon, and in the tents close around others were listening as i talked. we were all in a serious mood, and somehow the consciousness of this influenced me, that night, to weave my stories into a message in which there would be comfort and cheer for men who had been hard hit, and had faced in roughest form the stern realities of life, and death, and suffering. there was help in it, i know, because i spoke of jesus of nazareth. when you want to minister to men in such times, don't your thoughts just naturally turn to the man of nazareth? so i spoke of him and clothed my message in klondike phrases and imagery. here it is very much as i gave it that evening at nine elms. * * * * * we are all feeling a little bit down these days. the savagery of war and our heavy losses in men we knew and loved has stirred deep thoughts in us, grave inner questionings why these things should be, perplexing difficulties about the meaning of life and the power of death, the reason of suffering and the goodness of a god who permits it, criticisms of a social order, nominally christian, which produces the barbarities we have witnessed and taken part in. we are groping for light like the blind, and wishing we could find a sure guide in our thinking on these tangled problems, in whose solution we might find satisfaction and assurance. there is one song of all our soldier-songs that i think will live and that is the one where we sing of "a long, long trail a-winding into the land of our dreams." there's something true to experience about the thought of the long road of life. it takes me back to old trail days in the north, and i picture the long, long, trail of life winding its way from out of the mists of the past, through pleasant valleys and over windswept mountain summits, on and on into the unexplored land of the future. my message is simple enough. it is an appeal straight from your padre's heart that in your sorrow and uncertainty you decide to take jesus of nazareth as your guide down the trail of life for all the days that are to come. i ask you to follow him because he is the very guide you need to find the right trail and keep it under your feet to the end. life is all we've got and it is therefore too precious to risk in any unnecessary way. it is so important that we find and keep the right trail and save our lives from spiritual death, we cannot afford to accept any guide who has not the very finest credentials. what are the credentials of christ when he offers himself as our guide? they may be spoken of in many ways, but i am going reverently to put him to the three tests any guide in the yukon would have to face before he could qualify to lead anyone on a mid-winter trip into new country over an unknown trail beset with dangers. but before i can get to this examination of his credentials i know many of you are mentally stumbling over difficulties you have with or about the bible. it has been said with much truth that "the bible has kept many an earnest man from christ." it is not going to do it with you if i can prevent it. i have heard you wondering about the truth of the garden of eden story, about a god who hardened pharaoh's heart so that he could slay the first-born of all the egyptians, the story of jonah and the fish, the difficulties of accepting biblical science and history, the miracles, and such like things, and when you all have given your special stumbling-blocks i could probably add some of mine that you hadn't thought of. i am not going to attempt just now to deny or remove any of these particular difficulties but show you a way round them, a right way of approach to the bible, so that instead of keeping you from christ it can fulfill its divine mission of revealing him. i had a partner with me for one winter in my log-cabin at gold bottom, way in the klondike hills. his name was jack crowe, a nova scotian, who had come out from dawson to teach the little school we had started for the dozen children on the creek. we took turns at cooking. one winter morning, the mercury clear out of sight in the bulb of our thermometer, it was my turn to get out and light the fire and make breakfast. this consisted principally of oatmeal porridge, bacon, bread of our own make, and coffee. there were two big bowls of porridge with nothing left in the pot. we sat down, asked a blessing, and commenced our breakfast. the first spoonful i took my teeth struck on something hard. it wasn't porridge and i took it out of my mouth. it was a button. what did i do? throw my bowlful of porridge away and do without half a breakfast on account of that button which i couldn't swallow? no, i did just what you or any other ordinary man would have done. i placed the button beside my plate and ate the porridge with relish, and i think if there had been twenty-five buttons in that porridge i'd have done the same, an odd button or two out of place wasn't going to deprive me of my needed breakfast. fifty below zero makes you too hungry to be fastidious. further, let me take you into my confidence, i found the place where that button belonged before the day was over, sewed it on, and it did good service. of course you see my point. i don't blink the difficulties in our thinking about the bible. they exist. most of them can be explained when we study the subject a bit, some few are still half-solved puzzles to me which i enjoy working at when i have leisure, and some i suppose i shall never quite see through; but just let us lay them all aside for the time being and go straight to bed-rock and see if there is gold in the claim of christ himself. you know, by the way, it is strange how what at one time we thought useless material in the bible finds its place as we gain more experience of life. when i was very young the psalms seemed almost meaningless. now some of them voice the deepest longings of my soul for i have learned the bitterness of life as well as its sweetness. the minor prophets at the end of the old testament seemed to be "cumberers of the ground" until i learned something of the crookedness of present day politics, the prevalence of the cancer of sanctimonious hypocrisy, and the power of mammon-worship to obstruct social reforms long overdue. then it seemed that a book like amos was not only up-to-date, but far ahead of us. there are passages in the fifth chapter that should be painted in giant letters on the walls of legislatures, in halls of justice, in the market-place, and above the pulpits of christendom. but leave your lesser problems unsolved for the time and get the first, biggest question settled as to the validity of christ's claim to be able to guide us safely through life. in the old stampede days up there, and it's the same still, the first qualification demanded in a guide was that he should know the trail. it was impossible to talk business on any other basis. every other virtue your would-be guide possessed would be useless without that essential one. christ is prepared to stand that test, make it as "acid" as you like. how can we test him when we do not ourselves know the way? we all have a god-given intuition by which we can tell that the direction the guide would have us go is right or wrong. even a canadian who had never been in scotland and wanted to go there would have "horse-sense" enough not to follow a man who offered to take him to edinburgh by going five thousand miles due west from halifax. so with christ. he asks no blind faith or sanctified superstition. what direction would he lead us? what is the great burden of his message accepted by all christian churches down underneath the load of dogma, form and ceremony? where would he lead us if we followed him? the road is marked by two parallel lines, the eternal boundaries of the christ trail, on the one side it is heart-righteousness and on the other brotherly kindness; and to show us what he meant, he walked that trail himself his life through. it's a great thing to have a guide who knows the trail not only "on the map" but has been over every bit of it and knows it perfectly. he shows by his own life just what he means, the heart right as his was right, and a brotherly-kindness that gladly lays down its life to help others. doesn't it seem to you to be the right direction, the right trail, the right guide? this seems to me like trying to prove an axiom. you can't prove it by process of logic. to state it is to prove it. we know by intuition it is right and it is the only trail. take the fundamental need of heart-rightness. it is the heart of man in which evil dwells. the cruel ambition that permitted this war originated in the hearts of a group of men. the greed for money that refuses to permit social iniquities to be removed has its habitation in men's _hearts_. the whole horrid brood whose mother is selfishness exists only in men's _hearts_. "_out of the heart_" christ said, evil comes. cleanse the heart and you clean the world. but you can't have your heart right the way christ teaches unless you have a place in it for your brother. a christian must be and will be deeply interested in social reform. you can't follow christ and forget your brother, for the trail of christ is the trail of self-sacrifice for others. christ then knows the right trail which would lead you and me and the whole world unto a happier, sweeter day. i know no other way that so completely satisfies my sense of what is right and true as the way of christ. the second test of the worth of a guide, after i was satisfied that he knew the way, was whether he was able and willing to help me when i got into difficulties in hard places. the trail leads dizzily round the mountain side with a precipice below. i'm a tenderfoot. i have neither the nerve nor skill to take my dogs and my sleigh safely past. i'd fall to my death surely if i attempt it. he tells me it's the only way through, and he is right. i say i can't make it. he replies that all he offered to do was to lead along the right trail. it is up to me to follow. or the mountain climb is so steep and the snow so deep that i haven't strength for it. again i appeal to this imaginary guide. he says it is not his business to do anything more than walk ahead and show me the way. but i can't follow him and i know to camp on the mountain-side means death. no matter what perfect knowledge such a guide would have it would mean tragedy for me unless he had more than knowledge. but there is no guide, white, eskimo, or siwash, that i have ever met would act that way. he would take his own dogs round the mountain then come back and, with expert strength, take me safely past the danger. he would help me somehow to make the steep grade. so on the trail of life there are the towering mountains of sin. they lie across the right trail in every man's life. we are all sinners. you remember how christ once dispersed a mob. he said, "let him that is without sin cast the first stone," and while he wrote on the ground they all took the chance, as we would have done, to sneak away self-condemned. well, no man can cleanse his own heart of sin and yet no true man can rest content in sin. it must be done and no human power can do it. if we are to get past the mountains of our sins, and we must get past them or die, then our guide must be able to get us over. that's why we need a saviour. it meant gethsemane and calvary to him. it is the atonement, and whatever varying interpretations it may have, it must ever mean that the guide is also a saviour. he is getting us safe across to the god-ward side of our sins. they are no longer in our way if we will but give ourselves to him to take us over. no longer are they a barrier between ourselves and god as we journey on. before we reach the land of gold which we pilgrims are seeking, we also come to the dark valley and mystery of death. can he find a safe way for our feet in the darkness? will he leave us to follow when we cannot see him? not he. he found his own way safely through--that's the meaning of his empty tomb--and he guarantees to hold us securely in that strange experience at the end of the trail till, going on, we make through the fog into the land beyond, and see the golden city of god. our guide is stronger than sin and death. there is another test. my guide must not only know the trail and be able to get me through safely but he must be one with whom i can talk. men used to go crazy in the north through sheer loneliness. days alone on the trail with your dogs amid the deep silences of the sub-arctics makes you hungry for conversation with some other human being. i have turned ten miles out of my way on a heavy trail simply to get to some trapper or prospector where i might hear "the sweet music of speech." i remember having as a guide on a three weeks trip to the lightning creek camp an indian who was of the conventional silent type. he knew the trail and his duties perfectly. i had only one fault to find with him. he wouldn't or couldn't chat with me in either english or chinook. i paid him off at lightning. i couldn't stand it any longer. i hired another man for the return trip, not such a capable guide, but one with whom i could have a little chat around the camp fire in the evenings. it is just like that on the trail of life. many times we ache to unburden our hearts to someone who will hear and understand and speak comforting words to us. our dearest earthly friends can't quite enter into the intimate sanctuaries of a man's life. there are many lonely places on our journey when heart and soul cry out for that companionship that none can give but jesus of nazareth. "comfortable words he speaketh, while his hands uphold and guide." he is my guide and i cannot do without him. i would lose my life in the wilderness if he should leave me to fend for myself. i have utter confidence in him. as i come to know him better my faith grows stronger. at the end of the trail, if i have time to think, i shall have many regrets as i look back, but i know there is one thing i shall never regret and that is that long ago i placed myself in the hands of jesus christ for good and all. so long thy power hath blest me, sure it still will lead me on, o'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till the night is gone. _x._ _how cheechaco hill was named_ the war did the work of a can-opener on many national and individual reputations, and discovered that their accepted labels were misleading. the estimates we had formed of certain nations have materially changed because of the part they took, didn't take, or were slow about taking in this world-crisis. we saw the effect more clearly on individuals. the standing a man had in his community might be taken at its face value in the battalion for a few weeks, but he was soon re-examined, and if necessary, the label changed to be true to contents. this was especially evident overseas when we were away from home and its influences. there is a camouflage possible in civilian life where a man's real self is not known much outside his own home. this camouflage was usually torn aside in the army. we were thrown into such continuous intimate relations with one another in the huts and outside them that there was little chance for any man to travel under false pretences. it wasn't many days before you were sized up physically, mentally, and morally. the o.c., adjutant, and senior officers were the only ones in a battalion having more privacy and protected by military etiquette who, if they wished, might wear a mask for a time, but not for long. the whole battalion somehow soon got to know pretty much all about them, or thought it knew, and labelled them accordingly. some men with fair reputations in their home town in canada were found in rare instances to be cads in camp and curs in the line. but to the honor of those of the old british stock, our own canadian men in particular, the great fear in the hearts of multitudes of them was that they might not be able to do or be all that the highest traditions of race or family expected of them. they came from the comfort of peaceful homes where war had meant only an old, foolish, long-abandoned way of settling international disputes. at the call of brotherhood, they left those quiet homes and came in their hundreds of thousands to the old lands across the sea. there, in training, they were surrounded with strange conditions of life, and when later they went into the line were faced with tasks of incredible difficulty and harshness. throughout the long years of war they were rarely disconcerted and never dismayed. most of them were just good, ordinary, canadian boys, practically untested until now, but in tribulation developing qualities that made them men "whom the king delighted to honor." labelled, if you like, "plum-and-apple," when opened up they proved to be genuine "strawberry." faithful comrades, brave soldiers, they played the new game so nobly and well during those weary, homesick, war-cursed years that they won for canada a name unsurpassed in honor among the nations. it was not so much the grand moment of an attack that revealed character but the strain and monotony of the common round of a soldier's life. it was the pack, the trenches, the mud, the dug-out, and the hut, that showed you up for what you really were. when you got a fruitcake from home did you "hog it" all yourself or share it with your chums in generous chunks? did you squeeze in near the stove on a cold day no matter who else was shoved away? did you barely do your routine duty or go further and lend a helping hand? these were the sort of tests in common-place forms that made it impossible to hide your own true self from the other fellows. if you asked me for instances i could fill a page with names from my own acquaintance of young chaps previously untried who proved themselves "gentlemen unafraid." it was a severe test for the young men, but peculiarly hard for those in our volunteer army who were middle-aged. with habits formed and living a settled life at home, they abandoned it cheerfully, and unflinchingly set about accommodating themselves in the most unselfish spirit to necessary campaign conditions, which must have been to them almost intolerable. in this condition i have in mind captain turner, medical officer to the rd battalion for six months. he was a man near fifty years of age, with wife and family left behind at home in a western ontario town. "doc" turner joined us at nine elms, where we were resting in the mud after our attack on bellevue spur. he came direct from the base and had never seen any front line work. it was customary for the m.o. and the padre to live together and work together in and out of the line, so he shared a tent with me. a few days after his arrival we moved into the line for the second time on the passchendaele front. it was on the evening before this move that he did me a service that i shall never forget. he "saved my face" in the battalion. this is how it came about. that afternoon i sat in my chilly tent writing some of the many letters which i had to write to folks at home, telling about their heroic dead. captain turner had gone over to poperinghe. i sat too long at my work and got chilled through. after supper i was feeling wretched and went to bed hoping that a few hours warmth and rest would cure me. i got worse, and about o'clock to cap the climax, when i was feeling very miserable, a runner came from the orderly room with the news that we were to pull out for the line next morning, breakfast at five and move at six. then the horrible thought came to me that perhaps i wouldn't be able to go with the battalion. if i weren't a great deal better by morning i would have to stay behind in a c.c.s. at remy. what then would everybody think? it looked queer that i should be going around quite well that day and then, when the order comes to go back into the line, i take suddenly ill. i knew my own boys would say nothing, but perhaps in the back of their minds they would wonder if their padre was really scared. but no matter how charitable the camerons were it would look to outsiders deplorably like a genuine case of malingering. my one and only hope seemed to lie in the magic of doc's medicines. "as i mused the fire burned." he had not returned and the medical tent was a hundred yards away in the mud. how anxiously i listened for his footsteps but it was one o'clock before i heard the welcome sound. he was very tired with the six-mile walk and busy day and after i told what the orders were i hadn't the heart at first to let him know how sick and worried i was. he had taken off one boot before in desperation i poured out my tale of woe. good old doc! he cheerfully pulled on his wet boot again and went out into the night and rain and through the mud, roused sergt. sims and hunted around till he got the stuff he wanted. he was soon back and made me swallow fifteen grains of aspirin. i would have swallowed an earthquake if he had promised it would cure me. then he piled his greatcoat and one of his own blankets on me. enough to say i was clear of the fever in the morning and devoutly thankful that, although a little shaky, i was able to form up with the rest at six o'clock. doc played the game just like that all through his first spell in the line. often i wondered at the matter-of-fact way he carried on like "an old hand" under conditions which were bad enough in all conscience to everyone, but must have been doubly so to him. but if the real stuff is in a man it will show up "under fire" some day, and captain turner is only typical of thousands of uncertain-looking "prospects" that assayed almost pure gold in the crucible of war. when our turn was over and the welcome news came to move back to divisional rest, doc and i travelled out together with two or three of the boys. we had about five miles to go and the hun artillery seemed to be chasing us with his shells. they dropped just behind us with uncanny precision for a mile or two blowing up the slat duck-walks we had come over. i was in the lead and because of "the general scarcity of good men" i was hitting a fast pace. at last i heard him call out, "hold on, padre, i can't keep this pace any longer. they can blow me to kingdom-come if they like but i'm going to slow up whatever happens." strange, too, that slowing up saved our lives, for a few minutes after we were stopped by a salvo of shells ahead of us bursting where we would have been if doc hadn't put on the brakes. the battalion moved far back to the sleepy little farming village of westerhem where one day captain ross, of the y.m.c.a. sent a request to come over and give a klondike talk to the men in a neighbouring town. that evening they filled the big marquee and stayed for over an hour while i told them how cheechaco hill got its name. it is a story with a moral and has a logical connection with my prologue. what that is i think you will have little difficulty in discovering if you read the story. * * * * * the creek names of the klondike are filled with the romance of the early days. they tell in large something of the story of the pioneer. the names all have color. they speak of incident and adventure, of hopefulness and disappointment, of loneliness and homesickness. there's dominion creek and fourth of july creek. you hardly need be told that a canadian "discovered" one and a yankee the other. "whisky hill," "squabblers' bench," "paradise hill" has each a story of its own and the names hint at it. mastodon gulch with its remains of bone and ivory found in the ever-frozen gravels takes us back to the giant tuskers of those prehistoric ages before the northland was gripped by the frost. bear creek suggests an adventure resulting perhaps in a juicy bear-steak or a hurried scramble up a tree. all gold creek, too much gold, and gold bottom have the optimism of their discoverers boldly disclosed. of these three only the last paid to work. i asked bob henderson, from pictou county, nova scotia, the discoverer of the klondike gold-fields, why he chose the name "gold bottom." "on the principle," he said, "that it's wise to give a youngster a good name to inspire him to live up to it. i had a day-dream, you know, that when i got my shaft down to bed-rock it might be like the streets of the new jerusalem. we old-timers all had these dreams. it kept us going on and on, wandering, and digging on these lonely creeks for years." last chance creek has a story of its own and sometime i may tell you what i know of it. it entered hunker creek about fifteen miles back of dawson. in the rush days a roadhouse was put up there and named after the creek. later it was assumed that the creek was named after the roadhouse and that the roadhouse got its name because it was the last chance to get a drink outward bound on that trail! but i must get to my story of cheechaco hill. there are two words in common use in the yukon, one is sourdough and the other cheechaco. a sourdough is an old-timer, cheechaco is a chinook word meaning greenhorn, tenderfoot, or new-comer. in every old prospector's cabin on a shelf behind the stove-pipe you would see a bowl which contained sour dough from the previous baking. this was used as yeast to be mixed in with the dough at the next baking. when he used any he would always replace it with the same quantity of fresh dough sure to be soured before he made bread again. the cheechaco had to learn how to bake and usually would borrow some of this yeast-dough from some old-timer down the trail until he had his own sour-dough and so earned his graduate title. now for my story. in the winter following the discovery of the klondike diggings, two australians were sitting in their cabin on bonanza creek at no. below discovery, having a smoke after a hard day's grind down the drift and on the windlass. one of them was telling with great relish of a practical joke he had played that day on two cheechacos. the winter trail in the creek valley ran close on their shaft. that afternoon two men, evidently partners, hauling their outfit and sleigh had stopped for a rest and one of them had climbed up the dump to the windlass and, after a word or two of greeting, commenced to tell their difficulties. they wanted to find some place to put in their stakes, "open" ground that they could "claim" for their own on which to prospect. they had come seven miles up the creek and there seemed to be nothing open. they asked the australian if he could tell them where they could stake. this question revealed them as the most verdant of cheechacos, for if you knew of any unstaked ground likely to have paydirt in it you weren't going to give your information to a stranger. you or your partner would slip away quietly after dark. you would carefully endeavour to conceal your movements until you had the ground securely staked and recorded. even then any information you might have would only be given to other friends. so of course he told the strangers he could not help them. the cheechaco then asked him if it would be any use staking on the mountain side, overlooking the creek. this was too much for the old-timer for everyone with any sense knows that alluvial gold can't climb a hill. it was a natural law that the heaviest substances always seek the lowest levels. gold was no exception to this rule. you find it in bed-rock in the valleys where it has burrowed its way down whenever a run of water has loosened things up and given it a chance. so the australian couldn't resist the temptation to agree that there was lots of room on the mountain-side, plenty of trees, they'd be above the frost-fog and "nearer heaven" than in the creeks. they took the thing seriously, asked a few more questions about correct methods of staking and recording and then went on their way. it was a right good joke and such green specimens were certainly proper game; somebody would put them wise up at the forks anyway, and the two had a hearty laugh over the incident. a day or two afterwards they saw a small tent and the smoke of a fire on the hill opposite, sure enough the cheechacos had "bit." they had staked two claims, a "bench" and a "hillside" adjoining, and were cutting wood and hauling moss for a cabin. the news spread along bonanza until all the creek knew about it and laughed. the two men didn't sense anything wrong and looked upon the australians as their friends. they often came down to the cabin to get advice about building their cabin, how to fit the corners, what size to make it, where to get the moss for the roof and chinking between the logs in the walls. they needed pointers about cooking and a supply of sourdough for their first batch of bread. apart from their ignorance of frontier ways, they were right good fellows. one came from england, the other, nels peterson, from sweden. they had fallen in with one another in seattle when they happened to be outfitting in the same store, there they had spoken to one another, got acquainted, and agreed to go north as partners. one was a professional swedish music-hall comedian and the other a london "cabby" with a witty tongue and a kind heart. such were the strange partnerships of the klondike. in a few weeks the cabin was completed, seven feet by eight. the next step was to sink a shaft. by this time the old-timers were regretting their part in the affair. they decided not to say anything until after the cabin was finished, because these strangers would have to build a cabin somewhere in which to live. now they hesitated to confess the trick they had played on their new found friends. they concluded that the best way out for all concerned was to let them learn necessary lessons in cabin building and sinking a shaft, and then tell them, when they had gone down a few feet and found no gold, that probably they had better go and try again on some outlying creek like eureka or black hills. that looked the easiest way out of a situation which had become unexpectedly embarrassing. the best they could do now was to say nothing and give every assistance in hurrying the farce to its finish. after the cabin was completed the snow was shovelled away from a ten-foot patch where a landslide had made it comparatively level. there a fire was lit to thaw the ground, for it never thaws in the klondike except by artificial means. when this had been burnt out they dug down three or four feet to frost, cleared out the hole, and put down another fire. so by successive "fires" they slowly worked their way down. at ten feet they had to stop digging operations to make a hand-windlass, an "armstrong hoist" we called it, and a wooden bucket. the fires for thawing were still needed. now one man worked down the shaft and the other on the windlass hoisting the filled bucket and lowering the empty one. they thawed and dug this way through four feet of moss, then twelve feet of black "muck" before they struck gravel. they had been told not to bother about "panning" in muck. there was never gold in muck anyway. when they got into gravel a pan of it was taken into the cabin and washed out. there were no results. keenly disappointed they went down to their two friends that night and told them of their bad luck in not getting gold when they got into gravel. they were interrupted by excited exclamations and questions. surely it couldn't be really gravel, they must be mistaken for no gravel could get up there. if it were true gravel it meant the upsetting of all current placer mining theories, and the prospect of unlimited possibilities of new gold deposits on hillsides and benches. such news would set the whole klondike on the stampede again. but of course there must be a mistake. it was broken up slide-rock and not gravel. next morning they would come up and have a look. so they did and there was no doubt about the gravel. the cheechacos were advised to go on "sinking" and on no account to "talk" at store or roadhouse. after every thaw the australians went up to see how things looked. one day "colors" were found in the pan, and after that the four worked together unceasingly in rushing the digging as fast as the need of thawing would permit. the light flakes of yellow gold continued but it wasn't "pay" yet. one memorable evening, after an all-day spell of work without panning, the four men gathered in the little cabin around the panning tub in the corner to test dirt taken out eight feet lower than the last sample. they were all bending over eagerly, watching in the dim candle light one of the sourdoughs, an expert, who was squatted beside the tub with the pan in his hands under water. holding it aslant, he twisted it back and forth with a sort of circular motion until the top dirt was gradually washed off and the gravelly stones left. these he scraped off with his hands and then repeated the whole process. slowly the pan was emptying. if there was any gold it would be slipping down to the bottom of the pan at the lower edge of it. the candle was held closer and breathlessly the four men watched as the last few inches of the pan bottom cleared of dirt. there was only an inch of black sand and gravel now. the miner swirled the pan in the water again, then brought it up and near the candle, ran his finger through the margin of dirt still remaining and as he did so he left uncovered a shining track of yellow gold! there was a moment's silence, a hurried, deft swirl in the water and the pan was carried over to the table. there with bent heads they gazed with tense emotion first at the slender thread of gold and then at one another. not much in itself, but it meant--well, who could tell what amazing new finds it might mean? perhaps richer than anything yet known! soon they were talking in earnest excited tones. the impossible had come true and they had found, on that hill side, a "prospect" which, if the pay dirt continued for any distance or depth, would bring untold wealth to them. it was a great night in that klondike cabin. the sourdoughs confessed without reservation their attempt to play off a joke and how they had long been ashamed of it. the cheechacos laughed it off in good-will that was heightened by the happy outcome of it all. the australians were to stake claims beside them that night and then to rouse their friends who were near and have them stake on half interests. the hillside was to be called on the records "cheechaco hill" in memory of its discoverers. by the next day the news had leaked out, the camp went crazy, and in a week every piece of ground right over the klondike summits from creek to creek had been staked off in claims, no matter how absurdly unlikely the locality was, although in the scramble many very rich hillsides were found. some punster said that the only "benches" in the klondike that weren't staked were those of my log-church at gold bottom! and it was practically true. i remember once when going down indian river noticing a tree with its trunk "blazed," and on the blaze these words were written: "i, ole nelson, claim ft. straight up in the air for climbing purposes!" he had been chased up that tree by a bear and had put the event on record in this way, and indeed about the only direction by that time that was open for staking was "up in the air." there was, however, much reason for this indiscriminate staking. it seemed as if gold was likely to be found anywhere now that it climbed up the hillsides. but in a year or two the mining operations showed how the gold got there. ages ago there had been an upheaval of some kind that had changed the course of the streams and had made valleys hills, and hills valleys. these deposits were in what had formerly been river or creek bottoms. the hill-side seemed an unlikely place but the gold was there, and the digging disclosed it buried deep where god had placed it, not haphazard, but according to one of the laws of nature. _xi._ _the lost patrol_ in the spring of , following the smashing attack of the germans towards amiens, orders came from the french military headquarters, that all civilians were to move from towns near the line to safer areas further back. this order nearly got me into a "mix-up." it happened i was billeted at madame buay's humble home in la brebis, when the new regulation came to them like a bomb from the blue. one day soon after, at . a.m., madame and her boy came to my room to bid me a tearful adieu. it was arranged by the authorities that they must leave before nine o'clock that morning. there was much talk, and would i help her so kindly by buying her poor little rabbits. they would starve if left behind and she could not take them. "there were just three," she said. i bought them for twenty francs; thought they would make a savoury stew for our mess. about half past nine, i went to view my livestock. when behold, to my dismay, i found that my three rabbits had increased, in the course of nature, to ten, and there were signs of more "in the offing." on the top of this came an unexpected message for the battalion to move out at p.m. that day. i tried to sell my rabbits to the local butcher, who had been permitted to stay until he cleared out his stock of meat. but no, he wouldn't buy them. they weren't, of course, fit to kill for food. at last in desperation, for i couldn't leave the beasts to starve, i rounded up the half-dozen small boys left in the place and unloaded my rabbits on them. i knew the ordinary boy cannot resist the offer of a live rabbit, even though father and mother might object. i would be gone by that time anyway. i tell only the simple truth, (those who know rabbits will not question it), when i state that i had not three nor ten, but sixteen rabbits, big and little, to give away to the boys. a second contingent had arrived numbering six! i was relieved to be quit of them, for at the rate they had multiplied that day i could see myself, before many weeks, marching at the head of a battalion of rabbits! it was pitiful to see these french people leaving the homes in which they, or their ancestors, had lived for generations. pathos and humor combined, sometimes, in the appearance of the odd conveyances and the motive-power used. i saw one dear old lady propped up in a wheelbarrow, her son trundling her along. there were plenty other strange and sorry sights. with it all they seemed cheerful, and determined to make the best of everything. this battalion-trek i stayed behind with a half-company of men who had been held by fatigue-duties. when we set out we decided to try a short-cut across the fields, but we wandered considerably, and had not reached our destination when supper-time drew near. we had no provisions with us. while the men were resting by the road, tired, hot, and hungry, i sauntered off by myself to where i noticed a wreath of smoke above the trees of an orchard. i saw a few soldiers there, standing by a fire not far from the farm-sheds. as i got closer two of them came hesitatingly towards me, saluted, and one said, "sir, is your name pringle?" i said it was, and then we discovered that eighteen years before we had knocked around together in the atlin gold-diggings. they remembered me after all those years! they belonged to a detachment of canadian railway troops. the upshot of it was that when i told them of my tired and hungry kilties, they got me into friendly touch with the q.m. sergeant billeted in the farmhouse. he showed himself a right good fellow and in short order i was on my way back to my men heading a small but well-laden carrying-party. our boys could hardly believe their eyes when they saw us toddling along, laden with two big kitchen dixies of hot tea, a dozen loaves of bread and a full tin of good, fresh hard-tack. the tea and rations refreshed us and made the remaining kilometres easy. we found the battalion located in a picturesque little farm-village. the group of houses lay snugly hidden among trees, while out on all sides, over rolling land, one could see long stretches of cultivated fields, in blocks of brown and varying shades of green. other than the farm buildings, there was only a small store, a blacksmith shop, and a tavern. the houses were ancient, built with out-buildings to enclose a court-yard, in the centre of which was, almost invariably, a manure-pile and cess-pool. the inhabitants were primitive in their ways, kindly farm-folk of simple manners, hard-working and apparently contented. one well, over feet deep, served for public use. it was worked by a hand-windlass and to get a pail of water was a laborious process. the rough wooden shelter over it was erected, so the inscription read, in . i suppose it was an event in village history when that shelter was added. there must be a wide variety of things, besides water, at the bottom of that well. the water tasted good enough, but one's imagination should not be allowed to work too carefully over the subject. chatting along the way after we left the railway troops, my talk naturally turned from the kindness done us through those klondike friends, to other fine men i knew in the north. i was made to promise to tell "the bunch" a yukon story some evening after we got properly settled in our new billets. two or three nights afterwards, i redeemed my promise. in one of the old barns, sitting on a low beam, with the men lying around in the straw, i related to them the grim tragedy of the lost patrol. * * * * * in the annals of frontier-life anywhere you like in the world, nothing can be found more filled with heroic incident in the performance of duty and the maintenance of a high prestige, than the history of our own canadian mounted police. i choose this particular story, because it exemplifies, so clearly, their dominating sense of duty and the quiet fortitude in the face of danger and death, characteristic of their splendid record. it occurred in the far north, in klondike days, in a region through which i have travelled and so it has for me a double interest. every winter since the big stampede, the mounted police have patrolled the four hundred miles of wilderness lying between dawson and fort mcpherson. the latter place consists of a dozen log buildings, on the mackenzie, far in the arctic. it is the centre of administration for a hundred thousand square miles of territory. dawson, the well-known gold-camp, is on the yukon river, close to the edge of the arctic circle. one round trip is made each winter, with dog-teams carrying mail, personal and official, needed to keep that northern world of indians, eskimo, whites, and half-breeds, in touch with civilization, and to uphold our british traditions of law and order. the journey is always beset with dangers. one day out, and the members of the patrol know that their lives depend wholly on themselves. they may see no one else for twenty or thirty days. they will go through a vast and lonely land travelling along the wide valleys of frozen rivers, up long narrow gulches filled with snow, over miles of wind-swept mesas, and across high, treeless, mountain ridges. "all goes well, if all goes well," is a proverb of the trail, for in winter-time there, death is always near. his opportunity comes easily in numerous ways. a gashed foot cut by a slip of the axe in getting firewood, a sprained ankle, an unsheltered camp with a blizzard in the night, fog, or wind, or snowstorm, sick dogs or men, short rations, a mile in the wrong direction, all these very simply lead to distress, maiming or death. the greatest and commonest danger comes from the glacial overflows. in winter the creeks freeze solid. this dams back the water in its sources in the banks, until the expulsive force in the hidden springs, deep in the mountains, drives the water out on top of the ice. even in the most extreme cold you will find in these canyons, under the snow or shoal ice, pools of this overflow water remaining liquid for hours. to get into this with moccasins means an immediate camp and fire, otherwise there will be frozen feet and permanent crippling, and if one is alone and dry wood not at hand, it is fatal. all these and more are the chances the experienced "musher" must be prepared to take. no "tenderfoot," in his right senses, would attempt such a long journey, in winter, alone. it was the morning of december st, , that the patrol left fort mcpherson for dawson. it comprised inspector fitzgerald, constables taylor and kinney, and special constable carter, with three dog-teams of five dogs each. they expected to be in dawson about the beginning of february. they never reached dawson. their comrades at fort mcpherson of course gave no anxious thought to them, and when the dawson search-party came in at close of day on march nd, it was with surprise and horror, that they heard of the loss of the whole patrol. next day the frozen bodies of all four were brought in, those who three months before had set out on that wilderness journey, so keen and strong. they were found within thirty miles of the fort, but it was a long, long trail of terrible miles that they had travelled. towards the end of january the dawson police commenced to expect the patrol. after the first week in february, they became uneasy. on the th february some fort mcpherson indians arrived in dawson. one of them, named esau, had been with the patrol, as guide, to the head of mountain creek, where he was discharged on new year's day. the police had lost their way, had come on this camp of indians and employed esau to guide them until fitzgerald was satisfied the party could do without him, when he was dismissed. it was a tragic mistake. on the th february, supt. snyder of the dawson post, fearing trouble, despatched the relief-party under corporal dempster, consisting in addition, of constables fyfe and turner and a half-breed named charles stewart. march th, on the mcpherson side of the divide, dempster saw the first sure traces of the lost patrol. in the big wind river valley he found a night-camp which had doubtless been made by the missing men. there were one or two empty butter and canned-beef tins lying about and a piece of flour-sack marked, "r.n.w.m. police, fort mcpherson." the morning of march th, they discovered a toboggan and seven sets of dog-harness "cached" about six miles up mountain creek. on searching more carefully, a dog's paws and shoulder-blade were found, from the latter of which, the flesh had evidently been cooked and eaten. ten miles from seven-mile portage, march st, dempster noticed a blue handkerchief tied to a willow. he went over to it, climbed the bank, and broke through the fringe of willows into the timber. there before his eyes was the end of a chapter in the sad story. in the snow lay the bodies of constables kinney and taylor. a fire had been at their feet. their camp kettle was half-full of moose-skin, which had been cut up into small pieces and boiled. dempster's party cut some brush, covered the bodies with it, and went on in the direction of the fort. he says in his report, "i had now concluded that fitzgerald and carter had left these two men in a desperate effort to reach the fort, and would be found somewhere between this point and mcpherson. next morning, about ten miles further down the river, a trail appeared to lead towards the shore and while feeling in the new snow for the old tracks underneath, we kicked up a pair of snow-shoes. we then climbed the bank and a little way back in the woods we came on the bodies of the other two men. this was wednesday the nd march. carter had died first, for he had been laid out upon his back, his hands crossed upon his breast and a handkerchief placed over his face. fitzgerald lay near him." dempster and his party then went on to fort mcpherson arriving about six o'clock in the afternoon the same day. there help was obtained and the remains were brought in. on march th, the four bodies were laid side by side, in the same grave. the funeral service was read by the rev. c. e. whittaker, the church of england missionary at that remote point. a firing-party of five men fired the usual volleys over the grave. the brave men of the lost patrol had all come to their last camping-ground. fitzgerald's diary of the fatal journey was found. he had kept it up to sunday, february th, when it ceased. between the lines, for there is no sign of weakening in the written words, one can read the pathetic story of a long struggle against death from starvation and exposure, an heroic battle, maintained to the last in terrible agony. let me quote but six entries from the diary. it was carefully written commencing december st, the day they left the fort. it is a sad but thrilling drama extending over fifty days, staged in a mystic, white, winter-land, cruel and lonely, silent too, save for the howl of wolf or roar of mountain storm. every entry is of absorbing interest, but the quotations suffice to tell of the fateful seven days spent in vainly searching for the pass up forrest gulch, and then the brave struggle to retrace their steps to fort mcpherson. death ever came closer, stalked at last beside them every moment. he had no power to destroy their unconquerable spirits but he finally claimed their weary, worn-out bodies. here is the chronicle. "tuesday, jan. th. twenty three degrees below zero. fine in the morning, with a strong gale in the evening. did not break camp. sent carter and kinney off at . a.m. to follow a river going south by a little east. they returned at . p.m. and reported that it ran right up into the mountains, and carter said it was not the right river. i left at . a.m. and followed a river running south but could not see any cuttings on it. carter is completely lost and does not know one river from another. we have now only ten pounds of flour, and eight pounds of bacon, and some dried fish. my last hope is gone (of getting through to dawson) and the only thing i can do is to return and kill some of the dogs to feed the others and ourselves, unless we can meet some indians. we have now been a week looking for a river to take us over the divide, but there are dozens of rivers and i am at a loss. i should not have taken carter's word that he knew the way from little wind river." * * * * * "tuesday, jan. th. fifty-six below. strong south wind with very heavy mist. left camp at . , went six miles and found the river overflowed right across. constable taylor got in to the waist and carter to the hips, and we had to go into camp at . a.m. cold intense for all the open water. killed another dog and all hands made a good meal on dog-meat." * * * * * "tuesday, jan. st. forty-five below. sixty-two below in the afternoon. left camp at . a.m. had to double-up teams for the first mile and a half. nooned one hour and camped at . p.m. four miles from caribou river. going heavy, travelled part of the time on our old trail, but it was filled in. skin peeling off our faces and parts of the body, lips all swollen and split. i suppose this is caused by feeding on dog-meat. everybody feeling the cold very much for want of proper food. made seventeen miles." * * * * * "wednesday, feb. st. fifty-one below. left camp at . a.m. and camped at . p.m. on the river where we start around caribou born mountain. killed another dog to-night. this makes eight dogs that we have killed. we have eaten most of them and fed what dried fish we had to the dogs. sixteen miles." "friday, feb. rd. twenty-six below. left camp at . a.m. men and dogs very thin and cannot travel far. we have gone about miles on dog-meat and have still about miles to go. i think we shall make it all right but will have only three or four dogs left. fourteen miles." * * * * * "saturday, feb. th. forty-eight below. just after noon i broke through shoal ice and had to make fire, found one foot slightly frozen. killed another dog to-night; have only five dogs now and can only go a few miles a day: everybody breaking out on the body and skin peeling off. eight miles." these were his last written words, except his will, scrawled on a torn piece of paper with a cinder from the burnt-out fire by which he died. it read;--"all money in despatch bag and bank, clothes etc., i leave to my beloved mother, mrs. john fitzgerald, halifax. god bless all." so, in brief, runs the story of the "lost patrol." there have been widely-heralded expeditions to north and south poles. in their months of outfitting and general preparations, these expeditions left nothing undone to ensure safety that science could devise or money buy. they knew they had the eyes of the world upon them with the consequent urge to worthy endeavour. i wish to take no honour from them, but to me there is something finer in the way brave men in lonely places and at dangerous tasks, in civilian as in military life, risk death continually, not for glory, or fame, or riches, but simply in doing their routine of duty year after year. the world takes little notice, save when some startling tragedy occurs, and then soon forgets. this story is not told in vain if it will remind canadians of our own noble fellows, who in the wilds of our far-flung northern boundaries are adventuring their lives in these so-called "common" ways. "their heroic efforts," says commissioner perry, "to return to fort mcpherson, have not been exceeded in the annals of arctic travel. corporal dempster's reports show that the unfortunate men were wasted to shadows. all were strong, powerful, young men, and in the best of health and condition, when they left on their ill-fated journey. it is the greatest tragedy which has occurred in this force during its existence of thirty-seven years. their loss has been felt most keenly by every member, but we cannot but feel a thrill of pride at their firm endeavour to carry out their duty, and the subsequent prolonged struggle they made to save their lives." brave and gallant gentlemen, i salute you! _xii._ _an edinburgh lad_ the evening of august th, , saw the british troops in france massed under cover along a front of many miles, ready for the morning and the grand attack of august th which led to our final victory. throughout the vast organization of our allied armies, now all under gen. foch, gigantic preparations of microscopic thoroughness had been going on for weeks. our intentions had been most wonderfully hidden from our foes by all the artifices of elaborately developed camouflage. at night the roads of france back of the line were filled with hundreds of thousands of infantrymen marching to their appointed places; with countless batteries of big guns and little guns, and munitions, moving as required by the great secret plan; with lorries, armoured cars, and tanks, pounding along in almost endless succession through the darkness. in the daytime little movement was to be seen beyond what was usual. artifices, many and varied, were used to trick our foes, such as fake attacks in flanders by a platoon or two of canadians left in the north to mislead the enemy, the canadian troops being then far south. altogether it seemed that the germans were left wholly in the dark as to our purposes. it was the largest and most brilliantly arranged venture in the war. armistice day testifies how well the plans were carried through. our own corps had been slipping by night into a little patch of timber, on the roye road, called gentelles wood. we had been gathered there for two days, lying low but so packed in, that, if the enemy artillery had dropped a single shell anywhere in the woods, it would have decimated a battalion. what a chance they missed! enough to give old hindenburg the nightmare if he knows of it. it seemed like another direct intervention of providence. for weeks before, the germans had shelled these woods, a little, almost every day, but now, at the very time when a few shells would have materially disarranged our plans, something stayed the hands of the gunners and not a single shell or bomb came near us. on the th, as soon as it was dark enough, the tanks, hidden in the brush at the edge of the wood and by hedges at roadsides, commenced to move to their attack positions. two score must have passed through our battalion bivouac. the leading tank made its own road crashing through the brush, going over ditches and fallen timber, and turning aside only for the large standing trees. each driver, hidden away in the tank and peering through the small look-out, could see only the lighted end of his officer's cigarette which was used to guide him in the deep darkness of the trees. no other lights were allowed. when they were gone we too moved forward, deploying to our positions in trenches ready for "zero-hour" next day. the night passed safely, a momentous night, in which the enemy had his last good chance to spoil our plans and save himself from overwhelming defeat. just before dawn, through the light morning mist, our artillery barrage came down with infernal noise and destructive effect. it told the enemy that we were going to attack. the german batteries of course replied with damaging precision, but it was too late then to save the day. our guns lengthened range and the tanks went forward. the other fighting units followed and by sunrise the grand attack had been fully launched up and down the whole british and french front. it was an attack that was to continue victoriously for three months, finally forcing the germans on nov. th to confess themselves well and thoroughly whipped. in this splendid affair the canadian corps had a place of special honor on the extreme right of the british line, and facing the central attack-area beyond amiens down the roye road. of our own battalions the rd was on the right flank linking up with the left wing of the french troops. the "liaison platoon" was half canadian camerons and half french "poilus." this junction sector would probably be the place of greatest danger to the success of the whole advance, for there, if anywhere, misunderstanding or conflict in orders might occur leading to a dangerous dislocation in the long line of the allies. we were very proud of the confidence placed in us. the results show that it was not misplaced. it was a glorious victory. the tanks cleared up the out-lying german defence posts and enabled our machine-gunners and infantry following them, to put their full strength against the main german positions. before noon the hun was on the run. we chased him helter-skelter through fields of yellow grain, across meadows, and down dusty roads, cornered and captured hundreds of his men in orchards and chateaux. it was sunny, summer weather in one of the loveliest parts of france. our success had surpassed expectations and we were still going on. there were "beaucoup souvenirs." the enemy in his hurry had left a litter of stuff behind him, post-cards half-written, tobacco-pipes half-smoked and still warm, shaving brushes with fresh lather on them, breakfasts commenced but finished elsewhere, if ever finished. on aug. th, three days after the attack our brigade was camped under the trees beside a chateau which had been a german divisional headquarters on aug. th, and was now ten miles behind our line. i remember it distinctly for that day, a sunday, i had preached my farewell sermon to my battalion. i had been inveigled into asking for a recall to england. they said i needed a rest. perhaps i did, and then at that time you couldn't tell how much longer the war was to last. if i had foreseen an armistice in twelve weeks i should have done differently. so i was to go to blighty for a few months, my substitute had reported for duty and there was nothing for me to do but go. a group of men sat around me beneath the trees, as i lingered that afternoon, chatting about odds and ends of things, leaving the subject that, i think, was uppermost in our minds pretty much untouched, for we were all loth to say good-bye. somehow the talk turned to stories of clever camouflage suggested by some of our recent experiences and the boys told several good yarns. i outlined an old one i had heard my father tell of the arts of camouflage practised by indians in his own soldier days in upper canada. this elicited enquiries about my father, and how he came to be soldiering in canada so long ago. it was a story i knew well, and so it was easily told. these men were friends of mine, true and tried, and i knew they would understand and fill in from their hearts the simple outline i gave them of my father's life. * * * * * ever since i can remember, edinburgh has been to me the fairest city in the world. i am canadian-born, my mother also, but my father was an edinburgh man, and my earliest memories are filled with word-pictures of that city drawn in warm tones of affection by a home-sick scot. many an hour have i sat at my father's feet, as we gathered around the fire of a winter's evening, listening to his stories. he had a wide range of indian and soldier anecdotes so dear to a boy's heart, but none of them live so clearly in my recollection as those he had to tell of his birth-place. long before i knew what geography was i had a fairly intimate knowledge of edinburgh. calton hill, arthur's seat, samson's ribs, holyrood palace, high street and princes street, i had the right location and a true picture of them all. when boy-like i would be building forts with blocks or in the sand, they would always be called edinburgh castle. i knew all his stories except one, and that one was his own life. i heard that too, at last, and it came about in this wise. an important registered letter used to come to father quarterly, containing his soldier's pension. until i was well along in school i was not specially interested in the envelope or its contents, but one day i read the address as it lay near me on the table, and it was " cpl. g. mcdonald, r.c.r." naturally i became curious. my father, george pringle, was getting george mcdonald's letter and money. my father was honest, i never, of course, questioned that. still it was a puzzle to my boyish mind. he came into the room, saw what i was doing, and so i asked him to tell me about it. "it must look odd to you, my boy," he said, "and i've been waiting until you were old enough to hear and understand the explanation. to-night after supper, if no visitors come, i'll tell you the reason of it." that evening under the lamplight we gathered around his arm-chair and he told his own story. "long ago," he said, "when i was a boy, our family were living very happily in what was then one of the best parts of old edinburgh. my father was a man of substance and gave us all a good schooling and a trade. of my mother i shall only say that she was to me the most wonderful and the most beautiful woman in the world. i had a twin brother john and we were very much alike in appearance. when we were fourteen years old our mother died. we mourned as only boys of that age can mourn, with deep grief too poignant for words. within three years father married again. our stepmother was an excellent woman and kind to us, and i know now my father did right. but we couldn't bear to have anyone else in our own mother's place. loyal in our love to her we grew embittered towards our father. there were no "words," but when about seventeen years old we ran away from home, tramped south to london, and there, being edinburgh tradesmen, soon found work. a year or so and then we got an inkling that father had traced us. determined not to go back we enlisted in the rifle brigade and to hide our identity gave our names as john and george mcdonald, our mother's maiden name. you see where our hearts were. within the year our unit left for canada, and we had been in barracks at halifax, nova scotia, only a few months when we were paraded one day before the commanding officer, col. lawrence. he took us into his own room and there he spoke to us as a friend. he had received a letter eloquent with a father's love for his two wandering laddies. father had traced us by our christian names, and our likeness to each other. i think, too, the name mcdonald, which we thought would baffle him, only made him more certain. col. lawrence read the letter aloud to us, and it moved us deeply. money enough was enclosed to buy our discharge and pay our passage home. the officer urged us to return. at first we were inclined to yield, but some dour devil of bitterness took control of our hearts and we said we would not go, would accept no money, and wished to have no further communication with our father. such was the unrelenting reply the colonel would have to send back to edinburgh. how many, many times has remorse punished me for that unkind decision. yet we blindly thought that love and loyalty to the mother we had lost made it right that we should turn our backs on our father's outstretched arms. we never heard from him again, and we have lost all trace of our relatives in scotland. "you can easily construct the rest of my story. after serving some years more we left the army for a time. i was married to your mother, mary cowan, at murray harbor south, prince edward island. shortly after we re-enlisted under our army name in the royal canadian rifles, then a newly organized regiment, with which i served until i finally gave up the soldier life, and settled in galt under my right name. my service was sufficient to get me a medal and a pension. the pension comes addressed as you have seen, and the medal is similarly inscribed. it is the regimental number that identifies me and the money and medal are rightfully mine. but a thousand pensions can never ease my heart of regrets for the suffering we needlessly inflicted on our father who loved us and whom we loved." * * * * * this was the homely story told in my father's words to those kiltie lads that summer afternoon under the apple trees in an alien land. they listened and understood, for every true scottish heart responds to these stories of our own folk and our homeland. from the lone shieling of the misty island mountains divide them, and a waste of seas, but still the blood is strong, the heart is highland, and they in dreams behold the hebrides. and it's all the same whether they are from the east coast or the west, the highlands, or the islands, or the borders, city or country-born, the scot never knows the place scotland has in his affections until he becomes an exile. i slipped away after saying farewell, and, with my faithful henchman macpherson, climbed up on a waiting lorry and was off down the dusty road towards boulogne, homesick for the men i left behind me. sequel it was my privilege to spend the winter of - in edinburgh taking lectures at new college, a glorious year. i had searched the city for traces of my father's people without success, and had almost given up hopes of ever finding them. one day early in the session i was standing in the common hall of the college chatting with other students, when one of them named scott asked me if he might enquire why my father went to canada, for i had been saying he came from edinburgh. i gave him a few details and he seemed much interested. further explanations and his eyes lighted up with excitement. i soon found what caused it. several eager questions and answers back and forth and i knew that one of my great ambitions had been realized. i had found one of the old edinburgh pringles from whom we had been estranged so many years. his mother was a pringle, the daughter of an older brother of my father's. it was one of the supreme occasions of my life. in our hand-clasp in that college hall under the shadow of the castle, the separation of nearly a century was ended. some of you can guess how deeply i was stirred. fancy or fact, i was certain he had my father's voice and eyes. we opened our hearts to each other and it was pleasant talk. i had reason to be proud of my new-found cousin. he was then assistant-minister in one of the noblest of edinburgh's many fine churches, "chalmer's territorial united free," commonly called "the west port." my first sermon in my father's city was preached from his pulpit, and in it i could not forbear telling the congregation of the strange and happy meeting with their minister. _xiii._ _last chance_ for three months in the fall of i served with the st canadian tanks. canada had two tank battalions organized late in the war. neither of them had the good fortune to get to france. the first was composed of volunteer recruits drawn largely from the universities of ontario and quebec, and they were a remarkably keen lot of soldiers. quite a number of the officers belonged to the faculties of these colleges and many of the men were graduates or undergraduates. after arrival from canada they were under canvas for a week or two at rhyll in wales, but soon moved into permanent quarters on the bovington farm in dorset county. bovington was a great tank camp. a number of imperial tank units along with ours were located there for training, with large machine-shops and many auxiliary units. the country immediately around the huts swarmed with soldiers and "herds" of noisy tanks. i joined the battalion for duty about mid-august and stayed with them until after the armistice. those were very happy weeks. everyone was good to me. besides i had just come from the turmoil of france, and the quaint, quiet, pastoral beauty of dorset seemed a haven of peace. i had pleasant times in camp. then there were exhilarating walks to take with my good friends, somerville, smith, macfarlane, bobbie kerr and others, over the downs through miles of purple heather, and along deep hedge-lined country roads to some old-fashioned thatch-roofed village, where we would have tea and a rest before returning. or of a morning we would walk down the six miles to lulworth cove on the coast, three miles of our journey between hedges of giant rhododendron, with the limbs of oak, pine and beech trees forming a leafy arch over our heads. at the cove hotel we would enjoy one of their famous boiled-lobster dinners, with potatoes, water-cress and lettuce, and a rice-custard dessert. dorset, too, is a country filled with stirring, historic association recalling frequent battles fought against sea-borne invaders, and many also were the smugglers' stories we heard of this shore so near to france and so filled with coves and caves. there is romance as well as adventure. thomas hardy found inspiration in the dorset folklore for his masterpiece, "tess of the d'urbervilles." the most imposing castle-ruin i have seen is there, corfe castle, visible for miles against the sky. it recalls fierce attack and prolonged siege in the days of cavalier and roundhead. by the beginning of november the battalion was through its training, taking in its written examinations the highest marks in the camp. soon after came the eagerly-awaited order to mobilize for france. in a few days we had our lorries parked, our kits ready, our fighting "colors" up on our tunics, and our final letters from england sent off home. the day was set, i think nov. th, for our embarkation at a channel port for france. they would have done great deeds in battle these fine bright lads, but they were not to be given the opportunity. nov. th, , was a dismal day for the canadian tank corps. at eleven o'clock the order, "cease fire," sounded along our whole line in france and the armistice emerged into history, blasting their hopes of active service. on a sunday following i had to preach a sermon of rejoicing to the battalion. it was a parade service so that i had a congregation of men who gave me a perfect hearing, but all the same the sermon was a failure. i knew it would be even if i had been eloquent, and in my heart i was glad that these canadian boys could not rejoice with me. they were disgusted with their fate. another day or two and they would have got to france, and that would have been something, even if they hadn't been fortunate enough to get into battle. from their standpoint it was no occasion for hilarity. they fired no guns, they beat no drums, and generally were a very gloomy-looking lot of fellows. i am enough of a barbarian to like them all the better for it. later in the week i tried to relieve the situation a little for some of them by telling in the rest-hut one evening what i knew of the naming of one of the famous klondike creeks. * * * * * there is a well-known creek in the north called last chance and i shall try to tell you something of its story. it may help you to feel that while you missed the real fighting in france there's still lots of chance of adventure in life for you all. last chance is a tributary of hunker creek, fifteen miles in the hills back of dawson. in the rush days a road-house was put up there and named after the creek. later it was assumed that the creek had got its name from the road-house, and this had been so named because it was the "last chance to get a drink" outward bound on that trail. but here's the real story. "old yank" was the man who gave the creek its name. he was a gambler of that kind who go out into the wilds among giant mountain-peaks, and in far-off, unnamed valleys alone with their pick-axe, shovel, and gold-pan stake their lives on the chance that there is gold in rock or gravel. who can quarrel with such gambling? there are no marked cards in that game. if they win they win clean, and if they lose, well they've lived a glorious, free life filled with health, hope, and work without a master, and the companionship of a few choice friends. the old man had come to the time when he knew that shortly his prospecting days would be ended. then he would land in some old man's home unless he could make a clean-up soon and have enough to save him from that baleful finish. he had made several "stakes" when he was younger in the southern mountains, but he had either thrown his wealth away in the purchase or development of worthless claims, on further prospecting expeditions, or had lost it in a gold camp where he had been fleeced by some of the various kinds of human vultures which always flocked to the gold-diggings, when they proved rich, to prey upon the miners. he told me a story of how once in the early days in the caribou he was sitting in a card game with a number of strangers. he had lost half his spring clean-up to them when the police raided the road-house and took them all "in" to stand trial before judge begbie. begbie was a man noted for his swift, stern methods and his keen penetration in court. he didn't interfere with what he called "square" card gambling among a group of miners, but he was a terror to the professional card-sharper. next day every man pleaded that he was a working miner and had just come in from the hills. where all were dressed alike in rough clothes it seemed impossible to decide who were telling the truth. begbie never hesitated. "show me the palms of your hands," he said, and the constable made them line up with their hands held up, palms out. the judge inspected them rapidly, ordered two men detained and dismissed the others. those released had callouses on their hands that you can get only by the use of pick and shovel. the two detained, questioned, and sent to penitentiary in new westminster were soft-handed. when i first met yank the sinews of his right hand were so drawn up and stiffened by the jar of the pick through years of work that he could not open his hand. the way he got his fingers around the pick-handle was by shoving the end of it in with his left hand through the curve of thumb and forefinger on his right. he was busy prospecting in a valley near the klondike at the time those wonderful gold-fields were discovered. he was only a divide or two away. a squaw-man passing with three indians on his way to the mouth of the klondike to fish salmon had stopped a day with him. he advised the man to "pan" here and there, where there was rim-rock showing, as they went along in the creek-bottoms. he himself was getting light prospects and it might be better closer in to the klondike basin. he asked and was promised that, if they struck anything good, one of them would come back and let him know. they followed his advice and found rich pay on rabbit creek, but they failed to keep their promise to the old man whose advice had so enriched them. yank never knew of the klondike stampede, until the next year when two strangers, who had got lost, wandered into his valley and told him the amazing news. he put on his pack and left forthwith but he was too late. hundreds of men from stewart and forty-mile were now located on the best ground and the stream of stampeding "cheechacos" from the outside world was already commencing to flood in. there was nothing left that he thought worth staking. he crossed the ridge from rabbit creek, (now called bonanza), with a heavy heart, heading back to his lonely cabin. off the divide he came into a narrow gulch which he followed. it widened into a good-sized valley. he was surprised as he went along to see neither cabins nor claim-stakes. he travelled its whole length indeed and found none. although right in the rich region it had been overlooked. when he got to the mouth of the gulch he saw why, in those first days of hurried staking it had been left untouched, for the valley narrowed into a very small opening where it entered the larger hunker creek. the stampeders passing up and down hunker would rarely see the scarcely noticeable break in the hills hidden by the trees, or if they saw it would not think it worth exploring. he lost no time in going back up the creek to the wider part. there he put down a hole near the rim where it was only a few feet to bed-rock and found excellent prospects. he now set about staking discovery claim. with his axe he cut, about five feet from the ground, a smooth four-inch face on four sides of a small tree in the centre of the valley, and then pencilled on the down-stream side this inscription, "no. post. discovery claim. i, joe. chronister, claim fifteen hundred feet down-stream, and from base to base, for placer mining purposes," signed his name with date and hour, and the number of his miner's certificate. then he stepped off five hundred paces roughly downstream through the brush and then "blazed" his second tree as before, marking it, "no. post, discovery claim," and writing as on no. , with "down-stream" changed to "up-stream." he camped that night on his claim, and before he lay down on his spruce-bough bed to sleep, he sat awhile by the dying fire dreaming old dreams again. perhaps this time it would be very rich; it prospected fine but "prospects" were only prospects. "well," he mused, "old-timer, you're near the end of the game. if there's nothing good under the muck here it will be 'over the hill to the poorhouse' for you. it's your last chance, last chance." it was with this thought running through his mind that next day he entered the recording office in dawson, with his good friend the stalwart capt. jim mcleod at his side to see that he got square treatment, and recorded discovery on his creek which was named on the government records, "last chance," at his request. it is good to know that yank's claim was rich. providence had been kind to the old man. he saved his clean-ups and lived in comfort the rest of his days in a snug log-cabin in dawson, near the wild waters of the turbulent klondike, where they rush into the depths of the mighty yukon. _xiv._ _a moose hunt_ it was my good fortune to be in london on "leave" the day the armistice was signed. at o'clock in the morning the multitude of giant "siren" whistles, used for warning the approach of enemy air-craft, broke into a wild chorus of deafening howls, and londoners knew that germany, the aggressor, had accepted the lowly seat of the vanquished. the sounds of public rejoicing commenced immediately and by the late afternoon the celebration was in full swing. it was a celebration in which i could not be content with a spectator's part. i entered into it with all my heart. the whole outburst, for the first day at least, was the spontaneous and natural expression of joy at a glad release from the curse of war, which had lain heavily upon the old land for four long, black, bitter years. i then started out early in the evening, mingling with the immense crowds down southampton row and kingsway to the strand, along to trafalgar square, then up to piccadilly, and home after midnight by way of regent and oxford streets. all those great thoroughfares and squares were filled from side to side with whirlpools of people. everywhere were groups of dancers or singers, all sorts of foolish processions big and little, all sorts of bands, noisemakers and fireworks. workmen standing on ladders, surrounded by thousands of madly cheering observers, were taking the light-shields off the street-lamps. this meant that london streets would be lighted for the first time since . in the immense moving crowds huge circles would form as if by magic, then everyone in it, all strangers to one another, would join hands and dance up and down, and in and out, to some old song. i got into one of these happy groups by chance in front of nelson's monument in trafalgar square, where we all danced up to the centre and back singing, "here we go gathering nuts in may," and then commenced to circle round to the chorus of "ring-a-ring-a-rosy." we were just like a throng of happy children at a picnic. then the formation dissolved, and its members disappeared into the singing, shouting, noisy crowds. i fell in with an english officer, and he and i joined forces with an english bugler wearing an australian soldier's hat. he had lost his own cap and had picked this one up somewhere. we three marched along arm-in-arm; the bugler would blow a call, then pass the bugle to us and we would each make some hideous noises upon it. i had my cameron glengarry on and as we crushed along with the crowd, every now and then, out of the clamor, i could hear voices calling to me, "well done, jock," "good old scotty." don't think we were at all conspicuous, for nearly everyone was doing things quite as foolish. we felt compelled to shout, cheer, sing, or do something to express our overflowing joy that the war was past at long last. these people of the old country knew the deep tragedy, the terrible heart-breaking, nerve-racking strain of the war as canada could not know it. "it was meet that they should make merry and be glad." i saw practically no drinking nor roughness. it was a remarkable demonstration free, that night, from all the artificiality of pre-arrangement. next day i attended the thanksgiving service at st. paul's cathedral. the king and queen were there and many personages of note, but it was common folk who filled the vast building and crowded the streets for blocks around. there was no sermon. there could not have been any sermon or preacher adequate to such an occasion. the fortieth chapter of isaiah was read, and how mystically and beautifully it expressed our thoughts, short prayers were said, and then the people stood up to sing, led by a great military massed band and the cathedral organ. the instrumental music alone was enough to thrill one's soul, but when those thousands joined, with heart and voice, in melodious thanksgiving to god for release from the abundant travail of the bitter years, filling the glorious old temple full with a glad tumultuous harmony, the effect was indescribable. hundreds were so moved they could find no voice for song, and could only lift their faces to heaven with tears of joy running down their cheeks. in all the history of the empire there never was a moment when the whole british people were so stirred and held by such high and tense emotion. the glad, loud song of thankfulness had also the minor note vibrant with sorrow, there was the echo of a sob in it. this great nation, rejoicing in righteous victory, kept sad and sacred memories of her million slain. while in london for these few wonderful days i stayed at the west central hotel, and there, one afternoon later in the week, i was delighted to meet an old "tillicum" of the trails, tom patton. for three rare days we companied together and talked about old friends and other days. we revelled in memories of the glorious years we spent together in the far-off northland. in imagination we travelled again many a well-known mile, and memorable experiences we had in common were recalled. i was sorry when the last day of my leave came, for patton was one of the very best of my old yukon friends and "there are no friends like the old friends after all." that last evening three other old klondikers, whom we had discovered in london, foregathered with us in my room and enjoyed a yukon evening. there were many interesting stories told that night. each had his own contribution, and there were some yarns in whose spinning we all lent a hand. there was one in which patton and i had equal share, one i had often told to my comrades in france to while away a weary hour. it described a hunting trip up the yukon river he and i took one fall to get some wild-fowl. we ran on bigger game and that is why i call it a moose hunt. * * * * * in , late in the autumn, when every night brought sharp frost, and fish and fowl were heading for the sea and the south to escape the icy-fingers of on-coming winter, patton and i planned a fortnight's holiday up the yukon to shoot ducks. we hired a rowboat at dawson, and put it aboard a river steamboat on which we had taken passage up-stream about a hundred miles to the mouth of white river. there the steamer slowed up enough to let us launch our boat and get into it with our outfit, leaving us then on the great river to our own devices. we decided to make camp immediately for it was getting on in the day. so we pulled across to the left bank, tied up our boat, and commenced to look about us. i noticed a well-marked trail in the brush which i followed for a few yards and came on a cabin. i knocked at the door and it was quickly opened by the occupant. i told him who i was and he asked me in. the place was dark, dirty, and smelly, nor was i taken with the man's personal appearance, for his hair was long and tangled, and his face almost hidden by an untrimmed beard. his welcome was genuine, however, and when i grew accustomed to the dim candle-light i noticed that he had clear, kindly eyes. he was glad to see me. i was his first visitor in three months. he had staked some gold-bearing rock, and there he had lived alone for a year trying to uncover it enough to prove it a real ledge, and to prospect it sufficiently so that he might interest "capital" in it. he had absolute faith in the value of his find, talking with assurance of the day when he would sell it for thousands. i informed him that i had a partner and called to patton who came along. we told him what we were out for. he advised us to stay the night there, and in the early morning we would be sure to get some sport in the marshes, ponds, and slack-water where the white joins the yukon. he wouldn't hear of us making camp for ourselves, and we had to accept his hospitality. he was very lonely, he said, and it did him a whole lot of good to see us and have some talk. late in the afternoon we went out to examine the ground and arrange our morning shoot. we heard a strange noise coming from beyond the distant northern skyline of the river valley. it sounded like the far-off cackling of barn-yard geese. soon the source of it appeared in the north. it was the advance guard of a great flight of sandhill cranes on their journey to the south coast. they are toothsome birds, about the size of a small turkey but standing higher. they are very shy and it is all but impossible to get them within range of a shot-gun. i am not exaggerating when i say that they flew for two hours in a continuous, clamorous stream of arrow-shaped formations from our northern horizon, until they disappeared from view over the southern hills. there were thousands of them in that one contingent. the old-timer, "alabama bill" he was called, served for supper that night a meat-stew composed of porcupine, moose-meat and other things. i ate my share and kept it. patton is more sensitive that way than i am, and on this occasion he proved traitor to the good old british maxim, "what we have, we hold." i don't blame him. one had need of keen appetite and strong digestion to enjoy and profit by that mysterious mixture. "alabama" made us talk far on into the morning, but at last we rolled into our bunks. we slept uneasily for various causes, and were glad to get out in the early morning to be ready in position for daylight and our birds. to make a long story short, we had good luck the next ten days as we floated downstream towards dawson, tying up and camping when and where we wished, and hunting in likely places. the sloughs and little lakes were alive with ducks and geese, and we had our boat half-full of them before we reached indian river. from that point it was an easy day's run to dawson. we made camp on the shore at indian in the afternoon, and went back into the thick woods on the extensive flats behind us to explore. we came on a pond and got a few more ducks. this pond was peculiar in that at one side a trail led down to it, and the shore was trampled as if herds of cattle were accustomed to water there. it was a "moose-lick," a place to which for years, at certain seasons, the moose came at night from miles around, because the water and soil had in them some salty substance which they liked or needed. we weren't hunting big game and so had brought only one rifle for emergencies, but here was a chance right under our noses that we couldn't pass, although we knew it was rather late in the season for moose to visit the lick. at the edge of the pond we picked a good-sized tree that we could climb and find secure footing in. then we went back the half-mile to the shore and had supper. when it grew dark we went out to our tree and climbed up in it, to watch for the possible coming of the moose. for four long, miserably cold hours we clung to our perch. it was pitch dark and absolutely silent, save for the dull murmur of the yukon, and the "plunk, plunk" of some little diving duck at long intervals in the pond. half-a-dozen times we were inclined to abandon our vigil, but one encouraged the other and we hung on. about midnight we were rewarded by hearing, through the darkness, a sound like the breaking of a branch away on the mountain slope. it startled us, coming on us out of the night when we were tense with prolonged listening to unbroken silence. soon there was no mistaking the approach of the monarch of the woods. it seemed as if some great boulder were crashing down the hillside through the trees. every now and then there would be a minute of complete stillness, and we could imagine him standing, with lordly, lifted head and wide-branching antlers, listening and sniffing the air for strange noises or smells. he seemed satisfied that no danger lurked in the woods, for he came straight across from the foot of the mountain. at last by the noise we knew he was nearing our tree. nearer he came and very near, leisurely now, probably feeding. in the dense darkness we could see nothing of him as yet until we heard something scrape against our tree. looking down with straining eyes, i marked his dark, slowly-moving outline in the brush. i could have dropped on the animal's back had i been so minded. the proverbial "salt" might easily have been placed on his tail. the time for action had come. i had the rifle. in the darkness i couldn't see the barrel, so real aiming was impossible, but the moose was that near i felt i couldn't miss him anyway. i fired where i judged his shoulder should be. i regret to tell you that the flame of the gun showed that the bullet had gone an inch over his back, and i had missed him altogether! my left arm was around a limb and so the second shot was a trifle slow, but after the first, it seemed as if the moose jumped into the air, turned, and was fifty feet away in the timber on his back-trail when he lit! we heard him going at head-long speed and fired at the noise, but he went on until the sound died away in the distance. we crawled down to the ground, stiff with cold, and dumb with disappointment. i knew it was a complete miss, but "hope springs eternal in the human breast," and we lighted matches and searched the ground and leaves for bloodstains. we searched his trail thus for twenty yards, then gave up, went back to camp and under our blankets. patton was very decent about it. he knew how i felt. once only did he make reference to my failure. the next day we were nearing dawson, where our friends would come and inspect our "bag," when he said, "well, george, wouldn't it be pleasant to pull into dawson with a fine moose lying between us in the boat?" "don't say another word, tom," i replied, "or i'll burst into tears!" i felt my almost inexcusable failure very keenly, for i made three separate trips, alone, to indian river, and hunted there persistently, and very uncomfortably too, for that moose, but he never gave me another chance. _xv._ _an old prospector_ the good ship _araguaya_ of the royal mail steam packet line was under commission during the war as a canadian hospital ship on the north atlantic. she and her sister ship the _essequibo_, with the _llandovery castle_ and _letitia_, composed the fleet used to convey our wounded from the old land to canada. the _letitia_ was wrecked in a fog on the rocks near halifax with no loss of lives. the _llandovery castle_ was sunk by a submarine while returning empty to england. mostly all the ship's officers, m.o.'s, nurses, and crew were drowned or shot by the fiend who commanded the u-boat. the chaplain, capt. mcphail, was killed. by strange chance his body, with life-belt, was carried towards france and months afterwards was found on the beach and buried. thank god all the german submarines were not run by such as sank the _llandovery_. i have a snapshot taken from the deck of the _essequibo_ of a u-boat which stopped that ship, searched her thoroughly but courteously and then let her go unharmed. i spent ten months as chaplain on the _araguaya_ and a happy time it was. that was the "cushiest" job i have ever had. we were under cover all the time, had abundance of good food and luxuries for everyone, and every device that money could buy to entertain our patients on their nine-day trip across. besides, in my special work i had a flock which never strayed far from me. they couldn't! practically all the staterooms had been taken out, only sufficient being left for m.o's, nurses, and ship's officers. this made fine, large, airy wards for the bed cases, fitted with swinging cots so that they did not feel the roll of the vessel. i had a comfortable room all to myself, for col. whidden and later col. murray were both very considerate of my comfort. you will be interested to know that at the celebration of the completion of the kiel canal, the _araguaya_ was loaned by the r.m.s.p. co. to the kaiser for use as his private yacht during the regatta, as a token of british goodwill. the suite of rooms our o.c. used had been the kaiser's, and mine was one of those that "little willie" had occupied! the ship's officers and crew were all first-class seamen of heroic stuff. the majority of them had been through the dread experience of being torpedoed, some two or three times, and had seen many of their mates shot down or drowned. yet here they were from stoke-hold to pilot-house carrying on as cheerfully as ever. capt. barrett, the skipper, a short, stout, ruddy-faced englishman sat at the head of the table, with our o.c. and officers to his right and his own officers to his left. many a merry meal we had together there. i can hear major shillington's steadying voice when he thought he saw trouble ahead in our arguments, gunn with the happy laugh, langham bringing us down to cold, hard facts, and the others good men all, with whom i companied those days. tell your choicest funny story and you'd hear capt. johnson's stage-whisper, "i kicked the slats out of my cradle the first time i heard that!" i often wore my tartan uniform for "old-time's" sake, and the cameron trousers always started the skipper bemoaning that now we'd have a stormy night since the padre had put on his "tempestuous pants." of course we frequently fought the question out around the table. i based my claim to wear highland garb, blow high or blow low, not only on my connection with the rd, but because i was a thorough-bred scot. i carried the war into the enemy's country by maintaining that it was wrong to let anyone wear it but those of scottish extraction. my own camerons were nearly all scots, this i know from careful official census taken in france. we had ten or fifteen per cent. who did not belong to "the elect," but they became fine fellows from being continually in such good company, and i find no fault with them for wearing the kilts. but the principle is wrong. suppose on the field of battle a fierce and haughty prussian surrendered to a kilted man whom he thought to be a scot, only to find on getting back to the corral that his captor was a peaceful doukhobor in kilts. what a humiliation and what cruelty! i actually met an officer in france belonging to a canadian kiltie battalion (not ours) who asked me the meaning of the words "dinna forget," the title of a book which lay before him on the table. i asked him what he thought it was. he said "i suppose the name of a girl, the heroine of the story, 'dinna' maybe a local way of spelling 'dinah,' and 'forget' is her surname. that's my guess." he was in full, scottish, regimental field-uniform when he spoke these words! i was dumb for a little before i could tell him what the words really meant. it is not the claim of superiority of race but simply a matter of honest practice. the tartan costume has become the recognized badge of scottish birth or ancestry. it is therefore perpetrating a fraud upon the public for a man of any other race to parade in this distinctively national garb. it would fill too many pages even to outline the varied aspects of our life aboard the boat. matron shaw and her noble band of nurses should have a page to themselves. we carried about nine hundred patients each trip and after two days out, when they became able to hear "the return of the swallow" recited without getting pale around the gills, everything went along with a hum. there were lectures, concerts, movies, shovelboard and deck tennis tournaments, dozens of phonographs and all sorts of parlor games and books, and on sunday our religious services. the boys were all glad to be going home to canada and they were easily entertained. the great event was, of course, our first sight of land and then the disembarkation. the later trips we unloaded at portland, maine, and i cannot recollect having seen a more magnificent demonstration of public good-will than was given us by those yankees. the first time we put in there, while the boat was still twenty feet away from the dock the thousands of people on the wharf commenced to cheer and the bands to play, and we were bombarded with candies, cigars, cigarettes and fruit. much of it fell into the water. when we tied up a score of committees came aboard and almost submerged us under endless quantities of oranges, apples, bananas, grapes, dough-nuts, cake, sandwiches, ice-cream, tea, coffee and soft drinks, and expensive candies and everything else that we could eat or drink, that the law would allow, in superabundance. they took our hundreds of letters and many telegrams and sent them without costing us a penny. the latest newspapers, bouquets, of choice flowers for everyone, concert parties, and indeed everything good that kind hearts could think of was showered upon us. i remember a western bed-patient asked me if i thought they would get him a plug of a special brand of chewing tobacco. he hadn't been able to buy it in four years overseas and it was his favorite. "sure thing," one of them said and in half-an-hour two men came aboard lugging along enough of that tobacco to stock a small store! i cannot go further into details. enough to say that every trip it was the same, except that their hospitality became more systematized. probably fifteen thousand wounded canadian soldiers passed through portland on their way home, and i know they will find it hard to forget the free-handed, warm-hearted welcome they got in that city. this memory will surely be a leaven working towards the maintenance and development of peace and good-will between canada and the united states. but i must tell my story of the north. one trip major dick shillington persuaded me to give them a klondike evening. we gathered down below in "h" mess and there i told something of the life-story of my old friend of by-gone days, a trail-blazer and prospector, duncan mcleod. * * * * * when first i met duncan mcleod, "cassiar mac" he was commonly called, he and his partner, john donaldson, both old men, were working far up a tributary of gold bottom creek which had not yet been fully prospected. each liked to have his own house and do his own cooking, and so they lived within a few yards of each other in the creek bottom at the foot of the mountain summit that rose between them and indian river. my trail over to the other creeks passed across their ground, and when we became friends i seldom failed to arrange my fortnightly trip over the divide so as to reach their place about dusk. i would have supper with one or the other and stay the night. mcleod was an old-country scot, donaldson born of scottish parents in glengarry county, ontario. i am not using their real names, but they were real men. one of them, donaldson, is still living in the wilds of the yukon, still prospecting. he was the first white man the teslin indians had seen and known. they looked upon him as their "hi-yu-tyee," a sort of super-chief, during the years he lived near them. he had been just and kind with them, and his consequent influence saved occasional serious friction between the indians and whites from becoming murder or massacre. after supper we would all three gather in one of the cabins and i would hear good talk until far towards midnight. then there would be a pause and mcleod would say, "well, mr. pringle, i think it is time we were getting ready for our beds." i knew what he meant. "yes, it is," i would reply. the bible would be handed me, i would read a chapter and we would kneel in prayer to god. then to our bunks for a good sleep and early away in the morning for me to make the twenty-five miles over the heights to gold run before dark. what great talks those were i used to hear. i was only a boy then, and these old men had seen so much of the wild free life of the west of long ago days. what stirring adventures they had had! they came west before the railways by way of the american prairies, and, lured by gold discoveries, had entered the mountains, and then following the prospector's will-o-the-wisp, the better luck that lies "just over the divide," they had gone farther and farther north. they had met and become partners in the caribou camp, and had been together nearly forty years, in the cassiar, on the stewart, at forty-mile and now the klondike. donaldson had a wonderful native power of description. when story-telling he would pace slowly back and forth in the shadow beyond the dim candle-light and picture with quiet, resonant voice scenes and events of the past. how vivid it seemed to me! how the soul of the young man thrilled as he listened! often there was a yearning at my heart when under his spell to lay aside my mission and go out into the farthest wilds, seeking adventure and living the free, fascinating life they had lived. how i wish i had written down these stories as they were told to me. but maybe they wouldn't have "written," for much of the interest lay in the personality of the story-teller. mcleod's part was usually to help with dates or names when donaldson's memory failed to recall them, but often he too would spin a yarn, and when he did there was always in its telling a gentleness, i can think of no better word, that gave a charm often missing in donaldson's rougher style. they were both big men physically, but mcleod had been magnificent. he was now nearly eighty years old and broken with rheumatism, but in the giant frame and noble face and head crowned with its snow-white hair i saw my ideal of what a great highland chieftain might have been in the brave days of old. donaldson told me one night, while his partner was making a batch of bread in his own cabin, what he knew of mcleod's history. "i have never known a man," he said, "that would measure up to my partner. none of us want our record searched too closely but it wouldn't make any difference to him. nothing, nobody, seemed to have any power to make mac do anything crooked or dirty. whisky, gambling, bad women--he passed them up without apparent effort. very strange too, even the few good women we have met in these camps never won anything from him but wholesome admiration. he had only to say the word and he could have had any one of them, but he didn't seem to care that way. what his experience had been before we met i do not know, he has never spoken much about it to anyone. but he and i have lived together as partners for nearly half a century, through the crazy, wicked days of all these gold camps, and mac never did anything that he would be ashamed to tell his own mother." a fine tribute. perhaps under the circumstances the finest thing that could be said of any man, for you cannot imagine the thousand almost irresistible temptations that were part of the daily life of the stampeders in those northern camps. enough for me to say that many men of really good character back east, where they were unconsciously propped up by influences of family, church, and community, failed miserably to keep their footing when they came to the far north where all these supports were absent and temptation was everywhere. i do not judge them. god only knows the fight they had before they surrendered. so it was an arresting event to meet a man who had seen it all and whose partner of forty years told me he had lived clean. i often wondered what mcleod's story was. i had known him for three years before i ventured to ask him details about his home in scotland, and why he left it to come so far away. i knew he had been reared in a village south of edinburgh, in a good home with good parents, and much else he had told me, but there had always been a reticence that made you certain there was something else held back. one winter night when we were alone in his cabin, he opened his heart to me. he was an old-fashioned scot. i was his "minister" and he knew me well. besides he was coming to the end of the trail, and he needed a confidant. he said his story was hardly worth while bothering me with, i knew most of it, but what he could never tell anyone was about the lassie he had loved and lost. he had fallen in love with the brown eyes and winsome face of margaret campbell, a neighbour's daughter. they had gone to the same school, had taken their first communion together, and had both sung in the village church choir. when he revealed his love to her she told him she had guessed his secret and had lang syne given her heart to him. they were betrothed and very happy. but margaret took ill in the fall and died before the new year. early in the year he sailed from leith for canada, hoping that new scenes would soften his grief. as the years passed he kept moving west and then north. he grew to like the free life of the prospector and had not cared to leave the mountains and the trails. time had healed the wound but his love for the sweetheart of his youth was just as true and tender as ever. from a hidden niche at the head of his bed he took down a small box, brought it to the table near the candle and unlocked it. he showed me his simple treasures. his rough, calloused hands trembled as he lifted them carefully from the box. there was a small photo so faded i could barely see the face on it. "you'll see she was very beautiful," he said, for he saw with the clear vision of loving memory what was not for my younger but duller eyes to discern. there was her gold locket with a wisp of brown hair in it. "she left me this," he said, "when she died." last, there was an old letter, stained and worn, the only love-letter she had ever written him, for he had only once been far enough or long enough away to need letters. he had spent a week in glasgow after they became engaged and she had written to him. this was all. somehow i felt as if i were on sacred ground, that the curtain had been drawn from before a holy place, and i was looking upon something more beautiful than i had ever seen before. as the old man put the box away his eyes were shining "with a light that never was on sea or land." mine were moist, and for a little i couldn't trust my voice to speak as i thought of the life-time of unswerving fealty to his dead lassie. such long, lonely years they must have been! we did not say much more that night but the words we spoke were full of understanding and reverence. when it grew late and he handed me the bible i hesitated in choosing a chapter, but not for long. the comfort and rejoicing of the twenty-third psalm were all we wanted. one morning, not long afterwards, donaldson came into my cabin on hunker creek in evident distress. mcleod hadn't come out as usual to his work that morning, and he had gone to see what was wrong and found him in his bunk hardly able to speak. he had taken "a stroke." a neighbouring miner watched by the sick man while donaldson hitched up his dogs and raced to dawson for medical aid. donaldson went off down the trail and i hurried up the gulch to my old friend. he lingered for two or three days. the doctor could do nothing for him but to ease his last moments. i stayed near him until the end came. when he tried to speak his utterance was indistinct and what few words i could make out showed that his mind was wandering. sometimes he was on the trail or in the camp, but oftenest he was home again in the far away land he loved, and in boyhood days among folk we did not know save one, known only to me, whose name was continually on his lips. he had a lucid interval just before he died and for a minute or two he thought and spoke clearly. i told him that death was near. was there anything that we could do for him? "not very much," he said, "i want donaldson to have all i own. he's been a good partner. bury my box with me. i'm not afraid to go now. it's just another prospecting trip to an unknown land and i have a great guide. he won't forsake an old prospector. he was one himself, i'm thinking, when he came seeking us. he will keep a firm grip of me now that the trail is growing dark. i'm not afraid." these were his last words, and as he slipped away, we, who were gathered in the dimly-lighted little cabin, felt somehow that the guide he spoke of was right at hand. he would surely keep "a firm grip" of the old miner on his last prospecting trip, even if strange storms were blowing, and it was black dark when they crossed the great divide. it would come morning too in that land when night was past, and when the new day dawned i know he would soon find the one whom he had "loved long since and lost awhile." _xvi._ _soapy smith, the skagway bandit_ my billet on the hospital ship _araguaya_ was very comfortable and my duties agreeable, but every time we reached port on the canadian side of the atlantic i had an impulse to desert the ship and become a stowaway on the hospital-train bound for british columbia. it was there my wife and boy lived and i hadn't seen them for three years. however i got the chance at last to go without breaking regulations, for when i requested it, leave was readily granted me to stay ashore over one round-trip of the boat. this was supplemented by my taking the place of an absent conducting officer on the western train. so my transportation cost me nothing, except the congenial task of making myself generally useful to the returning soldiers. we had crossed the prairies, dropping many of our crowd at way points, and were climbing slowly along after supper up through a lonely stretch of mountains, when someone in the car where i was "visiting" gave it as his opinion that this would be a good piece of road on which to stage a train-robbery. this, of course, led to the mention of gun-men that they had known or heard of, men of the same ilk as jesse james and bill miner. i contributed the story of soapy smith, the man who pulled off the most remarkably prolonged hold-up of which i have ever read. in the most approved dime-novel style he terrorized a town, not for a few days or weeks, but for six months. * * * * * "you'll have to see the spot where soapy died." the skagway man who said this was rather proud of the celebrity which the bandit had brought to the place. i had come by the steamboat the nine hundred miles north from vancouver, and was forced to spend a day in skagway before going over the white pass on my way to dawson. a resident of the town was taking me around showing me the sights of this mushroom camp. it was humming with life and packed with people. the rush to the goldfields was then at its height. i judged by my friend's tone that he expected me to be deeply impressed with this particular sight. so down to the sea we went and out on the wharf. as we walked down he outlined the story of smith's career in the camp. on the pier he showed me a dark stain, covering about a square foot, made by the life-blood of the man who for half-a-year forced skagway to pay him tribute in hard cash. he was the leader of a group of men who robbed and cheated in wholesale style, and when it was necessary, in getting their victim's money, did not stop at murder. no one had attempted successfully to interfere with him. reputable merchants were all intimidated into handing him their "life-insurance premiums" whenever he asked for them. his reputation as a "killer" was such that on the fourth of july, when good americans celebrate their freedom, he rode at the head of the procession on a white horse! very few complained loudly enough for soapy to hear. without question his nerve is to be admired. i have never heard or read in the annals of the west anything to equal his record in that alaskan port. desperadoes have ridden into towns, "shot them up," took what they wanted and got away with it. but this man and his gang lived openly in a town of several thousands and in the most brazen fashion ran the place for months, although he was known as a crook, gunman, and leader of a gang of thugs. skagway, it is true, was simply an eddy in a stream running into the gold-fields. in their mad haste to get on and over the pass people wouldn't take time to straighten out the morals of the camp. the soapy smith business was especially uninviting as something to mix into. "it isn't my funeral," they would say, "and i don't want it to be." jefferson b. smith hailed from the city of st. louis in the u.s.a. he got the nickname he bore because at the beginning of his career of crookedness he used to sell soap to some of the citizens of denver, colorado. there is nothing remarkable about selling soap unless you do it smith's way. in the evenings he and a confederate would set up their "stand" on a suitable downtown street. all he needed was a high box for a "pulpit" and a smaller box behind it to stand on. this with a flaring torch giving an uneven light, some cakes of cheap soap, a couple of five-dollar bills and some change, completed the outfit. a little clever "spieling," kept up more or less all evening, and the usual crowd would gather out of curiosity. he would show them an unwrapped piece of soap all the while extolling its great merits as a cleanser. to show how disinterested he was in introducing this superior article that only needed to be known to become popular, he would say he was going to wrap a five-dollar-bill in with some of these cakes of soap. he would sell the soap at fifty cents each piece, and everyone that bought stood to get the soap and make four dollars and fifty cents in cash out of the deal. further if they watched him carefully they would see him actually put the five-dollar bill in when he wrapped up the soap, although he wouldn't guarantee that it would always be found there when the purchaser unwrapped his package. of course he deceived them simply by clever sleight-of-hand. rarely would any money be found, but people liked to be fooled if it is done the right way. to get them "biting" he might let one of the bills go to a confederate who was seemingly just one of the crowd. it was a money-making business as a rule for there were ordinarily quite a number of "easy-marks" around. they got the soap anyway. so came the name "soapy." well, it was the same old clever, crooked game in other bigger and bolder forms that he now worked in skagway, with the gun-play in addition. when the steamboat city of seattle came into port there on january th, , soapy and his "merrie-men" were among the passengers. he was a slight built man, only five feet seven inches tall, very dark complexioned with a full beard and moustache. he wore a round stetson hat with a hard brim. he soon established headquarters in the "kentucky saloon" and "jeff smith's parlors." these were liquor saloons, not providing board or lodging, and running crooked gambling games in their rear, a fruitful source of revenue to smith's card-sharpers. then he and his confederates got busy on all sorts of other schemes to steal people's money. he had at least thirty followers, and there wasn't a dishonest trick known to the underworld of those days that some of them couldn't work. they wore masonic, oddfellow, elk and other fraternity emblems that might help in working "confidence-games." they opened up information bureaus where newcomers could be conveniently sized-up and robbed then or later on. one member who was very successful in luring victims was old man tripp. he had grey hair, a long white beard and a benevolent countenance. it seemed impossible to suspect him of criminal intent. smith had most of the gambling-joints paying him a big percentage. he even had men clever at the old, old "shell-game" running it in the fine weather at relay points on the trail. one of his favorite stunts for a while at first was to recruit for the spanish-american war which was just then stirring the fighting blood of americans. while the would-be soldier was stripped, having a fake medical examination, his clothing was looted of whatever money or valuables it might contain. a rather amusing incident occurred during smith's regime in connection with the efforts of a sky pilot to raise some money at skagway to build a church in a little place along the coast called dyea. the parson came to skagway in a rowboat one morning and started out with his subscription list. one of the first he tackled by chance and unknown to himself was the notorious bandit. smith heartily endorsed the proposition and headed the list with one hundred dollars which he paid over in cash to the clergyman. then he took the latter gentleman along to the principal merchants, hotel-men and gamblers and saw to it that they all gave handsome donations. at the close of the day the visitor decided to make for home. he was happy in the possession of over $ , in cash for his new church, thinking too what a splendid fellow this mr. smith was. on the way to the beach he was "held up" by one of mr. smith's lieutenants and relieved of all the money he had collected. he could get no redress. other occurrences, such as the smothering of the negro-wench in order to steal the few hundred dollars she had earned by washing, were despicable and worthy only of the meanest type of criminal. naturally there were many shooting scrapes in connection with the operations of the gang, and some killings, but nothing was done to end it. not only was no move made to interfere with soapy, but almost everyone refrained from speaking against him openly for reasons easy to understand. of course there were men in skagway who hotly resented the hold this outlaw had on the town, and were doing what they could to bring public sentiment to efficient action against him. one of these, a canadian, was the editor of a local news sheet. in later years he became governor of alaska. his name was strong and it suited him, for he wasn't lacking in strength of character. one day, after his paper had appeared with an editorial making a scarcely-veiled attack on soapy and his gang, he was met and stopped on the street by smith accompanied by a tough named mike daley. they were loud and boisterous in accusing strong of having offered personal insult to them in his newspaper. they demanded a retraction and apology and evidently meant to force a street-fight. strong refused to withdraw his statement and declared that he intended to stand by his editorial. the loud quarrelling tones of the two desperadoes attracted the attention of two friends of strong's, named d. c. stephens and allen, who happened to be walking down the same street. they hurried to the aid of their friend who at the risk of his life still refused to back down. the sight of reinforcements spoiled smith's game and he and daley went on without accomplishing their sinister purpose. there was another man who did not hesitate to say anywhere, and in most forcible terms what he thought of these criminals. this man was frank reid, a land-surveyor. he was fearless, and too quick with a gun for these crooks to attempt to silence. but he got very little open support and could do nothing single-handed. of course things couldn't go on like this. in the spring matters reached a climax. word had at last got into the klondike that it wasn't safe to come out by way of skagway with your gold, that you were likely to be relieved of your "poke" by desperadoes. this news commenced to turn out-going gold-laden traffic down the yukon and out by way of st. michaels. the skagway merchants saw "the goose that laid the golden eggs" flying away, and it put them at last into a ferment of anger at the cause of it. this led to the formation of a vigilance committee of which reid was the moving spirit. finally a nanaimo man named stewart, waiting for the steamboat on his way home from the klondike, had $ , . in nuggets stolen from him by one of soapy's confidence men who had offered to turn it into currency. it was all he had and he made such a fuss that the whole town knew about his loss. he reported it to the u.s. deputy-marshal, a man named taylor who was in smith's pay. he got no satisfaction. the vigilance committee then took it up, and made it a "casus belli" against soapy. they attempted to hold a secret meeting in a private hall but smith and his confederates managed to break in on them. they then adjourned to sylvester's wharf. at the land-end of the pier frank reid and a man named murphy were posted to stop anyone approaching who was not a member of the committee. smith heard of this move and set off on the war-path down the main street towards the water-front. he carried a loaded . -. winchester rifle and as he went down the road he called on everyone to put up their hands. there were hundreds of men there but soapy got a completely unanimous "vote" as he passed along, until he reached reid and in him he met a man who called his bluff. reid ordered him to stop and fired at him, but his revolver, a . colt, failed to go off. he then grabbed the muzzle of smith's gun and shoved it up in the air before he could shoot. smith in the struggle backed away hanging on to his rifle, and while the gun was thus lowered and pointed momentarily at reid's groin he fired. reid fell to the ground but instantly fired at smith again. this time the revolver responded and smith dropped shot through the heart. he bled to death in a few minutes where he lay. this was the evening of july th, three days after the celebration already mentioned in which the gunman had taken the leading part. so the wharf was stained, and so ended the life of a man with a career of which the last six months were unique in the history of the wild west. their leader gone, the break-up of his followers was quick and easy. after caring for reid the committee split up into armed groups of five or six men each. some guarded the exits from the town, others closed the dance-halls, saloons, and gambling places. every cabin was searched. smith was killed on friday and by sunday the lot were rounded up and jailed. the captures included the five most dangerous members of the gang, old man tripp, slim jim, bowers, mike daly, and scar-faced charlie. it was indeed hard for any of them to escape. in front was the sea and behind the mountains with only one passable trail through them over into the yukon territory. they were all deported on out-going steamers. most of them got long terms in penetentiary. before the shooting a few of them who saw danger ahead straggled over into canada by way of the white pass but they changed into "model citizens" when they came under the surveillance of the mounted police. smith was buried with scant ceremony and no mourners. frank reid lingered for two weeks when he also died. the whole place turned out at his funeral to do honor to his bravery in ridding the town of the pestilential group of criminals who had been in control so long. warwick bros. & rutter, limited printers and bookbinders, toronto, canada